Christmas Comes to Main Street (10 page)

“I can climb a ladder and hang tinsel.”

Kara laughed. “I don't imagine that tinsel is what Maggie had in mind.”

Nate tensed. “You think you can do better?” His tone was sharper than he'd intended, and he cursed himself for the slip. She'd hit a nerve, even though she probably hadn't intended to—reminding him of all the kids he'd gone to school with, who seemed to make it their daily mission to make him feel different and unworthy.

Kara looked up at him, startled, her smile shadowed by confusion that knitted her forehead. “I'm just saying…”

“I know what you're saying,” Nate said, setting his drink down on a nearby end table. She was saying what they'd all said, that he wasn't good enough, that he wasn't one of them, that they could do better. That they were better. “So what about you? Are you entering the Holiday House contest?”

“Oh, my mother is, of course.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Kara shook her head. “I have an apartment, so…”

But he wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily. “So? You make one hell of a gingerbread house. Why not enter one in the contest?”

Kara stared at him like he was half crazy, but he saw the interest that sparked in her eyes. “The gingerbread house is not a real house.”

“It's still a house. I've read the rules.” He'd been sure to, just to make sure he adhered to them correctly and didn't do anything to mess with his aunt's chances of winning. “You think you can beat me with holiday decorations. Prove it.”

Her lips pinched as her little nose wiggled and then lifted ever so slightly. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”

“Why? Seems to me that a gingerbread house is about the most quintessential Christmas house that can be entered.” He locked the defiance in her gaze. “Oh, I see, you don't think you can win.”

“I know I can win,” Kara said with a lift of her chin.

“Okay, then, a hundred bucks says the inn places higher than your gingerbread house in the contest.”

She hesitated, folded her arms across her chest, stared at him with fire in her eyes. “That sure of yourself, are you?”

“I'm a hard worker,” Nate said bluntly. “And as you said, it's Christmas. Anything is possible.”

“I don't want your money,” Kara said.

“I get it. You're worried you won't win.” He shrugged, grinning as her nostrils flared. “Tell you what? We'll keep it friendly. The inn places higher, you owe me dinner. You win, I treat you.”

The motive was ulterior, but he couldn't resist the thought of an evening alone with her. There was something interesting at play here, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe it was the challenge of redemption, even if Kara wasn't one of the bullies at his school. Or maybe it was just the promise of a dinner with a pretty girl. He couldn't be sure.

“Mr. Griffin, you have a deal,” she said, extending her hand. He took it, surprised at the firmness of her grip, the confidence in her single shake, but he lingered for a moment, savoring the warmth of her palm, which felt so small in his own hand. A rush zipped down his spine at the softness of her skin and pleasure of her touch, and he lingered before finally releasing her hand from his grip.

“A gambling woman,” he remarked, studying her over the rim of his glass as he took a long sip.

Kara shrugged. “Only when the odds are in my favor.”

He cocked an eyebrow, but a smile was pulling at his mouth. Win or lose, he stood to win something here, but from the little pinch of a frown between Kara's brows, he reckoned she was going to be a formidable opponent.

“To the best Holiday House,” he declared, raising his glass to hers. “Good luck.”

Her lips curved into a smile, and there was a spark in her eyes when she met his gaze. “Oh, I won't be needing any luck. But something tells me you will.” She winked, clinked his glass before he knew what had hit him, and with a quick sip, turned to meet her friends, leaving him standing in the middle of a party he hadn't been invited to, with the sinking suspicion that her parting words were right on the mark.

Maggie was waiting up for him when Nate came home that night. She'd been busy, he noticed. Nearly all of the decorations they'd purchased were on the tree, with the much-celebrated partridge in a pear tree ornament near the very top.

“The guests joined in the fun,” she announced as she adjusted a string of garland. “I'm getting too old to do the heavy lifting.”

“I would have stayed back and helped,” he reminded her pointedly.

