'Twas the Week Before Christmas (8 page)

“Well, thank you,” Max said, grinning.

Emily brought the wine to the table and he sipped at his glass, enjoying the anecdotes about the inn. The more Holly talked, the more captivated he became. She was a compelling woman with a knack for putting people at ease. No wonder she was so at home at the inn; why she made so many others feel at home there, too. She was sweet in a quiet, nurturing sort of way. Her world seemed calm. Peaceful. For a moment, he dared himself to imagine what it would be like to live in that world.

He had an uneasy feeling that he would like it there.

He knew he could ask her, right then and there, when she was reminiscing about experiences at the inn, if she would ever think of giving it up, moving back to the city. But for some reason, he couldn’t. Now wasn’t the time. If she said no, he would be left with no alternative but to admit the truth. This dinner—and any hope of others to come—would grind to a halt. Any chance of getting to know her better would be gone. She was a trusting sort, and he couldn’t take complete advantage of her. So for now, he’d rather not know her stance.

Besides, there was always a chance that he’d sway her view, especially if she was as charmed with him as he was by her.

After all, he still had five days until Christmas.

The diner looked different this evening than it had earlier in the day. The lights were dimmed and the room was lit predominantly by dozens of strands of multicolored lights. Around the perimeter of the walls, an electronic train worked its way around the room. Max smiled as he watched it go around, the sight of it filling his chest with an ache he couldn’t fight.

“I remember asking Santa for a train like that one year,” he said.

At the mention of Christmas, presumably, Holly perked up. “Did you get it?”

“No.”

Holly’s forehead creased into a frown. She clearly hadn’t been expecting that response. “Oh. That’s sad.”

Max shrugged and watched silently as the train passed by them once more. “North Pole Express,” he mused, reading the label. “That’s a good one.”

Holly watched it passively, her attention fixed on his story. “Did you get the train the next year?” she asked hopefully.

“Oh, it was too late by then,” Max said evenly. He inhaled deeply, wishing he had never mentioned the train. Or Christmas.

“Why’s that?”

“Because by then, I no longer believed in Santa.” He managed a smile and quickly shifted the conversation. “I hope it’s okay that I’m sticking around through Christmas.”

Holly drifted her eyes from the train to his. “I’m really happy you’re staying, actually.”

His stomach tightened. He didn’t know whether to feel guilty or excited or both. “I’m not intruding on any plans?”

Holly tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear and toyed with the stem of her wine glass. She cast her eyes downward. “I tend to rely on my guests for company.” She dragged her attention away from her glass and watched him with a guarded edge. “You really spend your Christmas working most years?”

“Don’t you?”

Holly stiffened, but the corner of her lip curled into a smile. “Touché.”

Max drew a sharp breath. “I don’t mind working. And Christmas is...highly overrated.”

She watched him with a critical squint, her eyes darkening. After a pause she gave a noncommittal “Maybe.”

Max suspected she didn’t hold the same view. Her outward joy at anything related to the holiday was proof. She couldn’t cover up her feelings even if she tried. And he was glad she wasn’t trying. He liked a woman who could hold her own. Holly was true to herself.

And true to those around her
. A ripple of shame passed through him.

“Do you celebrate at all? Even just to get together for a party with friends?” She watched him carefully, searching his face for an explanation.

“It’s not my thing.”

Holly’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her attention was quickly pulled to a man approaching the table.

“George!” she said, smiling once more.

“Nice to see you in here this time of evening, Holly. I hope I’m not, uh, interrupting you.”

Holly’s cheeks turned a fleeting shade of pink. “I don’t think you’ve been introduced,” she said. “This is Max Hamilton, a guest at the inn. Max, this is George Miller. He and Lucy own the diner.”

Max stiffened. He held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, giving George a firm handshake. “I met your wife and son this morning.”

“Max is already a fan of Lucy’s pies,” Holly chimed in.

“My second time here today,” Max said. “And I only just arrived last night.”

George grinned. “Already a regular, then!”

Max managed a thin smile, feeling sly and underhanded. This wasn’t like him, but he didn’t know what else to do. “Guess so.”

