Christmas Comes to Main Street (26 page)

His jaw tensed. “Aunt Maggie, I'm sorry I can't give you what you want.”

She waved away his concern, but he could still make out the sadness in her eyes. “Nonsense. You stayed with me for Christmas. That's more than I could have asked for. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Nate didn't know how to answer that question. He leaned forward in his chair, balancing his elbows on his knees, and watched the flames flicker and crackle in the hearth. “It was a nice escape,” he finally settled on.

“Well, it's a nice town. Nice people.” She stared at him until he finally gave in and met her gaze. “You weren't here long, but it felt like you really fit into the community.”

No thanks to her gentle persuasion. “I became friendly with some people, if that's what you're referring to.”

“Your donation to the Hope Center was impressive,” Maggie continued. “Don't think I didn't notice the merchandise being stored in my back closet. You're a generous man. Most successful men don't bother to give back.”

“And some don't remember where they've come from. I didn't grow up with much; you know that.”

She lowered her eyes. “I know. It was a sensitive subject, so we never let on, never offered overt help, even though we wanted to. Your father was a proud man, and the few times we suggested anything, he seemed to take offense.”

Nate frowned. “I wonder if that's why we didn't visit very often.”

“Oh, that, and your parents were both busy working. They weren't in a position to take time away. Neither were we, unfortunately. The inn never closes.”

“My father worked hard. And you're right, he did take offense.”

“It's a shame, really, that he saw it that way. All we wanted to do was show that we cared about him. That we were a circle of support. That's what our community is founded on. It's why I love Briar Creek so much.”

Nate grew quiet, considering his father's attitude, mirroring it to his own. He was proud. Proud of what he'd accomplished, proud of the security he could now provide. But he wasn't proud of where he'd come from, was he? He was too worried about being judged. Just like his father had been. Too worried people would see him a little differently.

Even when they didn't.

Nate thought of the desperation in Kara's eyes when he told her about the little boy's Christmas wish for a new job for his father. She wanted to help. Like his aunt, like the people at his church growing up. And what was he doing to help? Tossing money or toys or food at a worthy cause wasn't going to change the lives of those children. They needed hope. Real hope. A path toward a future.

He was one of the lucky ones, he thought, thinking back to the school he'd gone to, the grades he'd worked for, the scholarships that were awarded. But not every kid had that drive. Or opportunity.

He turned to his aunt. “Do you think it's too early to give gifts?”

Her expression turned tickled as a hand flew to her chest. “A gift? I wonder what it could be!”

Nate didn't say a word as he walked to the staircase and up to his guest room. The painting was tucked in the back of the closet, where he'd last left it, the acrylic paint now dry. He hadn't wrapped it, but instead held it behind his back as he reentered the lobby.

“I know you wanted a painting above the hearth for the contest entry,” he explained. “And I started to do that for you, but then…” He huffed out a breath. Some things just didn't need explaining. “I thought this made more sense,” he said, bringing the painting out from behind his back and propping it against the coffee table.

His aunt let out a small gasp and then brought one hand to her mouth. She blinked rapidly, and Nate knew she was struggling to hold back tears as she looked at the painting of the inn, not as it had been decorated for the contest, but as it was the first night he'd arrived. Fresh snow fell in mounds along the shrubs, and two wreaths hung from the front doors. Across the way, there was a hint of Main Street, the town square, and the skating rink, where a couple was gliding, hand in hand.

It was a beautiful painting, one he was proud of, but it was a beautiful house, too. That couldn't be overlooked. Or forgotten.

“Can I ask you a question?” his aunt asked when she finally met his eyes, her own glistening. “What made you stop painting?”

“Time.” He shrugged. “I had to keep up my grades to maintain my scholarship. I didn't have time for hobbies.”

“Yes, but you had won so many awards for your art in high school. Why didn't you pursue that?”

Nate looked at her quizzically. “Art isn't exactly a lucrative profession, at least not for most people.”

“So that's what mattered? You followed the money instead of your heart?”

“It's just a reality,” Nate said evenly, but he felt his temper begin to stir. He'd have had to have been callous to enter into a risky or potentially low-paying profession when his dad was working himself to the bone for minimum wage.