“Nonsense,” she said, beckoning him to sit with her near the fireplace. “It was important for you to go to that party. But I have to tell you, Nate. We have a situation on our hands.”

“Oh?”

“Kathleen Madison is going all out this year. She'll be impossible to beat. Impossible, I tell you.”

Oh, right. He was supposed to have found out information on her entry—it was the purpose of him going to the party. Something he hadn't managed to do once he'd gotten sidetracked by long legs in black lace tights and sharp blue eyes that pulled him in, mesmerized him, made him doubt himself and where he'd come from.

“I had to call Kathleen, obviously, to tell her to let Anna know that you'd be stopping by the party. It was the perfect excuse, actually.
And
, with a bit of gentle persuasion, I was able to get her to spill. She's going with the theme of white Christmas.” Aunt Maggie stared at him with wide eyes, as if he should understand the implicit enormity of this fact. “She's even had the walls in her home repainted!”

“Well, that's going a bit far, don't you think?” Nate shook his head. He still didn't see what was wrong with some colored lights and good old-fashioned tinsel. A couple stockings, and there. Done.

“She's an interior designer,” Maggie stressed. “She's won every year she's entered. I thought maybe she'd take a break and judge this year, as she's done before, but it seems that once she saw the prize, she decided to pull her best tricks out of her hat! She downplayed it, but she did let it slip that a write-up in that magazine could expand her clientele. And it would, of course. A designer's showcase. Oh, I may as well just forget the whole thing. You can't beat Kathleen Madison. And you can't beat white Christmas.”

This was a lot of information to take in at once, and Nate had a feeling that once Maggie recovered from her shock, she'd end up more determined than ever. It was a setback, but she'd been assuming Kathleen's entry would be unbeatable anyway.

“So, is that what has you so upset then? Nothing else…?” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, watching his aunt carefully. He still worried about her health. Her age. How hard she worked to keep this old house running.

“What else could there be? This is the worst news, I tell you. The worst!” Maggie shook her head, lost for a moment in the dancing flames in the hearth. “She's repainting walls. White. Or, no, off-white. The shade will be perfect, of course.”

Nate murmured something he hoped sounded sympathetic.

“When Kathleen started going on and on and on about her hopes of winning, it was all I could do not to burst. I finally just couldn't take it anymore.”

“So she knows you're entering then?”

“She knows I'm stiff competition.” His aunt sniffed.

Nate smothered a grin. “So you're not going to quit then?”

“Well, how can I now?” She smiled. “So… did you see anyone familiar at the party?”

Nate shrugged and leaned back in his chair. He was tired, even though it wasn't very late. In Boston, he'd still be awake, working at his computer, probably at it for another few hours before calling it a night. Here, though, he felt almost lulled by the flames, by the quiet. It was so quiet. “Oh, the girl who drops off the cookies,” he said, purposefully leaving off her name lest it looked like he cared. Even though he did.

“I thought you might run into her tonight.”

Nate looked sharply at his aunt. “I thought you sent me over to that party to get the goods on Kathleen.”

“Oh, in a way.” His aunt fiddled with the fringe on the bottom of her Christmas sweater. “It was just the excuse I needed to call Kathleen.”

“That's not very nice,” Nate said firmly, but his aunt's face remained the picture of innocence. “I didn't even know anyone there.”

“You knew Kara,” she said simply.

He had to laugh. Yes, he knew Kara. But what did he really know of her? That she was a rich girl who ran a bakery that would be lucky to last for another year? That she was as stubborn as she was beautiful and that maybe the two went hand in hand? She was intriguing; he'd have to give her that much. And sweet in some ways. But he'd be smart to keep his distance from her, even if his aunt had other plans.

“If you think you can play matchmaker while I'm in town, you may as well save your energy for the decorations. I'm going back to Boston in two weeks,” he reminded her.

“So?” Again, the innocent shrug.

“So,” he said, pushing himself out of his chair. “Kara and I are from two different worlds.”

