Any Given Snow Day Page 12

  The boy nodded. “Mitch, you need a dog.”

  Mitch had been thinking about it. “Yeah? What kind of dog should I get?”

  “It depends on what you want.”

  Mitch had an idea. “What kind of dog would you get if you could?”

  Becca shot him a look.

  He ignored her.

  “Me?” Simon perked up. “I’d totally get a big dog. ‘Cause the small ones are too yappy. Maybe a Great Dane or an Irish wolfhound. Something cool that can kill you.”

  “Why not go Doberman or Rottweiler?”

  Simon nodded. “Yeah. Great.”

  Becca sighed. “Of course, we have hardly any yard, and those are all big dogs that eat and poop a lot. Sure, a big dog would be just dandy, Simon.”

  He shrugged. “Hey. Mitch asked.”

  “I did ask.” Mitch saw the familiar turn up the mountain road toward his house. The drive couldn’t be over yet. “When I was growing up, we had a rescue dog. A mutt. She was big, must have had some German Shepherd in her. Weighed seventy-five pounds. And she was the best dog. I loved her.”

  “What was her name?”

  Mitch paused. “Candy.”

  “Wait. What?” Simon hooted. “Candy?”

  “Hey, I got her when I was a kid, and she looked like a caramel. I guess I was addicted to those things back then. My dad used to bring them home from the garage, where he kept his secret stash. My mom would bust his chops for getting me and Deacon addicted to sugar.” He smiled at the memories. “Then one day he brought home a shivering stray. We had no idea she’d get so big. I was four, I think. And I thought she looked like candy, so that’s what we named her.”

  “That’s sweet.” Becca smiled. “And I didn’t mean that in a pun-like way.” She chuckled at his groan. “What happened to Candy?”

  “She died after twenty years of good livin’. My parents then got two cats, who make life hell. I like to call them Evil One and Evil Two. They hate me.”

  “Oh? I hear animals can sense evil…”

  “That’s true, Mom.” Simon gave Mitch the same look Becca liked to give him, then added a demonic laugh.

  “You two are so alike,” Mitch said, wondering if Becca realized what a great kid she’d raised. For all the boy’s tendency to try to boss the coaches around, he never hogged the ball, he praised his teammates, and he had always been polite around adults and other kids.

  “No way. I’m unique and exceptional,” Simon argued.

  “A real special snowflake,” Becca muttered, and they all laughed. “But we’re not getting a dog.”

  “How about a cat?” Simon asked, ever hopeful.

  She sighed.

  Mitch said, “You don’t know what you’re missing in life until you wake up with a cat staring down at you, sucking away your soul while it claws you to consciousness.” He rubbed his chest, still feeling dagger-sharp nails. “My parents’ neighbors watch the beasts when they travel. Now that Mom and Dad are both retired, they’re RVing their hearts out.”

  “Must be nice,” Simon mused. “We never go anywhere because we’re poor.”

  “Simon Bragg.” Becca looked embarrassed.

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  She frowned at the road. “It’s not the truth. We’re just not obscenely rich like half the people in town. No offense, Mitch.”

  “None taken.” He did his best not to laugh. Becca was so cute when she turned pink. “You know, the money part of playing football was great. But I didn’t play the game for the pay. Sounds corny, but it’s true—I just love the game.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Simon nodded. “But if I got rich and famous, I’d buy Mom a big house with a yard. Then she could get a big dog.”

  “That you want,” she said under her breath, but Mitch still heard her.

  “And then she could sell the shop and relax.”

  Becca gripped the steering wheel, and Mitch wondered if he was hearing a familiar argument. In a patient voice, she said, “Simon, I know you don’t understand this, because you’re young. But I love running Bragg’s Tea. It’s fun. I get to bake, which I love. I get to talk to people and see friends every day, and I feel like part of the community.”

  “See, that’s what I want,” slipped out before Mitch could censor himself.

  “And that’s what makes you a member of the community.” Becca clearly approved.

  Warmth unfurled, that he’d pleased her. God, I am so gone for this woman.

