Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses: A feel good Christmas romance novel by Jenny Hale Page B

said it as if that would make everything else make sense.
    He threw that word around—charity. “Do you have a passion for whatever cause it is?” she asked. Or did he just give things away to justify the rest of his spending habits?
    “I have a friend whose son has multiple sclerosis. So, I donate to that charity.”
    She liked his answer. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend’s son. Do you know him well?”
    “Yes. His name is Michael.”
    “And you’re donating a car to his foundation?”
    “Yes.” He was smiling, proud.
    “Have you ever been to see Michael?”
    “Not recently. Since he was diagnosed the family has been pretty preoccupied, but we used to get together quite a bit before.”
    “I’m sure the family is very thankful for your donation,” she said carefully, “but do you think that he might like a visit from you instead?”
    She could see the defensiveness swell up in his face, covering it like the gray clouds covered the sky outside. It was clear that he didn’t like it when someone questioned what he did.
    “I didn’t mean to pry. It was just a thought. I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. “Let’s change the subject. What else do you like to do?”
    “I attend other charity events or play polo…”
    She’d never known anyone who actually played polo before. Did they even have a team in Richmond? She’d never heard of one. The idea of it seemed so ludicrous that she couldn’t fathom it. It reminded her again how different their worlds really were. Her discomfort came out as a laugh, and she quickly tried to squelch it, worried she’d offended him.
    “What in the world could be funny about that?” His brows were pulled downward, his face set in a curious frown.
    “I’m sorry,” she said again. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”
    “In what way?”
    “The closest I’ve come to a charity event is bagging up old clothes to donate to the second-hand shop in town. And, when it comes to sports, I generally stick with something like softball,” she answered honestly.
    He nodded, thoughtful.
    “I played softball because that’s what girls did, but I prefer to play baseball with the guys. I always felt like I could hit an overhand pitch more easily. It’s probably all in my head. Have you ever played baseball before?”
    His eyes found hers and stayed there as he shook his head.
    “Never?”
    “No. I’ve never even been to a baseball game.”
    Abbey thought about the old white jeep she’d had as a teenager, the battered sides that unzipped, allowing the wind to blow her hair around as she pulled up to the baseball fields to watch the game, the smell of roasting peanuts, popcorn, and burgers assaulting her when she parked the car, the red dust from the fields rising into the air under the heat of the sun. She remembered sitting in the folding metal seats, slipping out of her flip-flops, and propping her feet on the bottom of the seat in front of her as she tried unsuccessfully to keep the ketchup and mustard from sliding off her hotdog and onto her hand. The cheer of the crowd, the blinding white lights as the sun went down, and the quiet calm that happened between plays was a fond memory for her, and she couldn’t imagine not having that experience to keep her warm during months like these.
    “You’ll have to go to a game sometime,” she said, wondering if he would enjoy himself somewhere like that.
    He smiled, but it was that pleasant smile that she was learning he offered when he was just trying to be polite. He probably wouldn’t like it at all, she thought. She swung her feet back and forth a little under the table to try to keep them warm, wishing she could be in front of the fire in the ballroom like they had been the other night. Clearly, he was more comfortable in the dining room. When she focused on him, he was studying her, his eyes following her hands, her face, her lips, and he was still watching her now.
    “Why are you looking at me like