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“I sent her home. She kept showing me all the great Black Friday deals on her phone and I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut about how they jack up the prices right before to make it look like you’re getting a deal.”
“Kudos for not bursting her bubble.”
“Only ‘cause I was promised dessert. She’s dropping an apple pie off for us tomorrow to try. Apparently, she’s entering it in some holiday baking contest for the festival of trees.”
“We have pie,” Declan said.
“Pumpkin, not apple.”
“You have a point there. What’d you eat for dinner?” Declan asked, taking the food tray with the empty plate.
“I made some mac and cheese and hot dogs. It’s on the stove if you want to polish it off.”
Declan didn’t, but he just squeezed his dad’s shoulder and carried the tray into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with you?” Liam called after him.
“I got knocked off a ladder by a falling Santa.”
“What?”
Declan stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and turned around. Liam let out a whistle. “Damn, boy. You look like you went a few rounds and lost.”
“I was helping out at the Winters Christmas Tree Farm today and while we were putting some decorations on the roof, I got hurt.”
“I’ll say you did, but that’s why I said not to get caught up in all that crazy commercial stuff. Your mother always wanted to enter those stupid holiday decoration competitions and I told her it was ridiculous. That I wasn’t going to break my neck for her bragging rights.”
Declan paused. His mom’s holiday expectations were one of his dad’s favorite complaints since she left, but usually it was spoken of with a healthy dose of bitterness. The last few times he’d brought up his ex-wife, there was an edge of nostalgia and warmth.
“Are you all right?” Declan asked.
“Me? I’m good.” His father’s smile slipped as he looked Declan up and down. “Are you okay, though? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, that nose and eye are pretty tore back.”
“My head feels worse, but it’s nothing an ice pack and sacking out on the couch won’t fix.”
His dad picked up the remote and started flipping through channels. “I’ll see if I can find us something better to watch.”
“Thanks,” Declan said, twisting away to set the plate by the sink. Although he’d played football in high school as a way to connect with his dad, Liam had accepted the fact that sports weren’t Declan’s thing and tried to find common ground with him. It had taken his mom walking out and Declan coming back to Mistletoe for the two of them to get to know each other for the first time.
The scent of smoke burned Declan eyes, and he rushed to the stove, where the remaining mac and cheese had turned black. “Dad, you left the burner on!”
“Oh, damn it!” Declan heard the clunk of the recliner closing and the heavy stomp of footfalls as he came up behind Declan. “I’m sorry about that. Is it ruined?”
“No, it’s fine.” Declan hated seeing the frustration in his dad’s expression and clapped him on the back. “How about I scoop us up some ice cream, and we’ll turn on an action flick?”
“Sure, sure, I’ll just work on these dishes.”
“No, I got these.”
“You’re hurt,” Liam said, reaching for the mac and cheese pot handle. “I can scrub a few pots and pans.”
Declan grabbed the pot first and waved his hand. “You go put your feet up. The last thing we need is for you to slip in here and break another hip.”
“I’m not an invalid,” his dad grumbled, but shuffled out of the room, leaving Declan to roll up his sleeves and get to work on the stack of bowls and plates piled on the side. He might be a walking bruise, but there was no reason to sit on his ass while his nearly seventy-year-old father did the dishes.
A familiar meow sounded before he felt the weight of his cat, Leo, rub against his pant leg. He glanced down from the plate he was scrubbing to smile at the orange tabby.
“Well, hey, buddy. You missed me? Was Papa rude to you again?”
