Snow and Mistletoe: A Christmas Short Story (The Guardian Trilogy Book 5) by Schulte Liz

Author:Schulte, Liz [Schulte, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Leaping Lizards LLC
Published: 2014-12-09T05:00:00+00:00

Her dad wasn’t the problem. If Olivia and Holden taught me anything about the human condition it was that fighting and hurting each other didn’t mean you didn’t love each other. Even if they couldn’t communicate well—and despite any bitterness she had about his being absent when she needed him in childhood—she came home faithfully every year to spend time with him. It had to be something else.

The boyfriend.

It was slightly more difficult with Justin not being here, but not insurmountable, though she was sensitive about the subject. I’d have to tread lightly. Perhaps whisper a few suggestions to her throughout the day, planting the seed of thought that she could do better than him.

I made a quick trip home to Italy get what I needed for our Christmas feast, then throughout the remainder of the afternoon I cooked and prepared—and made occasional visits to her house to help foster the idea that Justin wasn’t right for her.

Minutes before they were due to arrive, I heaved a happy sigh and smiled at my handiwork: an antipasto plate with cured meats, a selection of olives, and a myriad of cheeses. A lasagne verdi alla Bolognese with homemade noodles bubbling away on the top shelf of the oven, and a chicken and potatoes roasting beneath. The glorious smell of food filled the house and I sipped my wine as I surveyed the mess in the kitchen. Every inch of counter space was either dirty or covered with used dishes. Though it was cheating, a flash of light later, the mess was gone.

Promptly at seven, there was a knock on my door. Parker and her father came in out of the cold. Parker handed me back my coat. “Thank for this.”

“What sort of gentleman would send a lady home without a coat?”

“It’s really coming down,” her dad said, brushing snow off his shoulders. “We could barely see your house until we were on top of it.”

“Quintus, this is my dad, William Wells. Dad, this is Quintus.” We shook hands.

“Call me Bill. It’s good of you to have us.”

“You’re doing me the favor. I hate spending Christmas alone.” I smiled at them. “I hope you’re hungry.”

The first course was painfully silent. This would never do. I served the lasagna and was met with more silence.

“What do the two of you do for a living?” I asked.

“Road construction,” Bill answered. “This is damn fine pasta.”

“Thank you. It’s an old recipe.” All my recipes were old recipes.

Parker didn’t look up from her plate and poked at her food.

“Not enjoying it?” I asked.

Her large brown eyes shot up. “No, it’s wonderful. I’m sorry.”

“She had a fight with her boyfriend,” Billy said.

“Don’t start,” Parker ground out.

I took a bite, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Would either of you like a glass of wine?”

“Yes, please,” Parker said. Bill shook his head.

I went to the kitchen, collected two glasses and a bottle of chianti, then went back to the dining room. It was on the tip

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