“Perfect. I’ll get a take-out bag of cookies for you to take home for dessert.”
While she does that, I head back over to where Rex is sitting. “How would you feel about hanging out with me for the rest of the day?”
His dejected demeanor morphs into cautious optimism before my eyes. “Really?”
“Really. I’ve been kinda lonely the last few days, and I’d love your company for the evening. I just need to get a few groceries and then I’ll come back for you and we can go to my place.”
“I can go with you to Patterson’s,” he says quickly, gathering up his pencil crayons and shoving them into a dinosaur-print case. “I’m thebesthelper. Uncle Liam and Uncle Nathan take me shopping with them all the time ’cause I’m good at finding deals, plus I can help carry your bags.”
The thought of shopping with an eight-year-old conjures up images of a cart full of Pop Tarts, chicken nuggets, Lucky Charms, and other things I haven’t eaten since childhood and certainly shouldn’t be eating now. Rex’s expression radiates hope as he looks up at me. How can I say no to his sweet face? It doesn’t help that the kid is pretty much Liam in child form; the pair of them could likely charm even the most hard-hearted person.
Forty minutes later, Rex and I leave Patterson’s Market laden with cloth bags. On our way to the store, I’d mentally adjusted my original plan of stocking up in favor of getting only the necessities for tonight and the next day or two. But then Rex asked what sort of things I like to eat and, when I explained I was used to a healthy diet because of my job, he took it upon himself to pick out the best-looking fruits and vegetables. He then showed me a small freezer section I completely missed before where I could find veggie burgers, microwavable vegetarian dinners, and even plant-based meatballs.
“Mr. Patterson only started carrying this stuff a while ago, and I think it’s mostly ’cause of Smurph,” Rex had told me earnestly as we perused the meager selection of frozen pizzas, which is what we’d agreed on for dinner.
“Smurph?” I asked.
“Mr. Murphy,” Rex said. “His real name is Seamus. Uncle Liam and Uncle Nathan have always called him Murph. One time I accidentally called him Smurph and he said he liked it.” He had let out a high-pitched giggle that made me laugh. “Only I call him that, though.”
“Got it. So he’s a vegetarian, is that it?”
Rex shook his head. “No, he’s been sick for a long time, so Aunt Mae tries to cook as much healthy food as possible.”
I’d been stunned into immobility until Rex tossed a box into the cart and took over pushing it. Nobody had told me Mr. Murphy was sick. I wanted to question Rex, but figured quizzing an eight-year-old was probably bad form.
Now Rex is all but skipping along beside me as we head to my car. I don’t need to worry about thinking up topics of conversation because he keeps a running commentary going most of the time, telling me about school, the center, his family, and whatever else pops into his head. He says hello to nearly everyone we pass, calling them by name, and telling me something about them once we’ve passed. His small hand slips into mine just before we reach the parking lot. I look down at him and he gives me a smile that warms me from head to toe. God help me, I’m already completely head-over-heels for this child.
At my place, Rex helps me carry the groceries inside, as promised, and even helps me put them away. I shouldn’t be surprised, considering at the tender age of eight, the kid already does odd jobs around town to earn money for his beloved community center. I pop the frozen pizza in the oven and ask if he’d like a salad to go with it. His response is a disgusted expression paired with a vehement shake of the head.
“There are mushrooms on the pizza, so at least it’skind ofhealthy?” he says.
I laugh. “I like the way you think.”
I set a timer for the pizza, pour us each a glass of white grape juice—Rex’s favorite, which was a relief because when we stopped in the juice aisle earlier, I had visions of fruit punch stains on Mae’s fluffy off-white area rug—and suggest we pick something to watch while we eat.
He dashes ahead of me and skids to a stop in the living room doorway. “You haven’t decorated the tree yet!”
“Oh. Yeah. I know the residents of Honeywell are all about the holidays, but it seems a bit early to me.”
He gives a sage nod. “Mom keeps saying we’ll put ours up soon, but she’s been too busy. I asked Uncle Liam if we could put up his and he was like, ‘No way, not until December. You’ll have to settle for the tree in Town Square for now’.” He affects a deep voice to imitate his uncle, which makes me stifle a giggle. “When you decide you’re ready, I can help if you want. Aunt Mae let me choose the decorations that are in the basket.”
“I’d love your help. I promise to call you as soon as the Christmas spirit hits.” Since I can’t imagine that actually happening, I make a mental note to set a reminder in my phone’s calendar to ask Rex to decorate the tree with me in another week or two.
Seemingly satisfied, Rex parks himself on the couch and turns on the TV. He makes a delighted sound and does a wiggly little happy dance when he sees the list of streaming services. I’ve had a rarely-used Netflix account for years, but in the last week or so I’ve downloaded nearly every streaming service available in Canada. I’ve been avoiding watching anything with a romantic storyline, so I’ve been on a superhero and sci-fi kick.
“I likeStar Warstoo,” Rex says upon checking out my recently viewed section. “Uncle Liam and Uncle Nathan say the original trilogy is the best, but I like the new movies. Poe Dameron is my favorite ’cause he looks like Uncle Liam.”
Iknewit wasn’t my imagination that Liam looked like Oscar Isaac. I’d wondered if it was a case of seeing the guy you’re crushing on everywhere. Not that I’m crushing on Liam. Sensible women in their mid-thirties who have hot one-night stands with even hotter men don’t develop crushes, do they?
Rex is looking at me expectantly, and I realize he’s asked me a question. I have him repeat it—“Can we watchThe Force Awakens?”—and tell him I’m fine with whatever he wants.
As the familiar theme music starts, I settle back and let my mind drift to its own galaxy far, far away. If I were smart, I’d make it clear to Liam I’m only interested in friendship. He and Mae have both told me he’s the relationship type—I believe ‘I’m made for loving’ were his exact words. I somehow don’t think I’m destined for a lasting, loving relationship.
Besides, I’m only in Honeywell for a few weeks. I came here to figure out who I am outside of Alan Goodwin’s wife, the Queen of Christmas, and my other well-known roles. It would be too easy to form an attachment and develop feelings for Liam, and then we’d both end up hurt.
I may have started falling out of love with Alan before our marriage ended, but it’s still too soon to think about getting into another relationship. Relationships come with expectations, and expectations often lead to disappointment. Case in point: the disappointment and embarrassment I felt the morning after Liam and I slept together and I discovered he was gone. Even though I was wrong about him intentionally ghosting me, the turmoil I felt afterward was very real.
By the time my alarm goes off for the pizza, I’ve convinced myself I’d be doing both Liam and myself a favor by keeping my distance. We can be friendly—friends, even—but that’s it.
