Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
QUINTON
The tree is up, the not-stolen decorations adorning its fresh boughs. The last element was just wrapped around—the string lights that Maise has loved since she was a baby. I hold the remote out to her, and she flicks the switch.
Nothing happens.
“Oh no!” Maise whines.
“Batteries must be dead. Hang on, I’ll grab some more.” I pass her the remote as I walk into the kitchen, ready to rummage through the drawers. Papers, matches, bottle tops, and enough miscellaneous junk to start a small fire. No batteries.
Hell. This is Maisey’s favorite part of decorating the tree.
“Maise, we need to go and grab some more batteries. Get your coat,” I call as I open the fridge and take stock quick. May as well get the few things on the grocery list while we’re out.
Maise appears with my coat in her hands, hers already wrapped around her and done up, her beanie pulled down over her curly hair, and snow boots over her jeans.
“Come on, Daddy, we need to get these lights sorted.”
All business, my little lady.
I chuckle at her and pull on my coat. We slip out the front door and I pull it shut. Crunching our way over the snow, we load into the pickup truck, and I fire her up. Two minutes later, we’re pulling into the Village Store. Maise is out of the truck before I can kill the engine.
I follow her in as she strides around the small shop, hunting for batteries.
She has them in her hand by the time I find my few items—bread, milk, and eggs.
“Found them, Daddy. You good?” she says, gaze landing on the items in my hands as we round the end of the aisle.
“Someone’s in a hurry to get those ligh—”
I slam into something soft and fragrant.
Maise gasps.
Something hits the floor, a wet sound following . . .
I look down to find a fluster of wavy dark hair awash over—
She’s squatting, cursing under her breath.
Celeste.
Just our luck.
It didn’t take long for the small-town grapevine to be overwhelmed by talk of the prodigal daughter who returned home to her ailing father. And with a few strategic vague questions to my crew, mainly Caleb, I got all I need to know about Celeste Black.
Maise lowers to her knees, trying to help contain the mess of juice and . . . Is that a to-go coffee?
I shelve my items and squat. “Ah, sorry about that.”
Her brown eyes flick up, narrowing when she recognizes me.
“Maybe you should watch where you’re going?” she retorts.
“I was.”
She huffs a breath. “Apparently not.”
The store staff appears with paper towels and a mop and bucket a heartbeat later, and the three of us step back, letting them clear up the mess. But now my items are stranded on the shelf where I left them.
We’ll have to wait.
“You live next door to us,” Maise says with a beaming smile.
Celeste drops her gaze to my daughter’s happy face. “That’s right.”
“Did you want to come over? We’re lighting the tree.”
“On fire?” she says with a smirk.
Maisey cocks a hip. “No, with lights.”
I’ve never been prouder. My girl has sass that could take down a marine.
Celeste fights a smile. Maybe there’s a reasonable woman in there somewhere . . .
“Yeah, no, Maise. We should get back.”
Celeste glances at her empty coffee cup. “I’m just going to . . .”
She wanders off.
And shit, now I feel bad.
Should I?
A small hand tugs at my coat. “Daddy, buy her another coffee. It’s the right thing to do at Christmas time.”
“Is it now?” I raise a brow.
Hers lower as she adds a firm, “Yes.”
Damn me for raising this little lady right. I rub a hand behind my neck, assessing the situation from my vantage point. That is to say, hoping I can stall long enough for Celeste to leave.
No such luck. She grabs up a shopping basket and heads for the fridge section. Most likely replacing the juice she just lost.
“Daddy,” Maise warns.
“Fine, but your lights are going to have to wait.”
“I can wait. It is Christmas time, after all.” She folds her arms, her final gesture ushering me to my doom.
Internalizing a groan, I cross the small shop to where Celeste stands, picking out some of the better winter fruits before placing them in her basket.
“So, ah. Sorry about that, back there I mean. Did you—would you . . .”
What the fuck?
I clear my throat. “Let me replace your coffee?”
It sounds more like a question than an offer.
Celeste doesn’t bother meeting my gaze as she continues picking up apples and turning them over in her hand. “No thanks.”
“Come on, let me replace it.”
“I’m good.” She still doesn’t look at me.
“I realize we didn’t get off to the best start, but—”
She turns, pinning me with her dark gaze. “You think?”
I don’t respond, and Celeste moves on to the vegetable section. Great, she’s going to make it hard.
Fucking Christ.
It’s embarrassing how this woman I barely know gets under my skin so damn easily.
I glance back to see Maise tapping one foot.
Why did I take the proper route and raise a strong, independent girl? It’s currently biting me in the ass. Big time.
“Celeste.”
Not turning back, she sighs, her shoulders rising and falling. “What, Quinton.”
It sounds like a statement, not a question. And my name on her lips takes me by surprise.
“How do you take your coffee, at . . .” I glance at my watch. “Nine at night?”
“I take it alone. Without an annoying man who thinks it’s acceptable to steal an old man’s Christmas tree, without a man who thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to burn his grandmother’s prized possessions at the holidays in front of the town who loved her. It’s—”
I raise a hand, and she stops, snapping her mouth shut.
“I get it.”
“Do you?” She steps forward, basket at her side, stopping with only inches between us as deep browns burn up into my gaze.
Holy fuck, she’s . . .
I swallow as my body livens at her proximity. The first time that’s happened in, well—
I glance at Maise.