“Perhaps,” his aunt said sadly. “But sometimes, following your heart leads to the biggest reward of all.” She smiled at the painting, lost in it for a moment. “Thank you for this, Nate. This inn is my home, my heart, and I can see from this painting that you really understood that.”

They sat in silence until the flames began to die down in the fireplace, both admiring the painting that his aunt placed proudly over the mantel. Nate stared at the picture of the inn, of the life his aunt had lived, and he wondered just what might have happened if he'd followed his heart.

And what would happen if he suddenly did.

I
t had snowed overnight. Kara knew before she'd even gotten out from under the warm duvet. There was a stillness in the air, a crispness in the light that poked through the curtains on her bedroom window. Growing up, she'd always found that a fresh dusting of snow on Christmas morning made things extra magical.

But right now, she wasn't feeling it. She wasn't feeling much, other than a heaviness in her chest and a sudden yearning to just have the entire holiday over with.

She'd hoped Molly would have spent the night with her, but her sister felt she should really be at home with their mother, and Kara understood. She supposed she could have stayed in her childhood home as well, but she'd felt the need to come back to her apartment last night and wake up in her own bed.

Oh, who was she kidding? A little part of her had hoped that she might run into Nate or that he might stop by. But Christmas Eve had come and gone without a word. And by this time tomorrow, he'd be gone. She supposed in some ways, he already was.

A ringing of a buzzer jolted her from her pillow, and she sat upright in bed, blinking into the empty room. She must have imagined it.

But no—there it was again. Her heart began to pound as she considered the possibility. Nate, standing downstairs, waiting to be let in. To talk. To…

She grabbed the clock on her nightstand and closed her eyes. It wasn't Nate. Of course it wasn't. What was there to even say, to salvage? It was her sister. Molly had said she'd pop by around ten, and here it was, ten sharp. Kara hadn't slept a wink past five in ages, and fatigue had finally caught up with her.

She slipped her feet into slippers, grabbed her robe, and padded to the front door to buzz her sister in. Peering through the peephole, she held her breath, just in case… But no. There was Molly, bounding up the stairs, all fresh faced and merry-looking.

“You look awfully happy this morning, considering…” Kara gave her younger sister the once-over. Her hair was brushed and neat, her eyes showed no sign of crying, and she was wearing red earmuffs to match her sweater.

“Well, merry Christmas to you, too,” Molly said.

“Sorry.” Kara sighed, stepping back. She rubbed her forehead. She felt strangely like she could go back to bed, sleep for another few hours. So much for breaking routine. “I just woke up, actually.”

“Hmm.” Molly pursed her lips, giving her a look of disapproval as she unbuttoned her coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. “You sure that's all? Your eyes look a little red.”

Kara brought a hand to her cheek. She'd cried last night. She couldn't help it. It was silly, she realized now. So she'd felt a spark. It was just a nuance. Something others felt all the time. It didn't mean anything.

Except, why did it feel like it had?

“I told you,” she said hastily. “I'm tired. This is the first day I've felt like I could breathe in a long time. Besides, you're the one everyone is worried about.”

“Me? Why?” Molly wandered into the kitchen and, without being asked, began making coffee. Kara leaned against the counter and let her, already anticipating the first cup. It would clear her head, erase all these murky, heavy-hearted feelings that still plagued her. And after that, she'd shower, wash away the pain of yesterday, and get on with her day. The new year was almost here. No use dwelling on the past couple of weeks.

“I'm perfectly fine,” Molly continued after she'd set the machine to brew. “I don't know why everyone thinks I should be falling apart.”

Kara's chin dropped as she stared at her sister, who had the audacity to look all wide-eyed and innocent. “Molly, you and Todd broke up.”

Her sister shrugged. “So?”

“So, last time that happened, you could barely get out of bed to shower,” Kara reminded her.

“Well, it was different then. I was still in love with Todd then.” She opened a cabinet and pulled out two mugs. Kara struggled to find words for her response.

“And… you're not now? But you were engaged. You accepted his proposal!”

Molly set the mugs down on the counter and sighed heavily. “I know I did, but… I shouldn't have.”

