Читать книгу The Sweetest Hours - Cathryn Parry - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

KRISTIN STRETCHED HER arms, twisted at her waist and then bent down and retrieved her fallen coat. She’d been overcautious in protecting herself from George Smith.

Clearly, he was not a physical threat, she thought, as she walked to the company break room. George seemed harmless enough beneath his rough exterior, once he’d lowered the gruff defenses he hid behind.

She hung her coat on a hook by the far wall, beside the vending machines and the coffee brewers. She couldn’t help but still wonder about the phone conversation she’d overheard him engaged in, but it would’ve been unwise to push him too far. That call had been private...intimate.

In all likelihood he’d been speaking with a Scottish lady. A girlfriend from his homeland, perhaps? That would explain the accent he’d been using—and the reason he’d been covering it up. It could just be simple embarrassment.

Still, it was best she inform her supervisor what was going on in the offices. It was safest that way. She didn’t want Andrew calling her “unprofessional” over her handling of the consultant, not if she could help it.

Carrying her purse under her arm, she slipped down the hall and into her hideaway in the factory. The best part about working at Aura Botanicals was the great smell of the organic body creams that they manufactured—a scent that was everywhere in the air, fresh and clean.

If she used her imagination and considered the silver lining in every cloud, then working for Aura was like taking a spa day every time she came to work. The essential oils of juniper and birch cleared her head, and the milk-based lotions made her feel like Heidi on her own mountain in Switzerland.

But the scent of the beeswax—the honey—was her favorite, and it was most concentrated in the inventory storeroom she chose to make her phone call from. Lingering amid the racks and bottles to take deep, cleansing breaks was her secret escape during regular workdays.

Positioning herself near a small square window, high above her, she took out her phone and texted Dirk, her supervisor.

Immediately he rang her back. When she answered his call, she could hear the “Chicken Dance” playing in the background. Dirk was at one of his Saturday wedding-DJ jobs he loved so much. Who was she to stomp on someone’s dreams?

“Yo, Kristin, I was just gonna call you. Did you hear that Andrew’s wife went into labor?”

“I did.” Kristin had forgotten about that in all the excitement with George Smith in her office. “Do you have any news?”

“No.”

“What did Andrew say?” she prodded. “How is Robin doing?”

“Ah...he just said that there’s a management consultant in the plant, and that you’re in charge of him for the day.”

“I’m in charge? Well, it was great of him to let me know about it.” Too bad Andrew couldn’t deign to talk to her himself instead of going through “channels.” Mentally, she rolled her eyes. “What does he want me to do? The consultant asked to be let into the computer system, and he requested a tour of the factory, too.”

“Hey, you know I would help you out, but I’m at work today,” Dirk said.

Kristin gritted her teeth and took a breath from the smell of the honey around her, reminding herself to stay calm. “So am I, Dirk.”

“That’s great,” he said. “Look, I’ll see you Monday. You’ll do fine, okay?”

“Wait!” She jumped down from the shelf she’d been sitting on. “Don’t hang up on me yet.” Her boss seemed only too happy to distance himself from the consultant’s visit, and she wasn’t getting a good feeling about this. “Do I have your permission to show him our operations?”

“Andrew said you’re in charge. This is your decision.”

“Well, what does that mean exactly?”

“Honestly? If anything goes wrong today, it’s on you.”

“Me?”

“Sure. You’re the one who’s there.” Dirk made a laughing inflection of the word. “I can’t cover you from here. If Andrew gets mad at you, then he gets mad at you. Shit happens, and it is what it is.”

She hugged herself, pacing the small storeroom. More than anything, she needed to keep this job. Suddenly, there were more stakes involved than just being “distracted” from her work. Yes, she’d thought George Smith was interesting; she’d enjoyed questioning him. When he’d smiled, she’d been intrigued. His eyes were nice. Kind. Not threatening at all. And, of course, there was that accent...