And he'd be best to remember that.

W
hat had she been thinking, agreeing to enter this contest? She hadn't been thinking; that was just the problem. She'd been too busy staring into those mysterious, deep-set eyes. Too busy feeling the heat of desire replaced by something even more fiery as he dared to call her bluff. Too busy thinking of all the people who'd made their little comments over the past few months. The nonbelievers. She'd been thinking with her heart, not her head, and now… Well, now she'd have to just find a worthwhile excuse and learn to ignore the inevitable jabs Nate would no doubt toss her way when he discovered she wasn't going to compete against him.

She'd say she was too busy, and wasn't that the truth! She was already struggling to make time to have brunch with her family this morning, even though she opened later on Sundays and Mondays were her day off. Christmas was just around the corner now. She wasn't so sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing anymore.

Kara felt her shoulders relax as she rounded the corner and her childhood home came into view at the end of the street. The large dormer Cape was set far back from the road, off a winding driveway that Kara and Molly used to roller-skate on when they were younger. Now it was plowed and salted, and mounds of fresh snow were piled high at each side. Kara followed the brick-paved path up to the navy blue front door, where a simple magnolia wreath was hung from a brass hanger, and pressed the doorbell before poking her nose up against one of the long glass panes that framed the door. Inside she could see boxes of ornaments, some already open, the contents spilling, gathered in the hall. Molly came scurrying from the kitchen, Rosemary calling something after her.

“Good thing you're here,” Molly said as she pulled open the door and Kara stepped inside.

The air was warm and smelled of fresh yeast and cinnamon—a telltale sign that her favorite holiday bread was in the oven. She unwrapped her scarf and set it on the bench near the front door, then dropped onto it to remove her boots. “Let me guess,” she said, smiling. “
The Nutcracker
?”

“This time of year…” Molly clucked her tongue and shook her head. “I should have stayed in Boston.”

“You don't mean that.” Kara set her boots on the mat to dry. Christmas was a big deal in their family, and they'd always found a way to all be together for it, regardless of their busy schedules. Kara paused, remembering Todd. He was in Boston, so perhaps Molly would have preferred to spend the holidays with him. It was certainly unusual.

Molly gave a rueful smile. “No, I suppose I don't mean it. I'm happy I'm here but, well… you know how it is. Last night Mom was calling out orders in her sleep, reprimanding the soldiers to stand in a straighter line. Nearly gave me a heart attack, I tell you!”

Kara laughed.
The Nutcracker
had been an annual tradition for the Hastings family for as long as she could remember. People from all over the county came to see the show, which was held the week of Christmas. Kara and Molly had performed in it as children, never earning the coveted role of Clara, though, as neither of them had inherited their mother's natural grace.

Kara thought back to her slip on the ice outside the inn and winced. She'd always had two left feet, probably a little to her mother's disappointment.

The girls wound their way through boxes of decorations on their way to the back of the house, where their mother was assembling a fruit salad at the center kitchen island.

“The house looks beautiful, Mom,” Kara said, admiring the garland that had been swagged from the big bay window near the eat-in table. In the adjacent family room, the hearth was flanked by oversized nutcrackers, and a garland of sugarplums covered the mantel.

“I was thinking that your father always loved seeing the house decked out for the holidays. I wonder what he might have thought of this year's efforts…” Rosemary gave a strained smile, and her eyes misted before she quickly blinked the tears back.

Kara's eyes fell to the armchair in the corner, where her father would sit and read the paper or watch them open gifts on Christmas morning. The armrests were tattered, and she could remember her mother tutting that it needed new upholstery, but after he was gone, that subject was closed. No one really sat there now. But it was hardly empty. Each time Kara stared at that spot, she could almost see him.

A hard lump had formed in her throat. She looked away, blinking quickly.

“It will look even better once I'm through with it. Molly's been a real help,” her mother added, giving her younger daughter a grateful smile. “And speaking of help, I was hoping I might have a word with you about your cookies.”

