Christmas Comes to Main Street (14 page)

“Ever think about cutting back?”

She stared at him. “Are you forgetting that I just opened this business?”

“I meant with the other stuff.”

“Says the man who challenged me to enter the Holiday House contest,” she remarked, wagging a playful finger at him. “I'm afraid I'm just not willing to scale back, not right now. But I have gotten a little better at saying no to people.” Even if it made her feel terrible.

“Well, I shouldn't keep you then.”

Kara knew she should get back to work, but disappointment swelled. She'd looked forward to this visit all morning, and now she'd have to wait until tomorrow to see him again. There wouldn't be many more tomorrows left.

Brightening, she thought of the toy drive. Perhaps she was wrong; there might be a few extra chances for conversation after all.

She waved as she watched him walk out the door and onto the snowy sidewalk. And then she sneezed four times in a row before scurrying back to the kitchen.

T
he grandfather clock at the base of the stairs in the inn's lobby chimed one o'clock. Nate frowned and cast another glance out the window. It was a gray day—the sun having never shown its face all morning—and the lights from Main Street and the town square shone brightly across the blanket of snow.

It wasn't like Kara to be late, but then, tea didn't start for another hour. Still, she did look pale yesterday. With newfound purpose in his stride, Nate decided to feel out the situation with his aunt.

He'd been avoiding Maggie since their awkward conversation the other night, and he welcomed the opportunity to change the subject and, hopefully, make a fresh start. He owed her an explanation, but he didn't want to get into details. A tricky balance with the curious nature of her personality.

He found her in the kitchen, pulling some ginger cakes from the oven. She'd baked them in loaf tins in various holiday shapes. One was made to look like a large Christmas tree, complete with a star on top, while the other was of three gingerbread men.

She brightened when he appeared in the doorway and then quickly handed him a strange-looking metal object.

“It's a sifter,” she informed him. And then, noticing his blank expression, she said, “For the powdered sugar. Make it look like snow!”

He did a poor job at suppressing his smile but was nevertheless grateful for the task. “Show me how this works. I don't want to mess up your cakes.”

With a pinch of her lips, she took the contraption from him, but there was a twinkle in her eye when she handed it back after evenly coating the first cake. He had to admit that the result was pretty.

Carefully, he tried to match her effort. “Not quite as good as yours, I'm afraid,” he said, stepping back. He cast a wary eye on the uneven coating of sugar that fell in larger clumps at the middle and all but faded out near the edges.

“Oh, it will do,” Maggie replied, wiping her hands on her apron. “Mind passing me that bowl over there?” She motioned to a large ceramic mixing bowl on the center island. “I have to get these cookies in the oven or they won't be ready in time.”

Nate handed her the bowl, noticing a heavy lump of disappointment in his chest as he did so. “Doesn't Kara usually make the cookies?” He'd hoped his tone had come out casual, conversational, but the pointed look in his aunt's sharp gaze told him he hadn't succeeded.

“Unfortunately Kara won't be making the delivery today,” Maggie told him as she began spooning the batter onto a cookie sheet. She glanced at him sidelong.

Nate pulled in a breath, rolled back on his heels, told himself to fight the urge, to not go there, to not give in. Aw, hell. “Oh? Is something wrong?”

Maggie did a poor job of masking her pleasure. “Oh, she's just a little under the weather.”

He knew it. She'd been pale yesterday, with a telltale rim of pink around her eyes, and she'd looked tired to the bone, too. He kicked himself, silently chastising his challenge for her to enter the contest. Sure, it would be great to win—for any of them—but the chances of that seemed low if Maggie's hand-wringing details of Kathleen's newest ideas said anything. Kara was already spread thin. Too thin to keep that bakery going much longer. And he'd just gone and made it worse.

“That's too bad. Hopefully she'll be back tomorrow.” Catching the flash in his aunt's bright green eyes, he added quickly, “So you don't have to go through the trouble of making the cookies yourself. You have enough to take care of around here.”

“That I do.” His aunt slid the cookie sheet into the oven and set the timer. “But I enjoy it. It will be a sad day when I have to say goodbye to this place.”

Nate flashed his eyes on her, his pulse skipping a beat. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing.” She waved away his concern. “Just getting ahead of myself. This place has been in my family for so long. A lot of good memories here.” Though she smiled, there was a sudden sadness to her eyes.