She sighed, opening one of the lotion bottles and inhaling for fortitude. Dirk was, in effect, reminding her to be on her guard. Reminding her of her shaky standing at Aura of late. Ever since Laura had died, there’d been no one to protect her from Andrew.

“Kristin, I need to go. It’s time to announce the cake-cutting.”

There was nothing more to be done. Discussing the decision with Dirk wouldn’t solve a thing. She needed to trust her gut.

“I’m just keeping you informed,” she said. “Have a good wedding.”

* * *

MALCOLM HAD WORKED with a lot of successful women in his professional life—CEOs, saleswomen, accountants—and what they all had in common were determination and strength of will. None of them were pushovers.

Kristin wasn’t a pushover, either. She was just...surprising. She had a different style of operating, he supposed, that of a natural free spirit. When she smiled at him and tilted her head, he could see where he would have to be extra careful not to let himself be lulled off guard. Because at the end of the day, as the cliché went, everybody had their own interests at heart. As he well knew.

“Is everything all right?” he asked Kristin as she stood again in the doorway to the office—to her office.

She nodded grimly and set down two steaming mugs on his—her—desk. “It looks like I’ll be taking care of you today,” she said. “George.”

He made sure not to flinch at the false name. His poker face in action, he nodded.

“Great. Er...I’m going to need some help with navigating this computer system. It’s not an accounting program I’m familiar with.”

“That’s because we bought the rights to the source code, and it’s evolved from an older software package.” She slid one of the mugs toward him. “Here. I brought you some coffee. If you don’t like coffee, there’s tea and cocoa in the break room.”

“This is...great. Thank you.” He curled one hand around the warm brew. Black, the way he liked it. “Could you, ah, show me the report screen?”

“Do you want financial reports or manufacturing reports?” she asked coolly.

“Ah...the shop floor reports with costs, projections and capacities would be most helpful for now.” Damn, he was distracted. Good thing he already had everything else he needed, directly from Jay Astley himself.

Personally, he thought the man had made a mistake. Astley should have been here today. Instead Kristin Hart was bearing the brunt of it, though she was very good at what she did, judging from watching her as she leaned over him and tapped at her keyboard.

He closed his eyes. Malcolm got a whiff of that honey body lotion they sold, that the factory smelled of, actually. It was nice. It was driving him a little crazy, because it wasn’t just the cream he was inhaling, but the scent of Kristin, mingled with the cream.

“This is the main screen. The printer is right there.” She indicated a portable laser printer on a table behind them. “I need to go check on my crew now, but you can stay here and print whatever production reports you need. If you get lost in the system, just type ‘MI10’ here.” She showed him a tab on the screen. “That’s a back door to the main reports menu. You can go directly there instead of clicking through the hierarchy of screens.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he said, impressed at the speed with which she paged through the system.

“I should. I installed a lot of it.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. Not filled with the pride she should be taking in her work. “What else do you need today?” she asked, very cool and professional.

It threw him for a bit of a loop. There were dynamics in play here that he wasn’t aware of. Nothing had gone right about this day so far.

He forced himself to think for a minute, collect himself. “Why don’t I print the reports later? As long as you’re heading to the floor, I’ll tag along with you now.”

She nodded again, showing no emotion. “Fine.” She glanced at her watch and winced slightly. “I’ve been gone too long, and I left Mindy in charge.”

He followed Kristin as she strode down the hallway to a section of the old plant with ancient floorboards that creaked when he walked on them. A remainder from the original, nineteenth-century cotton mill it had once been, beside the great flowing river that cut through the classic, small New England factory town. He felt calmer. These were facilities he knew well, both from his university years and his work experience.

They rounded a corner and bumped into a woman who was headed in their direction, evidently searching for Kristin.

“I brought you your hot chocolate,” Kristin said to the woman.

This was Mindy. And Malcolm knew, because she wore a “Hello, my name is Mindy” sticker affixed to her blue-flowered blouse.

