Page 61 of Mistletoe and Molly

Mrs. Barnes issued immediate instructions as to proper defrosting procedure, and the turkey was put into the church refrigerator to do just that. It had company, Bridget noticed. There were two other frozen turkeys, not quite as big. Whoever was in need would be well-fed.

“Hello, Bridget.” The quiet, familiar voice of Jonas came from behind her. Bridget whirled around, clutching the empty plastic bags she’d brought the food in to her chest.

“Jonas? What are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Dropping off donations.”

“But you—” He didn’t have a mom who brought over a week’s worth of un-asked-for food. He must have gone out and bought the six bags of groceries that he held, three in each of his big hands. Bridget couldn’t help but notice how easily he lifted them when he set them on the long table that the church used for socials and the weekly suppers they provided.

“Here you go, Mildred,” he called to the tiny old lady in the apron. “Got the fresh stuff you asked for. Hope it’s enough. Are you going to let me help cook?”

“Be there in a jiffy,” the old lady called back. She was busy stacking canned goods on the other side of the room.

“You know Mrs. Barnes?” Bridget asked, somewhat taken aback. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d become involved in community projects like the food pantry, let alone that he would volunteer as a cook.

“Sure. She insists I call her Mildred, by the way. She likes to flirt a little.”

“No harm in that.” Having a great-looking guy like Jonas show up to help probably tickled Mrs. Barnes no end.

“So, what did you bring?”

“Oh, just a turkey and some other stuff.”

One of the middle-aged women helping Mrs. Barnes opened the refrigerator and exclaimed over the size of the bird on the top shelf. “Thanks, Bridget!” she turned to say. “What a big one. Just what we needed.”

Jonas gave her an approving nod. “Nice of you.”

Bridget shook her head hastily. “I can’t take credit. My mother gave it to me, plus a truckload of side dishes, but I wanted a smaller bird—a fresh one. Not that I didn’t appreciate it, but it’s going to be just me and you and Molly this year …” She hesitated. “You are coming over, right?”

“Of course.” He bent down and brushed a gentle kiss over her lips.

“Wow. Mmm. Anyway, I was going to make everything from scratch. Turkey, gravy, pies—I don’t know how we’ll eat it all.”

He looked at her curiously. “Where are your parents going to be? You didn’t tell me they were leaving.”

“In Florida.”

“Oh.” His expression was noncommittal, as if he didn’t want to ask a whole lot of questions that she probably didn’t want to answer.

Bridget winced inwardly. She should have told him they would be gone; she should have told her parents she’d invited him. But her mother wouldn’t find out until after she and Dad had returned from Florida—oh, Lord, why she was she still so afraid of her mother? Maybe it wasn’t fear anymore, she told herself quickly. The habit of placating her overly dramatic, overbearing mother for too many years wasn’t easy to break overnight. There hadn’t been a reason to stand up to her until Jonas had given her one.

The realization startled her. Bridget exhaled a small sigh, bothered by her conflicting emotions. Maybe she was obsessing over relatively small things because she still hadn’t dealt with a big thing: the secret she had yet to tell to Jonas.

How would he take it? She had no idea. All he’d asked was to celebrate the holidays with her. And Molly, of course. That he was working on making himself a part of their little family of two was not lost on her.

The thought touched her—and scared her more than a little. Maybe it was best to concentrate on the cooking and all that and set her other worries aside. It didn’t seem quite fair, though. Just when she thought she’d be able to celebrate a major holiday in her own way, along came the Doubt Fairy, who waved her little wand and knocked holes in Bridget’s self-confidence.

She looked up at Jonas, who generally seemed to have confidence to spare. He wore a rough-side-out suede jacket that looked like he’d been chopping firewood in it—there were a few raw white slivers on the sleeves. Thick work gloves had been stuck in one pocket and his plaid shirt did something really nice for the brawny chest it covered. All of a sudden, she wanted to slide her arms around his waist and get hugged up by him. Not here, of course.

But the thought was tempting. His downward look at her held evident desire and it wasn’t all that far under the surface. She wanted nothing more than to bury her nose in his shirt and enjoy that great outdoorsy smell of big, strong man and warm leather.

“Want to help me chop celery?” she asked in her most seductive voice. “I have to get started on the stuffing.”

“You make it sound so sexy. Okay. Where’s Molly?”

“At a friend’s. She finds my company unbelievably boring these days.”

Jonas grinned. “I don’t.”