“Reilly…”
“No excuses. Tonight’s perfect. Donovan’s gonna be at the park, and you can confront him then.”
“And say what?”
She shrugged. “Tell him you wanna kiss him again. You want to, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then stop pretendin’ you don’t and go after him.”
“What about Brady? Did you happen to trap him under the mistletoe and not tell me about it?”
“Unfortunately, no.” She met his gaze. “And you know me. I wouldn’t’ve been able to keep it to myself.”
She saw his remorse. She hadn’t meant to make him feel bad.
“But I’m not givin’ up, Tate.” She smiled. “In fact, I know exactly what I need to do, and Brady McCord’s not gonna know what hit him. So what do you say? One more shot?”
When Tate’s eyebrow quirked, Reilly knew she had him.
Five
Donovan wandered through Walker Park, greeting peoplehe knew. Friends, family, some he did business with. They were all out tonight.
Why wouldn’t they be? It was a relatively warm, clear evening, and tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Coming here gave them a way to distract the kids so they weren’t begging to open just one present early.
He smiled, remembering how he’d pulled that stunt on his parents every year. What started as a game instigated by him and his brothers had become a tradition by the time Chelsea was born. One present on Christmas Eve, but Mom and Dad got to pick. By the time Donovan was eight, they’d started allowing them to choose their own. Less tantrums that way when they didn’t get exactly what they’d hoped for on the first try.
Donovan and Stone had both been in college by the time Reilly was capable of playing. And she took the prize for creativity. When she would open one, she would barter for another, and that girl knew how to haggle. And when she didn’t get her way, she would turn to him and insist he make it happen. She’d latched onto him early, and Donovan had taken to her, too. Because of their significant age difference, he saw her differently than Stone, CJ, and Chelsea. They’d been pains in his ass. She’d been the sweet little doll everyone wanted to spoil rotten.
They still did, although she would never admit it.
Speaking of his sister. He figured Reilly was around there somewhere. He hadn’t quite figured out what she was up to, but he got the feeling it had something to do with Brady. He knew when she set her sights on something, she didn’t back down. And if Brady thought he could get the target off his back, he would have to work harder than he was. Donovan saw them in the store that morning. There was definitely something there.
Maybe this would be their year to figure it out.
His attention shifted to the enormous Christmas tree lit in the center of the park. He couldn’t remember how tall it was, but he knew there’d been some sort of challenge for picking out the largest one. Not an easy feat in this neck of the woods where the soil wasn’t favorable for pine trees to thrive. But somehow, they’d managed to find one that was awe-inspiring.
People were attempting to snap pictures of their loved ones in front of it, while some parents simply hoped their child wouldn’t be the one to bring that thing crashing down. The high school choir was getting in their places up on the stage, preparing for their final Christmas production of the year, while food vendors were selling a variety of holiday goodies.
But Donovan wasn’t there for the tree, the music, or the food. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he was there at all. When he came up with the idea, he figured he and Brady would make an appearance, then swing by Moonshiners for a beer, but as usual, Brady backed out on him at the last minute. Donovan had expected as much and was doing his best to give Brady some breathing room. He couldn’t imagine how difficult this year was for him with his mother gone.
Rather than go home and sulk alone, Donovan figured he could greet a few people he only saw this time of year, then slip out unnoticed if he was lucky.
“I didn’t expect to see you out tonight,” Curtis said as he approached. “Your mom and dad here?”
“Not tonight,” Donovan told his uncle. “Mom was talkin’ about gettin’ dinner started early.”
Aunt Lorrie chuckled. “I keep tellin’ Owen to get you kids married off so they’ll have someone to do it for them.”
He knew Lorrie was only partly joking. At seventy-five, even after a severe health scare some years back, Lorrie was still front and center for every holiday meal with her brood. She was also responsible for keeping her kids coming around every Sunday for a family dinner. A tradition his family hadn’t picked up, although they did make an effort to get together at least once every few months.
Donovan laughed. “She couldn’t get that lucky. Plus, I think she likes goin’ overboard with the pies. I tried to remind her Chelsea’s vegan this year, and Stone cut out gluten, but she won’t listen.”
“What the hell’s gluten?” Curtis asked, his expression serious.
Lorrie waved Donovan off. “Don’t answer that. I’ve told him a dozen times. Either he’s not listenin’, or he can’t remember.”
