My Kind of Christmas

only been Alex, and he’d never actually slept with her. While Alex looked like a harmless nerd, he had been pretty impervious—he never once asked her if she was all right, for instance. He had gotten very excited, asked her if she was willing, boinked her and went home to his own campus apartment. She had accused him of needing her for chemistry—it was one of her degrees and he wasn’t that good at it. He had responded that it was far better than needing her for sex and she supposed that was probably as sensitive as he could be.
    Well. Long ago and far away. It wouldn’t take much of a lover to surpass Alex. However, she suspected that Patrick was more lover than she would ever meet again, and that thought was chilling. But despite how perfectly they seemed to fit, it had been clear from the first time they talked that their lives weren’t meant to intersect beyond this vacation.
    And yet, to her surprise, he was still there in the cabin when she emerged from her room, showered and dressed. He stood up from the chair, now wearing his shirt and boots, his jacket hanging on the kitchen chair. The small room was in order.
    “I could make you breakfast,” he offered.
    Angie thought, He’s not going to stay with me, I knew that. But Alex would have been gone by midnight, so this really is an improvement. “No, thank you, Patrick. I’m not much of a breakfast person.”
    “Most important meal of the day,” he said.
    “I know. Since the accident, my mother’s been shoveling it into me as if it might prevent future accidents. I’m more a midmorning snack kind of person. Is there anything I can get you?” She flashed the best flings-are-easy smile she could muster, though it felt fake, even to her.
    “I’ll shower at home, since you’re headed for the clinic. I waited for a reason,” he said. Then he came to her, put his arms around her and kissed her. He had perfected that kissing thing. In fact, she thought he perfected everything.
    “Hmm. If I didn’t have commitments…”
    “But you do,” he reminded her, breaking away from the kiss.
    “So I guess I’ll see you later?” she asked.
    “Definitely. How about my place tonight. Is noon too early?”
    She loved that. “I’ll be there at six. Lay in some food.”

Seven
    W hen Angie arrived at the clinic, Cameron was just leaving, medical bag in hand, off to make a house call. He was standing in the reception area with Mel. “Good morning,” Angie said. “I’m ready to help out. What would you like me to do first?”
    “Cameron’s leaving so let’s plan the day over a cup of coffee.”
    “Excellent,” she said, heading for the kitchen to start a pot brewing.
    A few minutes later, Angie sat at the kitchen table with a pen poised over a yellow pad, ready to take down her instructions.
    Meg poured them each a steaming mug and handed one to Angie. “Okay, kiddo—how do you feel about what happened last night?”
    Angie’s cheeks flamed as her eyes widened in shock. Had news already spread about Patrick spending the night? “Huh?” she asked, dumbfounded.
    Mel frowned as she pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “The injury, Angie. Megan’s injury and the emergency. Did it upset you?”
    Oh, way to be discreet, Angie, she thought, looking down and taking a deep breath to pull herself together. “I’m only upset for Megan—that scar. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I have a question.”
    “Shoot.”
    “If she were to get plastic surgery, what would the procedure entail? Just how complicated would it be?”
    “Probably removal of the scar by incision, re-joining by an expert, possibly a very minor graft. Maybe something to lift that lower lid. I don’t really know—but I did a little internet reading on it. She would very likely end up with a thin, barely visible scar that wouldn’t contract or distort her facial features. Something she could conceal with a touch of makeup.”
    “Not extensive?”
    “I wouldn’t think so, but before you ask—it would still be very expensive for the Thickson family. It would require pre-op blood work and exam, an O.R., anesthesia, a nurse and O.R. tech. I don’t think it would be a long surgery, but nonetheless…”
    “I know, I get it. Has anyone asked around for donations?”
    “I’m pretty sure the pastor, Noah Kincaid, has a fund started, but he has a fund for many things in this town, as does Jack. There are plenty of people around here who live comfortably but far