“How long are you in town?” George continued. Across from Max, Holly stared at him expectantly.

“Through the holiday,” he replied.

“Family here?”

“Just me.”

George’s eyes narrowed in surprise but he recovered quickly. Refilling Holly’s wine glass, he said, “Let us know if you need anything. We like to keep our customers happy.”

Max gave a watery smile. “Just like Holly.”

“Must be something in the air.” George inched back as the door jingled and a new pair of customers shuffled in from the cold. He lifted his chin and raised a hand in greeting. “Better go seat them. But good to meet you, Max. Hopefully I’ll be seeing you again before you head out.”

“I’m sure of it,” Max said.

More sure than you know
. He turned to Holly. “Shall we?” he asked, tipping his head toward the door. “I wouldn’t mind walking around town before the storm hits.”

She nodded. “Another glass of this wine and you’d be carrying me back to the inn.”

“Would that be so bad?” Max asked, and Holly’s cheeks flared.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were trying to flirt with me,” she said as she shrugged into her coat and buttoned it closed.

Max watched her thoughtfully, noticing the way her eyes blazed a brighter shade, the way the high color in her cheeks set off the tint of ruby in her lips.

“Maybe I am,” he murmured.

Holly pressed her lips together, but he could tell she was pleased. Maybe none of this was as complicated as he worried it would be. Holly was young, single and trapped in Maple Woods. Sure, she loved her inn, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t embrace change. She had lived in Boston before this, after all.

“Do you ever get back to Boston?” he asked, holding the door for her.

Holly wound her scarf tighter around her neck and began leading them down the snow-covered sidewalk. “Not really,” she said, stopping to glance at a window display in the stationery store. “The inn keeps me so busy, I can’t exactly get away without closing down business.”

“That must be difficult,” Max ventured.

Holly sighed, releasing a plume of steam into the brittle night air. “Oh, life is full of sacrifices, I suppose.”

Max frowned at her choice of words, wondering if he should dare to read more meaning into them than she’d intended. She loved the inn, that much was clear in the way she lit up around her guests or when she spoke of the place, but she’d chosen to give something up to keep it going. Max knew well enough what happened when people sacrificed too much for one thing. Eventually they came to resent it, and soon after, they left it. Just as his mother had.

Falling into easy silence, they walked a lap around the town square, their feet crunching over the frozen snow, pausing here and there so Holly could enjoy the decorations, until the wind picked up and the snowflakes grew thick and wet.

“We should probably head back to the inn,” Holly said, looking up to the sky.

Disappointment settled heavy in his chest as they approached the car. As the lights from the town faded behind them and The White Barn Inn came into view, Max had a momentary vision of the bulldozers coming and knocking it to the ground, leveling it to a field and later paving it with cement. Only a matter of weeks ago, he had gazed at the plot of land and imagined his sleek shopping center standing proudly at the edge, but now the thought of this big, beautiful house being gone felt sad and unfair.

He turned to Holly as he pulled the car to a stop and popped his seat belt. Letting go of the past was hard—he’d learned that at an early age. But letting go of the past was the only thing that kept you moving forward. Surely, Holly would be the better for it? Maybe this was the opportunity she needed to start living for herself instead of always taking care of others.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” Holly said as they slipped through the front door. Just off the foyer, the lobby area was dimly lit and the fireplace was dark. Not a sound could be heard through the giant house, forcing all of Max’s attention on the beautiful girl in front of him.

“See, it’s fun to get out and go to dinner once in a while.”

She gave a slow smile as she looked up at him. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I think I do need to get out a bit more.”

He hesitated, lured in by the slight parting of her lips, the lingering hold in her gaze, by the awareness that there was no one else in this house but the two of them.

“I should go check some emails,” he said, his voice husky and low. Firm. He was convincing himself, not her, and he was doing a damn poor job of it.

