Chapter 25
I pocketed the forty bucks Mrs. Montgomery had given me with a quiet “thank you.” She patted my cheek, her smile friendly.
The basket of apples she’d called me to purchase were sitting on her dining table, ready to be made into what she’d told me was sure to be the “best damn cobbler her family had ever had.”
It’d been a bit nerve-wracking transporting produce while wearing a fancy-as-fuck suit, but I’d managed.
“You off to somewhere fun?” She inquired, following me out of the house and toward my truck. Jason was in the driver’s seat, waiting. And he was…god. I’d never seen someone sexier in all my life. Wearing head to toe black, with hair slicked back, and his scruff missing.
He looked ten years younger.
It was jarring, but…nice, too.
I liked seeing all the different sides he had.
Which was why I’d agreed to go out with him tonight. Despite my trepidation. I wasn’t really a fancy party kind of guy. I could get clumsy, especially when there was alcohol involved. And I certainly hadn’t come to Belleville with a suit.
I could still remember how Jason had made me feel when he’d invited me though, and that helped. That was before I’d driven north and discovered who exactly Santa was.
“I know it’s not…” Jason blew out a breath. “I know it’s weird,” he admitted. “That it’s probably not your thing. But I have to go—and I could use the company. Could use a friend.”
“You said it’s black-tie. I don’t have that. A tie. Or a suit.” My cheeks were hot.
“Leave that to me.”
The next day, when I’d shown up to drop off his daily coffee Jason had swapped me for a bagged suit. Bagged. In one of those fancy cover things that made me sure the thing was expensive. I would’ve questioned where the money came from if I hadn’t already figured it out.
It’d taken me longer than I cared to admit.
But I had.
In between jobs—at the farm, and trying to get things on Jason’s list done before he could—I’d been on a mission to thank my secret Santa.
It only felt polite when he was the reason my life was going so great.
My house was fixed because of him. I’d given Jason a chance, however inadvertently, because of him.
Things were looking up.
The cashed check Jason had given me was sitting on my new dresser in a place of honor. I’d been racking my brain for days, trying to figure out who I could talk to—aside from Jason—that might know who the man was.
I was ashamed to admit how long it took me to realize his address was on the check. A quick Google search had confirmed a few things. My benefactor, whoever he was, lived only a few hours north of Belleville. It’d felt obvious then, to plan a day trip out there to meet him.
When I’d arrived at the wrought iron gate, I’d nearly turned my truck around and headed right back home, two-hour trip be damned. The manor that sat behind the fence at the end of a long, winding driveway was…for lack of a better word, spooky.
Cold and unfriendly, surrounded by a manicured yard, the brick walls and white accents did little to make the home appear anything but ornamental. It wasn’t a home, so much as it was a statement. “Look at how much money I have,” written by every well-placed shrub out front.
The gates were open so I continued up the driveway. A few employees were out, sweeping leaves—despite the fact that snow was sure to cover them up anyway. It felt silly. But who was I to judge?
When I parked, no one came to greet me.
I’m not sure why I expected someone would.
I just…a place like this and you’d think there was a butler or something. Or maybe that was just what movies had led me to believe. It was hard to imagine a man who donated his money to the folks in Belleville living here.
The front door was so large it made me feel small.
Which was not a feeling doors usually caused.
In fact, normally I was worried they were gonna whack my head on the way through. When the massive door swung open before I could knock, I jumped back. The man holding it open was dressed in black, his white hair as perfectly manicured as the lawn.
“H-hello,” I tried, heart skipping a beat.
“Hello,” he responded, detached. “Who are you?”
Was this him? When I’d imagined my secret Santa he’d never been so…cold. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
“I’m Joe,” I said, perplexed.
“What are you doing here, Joe?” He softened a little, probably noting how uncomfortable I was. My hands clenched and unclenched, nervous energy making me feel like my very atoms were spreading thin. “The missus is on her way out the door.”
“A solicitor?” A cold, feminine voice echoed from behind the door. I stepped back, confused, just in time for a woman wearing all white to sweep through the open doorway. “I told you to put a sign on the gate, Grant.”
“I did, ma’am.” Grant looked equal parts amused and frustrated.
Before I could process what was happening, the woman turned to look at me.
Her eyes were a chilly, stormy blue. Her hair nearly the same color as the clothing she wore.
Stark white, and perfectly styled. Mom would’ve been proud, her hair was so big.
