A Little Country Christmas - Carolyn Brown Page 0,109
slush.
Turning, she smiled at Collier. “I’m going to brew some tea. Would you like a cup?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, I prefer coffee.”
She took off her jacket and left it on a chair in the living room. “You can make the coffee, while I put on water for tea. I didn’t see your car in the parking lot,” Iris said over her shoulder as she entered the bathroom.
“That’s because I walked.”
She stuck her head out of the bathroom, watching as he moved around the kitchen. “Why did you walk?”
“I need the exercise,” Collier replied.
“I’ll drive you back whenever you’re ready to leave.”
He gave her a long stare. “What if I don’t leave until tomorrow?”
Iris blinked. “That’s not a problem. Don’t forget I have to go in to work tomorrow. You can use my truck if you don’t want to walk back.” Tracy lived about a half mile from the downtown business district.
“What time do you get off?”
“I’m only working until two.”
Collier nodded. “If that’s the case, I’ll come back around four thirty and we can go together.”
“Sure. Can you please take out the container of cream for me while I wash this makeup off my face?”
Collier opened the refrigerator. “What’s in the glass carafe, Iris?”
She stuck her head out the door again, her face covered with a layer of makeup remover. “That’s rum punch. I made up a sample to see if I’m going to serve it for Christmas. My folks want to come back here for a Christmas Eve dinner, so I thought I’d serve the punch instead of wine. Pour yourself a glass and let me know what you think.”
“I hope you’re not going to work yourself ragged at the Muffin Corner while planning a Christmas dinner.”
“This week coming up is the last week, and then I’m going back to my regular schedule.” Using cotton squares, Iris gently removed her makeup, then scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. How would owning part of her own business change her?
She’d spoken further with Evan about how she should draw up her business proposal with the owners of the Muffin Corner. Once completed, she gave a copy of it to Mabel to discuss with Lester. That had been more than three weeks ago, and they still hadn’t gotten back to her. Iris knew she had to broach the subject but had decided to wait until after the holiday. Although she was paid well for working the extra hours, she couldn’t help thinking how much better things would be if she worked for herself. She could set her own hours, and aside from the initial investment of installing an industrial kitchen and buying the supplies needed to run a bakery and the cost of utilities, her overhead would be negligible.
“Hey, babe! Did you taste this?” Collier called out.
She joined him in the kitchen. He held a glass of punch, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “No. Why?”
He handed her the glass. “Take a sip.”
Iris took a sip from his glass. “That’s real good. It’s also a little strong.”
Collier took down another glass from the cabinet, filled it with ice from the refrigerator’s in-door feature, then added a liberal amount of punch. He touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to wonderful days and glorious nights together.”
Iris’s smile was as brittle as thin ice. What was he talking about? They had less than two weeks before whatever they had would end. “Copy that,” she whispered, using military jargon, then took a long swallow of the fruity concoction. The mixture of the rums and fruit juices went immediately to her brain, and she swayed slightly before righting herself.
Collier eased her fingers from around the glass, setting it on the countertop. “Easy there, baby.”
Resting her forehead on his chest, Iris felt like crying. It was hard to imagine going back to the loneliness she’d experienced before he’d gotten there. How could she have been so foolish to continue to see him when she knew if they did have a future together she would become a copy of her mother—following her husband from base to base. And what about their children? Did she want to uproot them to live a vagabond lifestyle of moving to a new home every two or three years? Her entire body trembled when his hand searched under her sweater and covered her breast. They were so sensitive she couldn’t help shivering.
“What’s the matter, babe?” he asked.
“Just sensitive, I guess.”
He grunted deep in his throat. “Is that good or bad?”