Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

R ae

With our bellies stuffed with the best eggs and waffles in the entire state, we head over to the theater for another practice. This time, Hutton doesn't hide in the back. As soon as all the mamas leave after dropping their kiddos off, he emerges from behind the curtain and takes control of the stage like nothing I've seen before. The kids are listening and Ada is smiling up at him from the piano like she's laid eyes on baby Jesus himself. When he's done instructing the kiddos, he ignores the stairs off to the side and jumps off the stage like a country music star familiar with jumping off stages. The move is so awe inspiring, Ada claps for him.

"Alright, Ada. You're my girl. I'm going to put the sheet music up right before each act. Your job is to follow the sheet music in front of you. Can you do that for me?" He throws in a wink just for good measure even though he had her at "my girl." She nods, enraptured by him in a way I totally understand. I might be a little bit enraptured myself.

He heads over to Jackson next, showing him all the other drums he wasn't hitting previously, in favor of the gong set up next to him. The two rock out a beat together that Jackson continues with a nod of his head.

Hutton comes back over to the base of the stage to clap his hands. The kids jump to attention, running to their spots. "Everyone put your arms down at your sides, feet shoulder width apart. I'm going to show you a little something I do before every single concert." The kids all lean in, hovering on his every word. "You gotta get the nerves out, so give your hips a little wiggle. Then your knees, your shoulders, and now your arms. Drop that head back and shake it out!"

He demonstrates the silliest dance move I've ever seen, each kid immediately copying him and looking like a stage full of floppy worms. Giggles break out and I snap a quick picture on my cell phone of the country god at one with the small kids before him. It's adorable. And so, so silly. I can't seem to wipe the smile from my face.

Hutton straightens, grins like he's having the time of his life, and then claps his hands again. "Okay! From the top! No giggles, no whispering, just your very best acting and singing."

And I'll be damned, but those kids put on the kind of performance that brings tears to my eyes. Only a few missed lines that are picked right up when I whisper it to them from the side stage. Songs are sung with the correct piano accompaniment. Hutton even sits next to Ada on the piano bench and strums his guitar on a few of the slower numbers, adding a dimension that's pure magic.

When the last note echoes through the theater, we all know we have a winner on our hands. Everyone cheers and Hutton gives each kid a high five, whispering a detailed congratulations, along with ideas for improvement. We go through it two more times before I call it done for the day. Hutton disappears behind the curtain when the side door creaks open, allowing in the first of the mamas. I'm sure they'll hear about the mysteriously talented man that helped them today, but it looks like Hutton wants to avoid a full-scale swarm of ladies. I'm secretly glad that he does.

The last kiddo leaves and Henry is peacefully sorting through another trunk of costumes when Hutton comes out again. He's still wearing that satisfied smile I love so much. He comes right up to me and swoops me into his arms for a stage-worthy kiss. My heart seems to heat up, pumping out more beats than strictly necessary whenever he's around. I could keep fooling myself it's just a crush on my hall pass, but I know it's more.

He pulls me upright again, but I don't pull my arms from around his neck. "That was amazing to see you work."

"See? Told you I'd work my magic." His dimple winks at me, and I'm such a goner. His voice drops lower. "I'd love to see you paint something one day. Maybe naked?"

I burst out laughing and he joins me. It's so easy being with him. He's kind, talented, and just a damn good man. If I'm not careful, by the time Christmas rolls around, I'll be head over heels in love with the man who's leaving Snowhaven and never looking back.

We head home after that, another round of making snowmen and a good old-fashioned snowball fight before we head inside to make dinner. Henry is wrapped in a blanket on the couch watching cartoons when his mother calls Hutton's phone. Hutton curses under his breath and looks like he's debating whether to pass the phone to his son or not. I have no business sticking my nose in the situation, so I keep my lips zipped. Henry's been here over a week and his mother is just now getting around to checking in on him? Seems strange, but I don't know their history.

"Hello?" Hutton answers the phone, his jaw tight.

The tension in the kitchen rises with every second he listens to the high-pitched voice on the other end of the line. I shake my head as I chop vegetables for a salad, wondering what this life of mine is where I'm hearing Holly Hancock, the rising actress from that aliens movie where the Neanderthals came back to earth to repopulate the planet after they got wiped out by modern humans, talking to Hutton Calder, country music's most eligible bachelor.

"You have five minutes," Hutton snaps, marching out of the kitchen to hand the phone to Henry. "Son, your mother's on the phone."

Henry jams the phone to his face. "Hi, Mommy!"

Hutton paces the room, his gaze never leaving his son. Henry does a lot of head nodding, but not a lot of talking. At exactly five minutes, Hutton goes back to the couch and tells Henry it's time to say goodbye. He complies and Hutton takes the phone back, only to utter a terse goodbye himself. Hutton swipes the hair off Henry's forehead, whispering something to him I can't hear. The whole situation is sad and rife with tension. Maybe growing up without a dad was a better situation than this. Mom never had to fight for time with another parent.

Dinner is a somber affair. Nobody's saying much and I know just enough about the situation to stick my foot in my mouth, so I'm quiet too. Henry finally looks up from the meatballs he didn't eat much of to say something to Hutton.

