A Snowglobe Christmas: Yuletide Homecoming / A Family's Christmas Wish

“Snowglobe’s a great place to be during the holidays,” he said, rattling boxes of macaroni and cheese.

Really? Then why had he left? “It’s a great place to be any time.”

If he comprehended the jab, he dodged it. “Spokane must have agreed with you.”

“What?” Frowning, she glanced up. “Why?”

“You look good.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks. I enjoyed the time there.”

“Your mother seems really happy to have you home.”

“She is.” Now shut up and leave me alone. And stop looking at me as if you’re even the slightest bit interested in my life.

“Are you happy about taking over the shop?”

Amy suppressed a sigh. He was as insensitive as she’d thought. “For the most part. I’ve missed the small-town things we do at Christmas. The tree lighting, caroling door-to-door.”

“I’m looking forward to those myself. The ski race, too.”

She resisted the urge to ask why he’d changed his mind and come home. She didn’t want to care why he did anything.

When she didn’t speak, another uncomfortable silence fell. With an inner groan, Amy wondered which was worse, talking to Rafe or dealing with the awkward silence.

She stacked four cans of corn into a box and stole a glance toward the doorway. Not another soul anywhere around.

When she could bear the quiet no longer, she asked, “Are you competing?”

“In the race?” He shook his head. “No, but Jake is. I’m minding the store. The recreational rental business should be brisk when tourists hit town.”

“So, how’s that working out for you?”

With a box of stuffing in each hand, he grinned, transforming his serious expression into a thing of beauty. Thick lines radiated from the corner of his eyes, lines that hadn’t been there five years ago. A pinch of concern prodded Amy. She wasn’t stupid or uninformed. She knew where he’d been for most of his military career, and now she wondered what kind of toll war had taken on the breezy young athlete she remembered.

“I play with big boys’ toys all day,” he said. “Can’t beat a job like that.”

She studied him, bothered by her thoughts and this sudden, unwanted curiosity about his life. “Business must be good.”

“We’re doing all right. You should come by sometime and check us out. Take a spin on one of the new Arctic Cats.” Using a black marker, he labeled a filled box and set it aside.

“Maybe I’ll do that.” When Antarctica melts. Though she was itching to ask why he’d left the military, she refrained, struggling not to care one way or the other. But something new about him disturbed her, something more than their painful break-up.

When he came around the table toward her then, she took a step backward, wary. The last thing she wanted was for him to touch her or apologize or...whatever he was about to do.

“I’ll get the filled boxes for you,” he said, indicating the two she’d packed and slid to one side. “They get pretty heavy.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling silly. “Thanks, but I’ve still got some muscle.” She raised her sweater-clad arm and made a muscle to prove the point.

Rafe was still a little too close, so much so that his outdoorsy scent tinkled her nose. Amy’s breath caught in her throat as memories flooded her. Her chest filled with an ache too big to hold. She’d once loved him so very, very much.

Heedless of her inward battle, Rafe’s powerful fingers lightly squeezed her relatively small muscle. He whistled. “Spokane girls got the power.”

Yes, they did. The power to back away and remember what Rafe Westfield had done five years ago.

She dropped her arm to her side and turned away to rummage in the donation boxes.

They worked in silence again, sorting, stacking, boxing. Amy tried to focus on the good she was doing, on the families who would benefit from the food and toys they’d deliver to homes shortly before Christmas.

“I wish we had a radio,” she said suddenly.

“Want to use my iPod? I’ve got earbuds.”

“You downloaded Christmas carols?”

“Are you insinuating that guys don’t listen to Christmas music?”

“No, of course not—” Amy looked up to see he was teasing. “How did you know I wanted Christmas music?”

“Because you always did.” Expression easy, he pointed a cake mix at her. “You drove me nuts singing ‘Jingle Bells’ at the first sign of snow.”

Not wanting to remember those good times, Amy tossed her head. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

He stared at her for two beats before saying, “I guess we both have. You gonna sing in the Christmas cantata?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.” But she was thinking about what he’d said. They’d both changed. For some reason, the statement made her sad.

“You should. Trust me, the choir needs your soprano.”

“I doubt that.” She added packs of beans and rice to the three new boxes she’d set between them as barriers. “New Life has plenty of strong voices.”

“None as sweet and pure as yours.”

“Is that a compliment?” She looked up, smiling in spite of her resolve.

His perfect mouth shrugged while his eyes twinkled. “Maybe. Or maybe Darlene Clifford is jockeying to sing a solo.”

Amy clapped a hand to each cheek. “Argh. Say it ain’t so!”

Holding a tea box to his chest, he nodded in mock seriousness. “And we both know Darlene’s voice could take the paint off the walls.”

Amy sniggered. Then she laughed. Rafe joined her. And in the next minute, through shared silliness, she relaxed a little.

“Shame on you.” Amy tossed a bag of noodles at him.

He one-handed it. “You laughed first.”

So she had. Rafe could always make her laugh.