  They sat in silence the remaining minutes while she drove him to his front door, only the smooth tones of Clapton filling the car.

  “Thanks for the ride,” he said as he got out.

  “Mitch?”

  He paused before shutting the door. “Yeah?”

  Becca chewed her lip, her nervous tell. He waited.

  “Um, well, if you don’t have anything major planned with Deacon, you’re more than welcome to spend Thanksgiving with us. I usually cook a big turkey for the whole family—which includes me, Simon, Nora, and her parents. But this year it’s just Nora and us because my aunt and uncle are visiting friends in Michigan.”

  “Hold on. Is this an official invite to eat your cooking and watch the dog show?”

  She nodded. “Deacon can come too, if he wants.”

  “Yeah.” Simon smiled wide. “You should totally come, Fla—Mitch. And Coach Deacon too. I promise I won’t try to kiss up or anything. But we could eat lots of turkey and pumpkin pie, then watch the game. Mom never wants to watch football with me.”

  Mitch’s excitement over the coming holiday spilled over. “Well, I’m in. But only if you promise to make a pie as good as your sticky buns.”

  Becca snorted. “Ha. That’s child’s play. My pumpkin pie will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  He stared at her, thinking he’d found his spot already with one of paradise’s mouthier angels. At the thought, he chuckled. Did that make him a demon then, for wanting to corrupt her feathery goodness?

  “What?” She eyed him with caution.

  “Not a thing. I’ll be there Thursday. Pretty sure Deacon will too, but I’ll ask him to be sure and let you know. What can I bring?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” “A football,” Simon said at the same time.

  Mitch hadn’t played a game of fun football, no practice pads or for pay, in way too long. “That I can do.” He wanted badly to kiss Becca goodbye.

  Instead, he shut the door and waved, then headed inside while dialing his brother. “Deacon? What are you doing for Thanksgiving this year?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thanksgiving Day

  Becca hadn’t been so nervous in a long time. It didn’t help that her cousin had bailed for sunnier plans, or that Deacon also seemed to be busy. It would just be her, Simon, and Mitch celebrating a family holiday together.

  She had no idea why she should feel funny about having him over. Mitch hadn’t yet been to her house. Maybe that was it. But she’d scrubbed the place clean from top to bottom, so much so that Simon had asked if they expected the Canadian Prime Minister—on whom she had a huge and open crush.

  The house sparkled, the turkey had been cooking for hours, and all the side dishes sat prepped in the fridge, ready to cook.

  She smoothed down her hair again. Gah. Stop acting stupid! It’s just Mitch.

  She hadn’t seen him since Sunday, and she found herself missing him.

  She and Mitch had seen each other naked. He made her entire body come alive. There was no question they shared a physical attraction. What scared her was how much she’d come to look forward to his smiles. To that special glint in his eyes when he looked at her, how he’d touch her gently and stare at her as if he knew her inside and out.

  Her emotions were all over the place with him. And it made no sense.

  “Mom, Flash is here,” Simon called, excited to have his idol visiting.

  And that was another thing. Her son seemed enamored with Mitch. Had s
he been lacking as a mother in some way, or was her son simply needing a man’s influence?

  Becca gripped her hands and told herself to calm down. Simon was fine. Mitch would be a nice addition to their dinner, and she’d look on his coming as a kind of charity, since the poor man would otherwise have been all alone…

  You are ridiculous. Charity? He could have had any number of invitations. For all you know he’s joining Rita, Linda, or Cherise after pie.

  “Yeah, this is the living room,” Simon was saying.

  She hoped her house looked decent enough. A two-story Craftsman that had been built twenty years ago, the house gave her and Simon plenty of room without being overwhelming. Paned glass windows in the front let in plenty of light, and once past the grand living room, the home spilled into a more open floor plan, the dining room, kitchen, and small sunroom joined as one.

  The hardwood floors Neal had put in had saved them when the winter hit and they tracked snow inside. Comfortable furniture that would stand the test of time gave the rooms a comfy feel. Nothing very sophisticated about the place, but it worked well enough for the two of them.