Mindy was shorter than Kristin, and squatter, and when she suddenly sighed and wrapped both chubby arms around Kristin’s waist, her head only reached the top of Kristin’s breasts. For a moment, Malcolm froze. Such shows of affection in the workplace were so out of place, inappropriate...and yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from them.

“I am sooo tired of snow and cold,” Mindy moaned, her voice muffled between Kristin’s breasts.

Malcolm swallowed, his heart feeling as if it had stopped. But Kristin wasn’t fazed by the woman.

“I know, honey.” Kristin hugged Mindy with one arm and patted her on the head while she juggled the mug of hot chocolate in her other hand. “It seems like it’s been snowing for months and months, doesn’t it? But it’s only January.”

“The new year,” Mindy said. She pushed away from Kristin and faced him. Her eyes were spaced far apart, and she had a distinctive look to her features.

Ah. He understood. She was...what did they call it? Special Needs.

“Hello,” Mindy said to him.

“Er...hello.” He crossed his arms and nodded curtly. No hugs for him today, please, he thought.

“This is George,” Kristin said to Mindy. “He’s visiting us for the day.”

Inside, Malcolm cringed. He did not want to bond with anyone here, did not want to risk getting to know them or, God forbid, liking them.

“What did you do for New Year’s Eve?” Mindy asked him.

“Er...” He gazed to Kristin for help. She smiled and shook her head as if to say, “You’re on your own.”

Involuntarily, he swallowed.

“What did you do for New Year’s Eve?” Mindy asked him again, louder this time.

He risked glancing at Kristin. She was watching him as if his response was of utmost importance.

“I...er...went home.”

“Where is that?” Mindy demanded.

He felt a muscle in his jaw tick. He looked to Kristin, but she didn’t say a word.

“I saw my family,” he said quietly. And it killed him to think of it. His life was so out of sync with theirs. He’d stayed two weeks, for Christmas and for Hogmanay—what the Scots called New Year’s Eve—but then after the “first-footing” tradition, he’d been right back on the road again.

He really was getting tired of the road.

“Who is in your family?” Mindy asked him.

“Come,” Kristin interrupted, taking pity on him at last. “We need to get back to the packing room. How are Jeff and Arlene doing?”

“Good.” Mindy stopped to take a drink of her hot chocolate. She downed half the mug in one long gulp, before Kristin gently took it from her.

“Let me carry that for you, Mindy,” Kristin said. Mindy allowed Kristin to put her arm around her and lead her down the hallway.

And just like that, his interrogation was forgotten.

He paused, catching his breath. Even though it was cool enough to nearly see his breath in the below-room-temperature factory, he was sweating beneath his shirt. A cold perspiration, running in a thin trickle from his armpit down along his bare skin. He was in hell. Women and special needs workers. What was he doing?

Kristin poked her head around the corner. “Are you coming, George?”

It was like a dagger to his core. “I... Yes.” But he gripped his notebook and made sure he had his phone in his pocket; he’d need the camera app to take photos of the factory floor.

He followed Kristin and Mindy. Slowly, he was turning himself numb inside again. Not fighting anymore. He would go with the flow, whatever the day brought. Let Kristin show him the way, but at the same time, stay safely wary.

But it turned out he didn’t need to be; nobody challenged him. Kristin introduced him to Jeff and Arlene. Jeff was mellow and quiet. He had a thick white beard, wire-rimmed glasses and a habit of saying very little. Arlene was around the same age, but warm and nurturing. She babbled on about a trip to “the British Isles” she was planning to take, and it was only by the grace of God that Kristin didn’t raise a brow at him or otherwise give him away as a possible inhabitant of the Commonwealth.

She was a blessing to him. And, as she’d promised, Kristin led him on a tour of the plant. It was a light, airy space with high ceilings and tall windows that overlooked a back parking lot and a pine forest that was picturesque—pure New England.

Malcolm knew the region well; he’d spent his childhood and teen years in two New Hampshire boarding schools, and then, his undergraduate terms in a college not too far from the location of this plant.