Kara closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Oh, Molly.”

“After Todd broke up with me, well, you saw how upset I was. I thought I would die without him. Dramatic, I know, but… I ached for him,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “I got swept up, I lost sight of the fact that we had broken up in the first place for a reason. He's not the man for me.”

Kara didn't say anything. She understood. Sort of. At least if the little tug in her chest since her conversation with Nate yesterday meant anything. It hurt. Badly.

The coffee had finished percolating, and Molly filled their mugs. She added a heaping spoonful of sugar to hers, and Kara added a splash of milk, before they brought their mugs into the living room and settled on the sofa.

“I thought, if he really wants me, he needs to make a commitment this time. And then he did! And then we were engaged, I guess. And then I was bringing him to the jewelry store where I'd picked out my ring.”

Kara lifted an eyebrow pointedly. “When had you picked out this one?” Molly had been clipping photos of engagement rings for nearly as long as she'd been snipping photos of cake toppers.

“About a month earlier when the magazine ran a cover shoot of the newest collections.” Molly grimaced. “If it had happened last year, I would have been stuck with a square shape. I know, I'm terrible.”

“You're a romantic,” Kara said. “And you love weddings.”

“And I thought I loved Todd. I really thought so.” She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “It didn't feel right anymore. Maybe it was because he'd broken up with me, or maybe it was because I'd gotten over him. But I didn't feel it anymore. That spark. It was gone.”

That spark. The one she'd finally felt… for the wrong man. “I'm not the one to talk to about sparks,” Kara said tightly.

“Oh, but I think you are,” Molly insisted. “I've seen the way you light up around Nate. That's how it should be.”

“I was just caught up in the holidays. In his cute face. In…” In his kindness to his aunt, and to others. In his sense of humor, his easy wit, and his loyalty. “It doesn't matter now,” she said, shaking away those thoughts.

“But it
does
matter,” Molly said. “I almost sold out for a satin ball gown and a three-carat diamond.”

“Was it really that big?” Kara asked, stricken.

“It was,” Molly said, sighing. She flexed her bare ring finger. “But seeing the way you lit up these past couple of weeks, it made me realize I'd trade it all for half of what you felt.”

“Oh, Molly,” Kara said, feeling her eyes well with tears. She looked up at the tree in the corner of the room, thinking of the day she and Nate had set it up. Their first kiss. “It wasn't meant to be,” she said, her voice feeling thick. She took another sip of her coffee. It was doing little to clear her head in the way she'd hoped. She supposed some things just took time.

“You never know,” Molly encouraged. “But I'm glad you met him all the same. Now you know how it's supposed to feel. And I do, too.”

Kara could only nod. “So much for a merry Christmas,” she said wryly.

“Oh, I wouldn't give up that easily,” Molly said, a sly smile curving the corners of her mouth. She set her mug down and crossed the room to her coat and handbag, where she produced this morning's newspaper, all rolled up and tucked into a plastic bag.

“Oh my goodness,” Kara breathed. The Holiday House contest. She'd completely forgotten that the winner would be announced on the front page. She set her mug down before she spilled coffee all over her white sofa and pressed a hand to her stomach. “I feel like I might get sick.”

But Molly wasn't backing down. Her arm was extended, the paper so close, Kara couldn't stall her much longer.

“Open it already,” Molly pressed. “Aren't you curious?”

“More like terrified,” Kara admitted, staring at the rolled-up paper. It was such a simple object, so plain, really, but in this moment, it was the worst thing she'd ever looked at. She held her hands up and brought the paper to her lap. Slowly, she pulled it free of the plastic bag, her breath stagnant as her heart beat double time in her chest.

“Oh, for God's sake!” Molly exclaimed, and leaned forward to yank the paper from Kara's hands. She opened it faster than Kara could process what was happening, and triumphantly held it up in the air.

Kara stared at the image, trying to process what she was seeing, what it meant. There, on the front page of the
Briar Creek Gazette
, was a picture of her childhood home… in gingerbread.

“Oh my God!” she cried, jumping to her feet to snatch the paper back. “Does this mean… does this mean…”

“You won, Kara! You did it!” Molly was laughing and shaking her by the shoulders as she jumped up and down.