  The bedrooms and spare she used as an office were upstairs, out of sight and hopefully out of mind for Mitch.

  She heard Simon and Mitch speaking about life after football before Simon added, “Oh, take off your shoes. Mom’s rules.” His voice sounded louder, so she knew he’d ventured deeper into the house.

  She told herself not to blush, that all sorts of smart people removed their shoes to save having to buy new flooring they could ill afford.

  “Good rule. I usually do that at my place to keep the floors clean.” Mitch’s deep voice in her house sounded strange. And a bit…welcome?

  “Hey, Mom. It’s Mitch,” Simon announced as they entered the dining area.

  Mitch laughed. “Cute apron.”

  She looked down at the hearts and cartoon men in boxer shorts covering her. “A gift from Nora. It’s my only clean apron after Simon trashed my favorite one.”

  Simon grimaced. “It was worse than that one. It has a picture of Justin Trudeau smiling on it. Ew.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mom’s not-so-secret crush. And my new daddy, if I’m good.” Simon totally threw her under the bus.

  Mitch just laughed. “Another one bites the dust.”

  Becca felt her cheeks flaming. She pointed to Simon. “No pie for you.” The boy quickly excused himself from the room. “And for your information,” she said to Mitch. “I like Trudeau’s policies.”

  Mitch raised a brow.

  “And his looks. There, I said it. It’s nice to see a politician with a brain, charm, and looks who’s under the age of ninety.”

  “Not arguing.” Mitch looked over his shoulder, then stepped closer to her. “I missed you.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, and then she couldn’t speak because he kissed her. The kiss felt soft, rich with affection, and ripe with arousal. When he lifted his head moments later and smiled into her eyes, she could do no more than sigh.

  “You’re good at that.”

  “Just that?”

  She sighed again.

  Mitch hugged her, and she felt his touch to her bones. Being in his arms was like coming home.

  No. I am home. She disentangled herself and ignored her confusion. She refused to look away, not wanting Mitch to think he frazzled her.

  He stared at her mouth and gave a slow, satisfied smile. “Just as sweet as your desserts, Becca.”

  “Oh, stop.”

  He stroked her cheek, and she trembled.

  He swore under his breath. “I wish we were back at my place. How about a few minutes in a closet? We have time for that?”

  It dawned on her she hadn’t heard from Simon. She pushed at Mitch, and he stepped back. “Simon?” she called.

  “I’m upstairs,” came the distant response. “I’ll be right down.”

  She let out a relieved breath. No doubt he’d been occupied with turning off his video game.

  “That’s a no on the closet?” Mitch asked, his hands in his pockets. He wore jeans and a red, button-down shirt. And Captain America socks. He followed her gaze to his feet and laughed. “A gift from my brother. And come on, it’s Captain America.”

  She couldn’t help it. She pulled him forward and kissed him.

  This time, they were both breathing hard when they parted.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” she rasped.

  “What?”

  “Kissed you in our house,” Simon said from behind them, “in case I might see.”

  They sprang apart.

  Simon, to her consternation, looked pleased. “Was that a Happy Thanksgiving kiss, Mom? As a way to welcome our new friend? Or a thank you to Mitch for bringing all this?” Simon held up a large grocery bag.

  She knew they’d have to discuss what he’d seen later but took the opportunity to skirt his question. “Mitch, you didn’t have to bring anything.”

  “I know. But I didn’t want to come emptyhanded.”

  Simon put the bag on the edge of the table, so as not to displace the table settings. Becca pulled out a bottle of wine that looked expensive. A six-pack of beer. Pricey salami, gourmet cheese and crackers, as well as a—football?

  “That’s for Simon,” Mitch said. “Oh wait. I forgot something. I’ll be right back.” He left, and she and Simon stared at each other.

  “I’ll take the football over the kiss any day.”

  She blushed, and her son laughed. “Simon, what you saw…”

  “I know what I saw. Don’t worry, Mom. Mitch is okay.”