The snow falling on the pine trees outside made him feel sad. It was so quiet and peaceful. He and Kristin were the only two people on the factory floor, with all the empty, ghostlike machines. She led him from station to station, his footsteps echoing against the ancient wooden boards, warped and uneven with age. The space was small and cramped with devices—mixers, conveyor belts, bottlers and a label maker that Kristin said was broken, hence, the applying of labels by hand today. But no matter...all the other machines were dormant, too. On a Saturday.

Incredibly wasteful. His head had been buried in the levels of financials for this small, privately held company for weeks, and it was apparent to him that the business was mismanaged.

Malcolm took photos with his camera phone. He listened while Kristin explained each part of the production process, and how the layout was configured depending on the product to be manufactured that day.

“I thought you worked with the computer system,” he remarked to her.

“I do. But I also schedule the machines. That’s the benefit of a small company—I get to do lots of things.” She smiled. “I like variety, so it’s perfect for me. I don’t think any other company would fit my personality. It’s why I won’t ever leave here.”

He kept his careful poker face and just felt sadder. It was not good that he was getting to know his hostess. Not wise at all to let himself sympathize with these people at Aura. It was his job to stay emotionally aloof and separate from the actions he was required to take. He needed to remain neutral and businesslike. It was safer for everyone that way.

He went back to the computer in her office and studied the range of reports to choose from.

“George?” Mindy asked from the doorway.

It took Malcolm a moment to realize that Mindy was referring to him. Damn it. “Yes, Mindy?”

“Kristin says to ask you what you want for lunch. She’s going to call in a sandwich order, and I get to pick it up by myself.” Her chest expanded with pride.

Do not get too close to these people. “No, thank you,” he said. “I’ll take care of my own lunch.”

“But, aren’t you hungry?” Mindy demanded. “I’m always hungry.”

His stomach was growling. He was thirsty, too, but for something cold. Andrew had shown him a Coke machine in the break room earlier, but Malcolm hadn’t brought any pocket change with him. He was still hoping Andrew would call him, even though Malcolm knew it was highly unlikely—less than a one percent chance, he figured.

“I’ll, er, walk someplace close by for lunch,” Malcolm said to the girl. A lie, because he didn’t have a wallet or credit cards, and his smallest bill was a hundred. He doubted a small-town diner would risk cashing it.

“I’m walking today,” Mindy said. “To Cookie’s Place. Kristin said I’m in charge.” She scrunched her face at him, showing him that she was peeved. It occurred to him that maybe he was taking her job away from her.

“Ah...is there a bigger place nearby? A chain restaurant?” Maybe he could call his driver to phone in an order with a credit card. “How about a pizza place I can walk to?” Vermont didn’t have fried pizza like in Scotland, but he would make do.

Mindy frowned harder. “If you are walking, there’s only Cookie’s Place.”

Of course. It was a small town. And it had been a crucial, logistical mistake not to have access to a car. His fault, because how could the fictional “George Smith” rent a car without a driver’s license?

Sighing wearily, he gave in. “Please order me whatever sandwich Kristin is ordering. And, er—” man, this was painful “—please ask her if I can pay her back later, once I have change. Okay?”

He would have to send an envelope with cash later, which gave him more logistical problems. The compounding of his torment today did not end....

“Kristin is paying for our lunches out of petty cash,” Mindy informed him.

Well. That solved everything. “Fine. You win.”

When the food came, he was grateful for it. Thick slices of deli turkey piled high on homemade white bread, also sliced thick, with crisp lettuce and Swiss cheese and a spread of fresh cranberry sauce as the main condiment. Absolutely delicious. He tried not to eat like a hungry wolf. They were all together sitting at a table by the big front windows, chewing happily, saying little. Malcolm downed his bottle of cool spring water, contented, no longer so dehydrated.

The snow outside was coming down in a thick blanket. At home, in Scotland, the roads would be at a standstill, he thought with amusement. When he’d been in Edinburgh over Hogmanay, the city had received just a few inches of snow, and the city government had literally called in the British Army to clear the streets. Scotland didn’t have snow-clearing equipment like Vermont did. People just didn’t drive in snow the way they did here.

