Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses: A feel good Christmas romance novel (5 page)

As she held the large bundles of mistletoe in her arms, Nick came out of his office to see what all the commotion was in the entryway. His brows were pulled downward, his mouth set in a slight scowl as if that were the resting position of his lips. “What is all this?”

“You said I could buy Christmas decorations.” She shifted to get a better hold of the mistletoe. It was wrapped in paper, but the sheer number of sprigs was causing it to slip from her arms.

“I’d rather hoped you’d buy some furniture.”

“I will.”

“I just don’t see the need in doing
all
of this. It’s a waste of time.”

“You said that you trusted me, so
trust
me when I say that I will have the house decorated by Christmas—furniture and all.”

He shook his head, his chest filling with breath, and what she thought could be a slight smile on his lips emerged. Or was it a disbelieving smirk? He turned and headed back to his office.

B
y four o’clock
, Abbey hadn’t even stopped once, but she had both towering trees done in the ballroom. Each one had two thousand white twinkle lights and shiny silver and winter-blue ornaments to bring out the blue in the rug. She’d added silver tree skirts and then covered them completely with the silver faux presents she’d wrapped. Dangling from shimmery silver ribbons that the groundsmen had helped her pin to the massive ceiling near each of the windows were the sprigs of mistletoe, one hanging just over the grand piano, the tails of the bow cascading like tiny, velvet waterfalls, their reflection just beautiful on the surface of the piano’s bench.

The fireplace was draped in spruce greenery and more white lights, a blue and silver bow with long tails holding it up at either corner. She’d placed silver stocking hangers perfectly centered along the front of the fireplace and from them, dangled cream-colored stockings with silver beading.

Abbey sat down on the floor cross-legged and pulled out her sketchpad. She turned around to view the trees she’d just decorated. With the warmth from the fire on her back, she peered up at the gorgeous trees, like bookends on either side of the windows. They’d already filled the room with so much character, their white lights glimmering against the window panes as the snow came down outside. Suddenly, inspiration was hitting her from every direction, and Abbey began to sketch out the room, her pencil moving as fast as it could go, her ideas bumping into one another on their way out.

She was going to make several seating areas in this room, each one angled so that everyone could feel the warmth from that gorgeous fireplace. Each group of chairs would have a small table in the center, allowing people to set down their drinks, talk, play cards, whatever they wanted. She imagined silver vases of Christmas greenery—tall shoots of holly branches with red berries. Above the mantle, she envisioned a colossal antique mirror with a thick silver frame. Her hands were sketching as fast as they could go, the side of her hand black from the lead of her drawing pencil.

“How’s it going?” she heard from across the room and jumped, her concentration interrupted. Nick was standing in the doorway, his eyes moving up one of the Christmas trees. Then, he looked at Abbey, and she caught him stealing a glance at her sock feet before making eye contact. She tucked her feet under her self-consciously. He should be happy she wasn’t wearing her shoes on the nice rug. He walked over to her and peered down at her sketchpad. “You’ve been busy,” he said, his voice contemplating and careful.

“When I get ideas, I just run with them.”

“Clearly,” he said. His face showed no indication of his thoughts and it was driving her crazy. “You’re keeping the piano, yes?”

“Yes. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine.” His gaze fluttered up to the mistletoe and then back to her. “Do you play piano at all?” he asked.

“A little.”

With that answer, he cocked his head to the side slightly with interest. “Show me.”

A swell of unease tickled her skin at his request. She was only facilitating conversation. She didn’t really play. She’d learned a few songs at her friend’s house when she was in high school. Now he’d put her on the spot.

Nick walked over and stood next to the piano. He was waiting for her to play something. Her empty stomach filled with nerves. Then, she got herself together. What did it matter if he thought she wasn’t good at the piano? She was there to decorate his house, not entertain him. She padded over on her sock feet and sat down on the bench, crisscrossing her legs.

“You don’t need the pedals?” he asked.

“Not for this song,” she said with a nervous grin. Then, she banged out “Chopsticks” on the keys. She was the best at this song because she’d practiced it enough to be fast, and it generally sounded like the actual song, which was more than she could say for her other options.

Abbey turned to look at him, and he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the floor, but clearly he was thinking about something, and the smile on his face told her that she’d done something right. His expression surprised her. She’d thought that he would be annoyed with her ridiculous piano playing after she’d said she could play, but instead, he seemed amused. His affectionate grin sent a wave of excitement through her.

He shook his head, that grin still playing at his lips, and then looked up at her. “Richard says you never ate lunch. I was just checking that you were okay.”

