Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Mabel stood in her kitchen, checking the pot roast that had been slowly simmering for the past few hours, and wondered why she was so nervous.
It wasn’t as if she’d never cooked dinner for a man before—she’d been married for decades, for heaven’s sake.
She’d hosted countless dinner parties, family gatherings, and holiday meals.
Cooking for someone shouldn’t make her nervous.
But this was different. George had come to her home before, but it had always been to drop something off, to pay a quick visit.
He hadn’t usually lingered. And he’d never sat down at had a meal with her before here, just the two of them in her cozy, personal space.
She was aware that it meant something, and she supposed it was alright that it made her nervous.
She’d thought she was past this phase of her life, but maybe she wasn’t. There was excitement in that too, in thinking that she could still have romance and flirtation, this far on in her life.
It felt like another step, just like keeping Rascal. Another step toward what they were building together.
Mabel checked the potatoes, and adjusted the heat under the green beans.
Everything was nearly ready, timed for George to arrive.
She’d set her small dining table with her good China, the cream-colored set with tiny blue flowers that had been passed down to her and would eventually be Vanessa’s, and lit candles as well as decanting a bottle of red wine.
The house smelled like rosemary and thyme and pine from the Christmas tree, a faint scent of cinnamon mingled in there as well, a cozy scent of home and hearth and the holidays.
She’d spent the afternoon tidying up, not because her house was messy, but because she wanted everything to be perfect.
She’d fluffed the sofa cushions, arranged fresh flowers in a vase, and made sure Rascal’s toys were neatly contained in the basket by the fireplace.
Well, mostly contained. The kitten had already managed to liberate a catnip mouse and was currently stalking it with the intensity of a lion hunting a gazelle.
She glanced at the clock. George would be here any minute, and she was surprised to discover that she felt like a teenager getting ready for her first real date.
When had she become this person who fussed over place settings and worried about whether her house was welcoming enough?
She’d never been a fussy person, but now she was suddenly pacing, checking everything one more time.
The doorbell chimed and Mabel smoothed her hands over the forest green sweater she’d chosen—not too fancy, but flattering enough to make her feel confident—before going to answer the door.
George stood on her front porch looking handsome and slightly uncertain, holding a bouquet of red and white roses that made her heart flutter. He’d traded his usual work clothes for dark jeans and a burgundy sweater, and his hair and beard were neatly combed.
“George,” she greeted him, opening the door wider and feeling her nervous energy transform into pure happiness. “You look wonderful. Come in, come in before you freeze.”
“These are for you,” he said, offering her the roses with that endearing awkwardness he always displayed when doing something romantic. “I thought… well, I hoped you might like them.”
“They’re beautiful,” Mabel said, accepting the flowers and taking a deep breath of how good they smelled. “Thank you. You really didn’t need to bring anything, but I’m so glad you did.”
She stood on her tiptoes to give him a gentle kiss. “Let me put these in water, and then we can eat. Pot roast is just about ready.”
“It smells delicious,” George said as he stepped inside, taking off his boots and hanging up his coat while Mabel went to put the flowers in water.
As she arranged the roses in her favorite crystal vase, Mabel could hear George greeting Rascal, who had abandoned her toy hunt to investigate their visitor.
“Hello there, troublemaker.” George’s voice carried from the living room, and Mabel smiled at the affection she could hear in his tone. “Have you been behaving yourself today?”
“Define ‘behaving,’” Mabel called back, setting the vase on the mantel where the roses would catch the firelight. “She only knocked over one lamp, reorganized my sock drawer, and somehow managed to get into the pantry despite the child-proof latch.”
“Impressive,” George said, and Mabel could hear the smile in his voice.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Mabel said, nudging a rattling ball toward Rascal with her toe. “But we have a few minutes if you’d like some wine first.”
“That sounds perfect,” George replied. “I have to admit, I’m a little nervous about being here.” He chuckled. “I haven’t been to a woman’s home for dinner in… well, longer than I care to admit. I’m out of practice with this sort of thing.”
Mabel patted his arm, giving him a sweet smile. “George, this is just me. The same person who pranked you for years and got you to co-parent a mischievous kitten. There’s nothing to be nervous about.” It felt like a bit of a reminder to herself, as well.
“That’s exactly why I’m nervous,” George said gruffly. “Because it is you.”
She felt her heart melt a little as he reached down to squeeze her hand, and then followed her into the kitchen so she could pour them both a glass of wine. “We probably have another fifteen or so minutes before dinner is ready,” Mabel said. “Let’s go sit by the fire.”