Her cheerful expression faded ever so softly, and without thinking, knowing only that he didn’t want to see that look cross her face or know that he had caused it, he reached out and set a hand on her arm and leaned down. She blinked up at him, her eyes flashing in awareness of their sudden proximity, and then he turned his head ever so slightly and brushed her cheek with his mouth. Her skin was smooth and light against his lips, and his groin tightened at her sweet smell. Everything in him was telling him to graze his mouth to hers, to taste her lips.

Max stepped back. Not tonight. Not with the conversation with George Miller on the table.

He was still in town for four more days. And in that time period, anything was possible.

Chapter Six

“G
ood morning,” Max said from the kitchen entrance, his voice deliciously thick and scratchy from slumber. Holly’s heart lurched and she felt the color drain from her face as she turned to sweep her eyes over his chiseled, unshaven face. Her pulse quickened as his mouth tipped into a knowing grin, and his blue eyes twinkled. She knew he would most likely come into the kitchen—it was breakfast time after all—but the sudden sight of him standing there was still enough to send a shock through her and she found herself completely flustered and unprepared.

Max leaned against the doorjamb, tall and strong, folding two thick arms across his broad chest. His hair, she noticed, was slick and wet, and a vivid image of him in a shower with water streaming down his hard body flashed through her mind before she could stop herself. Instinctively, she brought her hand to her mouth and bit down on the side of her thumb, staring at the object of her desire under the hood of her long lashes.

It had been a long, sleepless night.

“Hey!” she replied, gathering her wits. She had to pull it together today; she’d promised herself that much. She was going to behave today. She had to.

He was all wrong for her. A workaholic who didn’t even live in town. And—though she was quick to forget— he was her guest.

Amazing how quickly both facts could mean so little when he strolled into her kitchen looking like that.

Max ventured farther into the sun-filled warmth of the kitchen. He crossed behind her to the coffeepot on the counter and his hip brushed casually against hers. Something flipped inside her at the involuntary connection.

This was going to be more difficult than she thought.

She pressed her lips together, fighting her weakening resolve. She had tossed and turned all night thinking of the way Max’s sharp blue eyes had pierced hers last night, the way his lips had tenderly brushed her cheek when he said goodnight. The way his strong, heavy hand had lingered on her arm. The way her heart had missed him from the second he turned and ascended the stairs to his room. The way her bed had never felt so vast. Or so empty.

She still didn’t know if their evening had constituted a real date, but it was real all right. Too real. So real that she feared it would take her a long time to forget it and come back to reality. Because the reality was that in four days Max would be gone and she would be all alone.

And the reality she knew before his arrival had somehow come unraveled in the two days since she’d first set eyes on him.

How strange that only a couple of days ago she was so content with her life, so seemingly fulfilled, and now all she could think about was how much she was missing. She’d always known how much she wanted a family of her own, but she’d managed to fill that hole in her heart—and this house—with a makeshift family. The variety of personalities shuffling in and out of The White Barn Inn made this old mansion a home. But Max’s arrival served the opposite purpose of the coming of her other guests. Instead of warming her heart, it just made it ache.

She liked him more than she wanted to. And the harder part was that she thought he might like her, too.

She chewed her lip in thought. New York
was
only two hours away...

No. She banished the notion immediately. Maple Woods was her home. It had given her a sense of community that she had never known. A feeling of belonging. Of comfort. Of safety and security. She had a place here. A purpose. She could never leave it all behind.

Recalling his words last night, it was to Holly’s chagrin that she knew Max preferred a much different way of life. It was just one of the many strikes she held against him.

But then...what were the others? Her mind was clouded by his all-consuming presence; she was so rattled she couldn’t even remember if she’d salted the eggs yet. Or if she’d set the timer for the toast. She was a mess, and the more desperate she became to find composure, the more fuzzy her thoughts grew.

With a mental flip of a coin, she grabbed the saltshaker and doused the eggs. It was a gamble, but it would have to do. Besides, keeping her hands busy with her task was the only way to keep them from innocently wandering over to Max and doing things they really shouldn’t.

Max leaned against the counter and took a gulp from his mug. “I have to ask. What exactly do you put in this coffee? Or...is it a secret?”

“Cinnamon.”