“Oh,” she said, only just realizing that she hadn’t stopped, and it was nearly dinnertime. Perhaps it was adrenaline from having such a large project in front of her over such a short span of time and the need to impress him, or maybe it was her creative juices flowing, but she hadn’t noticed the time.

“I’m having something prepared for you. I have a chef who cooks for me every evening. I’ve taken the liberty of having him make you an early dinner. You can have it here at the house, or he can box it up for you. Whatever you prefer.”

Abbey figured she’d better eat there since it would be terribly rude of her to bring her own dinner to her mother’s without having something for them. “Thank you,” she said, surprised again by his thoughtfulness. “I’ll have it here, if that’s okay.”

“Certainly. Why don’t I have him serve you in the dining room?”

“Will you be eating?” She couldn’t imagine the thought of sitting at the end of his long, empty dining room table all alone.

He stared at her a moment, as if he were trying to decipher her motives. The idea of eating with Nick Sinclair was a little stressful—she hoped her manners were up to par—but eating alone was just as terrifying. She never ate by herself; even when she was at her apartment with Max, she always made sure they ate together. The thought occurred to her that Nick probably ate alone every night.

Nick still hadn’t said anything, so she filled the silence with an explanation. “I don’t like to eat by myself,” she said.

His eyes were unstill, that curiosity seeping out through his features. He smiled a little. She thought about the fact that she could be imposing on him. He’d only offered her food because she hadn’t eaten. He wasn’t necessarily offering his companionship for dinner. But she’d already asked him, so the damage was done. He was a big boy; he could get out of it if he wanted to.

“I’ll have the chef serve us both in the dining room.” He walked through the door and turned around. “It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. I’ll see you then.”

W
hat in the
world was she about to eat? Was it pasta? Vegetables? It smelled delicious. Abbey draped her napkin in her lap and eyed Nick for strategies on how to eat the dish in front of her. Her natural inclination was to spin it around her fork, but she was worried that she’d break some kind of dining etiquette that she wasn’t even aware of. Nick dipped his fork into the dish and began to turn it around in circles. Thank goodness!

“I forgot to ask,” he said suddenly, abandoning his fork and setting his hand on the white tablecloth that hadn’t been there before the meal. “Are you allergic to anything?” He nodded toward the pasta-like dish. “It’s shrimp and zucchini noodles.”

“No, I’m not allergic to anything.”

He looked visibly relieved. “I’m not used to thinking about someone else. I just told the chef to make two, not even considering your preferences. I apologize. Do you even like shrimp and zucchini?”

“Yes,” she said, although she’d never had a dish quite like this one before.“You just looked a little unsure.”

She smiled despite herself. “I didn’t know how I was supposed to eat it,” she said honestly.

His brows pulled together in that handsome way of his, his lips turned down in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know if I was supposed to just twirl it around my fork or not, but then, when you did it, I realized I’d guessed right.”

“How else would you eat it?” he laughed, and she had to make herself breathe. His laughter went all the way to his eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned down just slightly when he smiled. His whole face changed. She was so happy to see a real laugh from him, and, by the way he collected himself right after, she wondered if he wasn’t used to it.

“I didn’t
know
how to eat it. That’s why I looked at you!” she laughed too.

“Well, you can eat it any way you want,” he said, chuckling again.

“Do you always eat in here?”

“Yes.”

Abbey was sitting at the head of the table with Nick at her right, and the two of them barely covered one corner of that colossal table. It had five chairs down each side and one on the ends.

“Do you always sit in the same spot, or do you choose a new chair every night?”

“Ha!”

She couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as she realized that she was making him laugh again, and she was so glad to see him smile. His face was quite different tonight than it was when she’d first met him. As she watched the fine lines forming around his eyes, the light creases in his forehead as his face became animated, the way his lips turned down at the corners in that way that was unique to him, she was happy to see his real smile.

“What would
you
do?” he asked.

“Sorry?”

“Would you sit in the same seat or would you choose a different one each night?”

“I’d sit in a different seat every night so I could see what the room looked like from the angles of every one of my guests. …If I sat in here at all.”

Nick looked around the room as if explanations of her last comment were hanging somewhere in the air above him. “Why wouldn’t you eat in a dining room?” he finally asked.

“It’s so big, the table swallows us right up. I’d eat somewhere comfier.”

“Comfier?” His face crumpled, telling her that he had no idea why somewhere other than the dining room would be any better than where they were sitting now. “Where would you suggest then?”

