Chapter Eight
T he next few days flew by for Sam. The holidays were filled with nostalgia, and people used it as an excuse for new tattoos and body piercings. It was their gift to themselves. Something they felt they deserved. While he wasn’t sure that was true, Sam wasn’t going to argue with them. He was so close to having enough money for his own shop, after nearly five years of saving. After he’d been screwed over by his former boss and had his savings stolen from him, he was nearly ready to follow his dream and have it realized.
Although other businesses were closed on Thanksgiving, Sam planned on going in to work later, after he finished dinner at the Winters’ house, to handle a couple of his regular clients who wanted some work done. Thanksgiving had never been a big draw for him. He was more of a summer holiday guy. Give him Memorial Day weekend and the Fourth of July where there was outdoorsy fun. Christmas wasn’t so bad, especially since his nephew had come along. He loved to go overboard for Jace, because kids were what made Christmas magical: their belief in the fantasy, and the joy and excitement on their faces.
Soon, he’d have a new little niece or nephew to spoil, and then, when his other friends started having babies, he would get to be the fun uncle to them, too. The cool one.
Why did that sound like such a lame prospect? When they became teenagers, would he still be cool? Or would he be the weird uncle who couldn’t find a girlfriend?
It wasn’t that he set out to avoid relationships. In his early twenties, he’d had a couple of good ones, but he was still figuring out who he was, and the women had been ready for next steps. Suddenly, he was in his thirties and trying to get his dream off the ground before he added anyone else to the mix. When his chance at owning a business crashed and burned the first time, he’d had tunnel vision about getting back on track, and now...
He was the relationship pariah.
Sam sat off to a corner of the Winters’ living room with Pike, drinking a beer and watching the happy members of the Winters family laugh and talk together as they set up for the Thanksgiving meal in the dining room. Although he wasn’t directly related to them, the family had opened their guest house and home up to him with open arms. They were some of the kindest, most empathetic people he’d ever met, and he was thankful that his little brother had found a wonderful wife who made him happy with a supportive family that would make all the difference in his life.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Victoria Winters said, gathering a second plate in her hands. “I promised I would deliver dinner to the station for the officers on duty. It stinks to have to work Thanksgiving.” Victoria looked around the room and asked, “Would anybody be willing to drop these off at the police station for me?”
Maybe Wren was working, and they could chat a little more about what she’d been up to. Plus, seeing her pretty smile would bring a little sunshine to this average day.
“I’ll do it,” Sam called, getting up off the couch and taking the leftover three-quarters of his beer to the sink to dump.
“Great! Thank you, Sam.” Victoria pointed to the beer bottle in his hand. “That’s your first, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I don’t drink and drive.”
Victoria gave him a hug. “That’s because you’re a smart man.”
“You are the only woman who thinks that, but I appreciate it just the same.”
“Oh stop. You just haven’t met the one yet, but when you do, she is going to see all that good stuff you bury under that devil-may-care charm. Do not sell yourself short.”
“Victoria, if you don’t stop flirting with that man, I’m going to run him out of here,” Chris Winters said, standing over the beautiful, brown turkey with a carving fork and knife in his hand.
“I am not flirting with him. I am bolstering his ego after that late-night radio show trampled all over it.”
Sam winced. “You heard about that?”
Chris scoffed. “Course we did. However, Sam’s confidence is bulletproof, so you can stop laying it on so thick. Bad enough I got to deal with him buttering you up all the time.”
Sam chuckled. “You sure you don’t got another single daughter hanging around here, Chris? Because having you for a father-in-law is at the top of my bucket list.”
Declan Gallagher moved his girlfriend, Holly Winters, behind him, fixing Sam with a menacing scowl. “Nope.”
Holly peeked around Declan’s shoulder, her brown eyes sparkling as she kissed his arm. “Declan, are you still worried Sam is going to steal me away?”
“Of course he isn’t,” Sam said, winking at her. “He knows I’m not surly enough for you, but he continues to pretend he’s jealous because it makes you smile.”
Holly smacked Declan’s arm. “Is that true?”
“No! The man is full of bullshit!” Declan’s lips twitched slightly, as if he were fighting a smile.
“Declan, would you be open to being brother husbands?” Sam held his hand out to the other man, waggling his brows. “I’ll marry Holly so I can have Chris and Victoria for parents, and you can have all the benefits.”
“Sam, you do not need to marry into this family to be one of my children.” Victoria finished wrapping the plate she was working on and pointed toward the living room. “Look at Pike and Anthony! They just showed up one day, and suddenly, I had two more boys to love.”
“I love you, too, Victoria!” Pike called out from his perch on the couch.
Chris shook his head, grumbling, “She keeps bringing home strays, and I keep feeding them. Something wrong here.”
