Chapter 5 #2
The scarecrow-faced stranger’s interruption—perfectly timed, appearing like a ghost—had changed the entire mood. Maybe that was why she didn’t touch it? Or maybe she really had just been tired?
He considered taking the pie upstairs to her but decided instead to leave it alone.
He was about to leave when he heard something faint from above.
Music.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just soft and distant, filtering down through the old floorboards—the unmistakable twinkle of Christmas music. In July.
Only Ginny…
Amused, Keefe raised an eyebrow, then made his way upstairs, curiosity pulling at him like a thread.
Sure enough, the faint but unmistakable strains of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” floated down through the ceiling.
Curious, he dried his hands and headed further up the stairs. At the top landing, he paused. Ginny was dancing.
She had no idea he was there. She was in her cozy little living room, hair still wrapped in a towel, a mug in one hand and the other held out like she was twirling a dance partner. She shimmied. Spun. Swayed with the music. And then, laughing to herself, she reached up to undo the towel.
Keefe leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, fully expecting her to spot him any second. But she didn’t.
The towel came down. Then, with one swift movement, so did her robe.
“Ginny!” he yelled, spinning around to give her privacy.
Her shriek was followed by a series of loud thuds.
Crash! Boom! Bang! Followed by an “ooof!”
Keefe turned just in time to see her hit the floor in a heap, tangled in terrycloth.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, as he rushed to her side and knelt beside her.
Ginny scrambled to cover up her naked flesh, her cheeks blazing. “I don’t think so. Only my pride.”
“Here, let me help you up.”
She hesitated a moment, then reached for his arm. His skin was warm and solid under her fingers. With a grimace, she pulled herself upright, only to wince sharply the moment her foot hit the floor.
“What is it?” he asked, brows pinched in concern.
“Oh, it’s nothing really. My foot just hurts a little, is all. It’s nothing.” She waved it off with forced nonchalance and took a brave step forward. The pain shot up her leg like a bolt of lightning, and she sucked in a breath through her teeth.
Keefe didn’t miss it.
“You know,” she said quickly, trying to mask the flare of pain with a weak smile, “I probably just need to rest it a little. Would you mind maybe helping me to my bedroom?”
“Of course.”
She slung an arm around his shoulders, trying to ignore the embarrassing proximity.
He steadied her gently, guiding her down the hall with measured steps.
Her weight leaned awkwardly into him, and she was painfully aware of every limping shuffle she made.
At the bedroom door, he helped ease her down onto the mattress, then carefully lifted her legs and swung them up onto the bed.
“Thanks,” she said, clutching at her robe as it gaped around her knees. She smoothed it out and tucked the fabric tightly around her chest.
Keefe sat at the foot of the bed, hands resting on his knees. “Ginny, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t spying or anything. I didn’t really see anything.”
Ginny laughed softly and blushed.
“So…” he began, folding his hands on his lap, “do you always listen to Christmas music in the summer?”
“No,” she said, “But this morning, some magpies were pecking at my window—they really are loud little buggers aren’t they?
One flew off, and then I saw this absolutely beautiful, perfect rainbow stretching across the sky and it just made me so happy.
Which made me think of Christmas. Which made me want to listen to Christmas music. ”
“Makes sense,” he said with a lopsided smile. It didn’t really, but hey.
“Was I playing the music too loud? I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, amused. “Not at all. I’m just sorry I startled you.”
“That’s all right. Really.”
Keefe studied her a beat longer. “Are you sure you’re okay? Does it still hurt much?”
Ginny’s smile faltered. The truth was inescapable—her ankle was visibly swelling, already turning pink beneath the skin. She followed his gaze and let out a small sigh.
“Well, maybe,” she admitted, pointing to her left ankle.
“Where? Here?” He leaned forward, brushing his fingers lightly over the spot.
She flinched. “Yeah. Right there.”
“Does it hurt anywhere else?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“All right. I’ll get you some ice.” He stood, then turned back as she shifted with discomfort. “You stay there. Don’t move.”
Moments later, Keefe reemerged from the kitchen balancing a tray like he was auditioning for a job at the Ritz.
