We Need a Little Christmas by Sierra Donovan Page A

up feeding him. Food was always fair game in lieu of payment for a favor, especially for a guy who’d never learned to cook. Olivia made a mean homemade soup, and her brownies were sinful.
    With that thought in mind, he added, “Now, if you happened to get any of Millie Bond’s lemon bars in that fridge full of food from the church, maybe we’ll talk.”
    Three red heads, one of them graying, all turned toward each other.
    â€œWhat?” Scott asked.
    â€œLunch.” Liv slapped her forehead. “We forgot the casserole we were going to bring.”
    Well, it got them off the subject of money, anyway.
    â€œOne of us can run back to the house later,” Rachel said.
    He didn’t want to spark a new debate by volunteering now for a food run. He’d just make it a point to drop back by the house around lunchtime.
    * * *
    Maybe she just wanted a break.
    Maybe she just had a yen to hear a voice that didn’t sing soprano.
    But somehow, Liv wasn’t surprised to find herself riding to the Pine ’n’ Dine with Scott a few hours later, picking up lunch to take back to Nammy’s.
    She had to stop this. But dropping off another load at the thrift shop had been a tempting break, and a hot takeout meal sounded better than another reheated casserole. Plus, she’d picked up thank-you gifts yesterday afternoon for the waitresses who’d helped her at the memorial. This was a chance to drop them off.
    They walked past the P LEASE W AIT T O B E S EATED sign and stood at the register.
    All right, who was she kidding? Some deep-voiced, blue-eyed companionship had been too tempting to turn down, even if her sister claimed he’d turned into the local Casanova when she wasn’t looking. As he stood beside her in the vest she’d scrunched her face against the other day, it still didn’t seem likely. But what did it matter? She wouldn’t be here long enough to get involved.
    All she really knew was he made her feel better, and she would have been disappointed if he hadn’t happened to drop by at lunchtime.
    â€œIs their fried chicken still as good as I remember?” she asked.
    â€œIf you’ve gotten used to fast-food fried chicken, it’s way better,” Scott said.
    A girl with short dark hair came out of the swinging doors that led to the back kitchen. Liv recognized her as one of the sandwich-making waitresses. What was her name again?
    â€œHey, Tiff,” Scott said behind her.
    â€œTiffany.” Liv held out a little gift-wrapped box. “Thanks again for helping with those sandwiches the other day. It meant a lot.”
    The girl’s dark eyes, richly coated with mascara, darted from the box to Liv to Scotty, then back to Liv. At last she stepped forward and accepted the box. “Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
    â€œI wanted to. I’ve got something for Sherry, too, and your other friend . . .”
    Tiffany was looking upward, past her again, at Scotty. A little slow on the uptake, Liv began to catch an undercurrent.
    â€œ. . . Chloe. That was it,” Liv persisted, trying to bring Tiffany out of her paralysis.
    â€œRight.” Tiffany’s eyes returned to Liv. “She works nights. But she’s my roommate. I can give it to her.”
    Liv handed her a second box. She’d gone out after Mom’s appointment yesterday and picked up some little Christmas necklaces at The North Pole. The owner, Mrs. Swanson, had spoken so fondly of Nammy at the memorial, Liv was glad for the chance to throw a little business her way.
    â€œThanks again.” Tiffany’s glance flicked up past Liv again, more briefly this time. “I’ll get Sherry.” She spun to retreat to the kitchen. “Hi, Scotty,” she said, over her shoulder, as she walked away.
    Sherry came out a moment later. “Liv! You’re still here! I thought you already went back to Texas for