Holiday in Your Heart by Susan Fox

what you’d like your life to look like?”
    â€œI think I gave up the right to do that,” he said gruffly.
    She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “And I think that you’re not as bad a person as you think you are.”
    His eyes widened in surprise. So she hadn’t completely written him off? “You’re a generous woman.”
    â€œI’m an optimist.”
    Which made her his opposite. Not that he didn’t already know that. She was vibrant, caring, domestic—qualities that put her on the opposite end of the spectrum from him. Although it still surprised him that she wasn’t married with kids, he’d noticed those photos on the fridge. She had a bunch of friends, close ones. He’d also bet a month’s pay that she’d have a pack of guys chasing after her. Which made it all the more strange that she’d flirted with him.
    But his purpose in being here tonight wasn’t about flirtation, as appealing a prospect as that might be. “Does that mean you think it’d be okay for me to contact Brooke and Evan?”
    Her eyes narrowed in thought. “It means . . . how about this? Let me sound Brooke out.”
    â€œYou mean tell her I’m in town and see if she’s willing to see me?”
    â€œSomething like that, I guess. I need to make a hair appointment anyway.”
    Her hair looked awfully pretty to him, but women had their own ideas about that kind of stuff. “I’d be much obliged,” he said. “You can reach me at Hennessey’s.” No point in owning a phone; the only people who wanted to talk to him were telemarketers.
    He stood. “I’ll be on my way now.” He didn’t belong in this homey room, with all those photos on the fridge. He didn’t belong with this woman who was so generous and beautiful, who had a full life that was the opposite of his.
    She remained seated. “Where do you live?”
    â€œOver on Cottonwood Drive.” Hank had told him about a pair of eightysomething women, a married couple, who had a studio apartment in their house. Mo’d been skeptical that they’d want to rent to a guy like him, but Ms. Haldenby and Ms. Peabody had checked his references, laid down some rules, and then welcomed him.
    â€œThat’s a ways.” Maribeth rose. “I’ll give you a ride.”
    He shook his head. “Thanks, but I won’t take any more of your time. I’m used to walking. I like it.”
    She studied him. “You’re a mechanic and you once had a motorbike, and now you don’t have any kind of car?”
    â€œDon’t need one.” He’d always loved the feeling of a powerful machine, whether it was a Harley, a sports car, or a Jeep. But he didn’t need one, and so he didn’t have one. “It’s part of that treading lightly thing.”
    She muttered something under her breath. He thought he caught “doing penance,” but he wasn’t sure. If that was what she believed, maybe she wasn’t so far wrong. He had a lot to atone for.
    He shrugged into his jacket. “Maribeth, just one thing? If you could see Brooke sooner rather than later, that’d be good. If anyone who knew me back in the day comes into Hennessey’s and recognizes me, it’d likely get back to her.”
    She folded her arms across her chest. “I know. It’s a small town. I’ll make an appointment as soon as I can.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œYou can go out the front door.” She walked out of the kitchen and he followed her down the hallway, past a dark room at the front of the house.
    She stepped back, letting him open the door. “Good night, Mo. I’ll call you.”
    â€œThanks for everything.” He stepped out onto the front porch and went down a half dozen steps. Those sullen gray clouds had finally fulfilled their promise. Snow dusted the ground and small, crisp flakes