Merry Christmas, My Love

“I don’t see her.” Clay stretched his neck. “Oh, there she is. She’s just coming out from the kitchen.”

Max’s jaw tightened, and he elbowed Clay. “Move along, Clay. People are waiting.” He turned to Miss Henderson. “Mr. Forest and I would be pleased if you would join us for dinner at our table. We’ve saved a space for you.”

Miss Henderson narrowed her eyes as if she suspected him of something evil. He shrugged. Women were difficult to understand, but especially this one.

“And Helen, too,” Clay emphasized, as Max nudged him along.

Everyone finally seated, the pastor offered a blessing. Soon the clink of silverware, noisy conversation, and laughter filled the air. Max took a bite of Miss Henderson’s casserole and lost his breath. The woman must have put a barrel of salt in the dish.

“Ugh. This is awful.” Clay spit a mouthful of the potato and ham casserole into his napkin.

“Clay!” Max said, wide-eyed, and took a large gulp of water.

“Well, it is awful. Did you have any yet? Whoever made this should be arrested for imitating a cook.” Several people turned at his comments.

Max glanced at Miss Henderson, who sat with her fork halfway to her mouth, her face flushed.

“Actually, Mr. Forest, I made it. Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all, Miss Henderson.” Max took another bite and whimpered.

Miss Henderson placed a small forkful of it on her tongue and grimaced. “I think I added too much salt.”

“I’ll say.” Clay snorted. “You better stay far away from stoves.” He threw his head back and laughed.

Miss Henderson put her fork down. Max’s gut tightened. Her face leeched of color, her cute little chin trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. Damnation.

“Excuse me.” She pushed her chair back and fled through the kitchen door.

“What’s the matter with you?” Max turned to Clay.

“What? The woman’s a lousy cook. She probably already knows it.” He continued to shovel food in his mouth. “I’ll tell you, though, Helen’s tuna fish casserole is wonderful.” Clay patted Miss Spencer’s hand. Tight-lipped, she pulled it back.

Max threw his napkin down and strode to the kitchen. Miss Henderson stood at the sink, her back to him, dabbing her eye with the corner of her apron.

“Miss Henderson?” He walked slowly toward her.

She turned and took a deep breath. “Yes, Mr. Colbert.” Her eyes and nose were red. Curls were loosened from her bun and hung around her face.

“Are you all right?” His stomach twisted as he stood in front of her.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m fine. I thought I’d refill the water pitchers.”

“They are full.”

“Well, we probably need more tea.”

“No, there’s plenty of tea out there.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry for what Mr. Forest said.”

“Why? It’s true. The casserole tasted horrible. I’m no cook, probably never will be.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “I tried. I don’t understand what I did wrong. Tori makes it all the time, and I followed her recipe.” Her chin trembled, her eyes begged to understand. “What happened?” She burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.

Max had the urge to race from the kitchen, leave the building, and never return. Women’s tears brought him to his knees. He could handle anything but that. He clumsily patted her shoulder, and before he knew how or why, she was in his arms, grasping his jacket lapels, sobbing all over his starched shirt. He wrapped his arms around her back and rested his chin on her head. “Ah, don’t cry, Miss Henderson...Ellie. Mr. Forest is a rude man and doesn’t deserve your tears.”

She pulled back and fixed her gaze on him, and his heart sped up. The scent of rose water and sugar surrounded her. Her lips, puffy from biting them, drew his gaze. Her breasts were warm and soft against his chest as they rose and fell with her breathing. Ellie Henderson was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Mr. Colbert?” Ellie said as he bent toward her.

“Max,” he answered as his mouth descended on hers.