On it sat an ice pack wrapped in a clean towel, a tall glass of sweet tea with a lemon wedge, a warmed slice of cherry pie with a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream, and—because he couldn’t help himself—a small bunch of wildflowers he’d swiped from one of the pub’s dining tables.
They were a bit droopy, but colorful enough to count as a gesture.
He was just stepping into the hallway, feeling rather pleased with his efforts, when the front door swung open without warning.
Nan.
Of course.
She let herself in, as always, like she paid the mortgage. “Hi, Keefe, love,” she chirped, not even pretending to be surprised to see him. “I was just passing and thought I’d stop in, seeing as your lights were still on.”
Her sharp gaze landed on the tray in his hands. She zeroed in on the pie, the flowers, the whole production.
“That’s a pretty tray,” she said, suspiciously. “Do you have a guest staying? I didn’t see a car out front.”
“No,” he said, trying to pivot past her. “This is for Ginny.”
Nan froze mid-step. Her eyes narrowed like a hawk sighting a mouse. Then she jabbed a finger straight into his chest. “Don’t you even think about it.”
Keefe blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Dating Ginny, that’s what!”
He tried to walk toward his office, tray still balanced in both hands. “What makes you think I was considering that?”
Nan followed close on his heels, shutting the door behind them as he placed the tray on his desk. “Don’t play innocent with me, young man. You have that look in your eye.”
“What look?”
“That stupid, smitten, lost puppy look. I’ve seen it before.”
Keefe crossed his arms, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You like Ginny.”
“Of course, I like Ginny. We all like Ginny. That’s the problem. She’s too good for you.”
He raised his brows. “Wow. Thanks. Love you too.”
Nan sighed, her tone softening—just a little. “I mean she’s too nice for you, love. You need a woman who’ll keep you on your toes—and not because she’s tripping over her own feet. Jesus Christ, when I think of all those doxies you used to bring around?—”
“I should think that would make Ginny more appealing, then. You can’t say she’s a…”
“Of course, she’s not!” Nan threw her hands up. “That’s exactly the problem. She’s decent. Sweet. Doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. And you—well, you’ve got a history.”
Keefe sighed and slumped down in the chair behind his desk. “Then who’s the right girl, Nan? If not Ginny, who?”
“I don’t know,” she said, tugging the pie plate closer to herself without an ounce of shame.
“But you’ll know her when you meet her. If you go messing about with Ginny, it’ll only end in tears.
And you’ll be down the best waitress this pub has ever had.
” She paused for effect. “Not to mention your sister will rip off your head and use it for a bowling ball.”
Keefe winced, picturing the scene.
“Hey Soph, Ginny quit.”
“Why?”
“Because I dumped her.”
Cue Sophie launching a meat cleaver at his head. And the terrifying part was—his sister had aim like a sniper.
Nan had a point.
“I know you’re lonely, pet,” she said gently, scooping up the wildflowers and giving them a quick sniff, “but it won’t be forever. The right one will come.”
He didn’t believe that for a second. Which was exactly why he’d asked Sophie to help—he’d never picked the right ones on his own. Every girlfriend he’d had came with baggage, drama, or a mysterious inability to spell “commitment.” Nan was right. He had a type, and it wasn’t “nice.”
“So let me get this straight,” he said, rubbing his temples. “First, you tell me every girlfriend I’ve ever had is a slut, and now Ginny’s too good for me?”
“Exactly.” Nan grinned.
He let out a long, theatrical groan and threw his hands in the air. “There’s no winning with you.”
“Nope,” she said brightly, already halfway to the door. She paused, doubling back just long enough to scoop the pie plate and flowers into her arms. “Now, I’ll be taking these?—”
“Hey!”
“And don’t you go bringing her new ones understand? Now go warm her a fresh slice of pie. Add a bit of whipped cream, too. And bring her some whiskey for the pain not that tea.”
She leveled him with one last warning glance. “But don’t give her any ideas. Understand?”
“Yes, yes. I understand,” Keefe muttered, already turning toward the kitchen again.
“Good,” Nan said sweetly. “You’re a good lad. Just not too good.”
And with that, Nan sailed out of the room, victorious as ever, leaving Keefe alone with a tray full of mixed signals and no idea what the hell to do next.