His Mistletoe Family. Ruth Herne Logan

and Ramir offered a thumbs-up as they left. The young men came through in a pinch when Charlie and LuAnn’s daughter decided to give birth mid-morning. And with the new shopping enterprise recently opened across the street?

      The Crossroads had set record sales figures today. And that was nothing to take lightly in tough economic times.

      Brett had pretty much decided he hated the idea of destination shopping when the fancy merchants’ co-operative began stringing twinkle lights ad nauseam two weeks ago. But when their Black Friday business spilled over to his dolled-up convenience store directly across the two-lane road leading to I-86, he realized he might owe the developer an apology. And a thank you. Except for being a little short on workers, it had been an amazing day. And he’d felt good about being out here. Manning the store. Making special-order fast food along the deli wall.

      He’d do a repeat performance tomorrow because Les Simmons, Charlie’s brother and their regular weekend fill-in guy, had become Allegany County’s first recorded case of influenza, so he’d be unavailable to help this weekend. With Charlie, LuAnn and Les all in absentia, Brett would be hands-on for a couple of days at least.

      Charlie and LuAnn Simmons were friends, employees and pseudo-parents, the kind of folks who made things better by just being themselves. Seeking solitude in his bungalow home behind the store, he’d watched the sales numbers rise over the summer. That was to be expected as travelers and tourists tooled down I-86.

      But now?

      He directed his gaze to the newly-created enterprise perched on the southwest corner. White twinkle lights blinked along the roofline of the former furniture factory’s extended front facade, lighting antique-style cedar shingles with cozy brightness. Small trees winked in similar style, lining a parking lot that had been filled with cars until a short while ago. Customers had buzzed in and out all day, shopping nonstop. And some of those cars needed gas. Other shoppers needed food. Which meant the Crossroads did well.

      The door opened. Brett turned.

      Haley stood framed in the doorway, flanked by the two little boys, and if their expressions set the evening’s tone, she had a long night in store. Tyler looked mutinous and the littler guy... Todd, he remembered...clutched the same scruffy, black stuffed cat that had been a mainstay at dinner yesterday.

      “It’s you.”

      She looked startled to see him, and maybe pleased? Brett hadn’t been out of the game that long. Had he? “It’s me.”

      “Where are Charlie and LuAnn? And Steve? Or Ramir?” She answered her own question before Brett could jump in. “Jess must have had her baby! How wonderful. Oh, tell me, is it a boy or a girl?”

      Her face transformed as she talked about the baby. While babies were all right, he preferred children of the walking/talking sort, the ones who could interact and occasionally amuse themselves. Like the two little guys before him. “It’s a girl. Shelby Rose is her name....”

      “Love it!” Haley beamed. Points of ivory made her eyes gleam, as if she’d stood in the “get sparkle here” line twice. The shine made the night less dark and damp, the persistent November rains less bothersome. She moved forward, smiling. “So they’re helping with Michaela?”

      “Yes. I guess she’s excited to have a baby sister.”

      “Wonderful.” Her smile said she approved, but then she dropped her attention to the boys at her side. “So, boys, what kind of sandwich would you like?”

      “Nuggets.”

      “Me, too.”

      Haley’s face reflected their predictability and her dismay. “The Crossroads doesn’t have—”

      Brett negated her argument with a hand up. “Watch me.” He came around the counter, crossed the store, opened the wall freezer and withdrew a small, white box and hoisted it. “Nuggets.”

      Her look of relief made him feel ten feet tall and he tried not to notice that the forest-green peacoat layered over well-fitted blue jeans and heeled boots made her New York chic in small-town, USA. He decided there was something really good to be said about big-city looks. He directed his gaze down to the boys. “You guys want fries to go with that?”

      “Yes!”

      “Yes, please.”

      Brett bestowed a look of appreciation to Tyler. “You’ve got good manners, son. That’s something to be proud of.”

      The boy’s expression lightened. Brett felt a pull on his heart again. Whatever their story was, these boys had run the gamut, and at a young age. Not fair. Not fair at all, Brett decided as he dropped the nuggets and fries into the fryer baskets. He turned and faced Haley, trying not to think of how her tumble of long, blond curls set off the coat to perfection. He’d have to be asleep or dead not to have noticed them, and he was neither. “And how about you?”

      She shook her head quickly. Too quick, Brett decided, then remembered her back-and-forth with LuAnn yesterday. She was short on funds.

      He wasn’t.

      He leaned over the counter, braced his hands and held her gaze. “I know you’ve got leftovers at home. I’m going to bet that these two refused to eat them for Rory Madigan today.”

      Two guilty looks peeked up from below.

      “And I’m going to surmise that you’ve worked all day and by the time you get the boys home, fed and into bed it will be nearly nine o’clock. So, consider this an order, not a question—what can I make you, Haley?”

      The use of her name softened her jaw. She met his gaze, faltered, then caved. “May I have a chicken salad panini, please?”

      He’d just cleaned the panini press, but yes, he’d make the sandwich for her and clean it again. Without grumbling. “Sure.”

      “With grapes?”

      Did he hear her right? He started to turn when she added, “And chopped walnuts? Please?”

      Fruit and nuts in chicken salad? On his panini grill?

      “Charlie makes it for me all the time,” she went on, and Brett decided right then and there that Charlie might have some explaining to do with the cost of fruit and nuts crazy high this year. He reached for the loaf of Italian bread, but she caught his arm and sent sweet pings of attraction on an upward journey. “Oh, I’m sorry, Charlie always does my chicken salad on the rosemary focaccia bread, but you wouldn’t have any way of knowing that, would you?”

      He wouldn’t because he’d spent the last two years keeping to himself, hiding in plain sight. His fault, he knew.

      But he still meant to have a word or two with Charlie.

      Haley darted quick glances to the pricing side of the lunch-board menu above him as he checked the nuggets and slid her sandwich into the press, prayed and locked the cover. The fryer bell signaled completion. He drained the fries and nuggets, piled them into two separate to-go containers, added dipping sauce, a pack of M&M’s and a juice box.

      Haley’s eyes went round. She tripped over her words. “Um, we have drinks at home. The nuggets alone are fine, really. I, um...”

      He ignored her protests, opened the panini press and smiled. No big mess, and the sandwich looked great. He flipped it onto the counter, cut it in half with a very manly carving knife, then slipped the grilled sandwich into a foam box for her, with a side of chips, her own miniature bag of M&M’s and an empty cup for a drink.

      “Oh, I—”

      He handed the cup to Tyler. “Can you help Aunt Haley get a drink, please?” He turned his attention back to Haley. “I’m guessing she wants a Diet Coke.”

      She looked trapped and torn, but she followed Tyler to the soda bar, helped him hold the cup while she filled it, then let him assist again while they put a lid on it. She bent low and met Tyler’s eye. “Can you carry this for me, please?”