A Lot Like Christmas

“No, no.” He leaned in to inhale. “I’ll just have to get used to being hungry whenever I’m around you.”

The word hungry came out low and he suddenly wasn’t discussing pie anymore. Gone was the asexual, big-brother amusement in his gaze. She felt them both sink into the physical moment, their nearness, the longing they’d once shared back full force.

The air seemed to tremble between them, like heat off a summer sidewalk. Caramel sparks flashed in Chase’s coffee eyes.

The moment stretched out, brimming with inappropriate possibilities. All good sense fled in the face of this electric pulse. There was something about Chase.

Maybe the way he looked at her, really looked.

Whatever it was, she felt the same wild yearning. A first crush hits hard and locks on, but to feel the same eight years later? She’d had boyfriends. She’d had good sex.

Some people just ignited each other, right? This kind of thing didn’t happen every day, did it? It was startling and remarkable and she could see Chase was struggling, too.

He snapped to abruptly. “Anyway, you smell good, kid!” He rubbed the top of her head, then backed away and stood, wearing the goofiest look she’d ever seen.

Kid? He’d called her kid? And ruffling her hair was somehow worse than patting her back, the way he had so long ago. What a jerk.

She grabbed the printout, stapled the pages and headed over to where he’d gone—the old gray steel file cabinet. He pulled open the top drawer. “God, I typed these labels when I was in high school. I used to file for Mom after school.”

“Yeah. I remember seeing you. Starr used to let me play with the adding machine.”

“You hung around here a lot when you were little.” He turned to her, his arm on the top of the cabinet, fingers skimming the file tabs of the open drawer.

“Sure. I always loved the mall. We even have the same birthday. April 15, 1980. I was born at eight thirty-five and the mall opened at nine.”

“You know the exact date and time?”

“Desiree figured it out.”

“You call your mom Desiree?”

“She asked me to. After she’d been gone a while. Because of all her craft shows, she left me with my grandparents when I was seven. She used to bring me here while she hung out with Starr.”

“They were childhood friends, right?”

“Yeah. Desiree and I had our best times here, visiting all the stores, making little purchases, snacking at the food shops.”

“I remember you in the candy store one day. I was a freshman, so you must have been what…?”

“Eight. I remember.” Vividly, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Not after he’d called her kid.

“You were spending your allowance, I think.”

“Not allowance. Income. I earned that money emptying shoe boxes at Tracer’s Department Store.”

“Yeah? Anyway, I remember you had a fishtail sticking out of your mouth and your lips and teeth were bright blue.”

“Gummi sharks, right. You laughed at me.”

“Of course. You were this feminine little thing in a lacy dress brutalizing that poor fish.” Chase grinned. “You asked me to hand you down a lollipop that was as big as your head.”

“It was the best value. More candy per penny.”

“That’s pretty shrewd for an eight-year-old.”

“I had fifteen whole dollars and I wanted them to last.”

“So strict. Didn’t I try to buy it for you?”

“I couldn’t let you. Starr kept giving me things she claimed were discards and Grandma didn’t want me spoiled.”

“Knowing my mom, she meant you to have whatever she offered. She loved to give away stuff. That was part of owning the mall to her—sharing what she could.”

Sylvie’s throat tightened as she thought about Starr and those lovely days. “In a way, we grew up here, you and I.”

“This was always Mom’s place.” The words came out flat and he shoved the drawer closed with a sharp clang, like a jail door slammed between them. “Anyway, I hated filing. Mom would tell me even dream jobs have boring parts. I never bought that. I still don’t.”

“Yeah? Your work is exciting every day?”

“Always something new. That’s how I like it.”

“I can imagine,” she said, hoping he found mall work as dull as dirt. “And your project here—Home at Last—that’s exciting, too?”

“Very much so. The architect, builder and lenders are donating their services or cutting their rates to make this work. If all goes well Nadia’s son will be one of our first clients.”

“Nadia? Your housekeeper?”

“Yep. Her son Sergei and his wife and two little girls have been living with Nadia since they lost their home in the crash.”

“Wow. So it’s great that you can help them.”

“If it works out, yeah.” There was a light in his eye while he talked about this. He clearly would rather be there than here. That was a good sign for Sylvie, too. “So how about breakfast? Can I treat you to one of Sunni’s cranberry scones?”

“We should go over the Black Friday promotion, which I had to skip yesterday.” But Chase had a boyish, eager look that Sylvie couldn’t ignore. “I guess we could start with rounds.”

“Rounds? What, like in a hospital?”

“Exactly. The manager is kind of like a doctor. You keep your finger on the pulse of all the stores, triage the problems, offer cures. You’ll want to visit every tenant at least twice a week, maybe more, depending on what else is going on.”

“Twice a week for a checkup? That’s a lot.”

“Early diagnosis is crucial. If we keep the tenants happy and successful, they stay on. As the manager, you’re their friend, priest, therapist. Sometimes even parent. The owners will want to confide in you.”

“And complain?” he asked.

“That’s mostly my department. The AC’s not cool enough, the roll-up gate is sticking. All the building issues are mine. Utilities, maintenance, security. Capital requests, too, since I do all the budgets.”

“My job is handholding?”