dipped into her refrigerator as Finley slid off her seat. Watching Finley walk to the counter, she grabbed the gallon of milk and pulled it out of the fridge. But before she could reach the counter, Finley had picked up the remote and turned off the music.
She blinked. “I was listening to that.”
“It was stupid.”
“It was a Christmas song.”
“And Christmas is stupid.”
Shannon gaped at her. Not just because she had the audacity to turn off the music without asking, but that was the second time she’d mentioned she didn’t like Christmas.
The temptation was strong to ask why, as she poured Finley a glass of milk, but she wasn’t quite sure how to approach it. Did she say, Hey, kid, everybody likes Christmas. You get gifts. You get cookies. What’s the deal?
As curious as she was, that seemed a lot like interfering and she was just getting accustomed to being around a child. She wasn’t ready for deep, personal interaction yet. Plus, saying she hated Christmas could just be a part of one of Finley the Diva’s tantrums. Or a way to manipulate people.
So, she turned to the counter and began preparing pancakes. A happy hum started in her throat and worked its way out, surprising her. Breakfast was one of the few meals she was well versed in. She could make a pancake or a waffle with the best of them. But it was a happy surprise to be able to be in the same room with Finley without worrying that she’d fall apart or dwell on her inability to have kids herself.
“So where do you go to school?”
“Winchester Academy.”
“Is that a private school?”
Finley nodded.
“Do you like school?”
“Sometimes. Artie Regan brings frogs and scares me. And Jenny Logan beats me to the swing.”
A motherly warmth flowed through her. When she wasn’t demanding her own way, Finley was normal. And here she was handling her. Talking to her. No flutters of panic. No feeling sorry for herself.
The kitchen door opened and Rory walked into the room yawning. “Sorry about that.”
“About what?” Shannon faced him with a smile, but the smile disappeared as her mouth went dry.
His dark hair was sticking out in all directions. His eyes didn’t seem to want to open. A day-old growth of beard sexily shadowed his chin and cheeks. He wore a white undershirt and navy blue sweats that loosely clung to his lean hips.
“About sleeping in. Normally, I’m up—” He paused. “Are you making pancakes?”
“Blueberry.”
“Wow. We should get stranded on an interstate more often.”
She laughed. Laughed. She had a sexy man and a cute little girl in her kitchen and she wasn’t stuttering or shattering, she was laughing.
But a little warning tweaked her brain. Not only was she enjoying this way too much, but it also would be over soon. They’d eat breakfast, pack up the few things they’d brought with them and head out.
She had about twenty minutes over breakfast before she’d be alone again.
Rory ambled to the counter, where the coffeemaker sputtered the last drops of fresh coffee into the pot. “Can I get you a cup?”
“That’d be great, thanks. Mugs are in the cupboard by the sink.”
But as he reached into the cupboard to get the mugs, his arm stopped. “Holy cats!”
Shannon paused her spoon in the pancake batter. “What?”
“There’s got to be two feet of snow out there.”
“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
