Baby Kate gurgles and meets my eye, like even in infancy she knows to apologize for her mother’s taste in Christmas decorations.
My chest tightens at the sight of the baby’s ruddy, round cheeks and upturned nose. She really is a cute little thing, made even cuter by the unexpectedly dark puff of red hair peek-a-booing out from under her knit hat.
I’ve never thought much about having kids. I mean, they were always somewhere out there on the radar, but too far away to ever become very real to me. There was always work to do on hotel repairs, or paperwork to complete, or guests to book. My whole life has become the Little Haven Inn.
But seeing Baby Kate right now and thinking about how much she looks like her uncle despite their differing hair…
I swallow. Hard.
It is certifiably insane to picture what your kid would look like with a guy who isn’t even your boyfriend. In the back of my brain, an all-too vivid memory of sophomore year plays out, when Kristine Allan named all the characters in our third period short story project after the cutest boys on campus and made all of them have a crush on “Kaylene Aaron.” I amnotthat girl.
Still, I can’t help how my chest tightens and a stupid smile plays across my lips. I cross my eyes at Baby Kate, excitement washing through me when I earn a spitty giggle.
Buzz.Buzz.
I fumble in my pocket for my cell phone.
“Excuse me, miss!” Lindsey is flagging down an employee on the other side of the store. “Do you have this Santa in a miniature? Maybe somethin’ we could string up around the lights?”
Lord. I smile to myself again as I finally retrieve my phone and glance at the screen. My stomach immediately tightens, and not for the sweet reasons I felt when I was watching Baby Kate.
Offices of Jenson, Brudnicki, and Carlson.
I grit my teeth and click on the call.
“Mr. Jenson. Good morning.”
“Molly Moore, a very good mornin’ to you.”
In person, Rufus Jenson looks not too unlike the portly Santa Lindsey is hoisting around the store after a very harried-looking employee. He’s large and round, with a snowy beard that reaches down to his shirt collar. He’s congenial, really, and I’d probably like him a lot if it wasn’t for the nature of our relationship.
I sigh and pinch my nose, wishing that for once Rufus’s slow, soft Southern drawl sounded a bit more biting and to-the-point to reflect how I feel inside.
“Is it Creston Hotels again?” I ask him. “They’ve called to apply more pressure because I didn’t get back to them last week. It’s just that I’ve got this plan to raise the funds I’ll need and I’m sure I can put off a buy-out for a little longer…”
Rufus sighs, and I know in my gut that’s not a good sound.
“Darlin’, your payment didn’t come through to us last week. And you know I’ll keep you on as long as you need. We’ll work somethin’ out. But it’s not rightly a good sign, is it? And Creston called to up their offer again. It’s generous, sweetheart. You might consider—”
It’s the “sweetheart” that does me in. Rufus is good to me and he means well, but I can’t abide the idea that anyone thinks of me as some helpless little girl in over her head with her grandmother’s inn. I can do this. Iwilldo this.
I grit my teeth and shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “Give me until my Christmas party next weekend. You’re invited, Mr. Jenson. Hell, bring the whole firm. And bring your pocketbooks, too, because—”
Rufus sighs again. “Course, Miss Moore. We’ll be there ready to wine, dine, and sign the dotted line for you.”
There’s a pause in our conversation, a lull that leaves my stomach churning and fist clenched around my phone.
“But I still believe you should think over the offer,” Rufus says. “I’ll have my gal forward you the documents now. Just check your email, Molly. Think about it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jenson. I’ll see you at the Christmas party.”
I hang up the call, clutching the phone to my chest while I close my eyes for a moment.
More pressure. There’s always more pressure. It’s mounting and mounting, piling around me like the snow drifts in Little Haven.
The high I was feeling after my night with Gray Smith has dampened just a bit. Maybe I need to buckle down and focus a little more on picking up decorations with Lindsey. I need this bash to be worth every penny I sink into it.
I hold out my arms for Baby Kate as Lindsey stands on tiptoe to reach a box containing a house-sized blow-up Grinch.