Nate frowned and reached out a hand to set on the older woman's shoulder. “I'm sorry for the other night. I was caught off guard, but I reacted too harshly. I want you to know how happy I am to be here.”

His aunt's smile turned knowing. “I told you this town would grow on you.”

Nate couldn't argue with her there. But it wasn't just the town—someone had gotten under his skin, and he was more than a little disappointed that he wouldn't be seeing her today. He eyed the pot of soup his aunt had simmering on the stove. “I might drop a bowl of this off for Kara, seeing as she's sick and all,” he added quickly.

“Seeing as she's sick,” his aunt repeated, her eyes shining.

“I'll just drop some off at the bakery…” He shrugged, trying to sound casual, but there was no slipping anything past Maggie.

“She lives above the bakery. You can't miss it. And you'll want to hurry before it cools.”

Nate grinned as he accepted a plastic container from his aunt. He'd hurry, all right. In fact, he couldn't wait.

Nate carried the canvas bag containing soup, some fresh bread, and a couple of his aunt's peppermint scones to the bakery, which boasted a
CLOSED
sign despite the holiday shoppers who strolled down Main Street, sipping coffees and laden with red and green shopping bags.

He scanned the front of the building, searching for the door that would lead to an upstairs unit, and felt his heart tick when he finally spotted it. The black, paned door was set in an alcove, not very noticeable from the street, and a small intercom above the mailbox listed one name: K. Hastings.

Nate pressed it quickly and waited. It rang twice. By the third time, he began to worry that she wasn't home, or wouldn't answer, and the disappointment that landed in his gut confirmed what he already knew. He wanted to see her. Looked forward to seeing her.

And what did that mean for next week, when he went back to Boston?

Nothing, he told himself firmly. Sure, it might take a day to acclimate, to get this town and the people in it out of his system, but he would. His life was busy, and full. And January was going to be busy, just like every year. He was already struggling to keep up with his inbox, and some days here he hadn't even thought to check it. It wasn't like him, but it didn't matter. It was a vacation. One vacation in ten years.

It was easy to get lost in it.

“Hello?” The voice crackled through the speaker, pulling Nate back to the present with a jolt.

He licked his lips and clutched the canvas bag tighter in his grip. “Kara? It's Nate.”

The pause was so long, Nate had to press his ear against the intercom to see if he'd lost the connection. The exaggerated sound of a sneeze forced him back.

“Hi. Did you… need something? I don't know if your aunt told you but I'm not making the cookies for tea today.”

Nate smiled. “I know. I didn't come here to pick them up. I brought something for you instead.” He glanced at the door. “Mind buzzing me in?”

There was another pause, longer this time, and Nate was just beginning to feel that he had overstepped when the door buzzed and clicked. He quickly grabbed the handle and pushed it open. There was a single door visible at the top of the stairs, a simple boxwood wreath gracing its front. And Nate's heart beat a little faster with every step closer to it.

Holy. Crap.

Kara flung the chenille blanket off her lap and dashed into her small bathroom, whimpering at the sight. Her dark hair was as tangled as a rat's nest, flat on one side, sticking up in all directions on the other. Her nose was as red as Rudolph's, and her eyes were watering so much, she looked as if she'd been crying.

Listlessly, she reached for her mascara and then realized there was no point.

She glanced down at her pajamas, the very ones she'd worn last night and never changed out of, and frantically searched for a robe. She found a cashmere turtleneck sweater instead and stuffed it over her head, managing to cover most of the unflattering plaid flannel.

He was already knocking at the door when she reached for a brush, and, unable to even pull it through her hair, she gave up and pulled it back into a haphazard knot.

Hardly her finest moment. The bitter irony that for the first time in God knew how many years a handsome man was knocking on her door and she looked like she had, admittedly, just rolled out of bed was not lost on her.

She stared up at the ceiling.
Why?
She mouthed.
Why?

Closing her eyes, she counted to three and then slowly undid the locks. The door creaked open and there he stood, looking so darn cute it stole her breath for a moment. He was bundled in a scarf, no doubt of his aunt's choosing from the handmade look of it, but it was the grin he wore that caused her heart to race and her insides to go all mushy.

