Love Blooms on Main Street (30 page)

It was past ten by the time Nate Griffin pulled to a stop in front of the white mansion across from a snow-covered town square. He sat in his car, tense from the drive, and took a few minutes to decompress before he dared to knock on those front doors. Or did one just let themselves into a B&B? Not one to patronize small-town inns, he wasn't sure of proper etiquette. He'd knock, he decided, though no doubt his aunt was already staring out the window, tapping her foot, wondering what was taking him so long.

No good deed
, he thought, dragging out a sigh. He'd thought he was off the hook for the holidays this year. And yet here he was. In Briar Creek. For the next two weeks.

And Briar Creek loved Christmas. At least, that's what his aunt had told him when he announced his visit. The poor woman probably thought she was selling him on something, when all she was doing was making him wonder again why he'd sent his parents on that Mediterranean cruise, so carefully planned, booked specifically for the season as a Christmas gift—to both his parents and himself. It was the perfect coup, until his father had to go and suggest he spend the holiday with Aunt Maggie, because they couldn't bear the thought of either of them being alone…

He'd tried to point out that Maggie never spent Christmas with them anyway. Christmases were spent as just the three of them, year after year after year. But then his mother had pointed out that this year they had intended to spend it at her inn in Briar Creek, and oh, she'd be so disappointed. And she had that hernia after all. And she really was looking forward to it. And oh, Briar Creek was such a charming town…

Charming indeed. Dead was more like it. On his drive through town—if you could even call it that—the lights were out in every storefront he passed, even the few restaurants. Only one light glowed in the otherwise empty stretch—from a bakery.

He had half a mind to stop in, bring his aunt a gift. Then he remembered how picky she was about her food and decided against it.

No good deed
, he thought again.

He roved his gaze over to the town square, illuminated by the twinkling white lights wrapped around the center gazebo. Fresh snow glistened, conjuring up every travel-book image he'd formed of Briar Creek at Christmastime, and he felt his spirits lift a bit.

He was just grouchy and tired from the drive from Boston. It had been a long week. Hell, it had been a long year. The break would do him good. Or so he kept telling himself every time his phone pinged with another email, always seemingly urgent, from the office.

Nate killed the ignition, and there was an almost immediate hint of chill in the car. Grabbing his duffel bag from the passenger seat and deciding to come back for the rest tomorrow, he pushed out of the car and walked up the salt-sprinkled cobblestone path to the inn. Two identical wreaths made from red berries hung on the black-painted double doors, and from the windows that framed them, he saw a shadow cut through the golden light. Before he could even reach for the door handle, the door swung open, and there stood his aunt Maggie, looking even more festive than the Christmas tree in his office lobby.

“Ho, ho, ho!” she sang, grinning so wide, Nate felt an immediate pang of guilt for the less-than-generous thoughts that had plagued him for the duration of his two-hundred-mile drive.

“Aunt Maggie.” He smiled warmly, taking in the familiar lines of her face, which had grown deeper since the last time he'd seen her. He was suddenly aware of how much time he'd let pass, and seeing how much his visit meant to her, he felt a wave of shame he couldn't put in check.

“Come here and give your old aunt a hug,” she ordered, and pulled him in. One of her dangling, glittery, reindeer-shaped earrings caught his scarf, and Nate wrestled with Rudolph's flashing nose as Maggie giggled, her head bent as she waited to be freed.

“I see you have a matching sweater,” he said once he had untangled himself.

Maggie patted the reindeer on her stomach and adjusted her flashing earrings. “Women like to accessorize. You'd have known that already if you'd settle down and find a nice girl.”

And so it began…

“I made you dinner,” his aunt said as she ushered him into the sitting area of a lobby. Sure enough, there was a steaming pot pie on a plate and a glass of milk. His favorite meal as a kid. He was touched that she remembered, even though he'd kill for a beer.

He didn't bother to mention that he'd already eaten after work. She'd gone to great effort, and he was never one to turn down a home-cooked meal. They didn't come often. Though perhaps if he visited his parents a little more often, they might.

