“Yeah?”
“You hearing what I’m saying? Because it goes for you, too. Don’t let this guy bring you down. Your wife and that baby won’t thank you for losing a good job.”
“Yes, sir.” Crawford jerks one nod, grabs Mike’s arm, and leads him away.
As I watch them leave, I drag my hand across the back of my neck, releasing much of my frustration on a long exhale.
Everly’s gaze moves from tracking the recalcitrant employee to me.
I join her on the sidewalk and touch the wooly fabric of her sleeve. “I’m sorry about that, Everly. Mike’s a jerk. You shouldn’t have been subjected to his garbage.”
She waves me off. “I’m fine. And it isn’t your fault.”
Feels a bit like it is. I’ve put up with the man’s garbage for too long. Monday morning, things are going to change.
Chapter 14
Knox
All that’s missing is snow.
The fluttery softness of giant white flakes would have been icing on the cake of an evening that already neared perfection.
I have the ability once in a while to compartmentalize quite nicely. I dealt with the Mike situation because it had to be done. His behavior toward Everly boiled my blood, not to mention that I can’t have him acting the fool while stumbling around in LHSattire. Seriously going to have to crack down on the policy about branded outerwear being for work hours only. Rand likes the advertising, but guys like Mike could have the opposite effect.
Unpleasant business aside, the evening has been five-star. Everly is a great conversationalist, so great that every time she opens her mouth, I want to hear more. I want to learn more about her and what makes her tick.
On the subject of mouths, I want to kiss her, too.
If I weren’t driving and focusing on not to taking down any of the copious pedestrians this smalltown tree lighting has brought out like ants to spilled honey, I’d be staring at her lips and dreaming of pressing them against mine.
Sadly, Everly has to open the diner at sunup. If not, I might have suggested finding a cozy spot to continue our conversation, or at least to seek out a neighborhood gone overboard with Christmas lights and crawl through it to extend our time together. Her hand fills mine on the armrest, and I’m not ready to let go.
In front of the Wilkes home, I cut the engine. Gauging Everly’s openness to a goodnight kiss is tough. I think she and I are on the same page, but the last thing I want to do is push an encounter our relationship isn’t ready for.
But halfway up the sidewalk, on the fringe of the sweep of light from the glowing sconce by the door, she sways into my side, and the cold, dry air electrifies. I take both her hands and smile. She moistens her lips. Nervous gesture…or invitation?
Probably my guy brain reading things in—but I’m entranced. My fingertips skim her jaw. “Everly, may I—”
The solid wood door swings in on its hinges. “Oh, thank goodness you’re back! Knox, can you help us? Oakley is stuck in the attic!”
Everly
Mom’s frenzy brings a wave of panic, but as Knox and I trail her through the house and into the garage listening to her borderline incoherent explanation, I calm. Visions of skinny Oakley somehow wedged in the garage’s attic opening above the pull-down ladder don’t compute.
And indeed, it’s only the bulky box of Mom’s eight-foot artificial Christmas tree that’s lodged in the opening, trapping my sister behind it. Oakley has her elbow on the box, her chin on her fist, and peers boredly over the cardboard. Her gaze lingers on Knox in a way that makes me hope she’s not about to say something embarrassing.
“’Bout time you got back, sis.”
Mom knots her hands at her bosom. “I’m so behind with decorating, and you know your father has always helped with the tree, but this year, with him gone…I really thought Oakley and I could do it ourselves.”
“The box is wedged on something, and I can’t get it to go backward or forward now.”
“How long have you been up there?” I ask, sisterly merriment bubbling in my throat. This is far from the first fix Oakley has gotten herself into over the years.
Her phone pops into view above the box. Like a tree in the forest, the rings of tape circling it tell its age. “Fifty-two minutes.”
“Oh, my gosh, you should have called!”