But Malcolm was a great driver in snow. He’d had many years of long New England practice.

Then he realized that, without knowing it, Mindy had put a bug in his ear with all her questions. He suddenly felt homesick for his country. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle of Coke that Kristin had also ordered for him. If he were at home, he’d have asked for an Irn-Bru. Maybe Kristin would think it was nasty stuff—sweet, licorice-flavored, neon-orange-colored carbonated soda—but it was his Scottish nasty stuff, and that’s why he’d always liked it.

He was just tired from too much traveling. Maybe he needed a rest....

The others went back to work, and he observed Kristin and her motley crew from a distance. It fascinated him how Kristin made a game out of finishing their labeling chore. She and Mindy sang all the choruses of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” When they were through with that, they shared turns telling stories.

And then they lapsed into silence, quietly moving among the open boxes, filling them with jars, while Mindy closed her eyes and rested.

Outside, the snow covered the world in a peaceful white blanket. Malcolm got up by himself and wandered the facility, first completing his report-printing and diagram-photocopying, and then taking the last of his photos.

When he’d finished, he searched for Kristin. He found her sitting by herself at the table where they’d eaten lunch earlier. Her chin was in her hands and she was staring out the window, just watching the January snow come down. Hushed.

And it seemed to him that the delicious sandwich caught in his throat, because he’d known before he’d even started his day’s work, known before he’d seen the first bleeding financial statement and the first silent, still piece of machinery that he was going to shut all this down on her.

He was the man responsible.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

* * *

NOT EVEN MINDY could melt this glacial man’s heart, Kristin decided.

Thankfully, George had avoided them for most of the afternoon. Mindy had come back and reported to Kristin that George was “mean.”

“He frowns at me,” Mindy had said.

Yes, George was a frowner. Nothing cracked his reserve.

He was closed, disinterested, zipped-up tight. And she wouldn’t complain about it, because he had treated her with nothing but professionalism so far. During their tour of the plant, not once had he said a single inappropriate thing or even cracked a smile again.

If anything, as he followed her about the factory floor, listening silently to her explanation of the processes, cutting in only now and then to ask pertinent questions, he was insightful.

Her anxiety since she’d spoken to Dirk had slowly slipped away. She had relaxed enough to leave George to his own devices while she’d helped her crew box orders and perform quality control with the invoices and packing lists. The shipping company was due soon, and Aura was behind with their schedule. They were always behind with their schedule lately, it seemed. Whenever things went wrong at work, Andrew would be quick to criticize her, but Kristin was determined this would not be one of those times.

She just needed to accept that George Smith was enigmatic. He was a “Mr. Rochester” type. Once upon a time, Kristin would’ve found a fun challenge in bringing him out of his shell. What made this guy tick? Why was he so closed off and brooding?

Jeff dropped a box he was carrying, and George jumped. Literally jumped.

So he was nervous, too. Behind that angry, serious facade.

But, she really didn’t want to think too much about it or him. Things had changed with her since her younger more naive days. Now, she just wanted this handsome Scotsman bundled up and on his way so she could go back to her life as it was.

At the end of the afternoon, Kristin crossed the plant and found George standing in her office, sliding a folder into his briefcase. He glanced up when he saw her, and for a split second, his face brightened.

She hesitated. Maybe he was melting a bit.

“Did you find everything you needed today?” she asked cautiously.

He nodded, making a slight smile. “Yes, and I appreciate all your help.”

Well. That was...good. “Do you think you could tell Andrew that for me?” She started to smile, too, but then stopped herself, remembering. “Please, just give me a good report. It really would help me with him.”

“Yes, I’ll tell him,” George said warmly. “I’ll tell Jay Astley, as well. Maybe he can do something for you.”

Jay Astley? Her pulse elevated. “Thank you. That’s...” She paused, thinking of their gentle CEO. “Did I mention that his wife recently died?”

