I chuckled.
Bryce apologized. “I’m really sorry. I’m new at this wrapping thing.”
“Look. I don’t mean to be a dick, but I’m late in picking up my son. I only have him tonight. Then I have to take him back to his mother’s for Christmas with her and her new husband. It’s hard enough competing with them, and now you’re eating into my time with my son. So, I’m a little frustrated.”
Bryce nodded. “Are you a single dad?”
“Yeah…” he muttered.
Bryce looked him in the eyes. “It’s not easy, is it? My parents were divorced, too, and my dad did the best he could making his house a home for me. I wish I could go back and tell him that he didn’t need to worry. That he was always enough for me. He didn’t need to go over and above to constantly prove himself.” Bryce handed the man the bear that had crinkled paper all around it and said, “If no one else tells you this, you heard it from me. You’re doing a good job, sir. You’re a good dad. And your son is lucky to have you.”
Jesus. This behemoth man looked like he was about to cry like a baby. With red eyes, he took the misshapen package from Bryce before slapping a ten down on the table. He wiped his lids. “Thanks, man, I really needed that.” He sniffled.
“My pleasure,” Bryce said. “Have a Merry Christmas.”
I shook my head as we watched the man walk away. There was a lull now with no one waiting in line on either side of the table.
“Mr. Disingenuous strikes again. I’ve got to give you credit. You can apparently pull anything out of your ass.”
“Unlike my supposed attraction to the green-eyed woman, that was totally real. I meant every word,” he said. “I could tell the guy was stressed, and deep down it had nothing to do with my wrap job.” He turned to me, his eyes lingering on mine. “You know what? I can see the same stress and worry in you. You want nothing but the best for your son. That’s why we’re here in this dumb little competition.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, unable to argue with that. “Is it your son you’re trying to get the toy for?”
“No. Just a boy I know who deserves it. I don’t have kids.”
“Oh.”
“Are you married?” he asked.
I hesitated, then said, “My husband passed away a few years ago.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He was silent for a bit, then said, “We never really properly met. Let’s start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Bryce Holloway.”
I took it. “I’m Holly.”
“Holly Holloway.” He chuckled.
“What?”
Did he just put our names together?
“The combination sounds like something a movie star would be named,” he said.
“More like a small-town weather girl.” I chuckled.
“Cornily fantastic name.” He laughed. “What’s your actual last name?”
“Johanssen.”
“Swedish?”
“Yes.”
“That explains the Nordic beauty.”