They fell into silence as Mel’s heavy steps took him towards the booth behind Kate. She tuned her ears for any whisper of underhanded moneygrubbing. The first time Clark tried to barter over the price of eggs, she was going to flip.

“Hi, stranger.” Mel greeted him with the same warmth and openness with which he greeted everyone. His friendliness crawled under Kate’s skin. Clark didn’t deserve Mel’s good nature. He deserved a one-way ticket straight out of town. She believed in universal good. Everyone had wonder and joy inside them. Everyone could be reached with kindness. But…this guy made her so mad she could spit. “What can I get you?”

“Yeah, can I have a double stack of buttermilk pancakes and a black coffee to go? With a side of bacon, too.”

Even with her back turned, Kate could picture him in her mind’s eye, sitting unmoved with the perfect winter backdrop behind him. His voice was as flat and lifeless as she’d heard it. Still, she applauded his order. Simple, direct, and he even got some of Mel’s famous double-crispy bacon. Maybe he was human after all.

“To go? You off somewhere?”

“Work.”

“Work? It’s Christmas Eve, kid. Didn’t anyone tell you?” Mel chuckled. He always made conversation with his customers. Maybe it was a small-town gossip thing or maybe it was a Mel thing, but he liked keeping up to speed with the movement of his community.

“It’s a Tuesday. I work on Tuesdays.”

Apparently, Clark didn’t appreciate the perceived intrusion.

“Ah. I see.” There was a pause, awkward in its length. Kate picked at her own pancakes to give off the appearance of not eavesdropping. “It’s just…I don’t know if anyone’s gonna be in the Woodward office this morning. Most people would have the day off for the festival. Besides, even if anyone is in, they won’t be there until nine, at least.”

“All because of Christmas?”

“Yeah. Christmas is kind of a thing around here.”

Understatement of the century. Christmas was a way of life, and Clark couldn’t even begin to understand how terribly he’d disturbed it. A pang of sympathy tugged at her. His cronies in Dallas almost certainly worked on Christmas Eve, the poor big city stiffs.

“I’ll just have my breakfast here, then. Thanks.”

“Don’t you have a family or anything to visit? I know it’s not any of my business, but you seem pretty young to be wasting your holiday in a boring office.”

“You’re right.” Newspaper pages rustled. “It isn’t any of your business.”

“Buttermilk pancakes, bacon and coffee.” Another awkward pause spread between them like butter on a biscuit, ending only with Mel tapping his pen against his tiny ordering notepad. “Coming right up.”