As I head into the parking lot, I stare at her as she sits behind the steering wheel. Abby’s mouth curves downward in a frown. I can’t see her eyes as well, but she rubs them.
A shiver ripples through me. I’ve seen that look too many times but could never bear to acknowledge it. Now, I can’t ignore it.
With my exhale visible in the cold air, I knock on her window, ignoring the churning in my stomach.
She turns, her eyes widening, and opens the door. “Mr. Barrington?”
“Need a hand?” I call out, the wind nearly stealing my words.
“My car started and then died. It worked fine this morning on the way in, but maybe the engine’s frozen or something. The battery could be dead, though. All the lights on the dashboard went on right before everything stopped working.”
“Could be the alternator.”
“I’ll call a tow truck.” Her tone is nonchalant, but I notice the slight quiver of her lower lip.
“During a snowstorm on Christmas Eve? That could take hours.”
“I don’t want to be stuck out here for hours.” A hint of vulnerability creeps into her voice.
“Why didn’t you head home earlier?” I lower my voice, trying to sound like her boss, even though a part of me wants to wrap my arms around Abby and deposit her into my car, where Ican keep her safe and warm. That, however, would be seen as kidnapping and bad for our corporate image.
“I wanted to finish something for a client.” The V between her eyesbrows deepens. “I didn’t realize the weather would bethisbad.”
She looks so small and sad, and I need to shield her from the car trouble and weather. If I have consent, then it won’t be seen as weird or illegal. “Where are you headed?”
“To my parents’ house.” She glances at the steering wheel and then at me, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “It’s about an hour and a half east of here.”
East. On the way to my grandparents’ house. I take a breath to steel myself. “I’m going in that direction. I can give you a ride.”
She hesitates, her eyes darting everywhere but at me, as if weighing her options. “Are you sure?”
CHAPTER THREE
John
No, I’m not sure about my offer to drive Abby—make that Ms. Sinclair. Not when I’m struggling to remember my own name and why I want to help her, but what choice do I have now?
Telling her I changed my mind and she’s on her own would be the smartest move, but then I’d feel like a jerk and look like a fool. Who cares how much I like her as long as no one finds out? Helping her is the right thing to do.
Ugh. The twelve-year-old boy is back, and that stings more than a paper cut.
I mean, here I am, desperate to be the hero—her hero, if I’m being honest—but giving her a ride might end up being a terrible idea. If she finds out how I feel…
Would that be worse than her being stuck in the parking lot and freezing on Christmas Eve?
N-O.
Forget about being on Santa’s nice list with this messy, tangled-up emotion gnawing at me. If that list were real, my stocking would be filled with coal. This shouldn’t even be a question, yet I realize Abby is waiting for me to answer.
“It’s no bother.” I suppress the urge to assure her I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. Not going to lie, those words sit on the tip of my tongue. “What kind of boss would I be if I left you stranded in a snowstorm on Christmas Eve?”
See? No problem. I’m just her boss, doing what bosses do.
Her shoulders drop slightly. “Thanks. I really appreciate it. I don’t want to be stranded here. Just give me a minute to get my stuff.”
“Want help?”
“No, thanks.” Her words shoot out like snowballs during a fight at my grandparents’ house. “I’ve got it.”
