Holiday in Your Heart (16 page)

Maribeth had instead, after considerable reflection, chosen to hold off for a month and see what happened between her and Mo. Although she hated to put off the opportunity to get pregnant, how could she opt for an anonymous donor when she felt so drawn to Mo? Even though at the moment, having another child seemed to be the last thing he wanted—or, at least, that he thought he wanted. Not to mention, she didn't yet know whether that magic click really did mean he was the love of her life. How, in such a short period of time, had her life become so complicated?

When she unlocked the door, Mo said, “Everything okay? You're frowning.”

“Oh, sorry. Just . . . something on my mind.” She shook her head, trying to rid it of her dilemma and to focus on the moment. And the man.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, stepping inside and shrugging out of his denim jacket.

And have him turn tail and run? “No, thanks. It's, uh, female stuff.”

“Okay. And wow, you look terrific.”

He wore jeans, but not faded blue jeans; these were slim-fitting black ones. His blue cotton shirt looked crisp and new. The color contrasted well with his dark skin and brought out the blue in his multicolored eyes. No tie, but that was fine with her because she much preferred seeing the vee of firm chest. The belt was his usual brown leather one, but he'd traded his heavy work shoes for brown boots. She noticed something else different, too. “Did you get a haircut?” His hair was still long and wavy, but it looked even nicer than usual.

“Brooke.”

He'd gone to the salon where anyone in town might see him and his ex together?

Reading her thought, he said, “Not where she works. At her house, in her kitchen. She said she'd rather not talk in public so she asked me over today, which was one of her days off.” His mouth twisted with wry humor. “She served me a meat loaf sandwich, and when I thanked her, she said it was no big deal, just leftovers. Don't think she remembered, or maybe I never told her, but I like leftover meat loaf better than straight out of the oven.”

“Why did she cut your hair?”

“She said it relaxed her.”

That was probably true, but no doubt Brooke also knew that there was something about sitting in a chair while someone moved around you, snipping at your hair, that loosened minds and lips. Studying him again, Maribeth said, “She left it pretty long.”

“Said it suits me that way. I figure she's the expert.”

“I happen to think she's right.” She stepped closer, bringing the front of her body almost up against his. “By the way, hi.”

“Hi to you, too. Did I tell you how great you look?”

“So do you.”

He put his arms around her then, and kissed her.

She melted into him, kissing him back and raising her hands to thread her fingers through his newly styled curls.

From outside the door came a familiar warbling howl.

“You brought Caruso.”

“It's not like he gives me much choice.”

“He's okay? You found a place for him—” She broke off. “So much to catch up on, and it's only been two days. I want to hear all about your conversation with Brooke, and how things are going with Caruso. But let's do it over dinner.”

“Sounds good.” He stepped away from her, moving farther into her store. “But first, let me take a look at this place.” He glanced around, walking toward the back.

She followed.

“You said it's a thrift shop?” he commented. “I was expecting something more, oh, like what you'd find in a church basement.”

“Just because clothing's secondhand, that doesn't mean it's second-rate. Whether it's once-worn designer fashion or well-used jeans for a growing kid, it has value and it deserves to be displayed that way.”

He turned to her. “It's a great store. Next time I need something, I know where to come.”

“Ooh, I'd have so much fun dressing you!” He was so handsome and had such a great body, she could turn him out as anything, from a
GQ
cover model to a businessman to a cowboy.

“Personally, I'd rather you were undressing me, Maribeth. But that's just me.”

Laughing, she said, “No, it's definitely not just you. As I'll demonstrate if you come back to my place after dinner. By the way, I notice you call me Maribeth. Most of my friends call me MB. Feel free.”

“No, thanks. Maribeth is such a pretty name, and it suits you.”

“I like that. Thank you, Mo. Now, where shall we go to eat? What appeals to you? I'm sure you've walked past most of the restaurants and bars by now.”

“I guess anywhere we go, that small-town thing's gonna happen, right? You know everyone, and folks will be coming over to say hi and find out who I am.”