Victoria ignored him. “I’ll get these fixed up and covered and you can drop them off.”
“How come you volunteered?” Clark asked Sam, popping an olive from the hors d’oeuvre tray into his mouth. “Does it have anything to do with Wren Little?”
Sam narrowed his eyes at his loudmouthed little brother. “No.”
“Who is that?” Jace asked.
“She was your uncle’s first girlfriend.”
A dozen eyes swung his way, and a few voices whispered, “Girlfriend?”
Sam huffed. “It was high school. No need to make a case about it.”
“How long did you two date?” Holly asked.
“A little over a year,” Sam said.
“I liked her,” Clark said, leaning against the counter. “She bought me this great Spider-Man comic for my birthday.”
“Yeah, you used to follow us around when she came over,” Sam grumbled.
“I guess you got your revenge when Merry and I started dating,” Clark said, wagging his finger at his brother. “Always hovering and making little comments.”
“Hey,” Sam said, holding his hands up. “I was just sticking around to make sure you didn’t screw it up.”
“Gee, thanks.” Clark made a face at his brother while a laughing Merry snuggled into his side, her pregnant belly between them.
“He did kind of help,” Merry teased.
“Don’t encourage him, please,” Clark said.
“I can’t see it,” Holly said, studying Sam like he was a research specimen. “Wren is straight as an arrow. She hollered at Delilah for crossing the street outside of a crosswalk.”
Sam smirked. “Yeah, she wasn’t like that in high school. She liked to break the rules.”
Shit! He could tell by Holly’s wide-eyed gaze she wanted to ask more, but luckily, he was saved by Victoria.
“Here you are,” Victoria said, handing off the stack of plates to him with a smile.
“Thanks, Victoria. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Do you need some help?” Pike asked, and Sam felt bad because he was the only other single guy in the room, but he didn’t need a wingman for this.
“I’m good, bro. Thanks.”
“You won’t escape that easily next time, Griffin!” Holly hollered after him.
“I’m not escaping, Hol. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Hmmm, good, ’cause I have questions.”
Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the front door with the stack of plates in hand, imagining how they were all speculating about his relationship with Wren. Even he could admit that if anyone had been watching them the other day when they stood on the sidewalk outside of Kiss My Donut talking, they would probably assume she was questioning him about something. While he hadn’t been in legal trouble since he was a teen, Sam didn’t make a habit of hanging with cops. Partly because the ones he’d met on the Mistletoe force were just this side of douchey.
He climbed into the car and started it up, thinking about Wren walking down the hall of their high school the first time he’d noticed her, wearing a pair of high-waisted jeans that hugged her hips as she swayed by. The square neckline of the black tank top she’d worn showed off a deep V of cleavage, and he remembered thinking she had to be at least a D cup. She was cursing down the hallway with a female teacher walking behind her, speaking in a low, calm manner that did nothing to stop Wren’s ranting.
Why am I getting dress coded when half the girls in school are wearing the same thing or worse? Just because I have bigger tits—
Miss Little, there is no need to be vulgar.
No, screw that. You’re enforcing an oppressive dress code that punishes women for being tall, curvy, or stacked. You need to ask yourself, Mrs. Pillier, who are you protecting?
As she’d passed by him, Sam couldn’t help giving her a once-over, and she’d returned his perusal with a middle finger.
Take a picture, perv.
Not another word, Miss Little, or we’ll call your father.
Sam took the long driveway out to the main road and turned left toward town, lost in his memories. He’d spent the last week of his junior year asking about Wren, balking slightly when he found out her dad was a cop. Was the tough-girl thing all an act to piss off Daddy?
He’d spotted her that Friday, sitting on top of a street bike parked next to his rebuilt chopper.
I heard you’ve been asking about me.
What can I say? Sam had stopped alongside her, crossing his arms over his chest. You made an impression.
She’d swung her leg over and faced him, her band T-shirt stretched across her impressive chest. Me? Or my body?
Are you going to slap me if I say both?
Wren flashed a grin. Maybe. I guess you’ll have to take your chances and find out.
That was all it took for him to ask Wren Little out, and for the next year, he’d realized that she was more than just the girl who fought the dress code on a weekly basis. She was a complex person who would organize a food drive in the morning and drag him under the bleachers during seventh period. She was as sweet as honey with a fire that could scorch everything around her. The closer Sam got to her, the harder he fell.
When his senior year ended, Sam knew he wanted a fresh start, and he begged her to come with him. She was a month shy of seventeen, and even though she had a year of high school left, he tried to convince her to get her GED and leave everything behind. It was a stupid plan, but he was willing to take on her dad and any legal hassles Sheriff Little threw his way if it meant keeping Wren in his life.