He nodded, slowly drawing on his coat. “Yes.”

“Laura...his wife...was the person who interviewed me for this job six years ago.” Kristin couldn’t help smiling at her memory. “We hit it off right away.”

“She made a good decision hiring you,” George said.

He thought so? She snapped her head up, but he had discreetly turned aside and was wrapping a winter scarf around his neck.

Kristin turned off the electric heater. Laura’s sudden illness and then death had upset everyone. She had been the heart and soul of their little factory community. She had also been the most perceptive person Kristin had ever met.

Anybody else would’ve thrown Kristin out of her office once she’d seen Kristin’s grades and college transcript. Kristin had not been top of her class, far from it. Back then, she’d been hopelessly disorganized. Even during her scheduled interview—so important to her—Kristin had accidentally dropped her purse, and to her mortification, two packaged tampons had rolled out onto the interview table.

But Laura had been gracious to her and had looked beyond the mistake. Maybe she had been able to tell that Kristin was bright and knew what she was talking about, despite the rough nerves. In any event, she’d simply smiled and put Kristin at ease. “It would be nice to have another woman besides me in the plant offices,” Laura had said. “Tell me, what about Aura Botanicals drew you to us?”

And Kristin had relaxed enough to just be herself for the rest of the interview. Something all too rare back in those days.

Kristin blinked, coming back to the present. She bit the inside of her cheek and glanced at George. He had cocked his head and was quietly studying her.

She smiled at him. “When Laura interviewed me for this job, she asked me why she should hire me. And I actually said to her, ‘Because I’m addicted to your Red Chestnut shampoo. It makes me happy every morning when I smell it.’”

Laughing, she shook her head. “What would you have said to such a candidate? You would have run away, wouldn’t you?”

“Actually,” George said slowly, “I like that answer. If said honestly, it shows that the employee understands the company’s products. It shows a tendency to be loyal, and that’s the most important thing to me.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

Something stirred in her heart. He looked so vulnerable and yet sexy at the same time. She pressed her palms to her sides and tried to stay calm.

“I definitely would’ve hired you,” he said quietly. The soft lilt of Scotland rolled over her. Her heart picked up and seemed to float.

“Really?” she breathed.

“Absolutely.” It was almost a whisper.

A spell hung in the air between them. Her knees weakened. She gazed at him, into his light, clear blue eyes, the color of the fading winter’s day, and she could not stop that bond that had seemed to spring up and suddenly intensify.

With a sharp intake of breath, George stared down at his watch. “Four o’clock,” he murmured. “My ride will be here soon.”

“Yes.” Flustered, she grabbed her coat. “I’ll walk you to the front door.”

He nodded to her. She wondered if he would reach for her hand. But, no, as always, he was careful not to touch her.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye, then,” he said. He kept his hands in his pockets.

“Yes. Of course,” she answered.

His phone rang, and he seemed relieved to turn away from her. “Hello, I’ll meet you out front,” he said into the phone.

She went back out to the packing area, trying not to think of him. She had wanted him to leave, after all. By now, the shipping guy had shown up and was loading the stack of boxes into his truck. Kristin signed time cards for Mindy, Jeff and Arlene, and was saying goodbye to them when George approached her, looking worried.

“I wonder if I might ask for your help,” he said.

So polite. But at least he hadn’t reverted back to scowling at her. She nodded. “Certainly, George.”

He seemed to flinch. “My, er, driver got into a small accident.” With a rueful expression, he gazed out the tall factory windows. In the light that fell over the parking lot, the snow swirled. Two inches accumulation, she judged. The fresh snowfall had amounted to more than the dusting she’d expected.

“Is he all right?” she asked.

George shrugged. “He’s not used to driving in snow. He skidded off the road and into an embankment. He called for assistance, and now he’s awaiting a replacement vehicle. They estimate two hours before he’s able to get here.”

“Oh.” She digested that information. What did it mean for them?