His laughter had made her feel a sense of friendliness that gave her the courage to do what she was thinking of doing. “I’ll show you,” she said, standing up. “Grab your plate.”

This time,
he
was watching
her
as she set her fork on her plate and grabbed her glass, her cloth napkin dangling between her fingers. With a slight reluctance, Nick followed her lead, that look of interest returning on his face. She caught him looking at her sock feet again as she led the way to the ballroom that she’d just decorated. The fire had dwindled to a low, orange glow, but the heat was still present. Carefully, she sat on one of the sofas that she’d arranged facing each other in front of the fireplace and folded her legs underneath her. With the plate and napkin balancing on her lap and the glass by the leg of the sofa on the floor, she began to eat.

“And why is this better than having a perfectly functional table at our disposal?” he asked, awkwardly holding his plate and trying to get the zucchini onto his fork.

“It’s relaxing.”

He didn’t respond, and her thoughts were already somewhere else. Being next to him on the sofa with their dinners in their laps almost made her forget that they were so very different, the same way it had made her forget how big the room had seemed when she got there. “So, you said you remember nearly every detail? Will you remember everything I say tonight?” she asked.

“Yes, probably.”

“You’ll remember everything about the room and sitting here and what we ate?”

“Most likely.”

“That’s amazing.”

He smiled, but it was his polite smile, not the kind she’d seen at the dinner table.

They ate for a while in the quiet of that enormous room, the fire popping every so often, the daylight fading on the newly fallen snow through the windows. He didn’t talk anymore, and she wondered if he wasn’t used to talking since he was accustomed to eating alone, but it was a comfortable silence. When she’d almost finished her dinner, she said, “May I test your memory?” She set her near empty plate down on the floor beside the sofa.

Nick set his dinner plate next to hers and twisted slightly to face her. “Okay.”

“What kind of cake did you have for your ninth birthday?”

His eyes squinted as he attempted to recall the answer. “It was chocolate with vanilla icing, I believe.”

“What did you wear on your first day of high school?”

“Our school uniform: a navy blazer with a white shirt and tan trousers.”

“What was the weather like the Tuesday before last?”

He pursed his lips, as he sifted through the memories from that week. “Rainy. Icy, actually.”

“It’s easy to guess the weather this winter. It’s either rainy or snowy lately. Are you lying?” she challenged him.

“No.”

Abbey’s thoughts were always muddled—she had hundreds of them all at the same time. She’d read once that creative people tended to think that way, and as a result, she’d had to work very hard to keep herself and her life organized so she didn’t forget anything, misplace something, or let dates and events slip her mind. She was always running a hundred miles an hour, barely even processing things she did. Sometimes, she had to focus just to remember if she’d packed lunches or not. So the kind of memory that Nick had was fascinating—she couldn’t even imagine it.

Speaking of remembering, she jolted upright. “What time is it?” she asked, looking down at her watch.

“Five.”

Max was still at her mother’s, and she’d stayed far longer than she’d planned. “Thank you so much for dinner. It was delicious,” she said, standing up and grabbing her plate. He took it from her and set it back down. She hurried toward her bag, picked it up, and shoved her feet into her shoes. When she righted herself, Nick was standing by her. “I need to go. I’m late. My mom’s watching my son, Max, and they’re probably both wondering where I am.”

“Absolutely. My grandmother had mentioned that you’re a single mother.”

“Yes.” She shuffled toward the great entrance to the room that led to the front door. “I’ll be over tomorrow at around noon. I’ll be with your grandmother in the morning,” she said as she paced to the front door.

“Perfect,” he said, opening the door for her. “I look forward to it.”

He would? He’d look forward to it? That comment was enough to stop her for just a second. She was glad he’d said it because she looked forward to it too.

He stayed in the doorway as she jogged through the snow toward her car, and he didn’t shut the door until she was headed down the long drive to the main road.

“
L
et him sleep
,” her mom said as Abbey peered into her dark high school bedroom. Max was under the covers, his eyes closed. Abbey gasped and pointed, just realizing what she was seeing in the shadows. Two green eyes glared at her. “Is that Señor Freckles curled up at the foot of the bed?” she whispered. “I can’t believe he’s in there with Max.” Then, before she could say anything else, she heard the thud of his paws on the floor and he darted between them and out the bedroom door.

“Isn’t that funny,” her mom said. “I haven’t seen that cat all day.” She stepped back and pulled the door closed, leaving a crack open for light. “Why not just let him sleep? You can drop his things off on your way to work tomorrow.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“How was the decorating?” Gramps called from the kitchen. Abbey hurried down the hallway toward him to keep him from calling out again and waking Max. When she found him, he was dishing out a rather large helping of vanilla ice cream. He raised his eyebrows and pointed to it in offering. She shook her head with a smile and sat down at the table. Her mom joined her.

