Angels at Christmas by Debbie Macomber Page B

she returned testily.
    He eased off the main thoroughfare and onto a quiet side street. It was a middle-class neighborhood of older homes, mostly small ramblers with a few brick houses interspersed among them, just enough to keep the neighborhood from being termed a development.
    â€œAre you ready to listen to reason yet?” he asked as if he possessed limitless patience and was more than willing to wait her out.
    â€œAre you ready to accept responsibility and write me an apology?”
    â€œNot on your life.”
    â€œI’m not signing that settlement offer, either,” she said, tossing him a saccharine smile. She exhaled sharply. “You can rest easy about one thing, however.”
    He looked away from the road to glance at her.
    â€œI can’t afford an attorney.”
    Far be it from Roy to point out that in liability cases lawyers were more than happy to accept a chunk of the settlement. Generally it was a big chunk. “Sorry to hear that.”
    â€œYeah, I’ll bet you are.” She closed her eyes and leaned back.
    Roy didn’t completely understand why, but he found himself not wanting to drop her off at her house; he wantedto continue driving so they could talk. “We should discuss it further. Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”
    â€œLike what? I take twelve thousand five hundred dollars and you just apologize and don’t accept responsibility?”
    â€œSomething like that. Why don’t we have coffee and talk it over?”
    Julie’s head snapped up. “You’re joking, right? Did I hear you invite me to coffee?”
    â€œA gesture of peace and goodwill,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “I hear this is the season for it.”
    â€œOh, puh-leeze.” She crossed her arms. “Thanks but no thanks.”
    Roy shrugged off her rejection, although he had to admit he was disappointed. “I was only trying to be helpful.”
    â€œWere you?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
    â€œIt’s no big deal.”
    â€œYou’re sincere?”
    â€œYes,” he said simply. He felt her scrutiny as he drove.
    â€œFine,” she agreed, “but I’d like to suggest we have coffee at my house.”
    Roy pulled to a stop in front of the address she’d given him. It was a small, well-kept house, probably two bedrooms. Green shutters bordered the windows and a rocking chair sat on the front porch. Christmas lights were strung along the roofline.
    â€œYou have coffee on?” he asked.
    â€œNo, but I’ll make a pot.”
    â€œWhy not a restaurant? Neutral territory.”
    â€œBecause,” she said, and sighed heavily. “I’d feel more comfortable on home turf.”
    He considered that. “Should I worry about being poisoned?”
    â€œHmm.” A smile teased the edges of her mouth. “That’s an interesting possibility.”
    â€œPerhaps we can use this as a lesson in compromise,” he said.
    â€œCompromise? How do you mean?”
    â€œIf I come onto your turf, we’ll order dinner and I’ll buy—”
    Julie didn’t allow him to finish. “Dinner? I thought we were having coffee.”
    â€œI’m hungry,” he said. “And we’ll eat in the security and comfort of your home.”
    For a moment he was sure she was going to reject the idea; then she turned to him with a tentative smile. “All right. We’ll order pizza and I like anchovies.”
    â€œPizza it is. I like anchovies, too.” He’d never met a woman who did; once again she’d surprised him.
    From the expression on her face, he wasn’t convinced she believed him.
    â€œI’m just a regular guy, Julie.”
    Muttering, “That’s what Benedict Arnold used to say,” she climbed out of the car and closed the door.
    Roy joined her on the concrete walkway that led to the front steps. “I’m really not so bad, you