They took their wine into the living room, settling onto the couch while Rascal entertained them with her ongoing battle against a feather toy. The kitten pounced and batted and chased with such determination that both Mabel and George found themselves laughing at her antics.
“She’s gotten so much bigger,” George observed, watching Rascal execute a particularly impressive leap. “Remember how small she was when you first found her?”
Mabel laughed. “She’s still convinced she can fit into spaces that are far too small for her. Yesterday I found her wedged behind the cookie jar on an upper shelf, looking completely baffled about how she’d gotten stuck.”
George chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. “I’ve been thinking,” he said suddenly, “about our arrangement with Rascal.”
Mabel’s heart fluttered with a sudden nervous uncertainty. “Oh.” She frowned. “Is something wrong? Are you having second thoughts about keeping her?”
“No, nothing like that,” George said quickly. “Actually, the opposite. Since you’re keeping her, you’re definitely going to need my help. Probably a good bit of it.” He grinned. “So… why not make this all official?”
Mabel blinked at him, shocked, as she tried to understand what it was that he was saying. Surely not…
“We decided to share her already,” she said slowly, “What do you mean?”
“Not the kitten arrangement,” George said gruffly, clearing his throat.
“I mean… I think that… well, I’d like you to be my girlfriend.
But,” he added quickly, fumbling his words awkwardly as always as he tried to explain himself.
“Only if you want to, of course. If you don’t, we’ll keep on as we have been, and—”
“George.” Mabel recovered quickly, warmth filling her chest as she watched him fight his way through his attempts to talk about his feelings.
He’d been doing it more often, but he still had a long way to go.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to ask,” she teased him. “I’ve been waiting for weeks.”
“Oh.” George cleared his throat again, his cheeks reddening. “Well, I’m… that is… I’m glad you’re saying yes. You are saying yes?”
“Yes,” Mabel said, clearly, putting her hands on his cheeks as she leaned in to kiss him. “Absolutely, George Lowery. I would love to be your girlfriend.”
It sounded like something from another part of her life, that label, but she loved it all the same. “I think I’ve been waiting for years, actually,” she said softly, leaning against him as they watched Rascal. “I just didn’t realize it.”
“Me neither.” George covered her hand on his knee with his own, enjoying the moment of peace, the firelight twinkling over the Christmas tree as they sat there with their glasses of wine. “Although I think you were trying to get my attention over the years, with all of those pranks.”
“Oh, and you weren’t, when you pranked me right back?” Mabel poked him teasingly, and George grunted.
“I couldn’t just let you get away with it! And you roped me into helping with the kitten. You wanted to see me more often.”
“You accepted, which means you wanted to see me more often,” Mabel returned, and George chuckled.
“That’s true,” he admitted, leaning in to kiss her. “I’ve never gotten tired of having you around, Mabel Stewart. And I want as much time with you as I can get.”
The words settled between them, tender and honest and full of possibility. Mabel felt her breath catch as she looked at George—really looked at him—and saw all the feelings he’d been hiding reflected in his dark eyes.
“George,” she whispered, as she leaned up to kiss him again… just as a small tabby blur launched itself directly between them, landing squarely on George’s chest with a triumphant meow, claws dug firmly into the sweater.
“Rascal!” Mabel exclaimed, laughing despite herself as the kitten dropped down and settled herself comfortably across George’s lap, clearly pleased with her impeccable timing.
“I think someone’s jealous,” George said, scratching behind Rascal’s ears. “She doesn’t want to share the attention.”
“Well, she is our first child together,” Mabel said with a grin. “I suppose it’s natural for her to be a little possessive.”
George chuckled. “And at our age,” he said with a laugh.
“Just wait until she’s a teenager,” Mabel warned. “I have a feeling teenage Rascal is going to be even more trouble than kitten Rascal.”
As if to prove her point, Rascal immediately began purring loudly, vibrating with contentment as she snuggled up between the two of them, her claws extending to knead at the side of Mabel’s leg.
It wasn’t the most conventional start to a relationship, Mabel thought as she finally went to check on dinner while George and Rascal engaged in an epic battle over the feather toy.
But then again, nothing about her relationship with George had ever been conventional.
It had always been spontaneous and funny and full of teasing and laughter and life, and that, she thought, was what made it perfect.
She’d thought something was missing, this Christmas, and she was certain that she’d discovered exactly what it was. Her life and her heart had never felt so full.
She couldn’t wait to find out what was to come next holiday season.
The series continues in The Sweetest Christmas! Imogen and Lincoln were once high school sweethearts, and their friends are convinced they still see a spark between them. Maybe it’s time for a little Christmas matchmaking…