Kara stared at her sister and then narrowed her eyes. “You knew all along!” she cried, giving Molly a playful swat with the paper.

“Well, I was going to tell you right away, but then you had to go and be in such a grumpy mood,” Molly said, laughing.

“I can't believe this,” Kara said, staring at the picture in wonder, the image blurring from her tears of happiness.

“I can,” Molly said proudly.

“And I can, too,” a voice in the doorway said.

Startled, Kara looked up to see her mother standing at the edge of the living room, beaming at her with shiny eyes.

So much for not crying on Christmas, Kara thought as she crossed the room to give her mother a hug. And when she looked over her shoulder to pull Molly in, too, she could have sworn her dad's star on top of the tree twinkled just a little more than usual.

It was a slow morning at the inn. Aunt Maggie had prepared a feast in honor of the holiday, opting for a sit-down hot meal instead of her usual buffet, and the few guests that had remained in town were now off in their rooms or wandering through the snow-covered town.

Nate busied himself by helping his aunt, but it did little to lessen the guilt he felt at leaving her tomorrow morning.

“Have you heard any news of the Holiday House contest?” he asked conversationally as he dried the last of the dishes. He'd been putting it off all day, but he knew there was no denying it. Today the winner would be announced. He wasn't so sure how he felt about that.

Maggie took the plate from his hand and set it back on the stack in the cabinet. The dishwasher was already full and running, and Nate couldn't help but wonder how long it would have taken her to clean everything herself had he not been there to help.

“Found out first thing this morning,” she announced.

He shot her a look in surprise. “What? But why didn't you tell me?” He searched her face, looking for a clue, but she just gave him a mysterious smile and tipped her head toward the door. “The paper's on the coffee table in the lobby. Go see for yourself.”

Nate set the towel down on the counter and left the room, wondering why his aunt hadn't just come out and said it. She liked a bit of drama, he decided as he rounded his way through the dining room. No doubt she'd won but wanted to see the look on his face when he picked up the paper and saw—

He saw the cover before he was halfway into the lobby. There it was, the whole front page, just like he'd been hearing about since he'd arrived in town. Kara's gingerbread house. She'd actually won.

“It's a beautiful gingerbread house,” Maggie said from somewhere behind him.

Nate picked up the paper and stared at the image. It was a beautiful house. Well done. Meaningful. A picture-perfect moment made of sugar and spice. He'd had a couple of those picture-perfect moments himself recently, thanks to her.

He set the paper down and turned to his aunt, resting his hands on his hips. “I feel like this is my fault,” he admitted, giving her a long look. “I challenged Kara to the contest. She wouldn't have entered if it wasn't for me.”

“There's nothing to apologize for!” his aunt proclaimed. “That girl deserved to win fair and square. Did you see that thing? She's certainly more talented than I gave her credit for.”

“More talented than most gave her credit for,” Nate added, thinking of what Kara had said about the passing comments, the people who had judged her on her past. They'd thought less of her, didn't believe in her.

But he had. Maybe it was because he saw through to her. Or maybe it was because he knew how she felt.

“But the money,” he said, remembering everything his aunt had lost by not winning this contest.

She waved a hand through the air, dismissing his concern. “I told you, money isn't important to me.” She picked up the paper and tapped the front page. “I came in second place. Did you see that?”

“So close,” he said, frowning. He scanned the paragraph she was pointing to. Sure enough, runner-up.

“That's all I needed,” she said, folding the paper carefully and tucking it under her arm. “A little recognition that this place is something special. As if my guests don't already remind me of that every day.”

Nate smiled at her sadly. It pained him to think of this place someday shutting its doors or being put up for sale. He could only imagine it pained his aunt even more.

He swallowed hard, the idea he'd come up with during his sleepless night still nagging him. He eyed his aunt, wondering if he should broach it, if it even made sense or was what she wanted. She hadn't suggested it. Was it even his place?

He blew out a breath. He decided to try.

“I know that my parents have been a bit distant over the years,” he said. “But they care. They were going to come visit you this holiday.”

“Your mother finally talked your father into it,” Maggie replied. “I know.”