Page 17 of Savoring Christmas (Sugarville Grove #8)

The hiss came first—low and theatrical—followed by a glare sharp enough to strip paint. Cannoli froze, then let out a tiny squeak before launching herself into Mia’s arms with the desperation of someone fleeing certain doom. Mia staggered a step, hugging the trembling bundle of fur to her chest.

Matilda, apparently satisfied her point had been made, turned and strutted away with the smug air of a landlord who had just reminded a tenant who was really in charge.

“I told you she’s the devil,” Logan said. “The only reason she lets me live is that she can’t get to the food without me.”

Cannoli, still in her mistress’s arms, whined. Logan reached out to pat her head. “It’s okay, I won’t let her hurt you for real.”

Cannoli licked his hand.

Logan gestured toward the open door at the end of the hallway. “There’s the guest room. Do you want one of my T-shirts to sleep in?”

“Thanks. But you may not get it back.”

“Thinking of you in my shirt makes my head spin a little.” He kissed her quickly before heading to his room, where he grabbed a soft navy tee and a flannel shirt, then hurried back to her.

She was already inside the room, perched on the side of the bed.

For a moment, he watched from the doorway, just taking in how beautiful she was.

She glanced up at him. “This is a nice bed.”

You can sleep in it anytime.

Instead of saying what he was thinking, he placed the shirts on the bed next to her, then leaned down to give her one last quick kiss. “The guest room stays warm, but, just in case, I brought you a flannel too.

She pulled him in for another kiss before letting him go. “Good night. Thanks for taking care of Cannoli and me. Sleep well.”

“Shall I expect breakfast in the morning?” Logan asked, teasing as he headed for the door.

“As a matter of fact, you can. I’m dying to break in your kitchen.”

“You won’t get an argument from me,” Logan said.

She blew him another kiss before he closed the door behind him. For a moment, he stood in the hallway, his heart beating fast. This was the woman he’d been waiting all his life for. He felt more certain of it than ever before. He only hoped she felt the same way about him.

The smell of coffee reached Logan before he was fully awake, warm and rich, drifting down the hallway.

Still half asleep, he couldn’t figure out the who or why of this great aroma filling his senses.

Then he remembered. Mia was here. Cooking him breakfast. He felt like the luckiest man in the world.

Logan sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, listening to the faint clatter of pans from the kitchen.

In his sweats and a T-shirt, for a moment he considered showering and dressing before going downstairs.

But he decided against it. He was too eager to see her to waste another moment.

He stepped into the hallway, only to find Matilda sprawled in the middle of it like a troll guarding a bridge.

Her tail flicked in slow, deliberate arcs, eyes narrowed in pure feline judgment.

When he tried to step past, she let out a low, warning hiss, as if to remind him that she ruled this house, and breakfast privileges were granted at her discretion.

Logan sighed. “Try to be nice.” He sidestepped the ginger menace and headed toward the scent of coffee.

He found Mia at the stove, sleeves pushed up, hair loosely pulled back, wearing his flannel shirt that came to her mid-thighs.

Bare thighs. Bare feet. It was way too early in the morning for all the thoughts those legs evoked.

She moved easily in the space, as though she’d always belonged there.

Cannoli greeted him enthusiastically. Logan crouched to give her some love.

“Good morning, Miss Cannoli. How much more pleasant you are than Matilda.”

Mia glanced over her shoulder, a small smile touching her lips. “Good morning. Coffee’s on the counter.”

He crossed the room, the scent of butter and cinnamon mingling with the warmth of coffee. “You’re up early.” He really wanted to say: Don’t ever stop being here.

“I’m an early riser. And I promised you breakfast.” She slid an omelet onto a plate. “I have coffee cake in the oven for Patty and the kids. But I made you an omelette worthy of Julia Child.”

He accepted the plate, their fingers brushing briefly. It was a small thing, but it made his heart beat faster.

As he sat at the island, she reached for a pan from the cabinet, then a spatula from the drawer. Without hesitation, without asking where anything was. His brow lifted, a smile tugging at his mouth. “How do you know where everything is?”