“I brought you some soup,” he said, holding up the bag.

The man had brought her soup. Kara stared at him, then down to the bag he was holding, and then back into the warm, golden eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He may as well have said he'd brought her a four-carat diamond ring.

“I… I don't know what to say.” She blinked as she stepped back to let him in. “I think this is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a while.”

His grin turned slightly bashful. “Well, I can't take all the credit. My aunt made the soup. But…” He held up a playful finger. “I run a mean microwave. How about I heat you up a bowl? It's already gone a bit cold from the walk over here.”

Kara hadn't been able to summon an appetite since yesterday morning, but the thought of a warm bowl of broth suddenly made her stomach grumble. “I'll show you the kitchen.”

“No. No, you sit, relax, and I'll be right back.”

Kara settled on the slipcovered sofa near the front bay window, but relaxing was the furthest thing from her mind as she watched Nate disappear into her kitchen, followed soon by the sound of opening and closing of her cabinets.

She eyed the hallway, wondering if she could dash into her bedroom, maybe throw on something a little sexier, but knew it was no use. She was sick. And the man had brought her soup. She'd roll with it.

Nate carried the steaming bowl into the living room a few minutes later, balancing it on a tray that told her he'd made himself completely at home, considering she kept that on the bottom shelf of her pantry, and set it on the coffee table. She was touched to see that he'd even folded a napkin and set a spoon on top, along with a few slices of what looked like homemade bread.

“This smells delicious,” Kara said, breathing in the rich aroma. “I'm happy to share.”

Nate shook his head, and for a moment, Kara was worried he would leave, that perhaps he'd just been running an errand for his aunt, nothing more, but when he settled himself onto an armchair near the fireplace, she felt a little tingle of excitement rip through her. She reached for the bowl. No reason to get carried away now…

“I'm surprised you don't have a tree,” Nate remarked, motioning to the completely undecorated living room. “I thought you were just bursting with Christmas spirit.”

Kara laughed, almost spilling her soup all over her flannel pajama pants. “I haven't gotten around to it, I'm afraid.”

“But Christmas is a week away.”

Their eyes met for a beat, and Kara wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. That Christmas was a week from today, and after that… life went back to reality. Whatever was blossoming between them would be over.

And the contest would be, too, she thought with a start.

She sighed. “I guess I won't get around to it this year. No doubt the good ones have all been picked over by now anyway.” She sipped her soup off her spoon and eyed him. “Why? Do you have a tree in your apartment?”

He looked affronted. “Me? God, no.” He shuddered. “No time. No desire, either.”

She set her bowl down and looked at him properly. “Just what is it that you have against Christmas?” She wanted to know once and for all. “Someone break your heart over the holidays?” She was fishing, but she couldn't help it. The man was a bona fide Grinch, and there had to be a reason. Besides, she couldn't resist a little more insight into his heart while she had the opportunity.

“Bad memories.” Nate shrugged, but the way his eyes drifted across the room told her he was hiding something.

Deciding he didn't want to open up just yet, Kara let it drop and resumed eating her soup. It was delicious, with large chunks of carrot and celery and thick noodles. “Well, I love Christmas, even though I do understand the memories part.” She paused, thinking of the gingerbread house downstairs, the hours she was losing by sitting up here, sniffling through a box of tissues. The soup was warming her from the inside out, as was Nate. When he left, she'd try to muster up the energy to work on it a bit. Not that she was in any rush to see Nate leave.

“Christmas has a way of doing that,” Nate mused. “People make too big a deal out of it, if you ask me. It brings out the worst in people. This Holiday House contest is a prime example.”

Kara stared at him. “And here I thought you were starting to enjoy the contest.”

“Oh, I'm always up for a good challenge.” His eyes were intense as they latched on to hers, and Kara felt her breath catch. “But it's hardly the meaning of Christmas to compete with your neighbors over who has the best decorations.”

“I see it a little differently,” Kara ventured. “It's a community event, a way to bring people together. Everyone might look like they're at war over this contest, but deep down, there's a real sense of camaraderie. It's fun.”

“I'm glad you think so,” Nate said, giving her a slow grin that made her stomach roll over. She suddenly felt nervous in his company—in a good way. “I was starting to feel a little bad for suggesting it to you.”