Page 23 of Mack

“Just looking.” He glanced around the shop. “Is Mallory in today?”

The woman smiled and that suggested she found the question interesting. “Day off. I’m Ruth. I work part-time for her during the week and I cover the weekends.”

“Mack Reinhardt.” He nodded.

“I know who you are. I remember you as a boy.” Ruth went back to whatever she’d been doing behind the counter, unbothered. “She’ll be in tomorrow if you need something.”

“No need.” He picked up a small ornament from the nearest display, turned it over in his hands, then set it back. “Just stopped in.”

“Of course you did,” Ruth said pleasantly, without looking up.

Mack decided he liked Ruth. He also decided he was leaving before she said anything else.

“Have a good Sunday, ma’am.”

“You too, Mack.” She smiled at her work. “You too.”

He pushed back out into the cold and stood on the sidewalk for a moment. The mountains were lost in the clouds today, the town quieter than usual, the kind of Sunday that made you want a fire and somewhere warm to be.

He turned up his collar and headed back to his truck.

Tomorrow, then.

He drove back to the ranch with the radio off, the clouds sitting low over the mountains now, the first few flakes starting to drift down by the time he turned onto the gravel drive.

Inside he got the fire going and settled into the window seat in the living room with a fresh cup of coffee. The old farmhouse had good bones, his father always said, and the window seat was one of the things Mack had loved about it since he was a kid. Wide enough to stretch out in, looking out over the front yard and the long drive lined with pines. Snow was coming down lightly now, dusting the fence rails and settling soft along the branches, and the whole world outside had gone quiet as it only does when it snows.

He picked up his phone and called Juliette.

She answered on the second ring. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Mm. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Mack looked out at the snow. “How do you do that?”

“You sound different.” Her voice was warm with satisfaction. “Tell me about her.”

He almost denied it. Then he didn’t bother. “Her name is Mallory. She has a little boy named T.J. He’s three.”

Silence on the other end. Then, quietly, “You like them.”

He thought about Mallory handing him the mashed potatoes on her way out of the kitchen. The way she’d stood at her counter the first day he walked into her shop and folded her hands to keep them still.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

“Good.” He heard her shift, settle. “It’s about time, Mack. You need to get past Ariana.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying. Is she good to you?”

“Jules, I’ve had dinner with her once.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think she is.”