“Ah,” Max said, taking another sip. His lips turned into an easy smile. “Nice touch.”

“Thanks,” she said. She sprinkled some rosemary over the diced potatoes that were sizzling in the frying pan, grateful for an excuse to look away from that irresistible face. Her knees felt weak just sensing his rugged body so close to hers.

For not the first time since he’d entered the room, she wished he’d just grab her and press her close to that hard, ripped chest.

You stop it,
she chastised herself. Honestly, this was getting out of control. She was powerless to her own desire for him. It wasn’t like her.

Leave it to Max to unleash a whole side of her she didn’t even know existed.

“Looks like the snow has stopped,” Max observed.

Holly looked up from the stove and followed his gaze out the window over the sink. Only a mere two feet of snow had gathered over night—hardly the snowstorm of the year that the forecast had warned. Not that she was complaining. The threat of more had left her alone with Max; she couldn’t have orchestrated the outcome better if she had tried. She almost had to laugh over the irony of her concern only twenty-four hours ago, when the thought of everyone checking out early had seemed so devastating. Amazing how sometimes things just worked out the way they were meant to. If she were more of a romantic sort, she might have called it fate. “Maple Woods is used to handling snow like this. I’m sure the roads will be plowed in two hours.”

“Look like a lot to me,” Max said, eyes fixed out the window. “But I guess the road conditions are the biggest factor.”

“Does that mean you’ll be leaving early?” Her heart flipped as she spoke. She didn’t know what was keeping him in town. The weather. Business. Or her.

“That eager to get rid of me?” His eyes danced at the banter.

She took his response as a no, her chest rising and falling with relief. “I hope you like omelets.”

“You don’t need to cook.”

“Of course I do. You’re still my guest.”

“Holly.” His tone was deep in sound, gentle in protest. He dropped his head to the side, his eyes locking with hers. A heavy silence took over the room.

Holly drew a shaky breath. “I told Stephen to take the rest of the week off, so hopefully my cooking will do.”

“If it’s anything like yesterday morning, I’ll be a happy man.”

“Good. Why don’t you pick a spot and I’ll bring everything in,” she said, feeling nervous under his watchful eye.

“You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?” He lifted an eyebrow and pulled himself from the counter.

“Of course not. I’ll be out in ten minutes.” She kept her eyes on the frying pan until he finally left the kitchen and only then did she release an enormous pent-up breath. She clutched the counter and bent over it, feeling all at once dizzy and lightheaded. She stood to fan her face as her body temperature continued to rise.

The effect that man had over her was unparalleled. And ridiculous. She filled a glass with cold water from the tap and took a long sip, tipping her head back to consume every last drop, and set it back on the counter. After wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, she fanned her face once more, taking deep breaths to calm her pounding heart.

Honestly. Was this what she had come to, spending year after year holed up in this house? By the way she was responding to his slightest flirtation, you would have thought she’d been living in a convent!

She grinned wryly to herself. Considering she hadn’t dated anyone since leaving Boston, the analogy had more truth in it than she cared to admit.

Gathering her wits once more, Holly finished preparing breakfast and carried the food into the dining room. Surprised to find it empty, she set the heavy tray down on the nearest table and ducked her head into the lobby. Max was sitting on a leather club chair, an ankle propped on the opposite knee, a cell phone clutched to his ear. He promptly ended the call when he spotted her.

“You didn’t need to hang up on account of me,” she said as she neared him. “I would have waited.”

Max waved away her concerns. “Nah. Just business. Boring stuff.”

There was that word again. Business.

“Well, breakfast is ready when you are.”

Max rose to his feet and Holly reflexively raked her eyes over the length of his body. “Smells good,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, crossing back into the dining room. She arranged the plates on the table and pulled out a chair to join him. “Do you have any plans for the day?”

As soon as she said the words, she immediately regretted them, fearing her phrasing might be misconstrued as an invitation. Not that she wouldn’t mind spending the day with Max, but she didn’t want to seem...needy.

“I have some work to do this morning in town,” he said and Holly felt a twinge of dismay.

