Her Favourite Holiday Gift. Lynda Sandoval

      The ding of the entry bell announced another lunchtime arrival. Eric glanced over his shoulder just as the swoosh of the door brought in a gust of cold along with Colleen, her alabaster cheeks cottoncandy pink from the weather, raven hair flecked with fat, white snowflakes.

      Their eyes met.

      His heart stuttered.

      She dropped her gaze.

      He took a slow breath and resisted the urge to wick away the snowflake that had landed, shimmering and perfect, on her left cheekbone. He could make out the unique design of it, and against the backdrop of Colleen’s face, the effect staggered him. Swallowing past this unexpected, unwanted, unnerving visceral pull toward her, he said, “They’re cleaning a table.”

      “Fine,” she said, unknotting a cornflower-blue cashmere scarf that matched her eyes and shrugging out of her tailored gray tweed coat. As she stuffed the scarf inside one coat sleeve, she added, “Parking’s a real joy around here,” in a wry tone.

      “Just like always,” Eric said, utterly distracted by the snowflake melting on her perfect cheek. “Did you have to walk far?”

      Her gaze, wary as ever, met his for one quick moment before darting away. She draped her coat over one arm and shrugged her handbag higher on her shoulder. “It wasn’t a problem.” Fully melted, the former snowflake trickled down her cheek like a teardrop. She brushed the moisture away, unaware of his fixation on it. “How about you?”

      “What?” He pulled himself back into the conversation, if you could label their lame, superficial exchange as such. “Oh. No. I’m right out front.”

      “Still have that legendary Nelson parking karma then.”

      “Something like that,” he said, surprised that she’d remembered. For some reason, whenever he envisioned the perfect parking spot, it always appeared for him. It’d been that way since he’d gotten his license at sixteen, and a source of great envy and many conversations among his law-school classmates years ago.

      But whatever. This small talk was the worst.

      He’d never been a pro at it, and never with a woman like Colleen, who threw him so totally offkilter. He wanted to ask what happened between them. Wanted to know if their single night together had been as life-affirming for her.

      He wanted to touch her.

      None of that was going to happen, though, and they had to converse. He cleared his throat. “Do you eat here often?” Had he seriously just asked that? He resisted the urge to cringe. That ranked high on the dumbest questions ever asked list. Maybe he was just like those cleavage-obsessed teenage boys at the Navy Pier.

      “Not really,” she said, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. “I live nearby.”

      He nodded, unsure what to say about that. He lived nearby, too, but he ate here at least four times a week. Was it a male versus female thing, or was that sexist? He wondered if cooking was a hobby and she preferred to eat at home, or if she packed a lunch. He wondered how she lived her life. He wondered, simply wondered, about Colleen Delaney.

      Clearly, she didn’t have much to add, and he didn’t know where to go in the conversation, now that they’d skipped from point uncomfortable to point awkward. Did he really want to take another leap to point excruciating? They waited, shoulder to shoulder, in pregnant silence until the elfin blonde bopped up and led them to their corner booth.

      Safely behind menus on opposite sides of the table, Eric breathed more easily. He glanced up at Colleen. “How’s your mother?”

      Colleen blinked, as if startled by the intimacy of the question or the fact that he’d give a rip in the first place. Something. “My mother?”

      “Yeah. You know, she’s that woman who gave birth to you back in the day?”

      Colleen ignored his quip. “She’s fine. Well, getting better finally.”

      “Was she ill?” He set his menu aside, knowing he’d order the French Dip, like always. Perusing the menu at The Chambers was purely habit.

      Colleen shook her head. “Not sick, really. She had a knee replacement. Injured it trying to surf with her last boyfriend,” she added, her tone acidic.

      “That’s awesome.”

      “If you say so. I moved her into my place to recover, and now we’re apparently permanent roommates.”

      “Wow.” He thought about any member of his family moving into his serene, lovingly restored greystone Victorian, and one word came to mind—hives. “How’s that working out for you?”

      Eyebrows raised, Colleen set her menu on the edge of the table as well. “I’m not sure. She drives me crazy half the time, rearranging my kitchen utensils, putting my clean laundry away in spots where I can’t find it, nagging me about working too hard.” She hiked one shoulder, and the tenor of her voice changed. “The other half, it’s nice to have her there, I suppose.”

      “Welcome to the definition of family.”

      A moment of silence descended. Colleen tugged at her cuffs, uncrossed and recrossed her legs, cleared her throat. Finally, she asked, “And your family?”

      “Pretty much the same as the last time we talked.” Which had been…wow…a long time ago. “Mom and Dad still live out in Schaumburg and expect us all there promptly at six for Friday-night dinner, no excuses.”

      She spared him a half-smirk. “Your least favorite night of the week still?”

      He tilted his head to the side. “You remembered.”

      Ignoring that, she asked, “And your brothers?”

      “My youngest brother, Brian, settled down not too far from them. The other three are here in Chicago. Working, one-upping each other at every turn, the annoying norm.” He often wondered how he’d grown up to be so different from his ultracompetitive family. They could—and did—debate about everything from gold values to golf to global warming, with the single-minded goal of winning, no matter what. And when he didn’t want to debate, which was often? They goaded him. Like rabid dogs.

      “Married?”

      Eric assumed Colleen wasn’t asking about him. “Only Brian. He works with my dad at the store.”

      “A sporting-goods store, right?”

      “Yep.” He formed two L shapes with his hands and thumbs, as if framing the sign that had hung on the main drag in Schaumburg since he could remember. “Nelson Sports and Hunting. Still running strong.”

      “Good for your dad.”

      He watched Colleen tilt her head to the left, which always meant she was thinking, calculating.

      “Now, wait. Isn’t Brian pretty young?”

      “The ‘oops’ brother?” Eric nodded. “Yes, twentyone. And Melody—that’s Brian’s wife—is only twenty. She works as a receptionist at a small law firm in the city and she runs some idiotic gossip Web site on the side. Typical twenty-year-old.” He reconsidered his judgmental comment at the slight shocked widening of Colleen’s blue eyes. “I could’ve phrased that better. The idiotic site will be a good source of income, I guess, when the baby comes. Oh, they’re expecting, Brian and Melody. My mother’s losing her mind with happiness. A baby. Extended family. New Nelson generation and all that.”

      “That’s…nice.”

      “Yeah, all I can think of is Brian becoming a father the same year he’s legal to drink. Crazy.”

      “That is…wow.” She sat back. “They’re young. Are they ready for parenthood?”

      “Do they have a choice at this point?”

      “True.”

      The conversation felt so casual, it lulled Eric into