She looked over, shrugging as if it was nothing. “Because you keep everything exactly where I would.”

Had there ever been a sentence uttered that had the power to move him in this way? He was certain there had not been thus far in his life. They were meant to be together. He was sure of it.

Cannoli gave a soft whine of protest that she was not receiving an omelette too. “Don’t worry, buddy,” Mia said. “I’ve got something for you too.”

Logan took a bite of the creamy dish and groaned. “Mia, this is heaven.”

“Thanks for letting me take over your kitchen.”

“Baby, you can take over my kitchen any time.”

She grinned back at him. “I just might do that.”

An hour or so later, Logan turned onto the long driveway to Patty’s rental house, its surface pocked with potholes and scattered rocks that rattled beneath the tires.

Bare trees lined the way, their twisted branches stark against the gray winter sky.

At the far end, tucked away from the world with no neighbors in sight, stood the old house, chimney smoke drifting gently into the cold air.

It had weathered too many winters—the paint faded and peeling, the front porch sagging, and dark patches of water damage marking the roof.

Christmas lights drooped across the porch in tired loops, half of them dark, the others winking stubbornly as if refusing to give up the fight.

Through the front window, a small tree glowed with paper snowflakes and a handful of mismatched ornaments that caught the afternoon light.

A faded blue sedan sat crookedly at the curb, its hood propped open.

“I bet she’s having car trouble,” Logan murmured.

Mia leaned forward, her breath fogging the passenger window. “That’s got to be the reason she missed work.”

Cannoli gave a soft bark from the back seat, tail thumping against the upholstery.

Logan cut the engine and climbed out, the cold air biting through his jacket. Mia took the coffee cake she’d made for the family out of the back. He followed as Mia hurried ahead, coffee cake in hand, already reaching for the porch railing. Cannoli ran around the yard, sniffing everything.

The front door opened before they could knock. Patty stood there, dish towel clutched in hands that trembled slightly despite her composed expression. Her eyes went wide, then darted past them to the driveway as if checking who might be watching. “Logan. Mia. What are you doing here?”

“We were worried when you didn’t make it to work last night,” Mia said. “We’re sorry to show up unannounced but neither of us thought to get your phone number before now.” She held out the cake. “I brought breakfast.”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” Patty said, taking it in hand and drawing in a breath through her nose. “That smells amazing. The kids will love it.”

“Are you guys okay?” Logan asked. “What happened to you last night?”

Patty’s shoulders drew up almost imperceptibly. “My car wouldn’t start.”

Logan nodded toward the sedan. “I had a feeling when I saw the hood up.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it and I don’t have the money to get it fixed.

” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, and Logan had to lean forward to catch it.

“My boss said I’d missed too many shifts already.

He fired me from the cleaning position.” Her voice wavered.

“I don’t know how I’m going to make my rent. ”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mia said. “You can’t get to a job without a reliable car.”

“I’ll figure something out. I always do.” But Patty’s knuckles were white where she gripped the towel, and Logan could see dark circles under her red eyes.

Before he could respond, the thunder of small feet followed by Benji’s voice sounded from behind Patty. “Logan and Mia are here.” Then Daisy’s higher pitch: “You brought Cannoli!”

The three kids slipped around their mother and spilled onto the porch. Daisy made a beeline for Cannoli, but Molly hung back near the doorway, her dark eyes moving between her mother’s face and their unexpected visitors with the careful attention of a child who’d seen too much in her short life.

Cannoli practically launched herself into Daisy’s waiting arms.

“I prayed you’d come visit us.” Daisy buried her face in the little dog’s fur. “I told Molly you would, but she said maybe you forgot about us.”

“Never,” Logan said, catching Molly’s quick glance. “We don’t forget our friends.”

Patty handed Molly the cake and told her to take it to the kitchen.

“Don’t cut into it just yet,” Patty said. “We can have some in a bit.”

“Okay, Mom,” Molly said as she headed back into the house.

Patty stepped aside, her movements careful and controlled. “Come in before you all turn into icicles.”

