The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love - By Beth Pattillo Page 0,72

way again, the way that said he’d do anything she asked. She tried to draw a breath and couldn’t.

She had never wanted to be in love with him, but she was. Maybe she always had been.

“I’ll see you in a little while,” she said and turned on her heel, trying not to look like she was running for her life.

On Christmas Eve, Esther pulled her famous crispy roast duck from the oven and set it on the countertop. The smell, salty and sweet at the same time, teased her nostrils. Soft medieval carols played throughout the house, thanks to the expensive stereo system. A faint scent of evergreen from the seven-foot tree in the hallway mingled with the smell of the duck and the lemony counterpoint of wood polish. Every nook and cranny boasted candles, Santa figurines, or poinsettias. For this final Christmas Eve in her home, Esther had spared no expense.

“If you want to set those dishes on the dining room table,” she said to the man standing at her side, “we’re ready to eat.”

Brody McCullough picked up the delicate china bowls-one heaped with brussels sprouts, the other with roasted potatoes. “Will do,” he said with a grin before turning to carry the dishes to the dining room as instructed.

Esther swallowed past the nerves that seemed to knot in her throat. Of all the people in the world, the last one she’d expected to spend Christmas Eve with was Brody. A few months ago, she hadn’t even known him.

Her son, Alex, and his family had elected to spend the holiday in the Bahamas, leaving Esther to her own devices. When she’d mentally run through a list of friends and extended family she could invite for the holiday, she came up empty. Everyone else had a place to spend Christmas, it seemed, and someone to spend it with.

There’d been no one on her list until she’d run into Brody outside Vanderpool’s grocery store the day before and they’d struck up a conversation that led to his presence in her house on Christmas Eve.

Inviting him had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now that the meal was on the table and Brody was pulling out her chair, she felt foolish. Esther didn’t like the feeling. She’d had little experience with it, but somehow, in the last few months, it had become her natural state.

She paused to admire the table. Her Wedgwood china, the gleaming family silver, tall crystal glasses of iced tea, and creamy linen napkins on an equally elegant linen tablecloth.

“Very nice,” Brody said, as if he were reading her thoughts, “but you didn’t have to go to this much trouble. I usually eat off a tray in front of the television.”

Esther had no explanation for Brody’s presence in her home, why he would be even remotely interested in spending the evening with her. A widow. Older. Destitute. Not even able to control her dog. That last thought at least made her smile.

“Christmas Eve is a special occasion.” She pulled her napkin from under her fork and spread it in her lap. “We always—” Her voice failed her.

“You always…,” Brody prompted, his green eyes dark with concern.

“Holidays were always special occasions for the three of us.” Her eyes drifted to the portrait on the wall above the buffet of Frank, Alex, and herself, taken a dozen years ago, when Alex was just about to leave for college.

Her family had meant everything to her, and now, inexplicably, it was gone. Frank was dead. Alex had his own life, and years of overindulgence on her part guaranteed that he put his own happiness and comfort first. That’s why he’d left her home alone on the first Christmas Eve after her husband’s death.

“My family did the holidays up pretty well too,” Brody said, “but not so formal. Usually my mom burned the turkey or cooked the ham until it was dry as dirt. Don’t get me started on my sisters’ disasters in the kitchen.”

As easily as that, he led her away from her grief-filled thoughts. Before she knew it, he was carving the duck, serving the brussels sprouts and potatoes. They hadn’t said grace. She thought of mentioning it, but decided perhaps Brody’s presence was grace enough. An unexpected source of companionship, of comfort, to get her through the evening.

Before long, he had her chuckling over anecdotes from his practice, tales of everything from pet skunks who wouldn’t stop spraying their owners to a horse that thought it was a puppy and