That long.
“Done staring? Or is that just another one of your miserable traits?” Celeste whispers.
I let my eyes shutter closed as I take a step back, glad to be out of her space. I think?
“So, no coffee,” I finally say after opening my eyes.
“Nope.”
I retreat, shoulders sagging as I return to a frowning Maisey. “Sorry, kiddo, I tried.”
Her little face twists under disappointment.
I make my way to the shelf I abandoned my items on. Swiping them up, we pay and head out. Almost to the door, Maise stops to pull up her socks that have slipped down in her boots. I make a mental note to buy her new ones as I wait.
We make the door, only to be met with a flurry of brunette waves as I come shoulder to shoulder with Celeste. She rolls her eyes at me before schooling her face into a smile for Maisey.
So the grinch does have a heart.
A little taken aback, I make space and let her through.
Maisey follows her through the door but heads for our truck. I open the door for Maise, and she climbs on up. I set the bag of groceries in the footwell before closing her door.
Rounding the front of the truck, I spot Celeste in Hank’s old pickup they took to Maple Acres.
She’s on her phone, the screen illuminating her face, the angles accentuated in the blue-white light.
She’s all elegant cheekbones and pretty, pouty lips.
Her hair tumbles over her shoulder as she tugs her bottom lip in between her teeth in what I imagine is concentration.
“Daddy, the lights?”
“Oh, sorry. We’re going.”
Maisey’s gaze strays to where mine was planted a second earlier.
She smiles as she presses her palm to the window. Outside, snow starts to flurry around the small convenience store. Our cue to get home.
I start up the truck and shift her into reverse.
Maisey’s stare bores into the side of my face.
“Okay, what?” I say, eyes on the road.
“She’s pretty, Daddy.”
“Who?”
“Really?” Her arms fold across her chest.
“Celeste?” I say, feigning ignorance.
“Yes, Celeste is pretty.”
“Not as pretty as my favorite little lady.” I wink at her.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re getting old.”
“What? No, I’m not.”
“Obviously you are if your eyesight has gone already.”
Jesus.
I chuckle, not even getting a chance to stifle it. My girl is perceptive as hell. And Celeste is . . .
Well, Maise is right about one thing—our new neighbor may be a complete pain in my ass, but she’s stunning. I’ll give her that.
Since it’s Christmas.
Yeah, that’s it, a Christmas nicety.
By the time we get home, the snow is falling in steady waves. I help Maise out of the truck and head upstairs with our few items. After shucking our boots, Maise makes a beeline for the tree while I put the eggs and milk in the fridge, leaving the bread on the counter.
Food stored away, I wander to the living room to find an almost bursting Maisey, remote in hand. The room is dim, ready for the big moment.
“Ready?” she squeals.
“Ready, kiddo.”
“Countdown! Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four . . .”
I take over. “Three, two . . . one . . .”
“Merry Christmas!” we holler at the same time she flicks the switch, and the room comes alive, the tree blazing in every hue of the rainbow. The star on top emits a warm golden glow, dousing the ceiling.
I wrap my arms around my daughter, and she climbs me like a tree as she twists in my hold. “Isn’t she so beautiful!”
“She is. You did so good.”
She snuggles into my arms, her head dropping to my shoulder as she yawns.
“Bedtime, clever girl,” I whisper.
“No . . .”
“Maise, you have school in the morning.”
“Fine. But remember I went to bed without a fuss even after staying up so late.” The second the words leave her mouth, she looks sheepish.
Shit, it’s late.
I’d been so caught up in the tree and the incident at the store, I lost track of time.
I narrow my eyes at her playfully. “Noted.”
“You mean it? Can I stay up later on the weekends now?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Yes!” She claps her hands together and I carry her up the stairs. She may be fiercely independent most times, but at the end of the day when she’s tired or when she’s scared or hurt, she’s Daddy’s little girl.
And knowing how fleeting the years we get to spend with our children are, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I plan on making every moment count while she still needs me.
I make the last step, and her head lolls.
She’s asleep already. I lay her on her bed, removing her coat and jeans and tucking her into the warm covers. I dot a kiss to her forehead and pad downstairs to lock up and turn out the lights.
At the front door, I flick the locks. Just before I turn back, lights swing into Hank’s driveway. His truck pulls up, the engine idling for a moment before it splutters out.
Celeste steps down from the truck, her groceries in hand.
Snow litters her dark hair in a stark contrast. She slams the truck door and trudges through the snow and up onto the front porch.
The outdoor light comes on automatically.
I’m glad it’s still working. It was one of the first things Marie asked me to help out with after we moved here.
As if sensing me lurking and staring like the damn creep I’m being, Celeste turns and glances at my house.
I swear our eyes meet, and I back away from the door.
Hank’s front door slams. I chuckle, but there’s no humor left in it, just an overwhelming realization that I’m at a crossroads that I have no idea how to navigate.
And the sight of Celeste burns into my frozen mind as I pad up the stairs toward the end of another long, exhausting day as a single parent, business owner, and world’s shittiest neighbor.
I should try to fix that.
It’s Christmas time, after all.
My gut flips at the thought of being near Celeste again.
But I can only imagine the fire I’ll come under from Maise if I don’t try to give this new neighbor thing my best effort.
She’s all heart, my girl, even more so at Christmas.
Her current excuse for every damn thing she wants me to participate in.
Fucking Christmas.