She was a hairdresser back home and had spent her life perfecting that sort of roundness.
“Can’t you read?” the woman asked me, eyes sliding over my flannel and stained jeans with interest.
“Of course I can read.” The words were out before I could stop them.
“Then you must not be a solicitor.”
“I’m not.” I stumbled over my words.
“How did you get up here?”
“The gate was open—” I tried.
“Poor timing.” She turned to Grant—the man, I was now pretty sure was a real life butler— “I thought I told you not to open it until my car was right in front of it?”
“The mechanism is broken, ma’am,” he replied patiently. “Remember? We’ve got a mechanic coming next week to look at it. Until then, someone has to go down there to open the gate for you in advance.”
“Right.”
She turned her attention back to me. “You’re still here? Why?”
I’d never felt smaller in all my life.
“I…” I shuffled, throat closing up. I hadn’t felt this wrong-footed in a long, long time. And suddenly…suddenly I wished Jason were here. If he were here he’d know exactly what to say. Hell, he’d probably make this lady his best friend somehow.
“Are you in charge of the Santa Fund?” I asked, voice small.
“No.” Her brow shot up. Face expressive in a way that felt oddly familiar. In fact, everything about her did. My hopes plummeted. So…it wasn’t her. “That would be my son.”
Hopes soaring again, I stood up straighter. “Your son?”
“Yes.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“I don’t know how you got my address, but we’ve already given out the fund,” she sighed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to try again next year.” She strode down the steps, and I trailed after her. The butler’s hand caught the back of my coat, hauling me to a stop.
“No, that’s not—” I tried again. “I’m the one…I’m the one that got the fund.”
She paused at the bottom of the steps, swiveling around to look at me. Her gaze ran over my clothes again, and then my truck. “Then why are you here?”
“I wanted to thank him.” My cheeks were hot. “You. Him.”
Now…that I’d said that out loud my whole idea felt rather stupid.
Why would these people—with their fat wallets and their mausoleum houses—want to talk to me? Maybe their kindness was all a ploy? Something to make them feel better about the wealth they hoarded like dragons.
“Oh.” She blinked. “Well.” Suddenly the ice in her eyes was gone, replaced by what I could only describe as respect. “I’m sure he would appreciate that. He’s sentimental.”
“Is he home?”
“No,” she said. “He hasn’t been home for a long, long time.”
“Do you have his number?” Grant continued to hold my shirt, keeping me from moving—even though at that point I didn’t want to. There was no need to give chase now that she’d stopped long enough to talk.
“I do,” she said. Then, in an act of kindness I hadn’t expected, she pulled out her phone. “Let me pull it up, and I’ll get you sorted.”
“Thank you,” the warmth in my chest came rushing back as I smiled at her.
“Yes, well.” She waved off the gratitude. “I’m a very giving person.”
“Generous,” Grant replied from behind me.
“Always.”
She relayed her son’s number, and I quickly typed it into my notes so I wouldn’t lose it. When she’d finished, she offered me a little smile. “Happy Holidays,” she said, far friendlier than she’d been earlier.
“You too, ma’am.”
Then she was off, heading toward the garage, where I had no doubt something garish and ugly sat waiting for her to drive it.
Grant released me, patting my back apologetically. “Sorry, son. You wouldn’t believe the kind of things people will do when money is involved,” he said. “I can never be too careful. We’ve seen all sorts.”
It was clear he was loyal. I could respect that.
The garage opened and out came a bright red, flashy sort of sports car. The wealthy woman waved as she drove around my truck, peeling down the driveway like a bat outta hell. I watched her go, still dazed.
“Do you mind if I…” I jerked my head toward my truck. “Make a call?”
“Why don’t you come inside?” Grant offered. “It’s cold. You can make the call in the drawing room while I grab us some tea. My apology for grabbing you the way I did.”
“Do you have cocoa?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He must’ve sensed my discomfort. Truthfully, I probably would’ve been better off alone. But it was cold. And it was a long drive back home. Maybe taking a quick break wasn’t the worst idea?
Grant left me alone inside the drawing room and did as he’d said he would.
I tried not to be overwhelmed by the sheer size of the space. The ceilings were a thousand feet tall. Made me wonder how the hell someone could install windows that big. Especially as many windows as there were, baseboards to moulding, overlooking the garden.
The couch was expensive-looking but uncomfortable. Hardly any cushion.