Guilt churned in his gut, but there wasn't any time to dwell on it, not when his aunt was looking at him so pertly, her hands folded patiently in front of her, her green eyes wide, waiting for a reaction.

“This looks delicious,” he said honestly. “Thank you.”

He shrugged out of his coat, eager to relax and settle in, even if he still felt a little uneasy about being here at all. The flames flickered in the hearth and the lobby was quiet. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. More guests perhaps? A bar? But then this was an inn, not a hotel, and above all, it was his aunt's home.

Maggie brushed the snow from the shoulders of the thick wool before hanging it on a rack near the front vestibule. Nate took the time to look around. He had only visited the inn a few times, and he was too young then to form a clear image. Now he was impressed with what he saw. The lobby was tastefully furnished in a traditional but lived-in style, impeccably clean and modestly decorated for the holidays. Fresh garland was wrapped around the banister of the winding stairs, and an arrangement of red, white, and green flowers was set on the polished cherrywood check-in desk. It was clear that his aunt took pride in the place, and no doubt people paid a pretty penny to stay the weekend. The ski resorts weren't far, he knew, though he'd only picked up skiing in recent years and didn't get to the mountains much. But people liked country getaways. Some people.

“You're looking a bit thin,” Maggie said as she came to sit across from him near the crackling fire. “Tell me. What do you normally cook?”

He was hardly thin, but Maggie liked to fret, and he decided to humor her. She eyed the fork, and so he picked it up, happy he'd done so when he brought the bite of pie to his mouth. Rich, buttery, and creamy. Just like he remembered.

“I don't cook, Aunt Maggie,” he said, grinning. He didn't need to meet her eye to sense the disapproving pinch of her lips. “That's what microwaves are for.”

“Microwaves!” She tossed her hands in the air and shook her head. “Well, good thing I've got you for a couple weeks. You'll be fattened up by the New Year.”

Nate paused as he brought another forkful of pot pie to his mouth, recalling the six o'clock trip to the gym he'd put in that morning. There was no telling how much butter and cream had gone into this thing—enough to undo forty-five minutes on the treadmill, that much was for sure.

He opened his mouth, savoring every bite. This was a vacation—sort of—and people were supposed to indulge a bit on vacations. He eyed the milk, wondering if he could ask for a glass of wine at least.

“Drink up,” Maggie said, noticing.

Nate grimaced. “I think I'll pass,” he said.

“I understand.” His aunt winked. “It's late. You don't want any accidents.”

Nate choked on the last bite of his pie. “What? Aunt Maggie, I'm thirty-two years old.”

But she just gave an innocent shrug. “So? Why don't I show you to your room? I'd love nothing more than to sit and chat with you all night, but it's late and I have to be up at four to start breakfast.”

Nate frowned as he pushed himself off the couch. His aunt was in her early seventies, older than his parents by a handful of years. She'd never had any children, and her husband—his father's brother—had died years back, leaving her alone with this inn to run. He thought of what his parents had told him, the concerns they'd had for Maggie's health, and hesitated.

“Why don't I make breakfast tomorrow and give you a chance to sleep in?”

She stared at him blankly before bursting into a roar of laughter. “My dear boy, I appreciate the gesture, but it's the one meal I offer here, and, if I do say, I'm known for my breakfasts for miles around. I wouldn't want to let my guests down…” She patted his arm and gave a little smile.

Nate opened his mouth to protest but then decided to drop it. He'd already admitted he couldn't cook, at least not from scratch, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble for his aunt by upsetting the guests… and something told him they wouldn't appreciate his scrambled eggs with buttered toast, which was about as far as things went with his culinary skills.

“But I'd like to help while I'm here,” he pressed.

A look of interest passed over her face. “I'll remember that,” she said mysteriously.

Nate picked up his duffel bag and flung it over his shoulder. From the gleam in his aunt's eye, he had the unnerving suspicion she had plans for him while he was in town, and he couldn't begin to imagine what they entailed.

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