Read Online Eight Christmas Eves by Rachel Curtis - Free Book Online Page A

very loud
volume, and reading a book.
    He lowered the
music when he saw his son enter. “I heard back from Walton. He said your plan was
a good one, and the plant has begun implementing it as of now.”
    Cyrus nodded.
“Good. Tell him to watch Cutler. I don’t trust him at all.”
    “I’ll convey
your suspicions.” He raised his book again. “Dinner is at seven.”
    “Where’s
Helen?”
    “How would I
know?”
    Cyrus sighed.
“Is she here?”
    “She’s around
somewhere. She’s probably too distracted to notice your arrival.”
    “What does that
mean?”
    His father
smiled, almost predatory. “It means I wouldn’t count on your being her favorite
any longer.”
    Cyrus started
to ask another question, but he stopped himself. His father was looking too
pleased with himself, and it would be a mistake to give him the advantage by
acting curious or confused. Instead, he just murmured, “Hmm,” and left the
room.
    He was confused, though, and a little worried. It wasn’t like he had to be Helen’s
favorite person, although he knew very well that—with the exception of those
months she'd been angry with him about the imagined slight—he had always been
her favorite. But he didn’t like the idea of something going on with her that
he didn’t know about.
    They only saw
each other a few times a year, but they emailed or talked on the phone at least
weekly and she’d taken to sending him funny texts at odd times of the day. He
also got regular updates on her from the security assigned to her.
    Cyrus thought
he basically knew what was going on in her life.
    He had to ask a
member of their security team to find out where Helen was in the house, since
he didn’t want to traipse all over looking. On discovering that she was in the
kitchen, Cyrus went to find her.
    He found her
rolling out dough on the large granite island. Her long red-blond hair, darker
than it had been a few years ago, had been clipped up on her head, but it was
now falling down and hanging messily around her face. Her cheeks, forehead,
hair, and sweatshirt were all covered in flour.
    When she
finally looked up from her exuberant rolling, she gasped in surprise and cried,
“Cyrus!” Despite the excessive flour, her face glowed when she saw him, and she
immediately dropped the rolling pin and ran over to hug him.
    “Uh,” he began,
predicting the result of a hug from her at the moment. Then he resigned himself
to being covered with flour too as she hurled herself into his arms.
    He laughed as
he returned her hug, wrapping his arms around her warm, messy, little self.
    He had to admit
that it was really nice—to have someone who was always happy to see him,
someone who genuinely liked him simply for who he was, someone he could trust
to never betray him.
    He wondered if
this was what it should be like to have family.
    “You’re late!”
Helen exclaimed. “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”
    “A few things
came up.” He brushed off his dark shirt and trousers, which were now festooned
with blotches of flour. The brushing did nothing to restore them so he gave up.
“So you decided to amuse yourself until my arrival by baking?”
    “Sugar
cookies,” she declared with a wide smile. “For tonight.”
    “I didn’t know
you had any culinary aspirations.” He idly noted that she was getting prettier
as she grew into her features.
    “I don’t. I’m a
horrible cook. But I wanted—” She cut off her words for some reason, looking
slightly self-conscious. It immediately triggered Cyrus’s curiosity, since she
rarely appeared self-conscious around him. Her green eyes seemed to really look
at him for the first time, and her expression changed, “Oh no! I got you
covered with flour.”
    He chuckled at
the way she’d just now had such an obvious revelation. “No big deal. What were
you going to say you wanted?”
    She opened her
mouth, but before she could reply another voice broke into their conversation.
    “Hey, Helen.
Did you