All I Want For Christmas Is You - Penelope Ward Page 0,39
Speeds, the owner of Speeds’ Bar, and the one man in Port Huron who has the ability to press my buttons—both good and bad.
As he gets closer, I pray my white jacket, cap, and mittens make me blend in with the snow, making me invisible to him as he drives by. I know my prayers aren’t going to be answered when I hear the rumble of his engine start to slow then curse myself for my sudden bad luck when he yells my name. Knowing I can’t really avoid this—and pretty sure I might be getting frostbite on my toes even with my Uggs on—I stop to face him when he pulls up next to me.
“What the hell are you doing out here, Milly?” he bites out, making me cringe as he pushes open the passenger door, which turns on the light in the cab of the truck, illuminating his beautiful face. There are not many men I would call beautiful, but there is no other way to describe Tyler—with his perfectly groomed beard, full lips, deep-brown eyes, and dark hair that tends to fall whatever way it pleases. Since I can remember, I’ve had a crush on him, and he’s always been indifferent toward me, which really sucks.
“My car broke down.” I wave my hand in the direction of the truck. “And I don’t have cell service, so I was walking toward town.” I climb into the passenger seat and hold my frozen fingertips up against the vents blowing out hot air.
“I didn’t see your Benz. The only vehicle I saw was a truck in a ditch a couple miles back.”
“That would be mine.”
“What?”
“I rented it.” I avoid looking at him as I wait for him to drive, and when he doesn’t, I sigh and turn to face him. “What?”
“Why would you rent a truck, and why the hell are you out after midnight on Christmas Eve?”
“Why are you out after midnight on Christmas Eve?” I return with a raise of my brow.
“I run a bar, Milly. We had our Christmas party tonight.”
Oh yeah, I remember hearing Tiffany talk about that when she came to the bank to deposit her paycheck. “Now why are you out, and what happened to your car?”
“Well.” I lick my lips, and his eyes drop to my mouth, making my belly dip. “It’s kinda a long story.”
“I have nowhere to be right now.” He taps his long fingers on the steering wheel, settling in like he really does have all night, when I definitely do not.
“Okay, then I’d rather not tell you.” I know the smart thing would be to tell him and ask for his help, but for four years, this has been my little secret, and I don’t want anyone to find out that I’m the person they dubbed Port Huron’s Santa.
“Milly.” His eyes narrow. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Of course I’m not in trouble.”
“Then start talking, Milly.”
“Can you stop using my name like that?”
“Babe,” he growls, and I glare at him, which does absolutely no good whatsoever. “Start talking.”
“If I tell you, you have to swear not to tell anyone ever. Like, ever-ever.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious; you can’t tell anyone.”
“I said I wouldn’t,” he replies, and I study his face for a long moment then lay it all out. I tell him that since I work at the bank, I know a lot of folks’ personal financial information and hear things while people are in my line. I explain quickly that I know I shouldn’t pry, but hearing people can’t even afford a tree or one gift for their kids makes my heart hurt, so I want to help. I tell him about the first year and how I couldn’t really afford to help more than a few families, but since then, I’ve found a way to save all year long to help a few more.
When I finish, I drop my eyes to my lap, rub my hands up and down my damp jeans, and let out a breath without looking at him. “So, this year, I have twelve families to deliver Christmas to. That’s why I rented a truck, but now that truck is in a ditch, so I need to go to town and see if I can find somewhere to get another truck from. Then I can hopefully make some magic happen in the next—” I glance at the clock, trying not to cry when I see the time. “—five hours.”