A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,46
front of the store were off, but there was a golden glow seeping out from somewhere in the rear of the store, which he happened to know was where Bev’s office was. Or, he supposed that would be Holly’s office, now. So he was doing the neighborly thing…bringing over a hot meal for the new kid in town, freshly off a long flight from the U.K. Neighborly. Friendly. That was Sean Gallagher, all right.
“You are so full of shit,” he muttered as he tapped lightly on the glass pane of the front door. When no one appeared from the back, he knocked a bit harder. He didn’t want to startle her, but how else was he going to play Good Samaritan unless she knew he was standing outside her door, at one o’clock in the morning, freezing his ass off…being neighborly.
He was just about to turn away when he saw her poke her head around the corner leading to the back of the store. He waved and lifted the box in his hand so she could see it.
She didn’t exactly come running to unlock the door, but she didn’t wave him off, either. It was a start. He laughed silently at himself. How pathetic was this? He could hear his assorted cousins and relatives now. You’ve a full life, Sean Gallagher, but when it comes to the fairer sex, you’re a sad, sorry man. Women throwing themselves at you all but nightly, yet you subject yourself to this.
Of course, said women usually came into Gallagher’s in packs, and had imbibed perhaps more than what was strictly recommended, then simply behaved accordingly. Not exactly the sort of behavior to get his attention, at least not in a positive way. His cousins—the female ones—told him women needed the extra courage of a drink or two because he was “too intimidating” to approach. Good looking, successful, single, usually topped their list of reasons why, along with workaholic, no life, unwilling to commit to anything other than running the restaurant. The male side of the family mostly scratched their collective heads and wondered, aloud, and at great length, why he wasn’t taking them all to bed. Hourly. And not necessarily one at a time.
He basically avoided the conversations regarding his bachelor status, especially after hitting thirty, rather than subject himself to their endless and highly detailed theories, and worse, their plans to “fix” the situation. Which, to his mind, didn’t need fixing. Yes, most of the Gallagher clan began adding to the massive, mutant-size family tree long before his ripe old age of thirty-two. But most of them didn’t carry the burdens he did, either, even if he did so willingly. He considered his life to be a full and content one. It just also happened to be one that wasn’t all that conducive to conducting a long-term relationship.
Which was the other sad, sorry truth of why he was standing outside Holly’s door in the middle of the night, a box of food in one hand and a hopeful smile on his face. The wee hours were pretty much his only free time. He watched as she unlocked the door, noting that her smile had been brief and not entirely welcoming. In fact, she looked quite tired and perhaps a bit more weary around the eyes—which weren’t currently making any direct contact with his—than simply a long flight followed by a long day and now night, might warrant. He’d thought a personally cooked meal might be welcome, but now he wondered if perhaps she was more in need of a warm shoulder.
“Hey,” he said when she pushed the door open. “I was closing up and saw your light was still on back there. I used to bring your mom a meal on occasion when she was doing the books or working on orders late. I thought you might appreciate one as well. I know it’s been a long day for you.”
She did look at him then, and before she could mask the weariness with a polite smile, her expression said it all. Long day didn’t begin to cover it, apparently. “I—that’s very nice of you. You really didn’t need to. I ordered down at Jimmy’s earlier, for a sub.”
He could have told her it had been over eight hours ago when he’d seen Jimmy’s little brother pulling up in front of Santa’s Workshop with the carryout sign stuck to the roof of his pickup truck, but then he’d have to explain why he’d been