Her eyes narrowed on him. “Save it. I know Patrick’s out of town for the holiday.” She pushed past him and into the house.
He closed the door behind her. “Come on in,” he muttered to himself, then followed her into the kitchen.
He stopped behind her near where Shadow crouched, head hanging low. He knew that look. Gray’s gaze darted to the table where the paper plate sat, bearing only a few forgotten crumbs.
He scowled at the dog.You little thief.
“Why’d you tell me you had plans if you didn’t?”
Oh, maybe so he didn’t seem quite so pathetic?
Shelby set a brown bag on the table and crossed her arms, waiting.
“I don’t know.”
“I would’ve invited you over.”
“I’m sure your dad and brother would’ve loved that. Not to mention Logan.”
“It’s Thanksgiving, Gray. If my family can’t welcome a guest into their home for a holiday meal, they’re not the people I think they are.”
Maybe so, but he wouldn’t come between them again. Not when he was leaving in a month.
She began unpacking the bag—stacks of food containers.
“You don’t have to do this. I don’t need your pity.”
She gave him a mock scowl. Then, ignoring the paper plate on the table, she helped herself to his grandma’s china and began dishing out portions of all the traditional fixings.
“I had a perfectly nice meal planned until someone”—he gave Shadow a withering look—“stole it.”
“Well, good thing for you we had plenty of leftovers.”
“You don’t have to eat the mashed potatoes.” They were the last thing remaining on Gray’s plate. “You should save room for pie anyway. Pumpkin or pecan? Full disclosure, I made the pecan, and it turned out pretty good if I do say so.”
“It sounds great, but I’m going to let things settle a bit.” Gray stood and took his plate to the sink.
Cheering sounded as the Cowboys scored another touchdown. Though the game had been on the whole meal, their conversation had taken precedence.
He stowed the pie slices in the fridge. “Stay and watch the rest of the game?”
She glanced at her watch. Tomorrow was a big day, but it was early yet. He’d been alone all day. And besides, she was enjoying his company too much to turn him down. “Sure.”
In the living room Gray stacked logs in the fireplace and nursed the flame until it caught. Once it was ablaze he settled on the sofa, a safe distance away.
Though neither had a stake in the game, they complained loudly and often about the missed catches, poor throws, and officials’ calls.
At halftime he made coffee. It was a noisy affair with the loud grinding of beans and low hiss of steaming cream. He returned with two warm mugs of coffee topped with froth.
“Thanks.” The complex aroma invited her to take a sip. The flavor hit her tongue, vibrant and well balanced. Delicious. She shot him a surprised look. “What sort of magic coffee machine is this?”
“No magic. Just a good machine, quality beans, and a little expertise.”
She took another appreciative sip. “If I had coffee like this every morning, I’d never be in a bad mood again.”
Her cup was empty when halftime ended and they got caught up in the close game. During commercials they chatted about the shop, his job back home, and his decision to adopt Shadow, who now lay on a rug by the hearth, eyes drifting shut. For some reason, that decision made Shelby happier than she could say.
During the third quarter when the game returned from commercial, they forgot to stop talking. At some point Gray lowered the volume.
