Page 52 of Christmas Coffee

Celyn

Holy fuck. I nearly kissed her. Again. When her voice gets low like that it softens and she seems so vulnerable and small. I just want to wrap my arms around her and hold her close. I want to tell her that I’ll protect her from everything, but I can’t. I can’t even save myself. The walls are closing in around me, and my fascination with her has surpassed all rational thought.

It’s not fascination, you fool. It’s—

Don’t fucking say it. Don’t even think it. It doesn’t matter what it is, because it doesn’t belong there. It’s not right, for so many reasons. I have nothing to offer her. My reflection looms in the glass on the door of my car before I tug open the handle and realize that’s not true. I can help her. I just need to get her to accept it. She’s so proud. An idea forms in my mind as I drive out of the parking lot. The snow is falling fast and thick now. It’s supposed to switch back to sleet by lunch as the outer edge of the storm passes. I should grab food, snacks, and then take care of the carafe. Maybe I can do something more. The concept solidifies and I set my mind to it.

I run the errands and get the refund check before heading to the car dealer. The lot is filled with vehicles getting a dusting of snow and the few salesmen that are around are inside where it’s warm. But when they see my car, they do what every automobile enthusiast does—they’re drawn toward it. They want to touch it and see what it looks like inside. They want to hear the engine purr and ask me how much I paid. It’s every man’s dream to own something like this, but I see a better dream and since I have no idea how this will turn out, I’m doing what I can now. For all I know, Uncle could try to seize my assets and claim they were part of Bardenbey. It’s not true and wouldn’t hold up in court, but it would make my life a living hell until it was cleared up. I’m not waiting to find out, and if I can slip some of the cash to Nova—that part of the plan still eludes me. One step at a time, Celyn.

A stout, round man with a red face and matching shirt bounces down the cement stairs and into the parking lot. His girth makes his movements jerky, but the smile on his face is genuine. “Is that a McLaren?”

I return his grin. “It is.”

The man juts out a beefy hand as he approaches me. “Steve Weatherby,” he introduces himself.

“Celyn Ryan.”

He smirks and looks at me a second time. “Ah, so you are. Good to meet you, Celyn.” He glances at the car and then back at me. “So what can I do for you today? Are you looking for an additional vehicle?”

There’s a line of men inside, standing close enough to the glass storefront to fog the windows as they gawk at my car with greedy eyes.

I focus on Steve. “I’m trading this one in and looking for something less flashy.”

The man’s smile eats his entire round head. “Really?”

“Yes, the only catch is I need a vehicle that’s ready now. So, show me what you’ve got.”

Steve walks me through the parking lot and shows me a Hyundai SUV that’s loaded. He’s about to take me to a second car when I tell him, “Done. I’ll take it and pay sticker price, but I need trade-in value on the McLaren. Do we have a deal?”

Steve grins like I’m a dancing leprechaun tossing gold on his head. “Let me talk to the boss. I’m sure we can arrange something.”

As we head inside, the owner steam-plows Steve and reaches for my hand. He’s a tall guy, dark blonde hair with a decent suit. He probably played ball in college, and has an arrogant air about him that pisses me off. Steve backs away and I wonder if the man will get his commission if the owner takes over.

After introductions are made, I politely say, “Steve here has been great to me. I’ve already picked something out. Sticker price for trade-in value and we’re done here.”

The owner laughs and then gives me a look that says I’m either stupid or I don’t know how to negotiate. “Celyn, are you sure you don’t need something else? I have a Stingray—”

I step toward the owner, cutting him off midsentence. “I’m positive. Oh, throw in a couple of deli sandwiches, and we’ll call it a day.”

The owner chuckles and rubs his palms together. “I’ll get the paperwork ready for you.”

Steve is about the wander away. It’s like this has happened to him before and I won’t have it. It’s two days before Christmas. The commission on this sale could mean the difference between a merry Christmas and a shitty one if the man has a family. From the ring on his finger, I suspect he does.

“Actually,” I say with every ounce of Ryan arrogance I can muster, “I’m sure I’ll be back to look at the Stingray with you when the weather clears. For today, I’d appreciate concluding the transaction with Steve. We understand one another. I’d still like those bacon and egg sandwiches and need someone to make sure they’re perfect. Would you mind?” It was a shit move, pulling rank like that. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t get the impression that Steve would be screwed out of his sale.

The owner’s smile turns synthetic, but his eyes haven’t left the McLaren for more than a second. He wants that car, probably so he can drive it to Christmas parties and show it off. “Of course. I’ll take care of the deli order and Steve will get you in your new Santa Fe.” The tall man walks away briskly, snapping at someone to call Jerry’s and place the order.

I follow Steve to his office and the man is so excited, he won’t shut up. After I sign the enormous digital contract on his glass desk and put my pen down, Steve confesses, “You have no idea what this means to me. I can bring home a tree and grab presents for my girls. Before you walked onto the lot, my job was on the line. I didn’t make goal this month and then this storm—” his voice cracks and there’s a sheen on his eyes. “Well, I have two little girls who can believe in magic for another year. Thank you, Celyn.”

“Of course,” I say, as I stand and lift up my hand. Steve walks toward me, palm outstretched, but I get duped into a bear hug with a firm slap on the back. It knocks the wind out of me.

Steve is laughing when he pulls away and grabs my check from the accountant. “I’ve never seen a six figure check on a trade-in before.” He hands it to me and then turns to get my new SUV. “Just let me prep it and you’ll be ready to go.”

I take the check and put it in my breast pocket inside my coat. “Thank you, but I need to go now, I’m already late. Can you put the plates on it? I can take it from there.”

Steve nods violently, still beaming. “Of course. It’ll only be a moment.”

The owner is back, his face flushed with cold, and hands me a brown paper bag. “Mr. Ryan, here you are, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I take the bag. “Thank you, but no. Steve is putting the plates on the SUV and I’m off.”

He nods and asks politely, “The McLaren keys?”

“Steve has them and already pulled the car into the bay around back.”

“Very well.” The man smiles tightly. “Happy holidays to you.”

“Merry Christmas,” I offer back as I hold up my brown bag and head toward Steve who is kneeling in the snow to put my plates on the new vehicle.