“It was amazing. I bought a bunch of Christmas trees today. Big, giant ones. They looked so beautiful.”

“Did you see Nick Sinclair?” her mom asked, leaning on her hands, her elbows propped on the table.

“I did. I actually ate dinner with him.”

Her mom’s eyes bulged with interest. “Really? What was it like to be in the presence of a millionaire?”

“Surprisingly not much different than being with anyone else.”

Gramps joined them with his bowl, the ceramic bottom of it rattling slightly against the table as he attempted to set it down with an unsteady hand.

“He’s nice.”

“Is he, now?” her mom said with a grin on her face. “He’s sending you pies for Thanksgiving, having dinner with you…”

“It’s not like that,” Abbey said. She didn’t want anyone mistaking his kindness for anything other than what it was. Nick had only been concerned about her in both instances, and he was just trying to make sure she had what she needed.

“You never know,” Gramps said. “Your grandmother was quite wealthy. Her family owned a restaurant chain. She went to fancy schools and she was quite the southern belle.” Gramps smiled, his forehead creasing in three large folds with his smile, pushing his white hair back just slightly on his head. “I had no business asking her out. I was from a working-class family, and I didn’t feel that I had anything to offer her, but she looked so pretty sitting there at that soda fountain that day that I just had to take a chance and ask her out.”

“And she said yes,” Abbey said, trying to recall her grandmother’s laugh. She always loved her laugh.

“Nope. She said no.”

Mid-memory, Abbey turned and looked at Gramps. “What?”

“She said no. Then she got up and walked out.”

“What did you do?”

“I chased after her. It took me a week. I think Fran finally said yes just to shut me up,” he said with a laugh. “But once she said yes, we were inseparable from that moment on.”

“I can’t remember her laugh,” Abbey fretted. She kept wracking her brain over and over, memory after memory. Fear swept through her as she realized she was losing her memory of Gran.

“It was like bells,” Gramps said, his hands beginning to wobble more than they had. His spoon tapped the inside of the bowl relentlessly. “High-pitched, tinkling giggles. Her eyes would squint and she’d press her lips together as if she wanted to hold it in but always her giggles would escape. I remember it perfectly. God, I miss her laughter.”

Abbey wished she could love someone like that. It occurred to her then that it had been quite a while since Gramps had laughed.

“I’m just saying, don’t rule anything out,” he said. “But you’re not there to get a date anyway. You’re there to work. And it sounds like you’ve gotten a good start.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. She couldn’t agree more, but the pressure to please Gramps was mounting. He’d always pushed her to use her artistic gift, but the truth of the matter was that she had to support her son. That was what made this project so important to her. If she got it right, she could add it to her portfolio, maybe Nick would even mention her name at that Christmas party. She could potentially get clients and make a lot of money, and maybe even be an interior decorator full time. “I have to work in the morning, and then I’ll be back there for a few hours to start on one of the bedrooms.”

“I’ll bet you’ll do an amazing job,” he said smiling, his hands becoming less shaky as he looked at her.

“I hope so.”

“
I
’ve been having
trouble getting a deep breath, and I keep having a fluttering in my chest,” Caroline said as Abbey tried to listen to her heartbeat. She was usually quiet when Abbey checked her vitals, but today, she was quite chatty. Abbey closed her eyes to focus on the heartbeat. She jotted down the number in her log and pulled her stethoscope from her ears.

“Still? Let me see.” She fished out the printout from the EKG that she’d received from the doctor at Caroline’s last visit. It had come back abnormal, and they were awaiting more tests. Years of practice had taught her not to show any alarm, but as she looked at the paperwork, she did feel that it was possible Caroline could have an arrhythmia. This would not be good, given the fact that she had also complained of hip pain. Caroline’s hip problems were coming on the heels of a diagnosis of arthritis of the spine.

“What is it?” Caroline asked. Her face didn’t show any worry either, but she never would. She wasn’t the type. Instead, she almost looked annoyed. “What do I have wrong now?”

“I’m not a doctor. I wouldn’t want to try to diagnose you. We need a specialist to take a look.” What she didn’t want to say was that, if they needed to operate for any reason, an arrhythmia might complicate surgery, if not eliminate the possibility of it. It would just be too risky. Abbey mentioned none of this as she packed away her instruments.

“Have you been to Nick’s today?” Caroline asked.