“Not everyone who’s homeless is a nutcase.”
He nods. “You’re one hundred percent correct. I just wanted to make sure my Katie McGee was okay.”
I halt my steps and turn to him. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can.”
“Are you being condescending?”
I place a hand on my hip and scowl at him. He grins at the action.
With his fingers gripping my arms, he steps forward and explains, “All I’m saying is, I feel better, being here for your first time volunteering, just in case anything happens.” He puts an emphasis on just in case, which makes me roll my eyes. His thumbs run circles on my arms as he stares into my eyes. “Besides, I kind of wanted to spend the evening with you.”
His admission makes my breath catch.
“Why?” I ask quietly.
His eyes dazzle me as he looks at me and skims his teeth along his lower lip. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
Instead, he smiles and says, “Maybe I have a thing for girls in light-up reindeer sweaters.”
I glance down at my red-and-green sweater, which was in the ugly Christmas sweater section at Target. I thought it was absolutely adorable. Inside is a battery pack that turns on the reindeer’s nose and lights up his antlers.
“You like it?” I ask jokingly as I model it.
He laughs lightly and tilts his head up at my reindeer headband, which is secure above my high ponytail. “The antlers are the best part.”
I ball my fists to my chest rolling them as if I were a prancing reindeer. “So much for loosening buttons and letting my hair down. If I’d known this was my sexiest look, I would have been prancing around Branson’s office all year!” I giggle at my own humor.
My joke falls flat because Hunter isn’t laughing. His head points down, and he smiles to himself, lowering his hands from my arms.
With the clearing of his throat, he rubs his hands together and claps them as he says, “It’s almost dinnertime.”
“Right. I’m on serving duty. Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I’m at the door. So, I’d better get to it.” He points toward the entrance.
I nod and straighten my sweater. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
Hunter walks to his post, and I take my place behind the tables. The Sternos are lit, and I grab a tong while talking to the other volunteers about how much we’re to serve each person and who to alert when the trays are running low. When the doors open and the men walk in to grab their plates, my stomach tightens at their state.
Some men seem like they’ve been living on the streets for years without a shower, and others, I’d never know they were down-and-out. They’re all quick to get their plates and make their way down the rows for food. There are smells that even the scent of the chicken parmigiana I’m serving can’t mask, and there are some who just smell like the cold air.
In the first half hour, I’m cursed at and told I’m horrible for not offering more than the allotted amount, and I receive lewd comments. But more than that, people also say thank you, God bless you, and Merry Christmas.
I didn’t know what to expect when I signed up for this. It wasn’t to make myself feel good or to have boasting rights at the office—look at what I did this Christmas! I genuinely wanted to do something positive. And while it’s not all tinsel and snowflakes, as Hunter said, I find I’m okay with the profanity and vicious comments. This is life. This is real.
“First timer?” the woman next to me asks.
I turn to her with a nod. “Can you tell?”
She offers a warm smile. “Your eyes went wild when that man kicked your table.”
“It startled me, but I’m okay.”
“It’s nice to see someone who’s still excited to volunteer, especially here. You can get jaded after a while. I’m Sheryl, by the way,” she says as she picks up a tray and moves it over.
“Katie.” I give her a small wave. “How long have you been volunteering?” I ask her as I place a piece of chicken onto a man’s plate.
He bows his head in thanks.
“Twenty-three years. I’ve been called every name in the book and had my heart broken at seeing good men on the way to reformation turn around and throw it away after one night on a bender. It can make you feel like all this effort is for nothing.”
I didn’t think of how the volunteers might become attached to the men.
“If it brings sadness, why do you keep doing it?”
She says hello to a gentleman who comes for some string beans. They exchange pleasantries as he walks along. “It’s the human experience. For every man who falls off the wagon, there are so many more who are redeemed. While I’ve seen some men fall, I’ve seen many more rise.”
I smile in understanding. “Will all of them sleep here tonight?”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have the capacity for everyone. Some will get turned out to the street.” She motions her tongs toward the door. “Do you see that man in the blue sweater?”
I look over to where she’s pointing at Hunter. He’s standing at the door with another man, shaking hands as he enters. The man is wearing a parka and snow hat yet looks frozen to the bone. Hunter rubs his back and helps him find a place in line.
“That’s Hunter. I work with him,” I tell her.
“He’s a good guy. He called yesterday and said he was donating a hundred coats and blankets to the shelter. He even brought some hand and foot warming inserts to give out.”
Her words baffle me.
“Hunter did that?”
“Yes. That kind of generosity is astounding. It’ll help a few of the men stay alive.”
I glance over at him. He’s currently trying to calm another man who seems to be having a fit, probably about the long line for food. As he gets the gentleman to settle down, eliciting a smile from him even, I find my heart beating rapidly.
“He’s full of surprises.”
The woman beside me nudges my arm. “Are you two an item?”
I look over at her and shake my head, going back to serving the people in front of me. “No. He’s not …” I’m about to say my type, but that’s not entirely the truth.
He’s handsome, charming, funny, and as I’ve learned today, giving. He’s attentive—that’s for sure—and the man can kiss.
It all seems so foolish—to be yearning for someone who, just days ago, I saw as the opposite of what I wanted. Afraid and shy, I looked at the world through rose-colored glasses, imagining Branson as my prince. But the real hero of my story is Hunter.
Even as I think this in my head, I know it’s crazy. Crazy to go from wanting one man to the next so quickly. Crazy to abandon my feelings so hastily.
And yet maybe there is a chance Hunter and I can be something more.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking is probably wrong,” she says.
I look at her with a tilt of my head.
“From the way he’s staring at you right now, I’d say he’s more than just a friend.”
When my eyes meet his from across the room, it’s with a fiery power and a deep conviction. As his caramel ones stare at mine, I see confirmation. There is most definitely something brewing between us.