"Mommy said Christmas is for senmenal losers."

Hutton's eyes narrow. "Sentimental losers?"

I swallow my gasp, wondering what kind of Scrooge of a mother would say such a thing to a five-year-old enjoying the holiday festivities? My heart sinks, knowing that kind of message has to be confusing for a little boy. And it also reminds me of my ex. He always had a sneer on his face whenever I talked about Christmas trees and Santa visits. Why must unhappy people feel the need to share their unhappiness with others? There's nothing wrong with enjoying the warmth and love that emanates from everyone in December, a lesson I'm just learning again this year.

"You know what I think?" I interject. Hutton is still glaring off into space, like he's so angry he can't form words. Henry looks at me, eyes wide and earnest. "I think there's nothing wrong with celebrating the season however you want. There's nothing sentimental about spreading love and cheer. It's what good humans should do year-round, but especially at Christmastime."

"I like to cheer," Henry says quietly.

I smile at him, reaching over to squeeze his little hand while my heart turns to a pile of mush. "I know you do. You're very good at it. In fact, I was thinking you're just the man to help me decorate the tree. Will you help me, Henry?"

His face fills with excitement and I vow right there and then to spend the rest of my time with these two boys, showing them how wonderful Christmas can be. The way my mom always made the season for me. I let my ex drain the joy right out of the holiday, but I won't stand for that woman doing the same to Henry. And maybe in doing so, I'll find the joy again myself.

We stand up, leaving our plates right where they are and go in search of my construction paper. We choose our favorite colors and then have a seat in front of the tree while I fold each paper into a little square. I show him how to use the scissors to make little triangles and cuts in the sides of the square. When I unfold the piece of paper and it's a beautiful snowflake, Henry cheers loudly.

"Now it's your turn, kiddo. I'll help with the scissors and then we'll put ribbon on the snowflakes. Once the glue dries, we can put them all over the Christmas tree."

He scrambles onto my lap, tongue clamped between his lips as we make snowflakes together. Hutton comes over to watch and I don't miss the way he snaps a few of his own pictures, cheering every time Henry finishes a new snowflake. For a five-year-old, he has extraordinary focus. By the time we get them hanging on the tree, Henry is exhausted and there's confetti-sized pieces of paper all over the floor. I go to get a broom, but Hutton puts a hand on my arm, Henry already nodding off on his shoulder.

"Leave it. I'll clean it in the morning. You've already done more than enough." He inclines his head toward Henry. "Thank you."

I look at the little boy, a precious bundle in Hutton's arms. "It's no problem." And it isn't. As easy as it is to fall for Hutton, it's even easier to love his little boy.

Hutton leaves the room to put Henry to bed. I head for the closet to get the broom, intent on not leaving the cleanup to Hutton, but my phone pings from my pocket. I take it out and see a text from Nancy, the mayor of Snowhaven. I frown. She doesn't text me often, so it's either good news or really bad news.

Mayor Nancy: I hear good things about The Nutcracker rehearsals! Any chance you can get that good-looking man of yours to help promote the ticket sales?

My groan echoes in the room. I knew him helping would come back to bite me—or him—in the ass. Ignoring the comment about him being my man, though it makes my heart race to even think about that, I answer her.

Me: I can ask, but he's trying to maintain a low profile.

Mayor Nancy: Totally get it, but if he's helping with the practices now, it wouldn't hurt to spread the rumor that he'll be there at the show, right? People will come for a Hutton sighting and stay for the amazing production!

An idea hits me, thanks in large part to Hutton's suggestion. It makes my heart race and all those old voices in my head—who sound just like my ex-husband—start to chirp about all the reasons this is a bad idea.

Me: I'll ask him and let you know. In the meantime, can you arrange for some plywood to be delivered to my house? Maybe ten sheets? As part of the show costs.

Mayor Nancy: Okaaayyy…for what?

Me: You'll see. Get that plywood here and I'll get Hutton.

Mayor Nancy: You got yourself a deal.

Mayor Nancy Haney: Rae looks all sweet but she's a hustler.

Dagny: Duh. Have you seen all the tattoos on her arm?

Doc: Now, Dagny. Tattoos don't make a person bad.

Dagny: I didn't imply that. I implied that anyone who can stand a needle digging into their skin over and over again to paint that many tattoos has to be a badass.

Janna: This is true. I'm not a badass at all. I tried to get a tattoo with my friend when I turned eighteen and I cried the moment the needle touched my skin. Went in for a flower and came out with a dot.

John Ross: What?? Where is this dot tattoo?

Chief Blade: Again. Have those convos privately, you two. Jesus. What is wrong with the young people these days?

Dagny: Swayzie, down at the diner, swears you have a tattoo you haven't told us about either, Chief Blade. Care to elaborate?

John Ross: Ohhhh, shitttt….

Chief Blade: That was a long time ago and seeing as I have the badge and the handcuffs, I'd suggest you keep your mouth shut, Dagny.

Dagny: Don't tease me with a good time, Chief.