“At the Gold Pan, yes.” The diner was informal and popular. “And at the bar at the Wild Rose Inn.” Not in the dining room at the restored inn owned by her friends Dave and Cassidy. There, people would be more circumspect, but the restaurant was pricy. “Arigata is quieter.” And reasonable, for a man who'd just started a job as an auto mechanic. “Do you like Japanese food?”

“Sushi?”

“They have it, but lots of other things, too. Like tempura prawns, chicken karaage, and the most amazing marinated, grilled steak.”

“I could go for steak. And by the way, I'm okay with sushi, but I'd rather have it in summer than winter.”

“Arigata it is. I'll get my coat and purse from the back room.”

When she returned, she found that Mo had gone out, closing the door behind him. She followed, pulling a red woolen scarf off a shelf before turning off the lights and locking up. Mo and the dog were keeping each other company on the sidewalk.

“Hi, Caruso,” she said, squatting. When the dog didn't back away, she held out her bare hand toward him. “How are you liking the snow?”

He stepped forward and nosed her hand as Mo said, “He's figured out it's something he can play with.”

Not pushing her luck, Maribeth didn't try to stroke the dog's head. She straightened and reached up to drape the scarf around Mo's neck. “I want you to stay warm.”

“Being with you should take care of that.”

“But you're not with me all the time.” She adjusted the scarf to her liking.

“Okay then. Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

“Pfft. It's a gift.”

“Thanks again.”

She pulled on her gloves and then hooked her hand through Mo's arm. “What'll Caruso do while we have dinner? He'll freeze if he hangs out on the sidewalk outside.”

“He's got places to go.”

Knowing how much Mo cared about the dog even if he didn't want to admit it, she stopped worrying. She also took encouragement from the way his actions belied his words, because the same could well prove true when it came to the subject of children. Once Mo reconciled with Evan and met his grandkids—both of which things she was positive would happen soon—he'd warm to the idea of having children.

As she and Mo headed down the sidewalk, he said, “What about your car?”

“We'll leave it here. Arigata's only a block and a half's walk.”

As they set off, their breath made puffs of fog in the near-freezing air. It had only snowed lightly since the big snowfall on Sunday night, and the sidewalks and roads were mostly clear. The layer of white that clung to the trees sparkled, illuminated by street lamps, decorative strings of little white bulbs, and the colored Christmas lights that were already starting to go up.

“It's wrong,” she said, “putting up Christmas decorations in the middle of November.”

“Same rule as with carols? No earlier than December first?”

“Don't you agree?”

“Uh, I never thought about it. Truth is, I don't think much about Christmas. Usually all it means is a couple days off work.”

That didn't surprise her, but it was a strange coincidence that his conscience had led him back to Caribou Crossing just before the start of the most family-oriented holiday of the year. “So you just hang around your apartment by yourself?” That sounded so lonely, on such a special holiday.

“I go volunteer at a soup kitchen or something like that.”

“So do I!” Along with doing lots of social things with her friends.

Caruso whuffled into a snow-coated planter box full of shrubs, came up with a snoutful of snow, and sneezed, making Maribeth and Mo laugh.

Arigata had a narrow storefront, partially screened by bamboo through which welcoming light beckoned.

Mo bent and rested his hand on Caruso's head. “We're going inside and we'll be a while. Don't hang around waiting.”

The dog gazed up at him and then turned and loped away.

“Smart boy, isn't he?” Maribeth said. “Now that you've admitted he's yours, what are you going to do about the town bylaws?”

Mo pulled a plastic bag from his pocket. “I'm carrying this, but he's pretty discreet about wherever he goes to do his business.”

“How about putting him on a leash?”

“Oh man, I hate to do that to him. Doesn't seem right.”