Kara counted out plates in the cabinet and carried the stack over to the table, trying to keep her hands from shaking. It was no use. Her heart was speeding up and her mouth had gone dry. Mrs. Griffin had probably mentioned something about the cookies being late the other day. Now her mother would worry, want to see if things were all right or if she was in over her head.

“Yes?” she asked, but her voice was nothing but a breathless gasp.

“Would you be interested in making some cookies to sell during intermission at the show?” The show was, of course,
The Nutcracker
. “I usually offer soda and bags of popcorn, but your cookies would be so much more festive.”

Kara finished setting the last plate on the red woven place mat and turned to face her mother. “Would I be interested? I'd love to!” She could barely contain her smile when she considered the possibilities, but it was something far deeper that made her heart soar.
The Nutcracker
was the highlight of her mother's year. She oversaw every aspect of the show, down to the smallest detail. Including Kara's cookies wasn't just a thoughtful gesture. It meant she believed in her ability, saw it as more than a passing hobby.

“Excellent!” Her mother set the wooden spoon down as Kara's brother called out from the front hall.

Luke and Grace were barely in the kitchen before Rosemary asked him, “Anything new?”

Grace and Kara exchanged a knowing look. It was no mystery that Rosemary was itching for a grandbaby, even though Grace and Luke were happy to take their time with the next phase of their relationship.

“Nope, nothing new, Mom.” Luke grinned and rolled his eyes slightly at Kara. “Molly's engagement was the big news for the year.”

Molly looked flustered as she set a plate of hash browns on the table. “Oh, well, and Kara's new shop, of course. Let's not forget that.”

“Well, Christmas is still a bit more than a week away,” Rosemary said as she finished setting the table. “Perhaps I'll wake up to a surprise that morning.”

Kara shook her head at Grace, for once happy to be the single girl in the room. Now that Molly was engaged and their mother had a wedding to plan, Kara didn't have to worry about hurrying up and finding someone or answering these types of questions. Still, a little part of her wouldn't mind, she supposed.

Crazy talk, she told herself. For years she'd tolerated her mother's less-than-subtle hints, the little suggestions she made about various eligible men who were never her type. It wasn't until Kara announced her plan to open the bakery that her mother finally settled down and started looking at her a little differently, too. It felt good to know her mother was proud of her, and even better to know she believed in her, Kara thought, thinking of the cookies she would make for the ballet performance.

“So, Grace,” Rosemary said as they all sat down to eat at the rectangular table centered near the kitchen's large bay window. The backyard was covered in snow, and Kara took a moment to sip her coffee and enjoy the view of the flocked branches and the bright cardinals that nested in the pine trees, their color a stark contrast against the glistening white. “I suppose your mother is busy as a beaver with her decorations.”

Grace nodded sagely. “Oh, yes. She's going all-out this year, given the prize.”

“What prize?” Kara asked, her attention immediately pulled from the winter scene. There had never been a monetary prize for winning the Holiday House contest. There was a front-page photo in the town's newspaper and, of course, some bragging rights that lasted through about mid-January—hardly an incentive to spend her precious time this way, even if it would wipe that smirk off Nate's handsome face when she beat him fair and square.

“This year marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of Briar Creek's Holiday House contest,” Grace said. “Henry pulled some strings at the travel magazine where he used to work, and they're going to run a full article on the winner. My mother is already dreaming of what that could do for her design business,” Grace added with a little shake of her head.

“But that's not all,” Rosemary said. “This year, the winner gets a ten-thousand-dollar prize, too.”

Kara knew her jaw had slacked. She tried to wrap her head around such a thing. “Paid by who?”

“The tourist bureau!” Luke chimed in. He glanced around at the women, grinning proudly at being able to participate in the conversation.

“It's a big driver for the town,” Grace agreed. “It's fun for everyone, but ultimately, we all benefit, regardless of the winner.”