Sam could still remember his body shaking as he stood under the old pine at the Welcome to Mistletoe sign, away from the prying eyes of people driving past. Wren stood quietly, listening to his plan with silent consideration until he finished.
Sam, if I go with you, it will ruin your future. He’ll make sure whatever you’re charged with sticks. I can’t have that on my conscience. Staying together isn’t worth the price.
Those words shattered something inside him, and he’d taken off on his bike before she saw him cry. He’d left a few days later, but by that time, he no longer believed that she was as resolved as she pretended to be about their separation. He ended up hiding a note for her in their spot. He’d told her that he’d be back in a year, right after her eighteenth birthday, and if she wanted to leave with him then, there was nothing her father could do.
Sam had kept his promise and came back, but she hadn’t been here. She’d already left for college in Arizona. There was no goodbye note in their tree. Not a phone call or explanation. He’d realized that what he’d built up in his head as this epic love was just infatuation on her part. She’d moved on with her life without him. So, he’d returned to Oregon, determined to put Wren in his rearview.
Until he lost his savings, and Sam decided to join his brother and nephew back in Mistletoe to start over.
And now Sam and Wren were in the same space again. Was it a second chance for the two of them to, at the very least, have closure?
The police station was at the edge of town, just to the right after the stop sign, and Sam passed by the gated parking lot with an Employees Only sign. Sam took one of the parking spots out front of the station and jogged around to the other side to gather up the plates. His heart pounded a rapid tempo as he drew closer to the front door, wishing he wasn’t so nervous. He carried the plates inside to the police station steps and into the front lobby, where an old guy with glasses hung out behind the reception desk, reading a John Grisham novel. George Willers set his novel down, plastering a welcoming smile over his face when he recognized Sam.
“What can I do for you, Sam?” George asked. He’d been the head of the Agricultural department at the high school when Sam was a student, and while he hadn’t been a part of Future Farmers of America, Sam had loved the welding program the FFA offered.
“I just got some food here for you and the crew,” Sam said, holding up the stack of plates, “if you’re up for it.”
“Well, that’s mighty nice of you. Let me buzz you in,” George said, pressing something under his desk and then climbing to his feet slowly. Sam thought he could hear the old man’s bones creaking and grinding with every step.
“It’s actually from the Winters,” Sam said when George finally opened the door, letting Sam pass through.
“Please give Victoria and Chris my best and thank them.” George waved to a counter on the side of the room with a coffeepot, fridge, and microwave. “You can set them there.”
Sam did as George asked, glancing around the back, but all the desks were empty. “Anyone else here with you?”
George cocked a bushy eyebrow. “That depends. You looking for someone in particular?”
Sam chuckled. “I am, actually. Your only female officer.”
“Of course you are,” George said, wagging his finger at him. “I remember the two of you playing kissy-face before my class and showing up late.”
“Can you blame me, sir?” Sam asked, leaning on the counter.
“No, I don’t. Lovely girl, inside and out.” George pointed his thumb behind him. “She’s just in the back. We had a fight break out over who could cook the Thanksgiving turkey at the Marksons’. She had to separate Tony and Troy Markson, so it might take a few more minutes if you want to have a seat in reception.”
“I can do that.” Sam figured that George couldn’t let a civilian wander around with sensitive case files and such, so he took hold of the door and went back out into the lobby to wait.
“I’ll let her know you’re here.” George shuffled out of sight, and Sam awkwardly paced in the reception area. Would she be irritated about him bugging her at work? Sam figured since he was already there, they could at least have a conversation.
Sam discreetly blew into his hand, smelling his breath. Maybe he should pop into the bathroom and make sure he didn’t have anything in his teeth.
Sam laughed, rubbing his hand over his face. Shit, where was the confident ladies’ man Mistletoe kept talking about?
George reappeared and sat down at his desk, picking up his book. “I let her know.”
“Thanks, George.” Sam sat down, pulling his phone out. He scrolled through his apps, tapping on a dating one he hadn’t checked out in a while. He swiped his thumb through the newest profiles closest to him, and his gaze lingered on one of a woman with her back to the camera in a little nightie, her blond hair falling like a waterfall down her back. He barely got through her tagline before he heard a thump and looked up.
Wren appeared at the back of the room, shutting the jail cell door with a thud. She was heading toward George, releasing a heavy breath.
“I swear, George, the things men choose to compete over is wild.”
“Hmm, don’t throw all men under the bus. Those two have never had a lick of sense.”
Wren laughed. “I believe it.” She finally caught Sam’s gaze, and her face broke into a wide smile. “Hey!”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Sam murmured.
As she stepped through the door and into the lobby, Sam’s gaze trailed over her blond hair swept back away from her face in a tight bun, drawing attention to her flushed, round cheeks and pointed chin. Her face was fuller now, more mature, but her skin was still smooth, her brown eyes large and luminous.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, stopping in front of him with her hands holding on to her vest. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought food for everybody from Victoria and Chris Winters.”