“Is there a taxi company nearby that I might call?” he asked, ever so polite. But she saw the worry lines on his face.

“Yes. Absolutely.” She went to the bulletin board in the break room and pulled the tack to release a worn business card, and then brought it back to George. “There’s only one taxi service in town, but they’re usually pretty reliable.”

He held the card between his fingers while he pressed the buttons for the phone number. He had large hands, the nails bitten to the quick. No rings, wedding or otherwise. She glanced up at him to see his gaze dart away from hers.

She felt warm inside, from her face to her toes. Now, that was strange. She definitely didn’t want that. A fantasy was one thing, but this...this physical attraction was reality. And it was still too dangerous—she didn’t know this man. Yes, everything had gone well so far, but...

Even if their work arrangement didn’t end tonight, she just wasn’t interested in a relationship with him. She seldom dated, and never with anyone she’d met at Aura. It just wasn’t who she was.

Frankly, these days, she’d pretty much resigned herself to the fact that she was meant to be single. The loyal employee, the quirky aunt, the want-to-be-adventurous sister. Maybe—on a good day—even the dutiful daughter. That was all that she was.

Thankfully, George Smith was leaving town. She turned away from him and marched from the packing area. She kept her hands balled in her pockets. She was far enough away that she couldn’t hear him, which was good, because the sound of his deep, low voice speaking into the phone was doing a number on her, making her body feel things she didn’t want to feel.

She busied herself by walking through the plant, checking that lights were off and doors were locked. Inside her office, she grabbed her flashlight from the shelf, along with a spare pair of mittens and a beret that she kept in one of her desk drawers. It would be a long walk home in the dark and the cold. She shut down her computer and closed up the room.

When she turned down the corridor, she saw George walking toward her. Her legs seemed to freeze. She stopped where she was, twisting the mittens in her hand.

“The taxi service isn’t willing to drive me to my hotel. The snowfall is supposed to intensify, and they don’t want to get stuck.”

“Oh,” she replied.

“Is there a diner where I can get something to eat and do some work until my ride arrives?”

“I... No.” She laughed ruefully, not able to avoid gazing into his eyes. Sky-blue. So beautiful...

She shook her head, looking away. “We’re a backwater town. All that’s open on Saturday night is a convenience mart, a seedy bar I don’t recommend, two gas stations and a twenty-four hour pharmacy.”

His countenance fell. Kristin rubbed her arms and risked glancing at him again. He really was worried. Suddenly, this was not just his problem, but their problem. They were a team, and he needed her to help him solve this.

It made her feel sick and a little anxious.

“How about if I find someone to drive you to your hotel?” she suggested shakily. Maybe her brother was home. He had a four-wheel-drive vehicle.

But her brother was like her; he tended to talk too much and inappropriate things often popped out without him intending it. “On second thought, never mind,” she said hurriedly, “I’ll take you instead.”

“No.” George shook his head. “Absolutely not. I will not have you jeopardize your safety. It’s out of the question.”

“Then...what do you propose we do?”

He set his mouth in a line. “I’ll wait in your office.”

“No, we can’t do that. Because of the alarm, you can’t stay in the factory without me being here with you.” She rubbed her trembling palms against her sides—she had no choice, really. “How about if you wait with me at my sister-in-law’s house?” Nothing could go wrong with that scenario. “My niece invited me for an early dinner tonight. We’ll sit with their family while you wait for your ride.”

“No, I don’t want to impose,” he said.

But she could tell he was being polite and cautious, refusing the invitation the same as she would have, in his place.

“Stephanie is a professional chef. To her, adding another seat at the table is a good thing. The more people who enjoy her meals, the better, as far as she’s concerned.”

He still looked dubious.

“I’ll call her now and tell her.” She had to—she couldn’t leave George out in the cold.

Holding her mitten with her teeth, Kristin took out her phone from her pocket and dialed her sister-in-law’s number. George gave her a pained expression, but he didn’t argue.

