A Mistletoe Kiss For The Single Dad

Other than reopening the free clinic one last time. He owed that to Marlene, even if it would be about as much fun as a root canal.

“What can I get you folks to drink?” Pat asked, setting three glasses of water on the table.

Belle perused her choices, frowning. “Do you have anything organic?”

“Uh…we’ve got tea.”

“Is it green?”

“Brown, last time I checked.” Pat chuckled. “Unless it’s gone bad.”

“I’ll stick with water, thank you,” Belle said, her expression dour.

“Sure thing.” Pat jotted something on his little pad, then grinned. “So great to see you again, Belle. I’m so sorry about what happened to Marlene.”

“Thank you, Mr. Randall.”

“Please, call me Pat. We’re like family around here.”

She nodded, then went back to looking at her menu.

Nick cleared his throat. “Con and I will have sodas, Pat.”

“Cherry flavor in those?”

“Of course.” Nick winked at his son.

“Be right back.” Pat walked away, leaving them alone again.

Even beneath the diner’s fluorescent lights, Belle’s auburn hair still glowed like wildfire. A trait she and her aunt had shared. Her mom too, if Nick remembered right. Of course, he’d only been eight too when her parents had died in a car accident. The whole town had turned out for their funeral, as well. He pictured little Belle back then, sitting alone on Marlene’s porch, not crying, not scared, just sort of oddly stoic.

Kind of like she was now.

Belle leaned closer to him, close enough for him to catch a hint of scent—something fresh and floral with a hint of mint. “You don’t let him order his own food either? How controlling of you.”

“Remind me again when you became a parenting expert?” He clasped his hands on the table, all traces of tenderness toward Belle vanishing. Connor’s well-being was his top priority in life. Period. Amen. He’d promised Vicki he’d take care of their son and he intended to keep that vow. He changed subjects to safer territory. “How’s California?”

“Sunny.” Her phone continued buzzing like an angry bee.

“Can’t you just turn that thing off while we eat?” he asked her. “Don’t you have an answering service to field calls when you’re out of the office?”

“Yes.” Her green eyes flashed again with annoyance. “My boss is trying to reach me.”

“Here we are, folks.” Pat returned with their drinks. “What are we having for dinner?”

“Connor and I will split a burger and fries. Cheese, no onion. Medium-well.”

“Great.” Pat wrote down his order. “And for you, Belle?”

“I’ll have the house salad. No cheese or croutons. Dressing on the side. Fat-free Italian. Hold the bread stick too.”

“Or you could just bring her a cardboard box, Pat. It’ll be just as tasty,” Nick said.

The two men chuckled, and she gave them an impassive stare.

“While I always appreciate your culinary opinions, Nick, I’ll stick with what’s healthy.” She jammed her menu back into the holder and gave Pat a cool smile. “And could I have a lemon wedge for my water? Thank you.”

Pat left, shaking his head.

“Are your parents still in town?” Belle asked as she unbelted her expensive coat to reveal the equally expensive tailored suit beneath, all sharp lines and jagged edges. So different from the cute, geeky girl he’d fallen in love with back in high school. Gone were her soft heart and pretty curves, her lilting giggles as they’d dreamed about taking the medical world by storm, like all those TV doctors on their favorite shows.

Nope. Not going there.

He shoved away the pang of nostalgia welling inside him for the kids they’d once been—so young, so idealistic, so naive—and took a deep breath. The air filled with the smell of grease and the sizzle of frying meat.

What had happened between them in the past didn’t matter.

What mattered was the here and now.

“No. They moved to Florida right after Dad retired a few years back.”

He glanced across the diner at the Hernandez family, laughing and talking, and yearned to join their relaxed group. Juan and his family had moved to Bayside about a month after Nick and Connor. Juan had transferred to the auto plant nearby from a factory near Guaymas, Mexico. After a bit of a rocky start with learning the language and resettling in a new country, they’d become a beloved part of the community, with little Analia basically having the run of Bayside. Good thing too, since the auto plant had been closed now and Juan was out of work and couldn’t afford to move his family back to Mexico. The community had rallied around them, making sure they had food and clothes and enough money to survive on. Juan was also working construction to make ends meet while his wife tutored high-school kids in Spanish.

“Do you know them?” Belle asked, watching the Hernandez family, as well.

“I do. Their daughter is a patient of mine,” he said. “Why?”

“No reason.” She shrugged and fiddled with her napkin. “Crouzon’s?”

“Yep.”

“How old is she?”

“Con’s age.”

“She should be ready for the second phase of her surgery soon,” Belle said, all animosity between them gone as they discussed medicine. Funny how that worked.

“She is, but it’s expensive. Analia’s father lost his job and I’ve been working to get their case taken on pro bono by a colleague of mine in Detroit, but so far the paperwork is still tied up.” Nick sighed and sipped his cherry cola. “They’re doing the best they can. Analia’s happy.”

“Is she?” Belle glanced at the little girl again, then looked away. “Let’s get back to discussing the free clinic. It’s why we’re here.”

“The first thing we need to do is get into there and assess the state of things,” he said, forcing an ease he didn’t quite feel. “I’ll call my PA tonight and tell her the situation. See if she can handle the patient load tomorrow by herself until we can work out a schedule.”

“If repairs need to be made, we’ll have to hire someone. Might be hard to get the work done on such short notice.” Belle surveyed the interior of the diner as she spoke, and he tried to see it through her eyes. Far from the pristine interiors of Rodeo Drive, Pat’s looked like a thrift store had exploded—local knickknacks and memorabilia covering every square inch of wall space.

“Juan Hernandez might be able to help. He does good work.” He’d helped renovate the house Nick had bought after returning to Bayside. “I’ll ask him if he can stop in tomorrow and take a look.” Nick glanced at the calendar on the wall, donated courtesy of the local volunteer fire department. “If we get started in the morning, that gives us eight days until Christmas Eve.”

“Fine. But this is all still contingent on my boss granting me an extension on my bereavement leave.” She folded her hands atop the table, prim as a church lady on Sunday.