“I’ll be in town today, too, actually,” she said, remembering her own plans with relief. “Every weekend in December the town hosts a Christmas Market in the town square. I help out each year.”

“See?” He waved a fork playfully in her direction. “You work through the holidays, too. It’s not just me.”

“It’s different.” Holly bristled. “I’m still participating in the holiday.”

Max met her stare from the corner of his eye. He didn’t buy it.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re missing out on Christmas?” she asked.

Max cut into his omelet. “Christmas doesn’t hold any meaning to me. No good feelings, at least.”

Holly frowned, and something deep inside her seared open. She swallowed hard, pushing away the thought before it could surface. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Max shrugged and reached for his coffee mug. “No sympathy needed. I have work to keep me busy through the holiday. It’s not like I feel I’m missing anything.” He smiled tightly, holding her eyes for a fleeting second, before lowering his gaze to his plate.

“Hmm,” Holly said, watching him carefully. His jaw seemed hardened as he focused on his food.

“Besides,” Max continued, “Christmas is for children, for families. I have neither.”

That makes two of us,
she thought grimly. “Do you ever wish you could leave the office behind for a few days, maybe...make time for a child or family?” she ventured.

Max chewed a wedge of toast thoughtfully. “I try not to wish for things that can’t happen.”

Can’t or won’t?

She supposed it didn’t matter. The heaviness in Holly’s heart was replaced with emptiness at his words. His work was his life. By his choosing. And it didn’t seem as though he was open to sacrificing his time. Or making an effort. It didn’t seem as if anything more held any meaning to him.

Sadness coated her stomach. He was confirming her worst suspicions. He wanted to focus on a career, not everything else that mattered so much to her.

An old wound opened. She’d still never forgotten the way she felt returning home after that last dinner with Brendan. Thinking it was the night he was going to propose, she’d bought a dress just for the occasion and even splurged on a manicure at a little spa around the corner from her apartment. All through dinner she could barely eat, so sick was she with anticipation, wondering how he would do it, what the ring would look like, what she would say. Would he get down on one knee?

But Brendan had no intention of proposing that night. Or any night. The romantic occasion had been his way of telling her that he was being transferred to Los Angeles. He had no intention of returning to Boston and at no point in the conversation did he broach the idea of her moving with him, not that she would have wanted to go. Her grandmother was all she had by then, and her parents’ sudden death six months prior was still unbearably fresh. Staying in close proximity to Maple Woods and her grandmother was too important.

Watching Brendan’s beaming face nearly burst with pride over his promotion, without any regard for the heartache she was feeling at his expense, without any consideration for the two years of her life she had given him, she couldn’t help wonder what she had done wrong. Knowing that there was nothing she could have said or done to make him want to stay, she had reached the obvious conclusion. The only thing she was at fault for was giving her heart to the wrong man. When she looked back and thought of the time she had spent with him, spending so many weekends in Boston when she could have spent more time in Maple Woods with the last of her family, she felt a pang of regret so deep, she thought it would break her.

And that was a mistake she was determined to never repeat again.

With a hardened heart she went on a few dates over the years, but the pickings were slim in Maple Woods and eventually she just stopped altogether. But still, she dared to hope that someday she’d find a family of her own again. That her home would be filled with love and laughter and memories.

As an only child of two deceased parents, all she wanted was someone to share her life with. It was a simple thing to wish for, wasn’t it?

* * *

George Miller lived in a small house behind the diner. He’d agreed to meet Max there, rather than in the open setting of Lucy’s Place, where they would be sure to garner suspicion from the other locals. Max had been brief in their phone conversation, not even stating the nature of the visit and only hinting that he was a real estate developer when he asked George if they might talk at his convenience. If George was curious about the reason for the meeting, he didn’t reveal it.

George was shoveling the front sidewalk when Max rolled to a stop. “Come on in,” he said, propping the shovel against the front porch. “Lucy’s at the diner and Bobby’s out with friends, so the house is quiet. I’m afraid I don’t have much time. I need to get back to the diner in about half an hour.”