Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [30]
At Charles’s gruff reply, she creaked open the door just enough to peer inside. “I made breakfast if you’re interested.”
“Breakfast? Oh. Yeah, sure.”
She didn’t need to ask him twice. Maybe half a minute later, Charles joined her at the table. He stared down at his plate, eyes widening as if this was the most delicious meal he’d seen in years.
He sat down and sampled the omelet. “You cook like this all the time?”
Faith wasn’t sure what he was asking. “I know my way around a kitchen, if that’s what you mean,” she said cautiously.
“Every meal?”
“Not always, but I do enjoy cooking.”
He ate several more bites, pausing between each one, a blissful expression on his face. “You’d be willing to leave me alone to do my work?”
“If that’s a question, I suppose I could manage to keep out of your way.” She’d begun to feel hopeful—maybe they could compromise.
He studied her narrowly, as if to gauge the truth of her words. “In that case you can stay. You prepare the meals, make yourself scarce, and we’ll both cope with this as well as we can. Agreed?”
Faith doubted he knew how gruff and unfriendly he sounded. However… “I could do that.”
“Good. I’m here to work. The last thing I’m interested in is Christmas or any of the festivities that seem to have taken over this town. Tell me, are these people crazy? No, don’t answer that. Just leave me alone—except for meals, of course.”
“Fine.”
“I want nothing to do with Christmas. Got that?”
“Yes.”
She had no idea what kind of work he was doing, but she’d gladly keep her distance. As for the Christmas part, he’d certainly made his point and she didn’t need to hear it again.
“I’ll probably have my meals in the den.”
“Fine,” she said again. As far as she was concerned, the less she had to do with him, the better.
Charles set his fork next to his plate and seemed to be waiting for something more from her.
“I’m willing to make the best of this situation if you are,” she finally said. Neither was to blame. They were the victims of a set of unfortunate circumstances.
He nodded solemnly as if to seal their agreement. Then he pushed away from the table and stood. “I will tell you that this is one of the best omelets I’ve had in years.”
She smiled, pleased to hear it. “Thank you.” Then she hopped up from the table, taking her plate and cup. “What time would you like lunch?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Okay, I’ll let you know when it’s ready. Fair enough?”
“Certainly.” He sounded distracted and eager to get back to his work.
“I’ll pick up the groceries,” she offered. “It’s the least I can do.”
His eyes brightened. “That would be appreciated. Just be careful of the goat.”
“The goat?”
“Never mind,” he muttered and returned to the den.
THIRTEEN
Bernice Brewster slept well for the first time in three days. At her age, she shouldn’t be worrying about her adult children, but Charles was a concern. For that matter, so was Rayburn. Thankfully her older son had taken her apprehensions to heart and traveled to Boston to check on his younger brother.
Naturally there was a perfectly logical explanation as to why a woman had answered Charles’s phone. She should’ve realized her sensible son wouldn’t have some stray woman in the house. Charles was far too intelligent to be taken in by a gold digger. Granted, she’d like nothing better than to see him with the right woman—but there’d be nothing worse than seeing him with the wrong one. Like that Monica. Well, she was a fool and didn’t deserve Charles.
Fortunately, Bernice now had the phone number in Washington State where Charles could be reached. She leaned to ward the telephone and dialed.
One ring. Two.
“Hello,” a female voice answered.
“Hello,” Bernice responded, a little uncertainly. She must have written the number down incorrectly. There was only one way to find out and that was to ask. “This phone number was given to me by Emily Springer. Is Charles Brewster there?”
The woman hesitated. “Yes, but he’s unavailable at the moment.”
Bernice swallowed a gasp and before she could think better of it,