“And then he asked for you specifically,” George said.
Sam’s face burned. “Thanks, George.”
“Just delivering the message.” George picked up his book and called out, “I’m going to grab a plate and take my break. You got the front?”
“Sure, George.” George waved at Sam with his book, and he spotted the old man’s wink before he disappeared.
Sam pointed after George. “That is a good man.”
“He is.” Wren shook her head with a smile. “I don’t know how he reads those crime novels working in a police station.”
“Makes him feel like he’s a part of the action?” Sam suggested.
“Maybe. Thank you for bringing us food.”
“Sure,” Sam said, shrugging. “I was at the Winters’ house, and they asked someone to drop the food by.”
“Well, George and I appreciate it.” Wren waved toward the receptionist window. “Want to come back here and sit with me while I eat?”
“I figured civilians weren’t allowed behind the glass curtain,” he said, grinning.
“Usually not, but you’re with me. Plus, I figured if you try anything hinky, I’ll take you down and cuff you.”
“Hmmm, don’t tease me now,” he said, catching the door when she opened it.
She paused and looked up at him with a straight face and heat in those dark eyes. “I wasn’t.”
Sam’s heart kicked up, staring down at those full lips that curved in the corner before she turned away from him, heading around the corner to the receptionist desk. He dropped the door and followed behind, his imagination running wild as he thought about how much fun getting in trouble with Wren used to be. Would getting in trouble by her be better, especially if it involved handcuffs?
“I was gonna go to my brother’s once I got off,” Wren said, oblivious to the train of his thoughts as she sat down in George’s chair, “but he’s not a great cook. He tries, but I’d rather eat a meal prepared by Victoria.”
Sam took the seat next to her, leaning over her shoulder as she removed the clear wrap. “What if I’d said I made the meal?”
Wren turned, grinning sheepishly. “I may have been a little more skeptical about the edibility of the food.”
“Whoa, why?” Sam asked, aware that their mouths were mere inches apart. “Because I’m a man?”
“Well, my experience and everything I’ve seen on TV tells me that Thanksgiving meals are made by women.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV.” He tsked, disappointed when she faced forward to take a bite of her dinner. “That’s just marketing.”
Wren snorted, pointing her plastic fork at him. “No offense, but I trust a woman who’s won at least ten pie contests in her lifetime over a man who used to burn his campfire hot dog.”
“First, I like them well done,” Sam said, remembering that first camping trip when he’d cooked their hot dogs over the fire, and they’d been black on the outside and cold in the middle. They’d both tried gagging them down and eventually gave up, making a meal out of s’mores and each other. “I am highly offended by your assumption that I can’t cook. People can change.”
“You’re right, but I’m not sure you can,” Wren said, taking another bite of the potatoes.
Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “I am gonna have to prove you wrong, now.”
“Oh, was that an offer to cook me dinner?” Wren asked. Her eyes were sparkling, her voice pleasant and even as she added, “If it was, I might just have to accept it, but if you give me food poisoning, I will tase you.”
Her straight expression was so unreadable, Sam couldn’t figure out if she was serious or teasing him.
“No contaminated food is on the menu.”
“Then I’m willing to take that chance.” She spun the chair toward him, leaning on her knees until he had to widen his to make room. “Your place?”
Sam’s stomach flipped with excitement. “Sure. Any food allergies?”
“No, but I’m not a big Chinese food fan.”
He laughed. “Duly noted.”
“Alright,” she said, those beautiful, full lips spread wide into a joyful smile. “Do you need my phone number? That way you can text me your address.”
“Sure.” Sam pulled out his phone and put in her information as she recited it to him, texting her the address before slipping it back in his pocket and meeting her gaze again. “Would seven tomorrow night work?”
“Yeah, I’m off tomorrow, so that will be great.”
“Awesome,” he said, watching her tongue run along her fork, cleaning up the remaining mashed potatoes before she started in on her turkey. “I can’t believe you still eat one thing at a time.”
“I like to enjoy the individual flavors.”
He chuckled at the same time the phone rang. Wren picked it up, pausing to swallow. “Mistletoe Police Department.”
Sam stood up, and when she looked up, he mouthed, I’m going to go , motioning with his thumb.
She nodded and mouthed, Night .
Sam gave her a little wave and walked through the exit, crossing the lobby to the sound of Wren speaking calmly to whomever was on the other end of the line. He had no idea what had made Wren change her mind about him, but he wasn’t going to question the hands of fate.
Sam bounded out of the station with a hop in his step he’d never experienced before. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He remembered this feeling when he was just a kid any time he got to see Wren.
He couldn’t wait to see if the feelings stuck.