It struck her that Mo probably felt the same way about the idea of a wedding ring on his own finger. Not that Maribeth was obsessed with the formalities. Though she wanted a lifelong commitment, she could be flexible about the form it took. But so far, Mo didn't seem amenable to the idea of anything more than casual dating. She reminded herself that he'd only arrived in Caribou Crossing last week, they barely knew each other, and he had a lot of heavy stuff on his mind. Being impatient wouldn't do her any good.

Focusing on the Caruso issue, she said, “Maybe you could dangle a leash at your side. People would assume it was attached to his collar unless they looked closely. Or, of course, unless he took off after a bird or something.”

“He's pretty good about knowing how to behave in the city versus out in the country. That's a good idea, Maribeth. We'll give it a try.”

Mo opened the restaurant door for her and she preceded him inside to the melody of muted wind chimes.

From the back of the long, narrow room, Keiko Nomura came toward them. The slim, elegant woman wore a kimono with stylized pine trees against a silvery-gray background. The kimono wasn't one of the elaborate ones with huge hanging sleeves but a simpler, more practical design. Keiko's shiny black hair was pulled up in a sleek twist decorated with a flower ornament.

The Japanese woman gave a small bow and then lifted her head, smiling. “Welcome, Maribeth-san. How are you this evening?” Away from the restaurant, Keiko was completely Western and would have said, “Hi, MB,” but at work she maintained as Japanese an ambience as possible.

Maribeth returned the bow and smile. “Hi, Keiko. I'm great. I'd like you to meet my friend, Mo. Mo, Keiko and her husband own Arigata, and he's the chef.”

When Keiko again bowed and said, “Welcome, Mo-san,” he mirrored the bow and said, “Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope you have room for two for dinner. We don't have a reservation.”

“For Maribeth-san and her friend, there is always room,” the woman replied. As she reached out for Maribeth's coat, there was only a tiny hint of curiosity in her black eyes. She'd seen Maribeth here many times over the years, sometimes with dates and sometimes with friends, male and female.

After hanging the coats in an alcove near the door, Keiko led Maribeth and Mo through the restaurant. Rice paper screens painted with Japanese scenes divided the tables, offering the illusion of privacy, and Japanese flute music played a gentle, haunting melody. A few people who Maribeth knew glanced up, and they exchanged nods of greeting. Female gazes lingered on Mo with appreciation.

Keiko seated Maribeth and Mo at an enameled black table with two place mats of woven straw, ivory chopsticks, and a stem of purple orchid blossoms in a crackle-glazed vase. She left for a moment and returned with menus and small towels, hot and damp so they could clean their hands.

When Keiko had taken their drink orders—a Japanese fruit drink for Mo and a pot of jasmine tea for Maribeth—Maribeth smiled across the table at Mo. “What do you think?”

“I'm a little out of my element,” he admitted. “But it's nice. Simple, not fussy. I like the music, too.”

“No country and western here.”

“Nor too-early-in-the-season Christmas songs,” he teased.

They studied the menu and decided to start by sharing an edamame and shitake salad and sweet potato gyoza dumplings. For the main course, Maribeth chose miso prawns with soba noodles. Mo, as she'd figured he might, went with the marinated, grilled steak.

Although another waitress was working tonight, it was Keiko who came to serve their drinks and take their orders. Once she'd gone, Mo sipped his drink and said, “That's certainly different.” Another sip. “I like it, though.”

“Good. Now tell me about Caruso. You said he has somewhere safe to go?”

“A couple of places. At the garage, we rigged him up a better spot. A well-padded box, outside but in a very sheltered location. And if he wants to be inside, he can get into my apartment.”

“Your landladies said it was okay?”

“I talked to them Monday morning, after helping Ms. Peabody's son and his husband, who came over to shovel their snow. I told them what the girl from the shelter had said about Caruso, that he'd been trained. I said I'd never seen him act aggressive to anything other than a squirrel or bird—and then he just chases them, doesn't ever catch them. He did his thing, singing. I could see he was winning them over, but they said they needed to research the breed first, and then they'd get back to me.” He made a wry face. “Ms. Haldenby told me I needed to get a phone.”