Kisses on Her Christmas List

“That was the eventual predication after we already had eighteen inches.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t look like the snowplow went through.”

She dropped the spoon, hustled to the window beside him. “Wow.”

He turned and caught her gaze. “Even with that big SUV I saw in the driveway, I’ll bet you can’t get us out to a main road.”

Her heart lodged in her throat. Could they actually be forced to stay another day? Could she handle another day?

The answer came swiftly, without hesitation. She couldn’t just handle another day; she wanted another day.

“With all that snow, I’m not sure the main roads are even clear.”

“I’ll check the internet.”

“If the roads are still closed, you know you’re welcome to stay, right?”

“I think we may have to take you up on that.”

Though her heart leaped with anticipation, she pasted a disappointed-for-them look on her face. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She brightened her expression. “I don’t mind.”

Rory nudged his head toward Finley, who sat quietly at the kitchen table.

Lowering her voice, Shannon said, “She’ll be fine.”

“You want to be the one to tell her?”

“What do you say we get a pancake into her first?”

He tapped her nose. “Excellent idea.”

The friendly tap shouldn’t have made Shannon’s heart race, but it did. She pivoted away from him and returned to her pancake batter. They were staying another day as guests. Friends. Nothing more. But being friends meant no stress. No pressure. They could have a good time.

A good time, instead of a lonely, boring weekend.

Who would have thought the day before, when she’d stood trembling with fear over playing Santa’s helper, that today she’d welcome having a little girl spend the day with her?

She ladled batter onto the already warm grill and within minutes the sweet scent of pancakes filled the air.

As she piled pancakes on three plates, Rory found the maple syrup and took the pot of coffee to the table.

Finley eagerly grabbed her plate from Shannon. Without as much as a blink from her dad, she said, “Thank you.”

Shannon’s heart tweaked again. She glanced from happy Finley to relieved Rory. They had no idea how much their presence meant to her. Worse, they probably didn’t realize she was actually glad the snowplow hadn’t yet gone through. Their misery changed her incredibly lonely, probably bordering-toward-pathetic weekend into time with other people. Company for dinner the night before. Someone to make pancakes for. People who would eat lunch and maybe dinner with her.

And maybe even someone to bake sugar cookies with? A little girl who’d paint them with her child’s hand, giving them strokes and color and even mistakes only a child could make. Turning them into real Christmas cookies.

Rory pointed at his pancake. “These are great.”

Finley nodded in agreement. “These are great.”

“Thanks.”

Rory laughed and caught her gaze. “Thought you said you couldn’t cook?”

Her heart stuttered a bit. Not because he was paying attention to her, but because his dark eyes were filled with warmth and happiness. Casual happiness. The kind of happiness real friends shared. “I can’t, except for breakfast. But breakfast foods are usually easy.”

Turning his attention back to his plate, he said, “Well, these are delicious.”

Warmth filled her. Contentment. She gave herself a moment to soak it all in before she reached for her fork and tasted her own pancake.

Picking up his coffee cup, Rory said, “I can’t believe how much snow fell.”

“It is Pennsylvania.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“Well, on days like this, those of us who can stay in.”

“You play games maybe?”

Ah, she got what he was doing. He was paving the way to tell Finley they couldn’t leave. Probably hoping to show her she’d have a good day if they stayed.

“We do. We play lots of games. But we also bake cookies.”

Finley didn’t even glance up. Happily involved in her blueberry pancake, she ignored them.

Rory said, “I love cookies.”

“These are special cookies. They’re sugar cookies that I cut into shapes and then paint.”

“Paint?”

“With icing. I put colored icing on houses, churches, bells—”

Finley glanced up sharply. “You mean Christmas bells.”

Shannon winced. “Well, yes. I’m baking cookies for my family when we celebrate Christmas next week. But it’s still fun—”

“I hate Christmas!”

This was the third time Finley had said she hated Christmas. It wasn’t merely part of a tantrum or even a way to manipulate people. This little girl really didn’t like Christmas.

“Okay. So instead of baking cookies, how about if we play cards?”