Merry Christmas, Baby Maverick!

“I think I should skip the hot chocolate tonight,” Natalie decided. “I have to be up early to open the store in the morning.”

“You were the one who suggested it,” Kayla pointed out.

“I know,” her friend agreed. “And I hate to bail, but there’s no reason that you and Trey can’t go without me.”

Kayla glanced at Trey. “Wouldn’t you rather go to the Ace in the Hole with your friends than to Daisy’s with me?”

“Let me see—reminiscing about high school football with a bunch of washed-up jocks or making conversation with a pretty girl?” He winked at her. “It seems like a no-brainer to me.”

“Great,” Natalie said, a little too enthusiastically.

Then she leaned in to give Kayla a quick hug and whisper in her ear. “I’ll call you tomorrow to hear all of the juicy details, so make sure there are some juicy details.”

Chapter Four (#ulink_d6a0cb62-8f9c-517b-9190-1febde987ea8)

“She’s not very subtle, is she?” Trey asked Kayla, after her friend had gone.

“Not at all,” she agreed. “And if you want to skip the hot chocolate—”

“I don’t want to skip the hot chocolate,” he told her.

“Okay.”

It was one little word—barely two syllables—which made it hard for him to read her tone to know what she was thinking. But her spine was stiff and her hands stuffed deep in the pockets of her jacket, clear indications that she was neither behind her friend’s machinations nor pleased by them.

“Do you want to skip the hot chocolate?” he asked her.

Her hesitation was so brief it was barely noticeable before she replied, “I never say no to hot chocolate.”

Despite her words, he suspected that she wanted to but couldn’t think of a way to graciously extricate herself from the situation that had been set up by her friend.

Was she avoiding him? Was she uneasy because of what had happened between them in the summer? He couldn’t blame her if she was, especially since they hadn’t ever talked about that night. Not since that first day, anyway, before he’d had a chance to really remember what happened.

He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable around him. Aside from the fact that her brother was one of his best friends, Rust Creek Falls was a small town, and it was inevitable that they would bump into one another. For that reason alone, they needed to clear the air between them.

“I’d offer to drive, but I walked over,” he told her.

His grandparents’ boarding house being centrally located, there wasn’t anything in the town that wasn’t within walking distance. Which included Daisy’s Donuts, only a block over from the high school.

“We’ll go in my truck,” she said, because driving was preferable to walking even that short distance in the frigid temperatures that prevailed in Montana in December.

She unlocked the doors with the electronic key fob, and he followed her to the driver’s side and opened the door to help her in. It was a big truck, and she had to step up onto the running board first. He cupped her elbow, to ensure she didn’t lose her balance, and she murmured a quiet “Thanks.”

By the time he’d buckled himself into the passenger side, she had the truck in gear. Either she was really craving hot chocolate or she didn’t want to be alone with him for a minute longer than necessary. He suspected it was the latter.

He wasn’t sure if she was sending mixed signals or if he was just having trouble deciphering them. When he’d stepped out of the community center earlier that afternoon and saw her walking past, he’d been sincerely pleased to see her. His blood had immediately heated and his heart had pounded hard and fast inside his chest. And he’d thought that she was happy to see him, too.

In that first moment, when their eyes had met, he was sure there had been a spark in her blue gaze and a smile on her lips. Then her smile had faltered, as if she wasn’t sure that she should be happy to see him. Which confirmed to him that they needed to talk about the Fourth of July.

As she parked in front of Daisy’s Donuts, he realized this probably wasn’t the place to do so. Not unless they wanted to announce their secret to all of Rust Creek Falls, which he was fairly certain neither of them did.

“Why don’t you grab a table while I get our drinks?” he suggested.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Any special requests?” He glanced at the board. “Dark chocolate? White chocolate? Peppermint? Caramel?”

“Regular,” she said. “With extra whipped cream.”

“You got it.”

He decided to have the same and added a couple of gingerbread cookies to the order, too.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he told her, setting the plate of cookies between them. “Considering that I ate all of your popcorn.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, accepting the mug he slid across the table to her. “But I love gingerbread cookies. My mother used to make a ton of them at Christmastime, but there were never any left when company came over because Kristen and I used to sneak down to the kitchen and eat all of them.”

“You said she used to make them,” he noted. “She doesn’t anymore?”

“She makes us do it now. She decided that since we eat most of them anyway, we should know how to make them.”

He nudged the plate toward her, silently urging her to take a cookie. She broke the leg off one, popped it into her mouth.

“Good?”

She nodded.

“My grandmother used to make gingerbread houses—one for each of the grandkids to decorate. When I think back, she must have spent a fortune on candy, and we ate more than we put on the buildings.” He broke a piece off the other cookie, sampled it. “I wonder if she’d make one for me this year, if I asked.”

“I’m sure she’d make anything you wanted,” Kayla said.

“What makes you say that?” he asked curiously.

“Three words.” She broke off the gingerbread boy’s other leg. “Vanilla almond fudge.”

He smiled, thinking of the plate he’d found on his bedside table—neatly wrapped in plastic and tied with a bow. “She does spoil me,” he admitted.

Kayla smiled back, and their eyes held for a brief second before she quickly dropped her gaze away.

The group of teenagers who had been sitting nearby got up from their table, put on their coats, hats and gloves and headed out the door. There were still other customers around, but no one close enough that he needed to worry about their conversation being overheard.

“Did I do something wrong?”

She looked up again. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I get the feeling that you’re not very happy to see me back in town.”

She sipped her cocoa and shrugged. “Your coming back doesn’t have anything to do with me.”