The living room was small but spotless, anchored by a sofa that sagged in the middle but was covered by a hand-crocheted blanket in soft blues and greens.

A coffee table held a neat stack of mail and a library book with a bookmark peeking out.

In the corner, the tree twinkled but there were no presents waiting for eager hands to unwrap.

The kitchen beyond held a table just big enough for four chairs, and the refrigerator was a gallery of the kids’ artwork: stick-figure families, crooked Christmas trees, and a drawing that might have been Cannoli if you squinted right.

Daisy settled Cannoli on the couch, arranging the blanket with careful precision. “There. Now she’s all cozy.”

“She’s going to expect that treatment everywhere now,” Logan said, and was rewarded with Daisy’s quiet giggle.

Patty smoothed the dish towel between her hands, the motion repetitive and anxious. “You really didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

Logan met her eyes, seeing past the pride to the fear underneath. “We want to help.”

Her breath caught slightly, and she looked away, blinking hard. “We’ll manage. We always have.” But her voice cracked on the last word.

“What can we do?” Mia asked.

For a moment, Patty’s careful composure wavered. Her eyes glistened, and she pressed her lips together as if holding back a flood. “Unless you have a winning lottery ticket, I can’t imagine how.”

“Let’s get your car working,” Logan said. “And go from there. I’m going to call my dad and brother. They’ll be able to tell you what’s wrong with it and maybe even repair it themselves. They have a lot of experience with old cars and machinery because of our farm.”

“You have a farm?” Daisy asked.

“Not me. My family. A maple syrup farm,” Logan said.

“Neat,” Benji said. “Can we visit?”

“As a matter of fact, you’ve all been invited to a cookie decorating party at the farm,” Logan said. “But first, let’s get your mom’s car running.”

The children all whooped. Cannoli barked, wagging her tail in solidarity.

Logan studied the sedan through the frost-edged window. The Hayes men had nursed vehicles in worse shape back to life. If anyone could sweet-talk this old car into cooperation, it was his dad and Luke.

Logan excused himself to call his dad and stepped onto the porch. Through the window, he could see Molly watching him with that careful attention she seemed to give everything.

His father answered on the second ring. “Logan. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. But I’m over at Patty McDonald’s place and she needs some help.

Her car died, and she lost her cleaning job at the school because she couldn’t make it in.

” Logan kept his voice low, aware that sound carried.

“I was wondering if you and Luke could swing by, take a look. See if it’s something you can fix? ”

“Of course we can. I’ll text Luke to meet me there.”

Logan heard the familiar sound of his father grabbing keys and coat on the other end. “I can be there in twenty.”

Logan’s throat ached with gratitude for his father’s automatic generosity. “Thanks, Dad.”

“That’s what neighbors do, son.”

As promised, twenty minutes later, his dad’s pickup truck rattled down the pothole-filled driveway, Luke’s SUV trailing close behind. Logan stepped off the porch to greet his father and brother.

Walter climbed out, immediately tugging a toolbox from the bed of the truck. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Luke joined them, pulling on thick gloves. “I hope it’s something simple.”

Walter chuckled softly, shaking his head. “And inexpensive to fix.”

Logan watched as his father walked up to the car, clicking his flashlight on and aiming it into the engine bay. Luke leaned closer, his head tilted, listening carefully as his dad explained his assessment.

“Battery looks ancient. Alternator probably gave out, drained whatever juice was left. We just need to swap out the alternator and put in a new battery. I can run into town and get what we need at the auto shop.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Logan said.

Walter looked up toward the house. “How’s Patty holding up?”

Logan’s gaze followed his father’s to the glowing windows of the small house. “She’s doing her best. But you can tell life’s been tough. Losing the cleaning job really hurt.”

Walter sighed, adjusting his worn ball cap. “We'll get this running, at least get that worry off her plate. Maybe your mom can check around town, see if there are any other jobs Patty might be suited for.”

“You’re the best.” He turned to Luke. “You too, big brother.”

“I feel for her,” Luke said. “The least we can do is get the car running.”

This was why he’d come home. People he could always count on, no matter what or when. His family always came through.