Stephanie picked up on the first ring. “Where are you? You said you’d be here at five o’clock.”

“I’m bringing a work colleague to dinner. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

George was now outright frowning at her and looking tremendously unhappy.

Kristin glanced away. “His name is George Smith, and he’s snowed in for a couple of hours until his ride shows up. I told him that he could grab a bite with us, and that it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’re bringing home a man?” Stephanie asked over the phone. “Our Kristin is actually bringing someone home? Are pigs flying?”

“Stop it,” Kristin murmured. George winced. She smiled gamely at him, trying not to tremble.

“You used to be fun,” Stephanie complained.

“I still am,” she whispered into the phone.

“No, I mean, you used to date. You used to like guys, and want to have a family of your own someday. You were gonna have a set of twins, remember—so they would be best friends with my kids—and we were all going to vacation together, happily ever after. I even married your dumb brother for it.”

Oh, no. Knowing Kristin’s brother, some elaborately planned prank had backfired. She glanced nervously at George. “Um, what’s he done now?”

“Nothing! That’s the problem—he’s refusing to eat my cooking. And me, a professional! You would think that after eight years of marriage, the dummy would learn.”

“What’s...going on, Steph?”

There was a pause, and when she spoke again, Stephanie’s mouth sounded full. “Actually, it’s a surprise. Ask George Smith if he likes haggis.”

Haggis? For a moment, Kristin couldn’t process the incongruity.

She glanced at George, confused. What was Stephanie talking about the Scottish dish for? Her family had never eaten or served it before, not once. From what Kristin had read, haggis was a pudding/meat kind of thing, made with sheep’s heart, liver and lungs all ground up and stuffed, along with oatmeal and onion and spices, inside a big sausage casing and served on a platter.

At least, that was what she had discovered on the internet when she’d been explaining Scottish customs to her niece Lily for the girl’s “What is Your Family Ancestry?” Girl Scout project.

And then it dawned on her. “Oh, my gosh!” Kristin squealed. “Today is January twenty-fifth! You made haggis for Lily, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” Stephanie said. “Though technically, I prepared it for you. Maybe it will spark some sense of adventure in you and bring you back to life. The whole family is invited and we’re going to do it up—bagpipe music, toasts, songs—the works. Pretty good surprise, isn’t it?”

With a smile so big it felt as if her cheeks were splitting, Kristin suddenly remembered George standing beside her.

She stopped giggling and turned to him, her hand over her mouth.

His face had turned paper-white.

Kristin covered the phone so Stephanie wouldn’t hear her. “You know exactly what holiday tonight is, don’t you, George?”

* * *

WORSE AND WORSE. That’s how his day was going. He was in a section of Hades reserved for liars. Or at least, for imposters who were required to take security names as part of their jobs.

Malcolm bit his tongue, hard, not for the first time today, and probably not for the last time, either.

Kristin was right about one thing: he knew damn well what “Rabbie Burns” night was.

January twenty-fifth. Every year, a countrywide supper held in honor of the birthday of Scotland’s national poet: Robert Burns. Malcolm had been out of the country and away from home for so long, he hadn’t been to a Burns event since he was...

Ten years old. Exactly.

Damn it. He should’ve anticipated this. Kristin was obviously obsessed with his home country, romanticizing it like many women did.

The reality was, his home country just wasn’t that damn romantic to him. Not in his experience.

“Have you ever eaten haggis?” he made sure to say in his best American accent. “Because I haven’t. It sounds horrible. No offense to your sister-in-law.”

“Seriously? You’ve never tried it?”

“Seriously. I’ve never tried it.”

She smiled at him. “Then I guess you’ll have to come along and try something new tonight,” she teased.

Obviously, Kristin trusted him more than she had earlier. Her reticence had left her, and this was not good, for either of them.

What was she doing, believing in him?

Don’t, he wanted to tell her. But if he confessed to her what he was really doing visiting her company, then he would violate the terms of his agreement.

You have to make the hard choices, Malcolm.

Really, he had no choice.