The Perfect Christmas - Debbie Macomber [16]
Her bell ringing became a whole lot less enthusiastic.
He looked her slowly up and down. Then he smiled as if to say her waiting days were over; he had arrived. “Hello, there, pretty lady.”
Cassie managed a weak smile in return. “Happy holidays.” This guy didn’t strike her as the charitable type.
“I bet you’re real cold standing out here all by yourself.”
She didn’t respond but his gaze lingered on her, which gave her a decidedly uncomfortable feeling.
“I could find ways to keep us both warm.”
“Ah…actually I’m warm as toast,” she said. An outright lie. She hoped he didn’t notice that, by this time, her nose was probably blue.
A mother and daughter scurried past her. Cassie thrust out her arm and rang the bell as if sounding an alarm during the great San Francisco fire. When the pair resolutely ignored her, she rang the bell using both hands. Still they walked past. In fact, it seemed to Cassie that they went out of their way to avoid her. In other words, she was on her own with the biker.
“We’d be grateful for a donation,” she told him.
“I was thinking you could give me one.”
“Me? What could I possibly give you?” As soon as she asked the question, Cassie realized her mistake. “Forget I asked that,” she said.
“What are you doing after this stint?” he asked.
Cassie could hardly believe this was happening and let her bell-holding hand fall to her side. “Are you trying to pick me up?” she asked incredulously. “You’re old enough to be my father.” She did her best to hide her revulsion.
“Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Yes, I can. Now kindly move along. You’re discouraging donations.” She scowled at him, letting him know she didn’t appreciate that he was cutting into her hourly quota.
He chuckled as though amused. “You have no idea what you’re missing.”
Frankly, Cassie was grateful for the escape. She heaved a sigh of relief when he sauntered off. Her one hope was that when he left the mall he’d use a different exit.
As soon as Mr. Easy Rider was gone, donations picked up. Still, as far as she could figure, Cassie wasn’t even close to making the recommended quota, despite her cheerful greetings.
Distracted, she didn’t notice another man approaching.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he said angrily.
Taken aback, she blinked, then asked, “I beg your pardon?” Obviously he wasn’t the one standing in the cold, ringing his heart out, seeking donations for the poor.
“It isn’t even December.”
“And your point is?” she challenged, which she recognized almost immediately was a mistake. She didn’t want to invite an argument, which she’d inadvertently done.
“Christmas is far too commercial.”
“Ah…”
“Everyone’s got their hand out. I’ve had it up to here,” he said, slicing the air over his head, “with greedy beggars asking for handouts.”
“Greedy beggars?” she repeated, growing agitated. “Don’t you have any compassion for others? Where’s your Christmas spirit?”
“It doesn’t come out until December. Look at these shops! Most of them had their Christmas displays up before Halloween. All they’re after is the almighty dollar.”
“Go complain to them, not me,” she urged, hoping to send Scrooge on his way. “And when you do, say hello to Tiny Tim for me.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“Those greedy shop owners spoil the true meaning of Christmas. And you’re no better than corporate America, stopping people as they’re going into the store. Irritating them with that stupid bell.”
“I’m not asking you for anything. The bell is to remind shoppers of the less fortunate. I didn’t stop you—you’re the one who came up to me. Furthermore…” She halted midsentence as it occurred to her that this man might be a plant of Simon’s, that he’d purposely