“Still. To win…” Kara took a sip of her coffee, her mind racing. She'd spent every last dime of her inheritance between the build-out of the shop and initial supplies. She'd had nothing to her name by way of savings before she opened—a string of minimum-wage jobs over of the years hadn't amounted to much. The pressure to turn a profit was huge, and a cushion like this would be… very helpful, to say the least.

“To win would be fun.” Grace laughed. “I suppose I should just come out and admit that I managed to convince Luke to enter.”

Rosemary gave her son a stern look. “And I thought there were no announcements today?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I think there's only one announcement you're waiting for, and you're just going to have to keep waiting.”

“Oh, you know I'm just teasing. Though I suppose if you hold out much longer, I may just have to ask Brett about volunteering to hold babies in the hospital nursery…” Rosemary pressed her ruby-painted lips together and stirred some milk into her coffee.

Kara blinked down at her plate of food, remembering the glint in Nate's eyes, the way his banter turned edgy, from defensive to offensive, almost. Imagine, a holiday house made out of gingerbread! It was preposterous, it was ridiculous. It was… genius. After all, what said Christmas better than a gingerbread house? And what said Christmas better than… home?

Kara eyed her father's armchair, contemplating her decision. She'd have to get started soon if she intended to enter. Because one thing was more certain than ever: If she was going to enter, she was in it to win it. Not just because of the money, but because she'd love to see the look on Nate's face when she showed him what she was made of.

Besides, in her book, the man always treated on the first date.

A date. That was what he'd implied, hadn't he? He'd been caught up in the moment, in the heat of her body, so close to his, in the soft melody of her laugh and the proximity of those soft ruby lips. Win or lose, they'd agreed to it, but he intended to win. There was no chance in hell he was going to let this contest go to anyone other than his aunt.

Nate glanced out the window of the library, which was positioned at the far end of the house, its side windows looking out onto Main Street. If he craned his neck, he could almost see Sugar and Spice's awning blowing in the wind. He peered through the falling snow, looking for a glimpse of her. She'd be dropping off the cookies for tea soon. He supposed he could keep himself useful, continue with the decorations for this room, which he hoped to finish today, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to see her again. It was quickly becoming a highlight of his visit, and one, he realized with a jolt, he would miss when he went back to Boston.

He checked his watch and decided to risk it. As he'd suspected, his aunt had woken with a new vengeance this morning, handing over a detailed list she called her “action plan,” and it started with this library. He'd already wrapped each window in pine garland, but he had a box of knickknacks to get through before it would pass her inspection, and he didn't dare disappoint.

He picked another ornament from the box and set it on a side table. It had been years since he'd decorated a tree—he didn't bother with one in his apartment, and his parents set theirs up on their own. When he was a kid, he loved getting out the dusty box and combing through its contents, content to spend an afternoon hanging each hook on just the right branch, hoping that Santa would reward the effort with a new bike or skateboard. But the bike never came. Or the skateboard. And eventually, Nate had come to associate a feeling of dread when he saw that box come out of the closet. For some, it was a season of cheer. For others… stress.

But for Maggie it was a season of cheer, and for that reason, Nate told himself firmly, he'd put his head down and push through. He was a grown man, after all, and Christmas had long since stopped having so much meaning pinned to it.

He took care with each task, finding a strange sense of enjoyment in it. He'd always enjoyed working with his hands as a kid, finding it therapeutic, even finding some success with it. He frowned for a minute when he thought of those paintings his mother still kept throughout the apartment, long after he'd told her to take them down. They were from another place and another time. But she loved them, and he never could deprive her of something that made her smile.

It was almost noon by the time he'd finished in the library. Guests were gathered in the lobby, bundled warm for snowshoeing, some returning with shopping bags. Many were getting ready to check out, their weekend getaway over, the drive home looming before them along with the start of the workweek. Normally he looked forward to Monday, even though Sundays were hardly a day of rest. Hard work suited him, gave him a purpose, something to strive for. Made him feel in control.