“You make it sound like his father deserting the family was your fault,” her dad said, helping himself to another stack of his much-loved hotcakes.
“I do feel that way, and before you say anything, I know that’s ridiculous. I could barely sleep last night, and when I did, I had nightmares.”
“Billy wasn’t upset when you told him about the letter, was he?”
“Heavens, no. What troubled me was when he talked about that Christmas. His eyes grew sad, as if it was one of the worst times of his life.”
Her mother grew still and quiet. “You should bake him cookies,” she suggested, as if cookies would absolve Lindy of any residual guilt.
“Mom, I don’t think Christmas cookies are going to help.”
Her dad shook his head. “Don’t discount your mother’s gingerbread cookies, Sweet Pea.”
Lindy was amused and thoughtfully mulled over her mother’s idea. Her grandmother’s recipe for gingerbread cookies wasn’t going to remove the pain she recognized in Billy. She knew that, but at the same time, it was something she could do. A small kindness. She didn’t have any plans for the afternoon. Later that evening, Peggy suggested they get together again, possibly take in a movie. Lindy was eager to spend more time with her long-lost friend and had agreed.
* * *
—
It was gratifying how quickly Lindy had connected with her friend. It felt like old times. Returning to Peggy’s following the movie, they shared wine and confidences. Lindy found it easy to tell Peggy about the situation with her job and her determination to succeed in Seattle. She’d always been driven, but rarely more so than she was with Media Blast. Almost from the first day she’d felt like an outsider. It wasn’t until after the first month that she’d learned Laurie, who’d been with the company five years, had also applied for the position. Instead, Media Blast went with Lindy. Feeling their colleague had been cheated, the rest of the team resented Lindy. As a result, Lindy felt the pressing need to prove herself and her qualifications at every turn. After another glass of wine, she spilled the dirt about Celeste and Brian.
Lindy learned Peggy had endured her own heartache. She’d been married then divorced when her alcoholic husband had run up thousands of dollars of debt and then split town, leaving Peggy to deal with the creditors. It had taken her years to pay everything off.
* * *
—
Monday afternoon, just after the Wine Press opened, Lindy arrived with a large plate of gingerbread cookies she’d baked on Sunday. When she’d mentioned what she intended to do, Peggy had agreed with her mother and said it would be a nice gesture. Besides, Billy, with his strong jaw and muscular shoulders, was handsome enough to be on the cover of a romance novel. Peggy seemed to think Billy might still have a thing for Lindy and joked that he might be tempted to chase her the way he’d done when she was in grade school. If that was the case, Lindy was half tempted to let him catch her.
Nice gesture or not, once she arrived at the restaurant, she was nervous. The hostess, a young, attractive woman in her early twenties, greeted her with a welcoming smile. “A table for one?” she asked.
“Actually, I’m here to see Billy Kincade. Is he available?”
“Do you mean Will?”
“I knew him as Billy, but yes, I suppose he goes by Will these days.”
“Can I tell him who’s asking?”
“Of course. I’m Lindy Carmichael. We’re…old friends.” That was a stretch, but it sounded good. She smiled, hoping it made her look believable.
“If you’ll wait here, I’ll see if Mr. Kincade is available.”
“Thank you.” The short exchange didn’t ease any of Lindy’s nervousness. For half a second, she was tempted to leave. It would be mortifying if Billy refused to see her, once he learned it was her.
She was both relieved and tense when the hostess returned with Billy. He glanced at the plate in her hand and raised his brows in question.
“Lindy?” he said, as if he didn’t understand what had prompted her visit. “What can I do for you?”
Thrusting out the plate, she was embarrassed that the hostess was listening in on their conversation. It was bad enough that Billy looked frazzled and impatient. “I baked cookies, because I wanted to apologize,” she said, eager to have him take her guilt offering so she could leave.
“Apologize?” he asked, “Whatever for?” He didn’t take the plate.
Not wanting anyone to overhear, she leaned forward and whispered, “That letter to Santa.”