  “But that’s not—”

  Mitch walked back in with a bouquet of flowers that took her breath away. “These are for you. Can’t believe I forgot them in the car.”

  Becca stared. She hadn’t gotten flowers in forever. Neal used to bring her a bunch every Friday, like clockwork. Except for that final Friday, when he’d failed to come home…

  She blinked to clear her suddenly blurry vision.

  Mitch glanced between her and Simon. “Ah, you have a vase I can put them in for you?”

  “I’ll get it.” Simon took the flowers from him and dashed for the pantry.

  Mitch frowned. “You okay?”

  She smiled, feeling ridiculous. The anniversary of Neal’s death had passed. She’d already spent years mourning him. When would the weepy crap end? “I’m fine. I love flowers, thanks. I’d better get the mashed potatoes started.” She turned to head back into the kitchen, but Mitch stopped her.

  “Becca, it’s okay.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Thanksgiving means family, and it can be tough to deal with people we’ve lost.” He turned her to face him. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

  “I know that.” She refused to cry.

  “And it’s okay to admit that you’re secretly jealous you don’t have any cool socks to match mine.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I saw you eyeballing my Captain Americas with envy. Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll get you some Black Widow socks for Christmas.”

  She couldn’t help grinning at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “But handsome. And smart. And amazing in be—”

  “I’m back,” Simon said loudly. He saw Mitch holding her, but she couldn’t read his expression. “You making a move on my mom?”

  “I will when you’re out of the room. For now, I’m letting her know it’s okay to want Captain America. But these socks are mine.”

  Simon looked down and laughed. “Oh nice. I have some Justice League ones I wear sometimes.”

  “DC? Please. Try Marvel, you heathen.”

  Simon started arguing with Mitch about which comic franchise was best, and Becca escaped into the kitchen to finish making their Thanksgiving feast.

  When Mitch joined her again, she’d calmed down enough to think about what they had done in front of her son. It wasn’t as if Simon had never seen her kiss another man. She�
��d dated, though it had been a while. But she’d never felt so drawn to a man, and she’d never been so lost in his touch that she’d forgotten to be more circumspect around her son.

  “You need any help?”

  “Not yet. Thanks for bringing everything.” She paused. “And the flowers.” She’d rearranged them in the vase Simon had found for them.

  “Sure. Thanks for inviting me over.” He leaned over her shoulder to see into the pot of boiling potatoes. “It smells incredible in here.”

  “My turkey is amazing.”

  “You’re amazing.” He stepped back. “Seriously, thanks for inviting me. Deacon had other plans. I wouldn’t want to be home alone today. My house is great, but it’s just a place. This, Becca, is a home.”

  She studied him, saw his sincerity, and smiled. “Food is always better with friends.”

  “Good friends,” he corrected, then smirked. “I mean, amazing friends. Talented friends. Super, incredibly athletic friends.”

  “Okay, I’ve got the picture.” She looked for Simon, and not seeing him, crooked her finger at Mitch to lean closer. When he did, she gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Now no more kissing before Simon gets the wrong idea.”

  Mitch nodded, stood back, and crossed his heart. “I so solemnly swear. Scout’s honor.”

  “Were you ever a Boy Scout?”

  “Nope. But I beat up a couple of Cub Scouts in second grade. Does that count?”

  “Mitch.”

  “What? They were hassling Amelia Fornroy. Not cool. Dad always taught us not to hit girls.”

  “Smart man.”

  “He grew up with four older sisters. He learned fast that women are mean, vicious creatures. But if you’re nice, they make you cookies.” Mitch laughed and escaped before she could hit him with a spoon.

  She smiled into her pot. From laughing to nearly crying to feeling as if she was falling in lo— Becca shocked herself straight and reminded her hormonal alter ego to take a break from all the kissing and fussing and remember that they were friends. And that’s all they’d be.

  Liar.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Later that night, Mitch smiled as he sat next to Becca on the couch, watching the game while Simon paced and yelled at the TV.