Christmas With Granny McPherson

by Nellie K Neves

  “Does anyone know?”

  “Andrew. That’s it.” He pushes my hair back from my face, fingers lingering for a moment. “I’d like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. I won’t say anything.”

  Relief floods his features. “Thank you.”

  “So when you said your Christmases were cold…”

  “Most of them were on the street, or in shelters. Even the ones I spent in foster homes weren’t warm, not emotionally. They had families. I was an outsider. I watched them open gifts for what felt like hours. I had a few presents. Their presents from Santa had different tags and wrapping than mine. I knew mine were from the state office or charities. As a kid I learned early on that Santa forgot me.”

  “Evan,” I start to say something, but I don’t know what comes next. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

  His discomfort increases. He pushes off the table and nudges me with his cue stick. “Your turn.”

  Pool feels silly after a confession like that, but maybe he needs this. Maybe that’s why he distracts himself with baking in the middle of the night. It’s definitely why he keeps everyone at an arm’s length, and retaliates with no warning. Growing up on the streets with no one to watch over him, it’s a wonder he’s done as well as he has.

  With the five ball close to the side pocket, it looks like an easy shot, but I have to admit I’m distracted. I nudge it, but it catches the edge of the pocket and spins off in the opposite direction.

  “Truth or dare, Brooke?”

  I glance up at him through my lashes, struck by how far he’s brought himself. Climbing from a foster child orphan to the head of a billion-dollar food empire, impressive doesn’t even begin to cover it. I haven’t given him nearly enough credit.

  “Your choice,” I tell him.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Evan

  What started as a fun game has morphed into something else, something I don’t know how to label. I thought she might look down on me, knowing what I came from. I thought I might see some of that sadness or heartache I saw the first time I met Andrew.

  He wondered when I’d had my last meal, asked if he could buy me clothes, treated me like I was less than him, but Brooke, she’s better than that. It’s like she sees the years of struggle. She not only sees it, but with one look she’s validating me, telling me she admires me.

  I don’t deserve someone as good as her.

  “I’d pick dare, but I don’t think it’s right anymore.”

  “Why not? What was your dare?”

  It feels juvenile to say it out loud. “I was going to dare you to kiss me.”

  “And now you won’t?”

  She’s moving closer to me, one leg crossing over the next with every step. I doubt she’s aware of the way her hip dips, or how her lip is caught between her teeth. Definitely not aware of what she’s doing to me, eroding my self-control until I’m clinging to shreds of what I know to be right and wrong.

  “I don’t want to steal a kiss from you. I want to earn it,” I say.

  Her cue clatters against the table, game forgotten. “And what if you have?”

  “I never could.”

  She stands close enough to run her hand over my chest, capturing my shoulder, easing closer until I can’t help but wrap my arms around her waist. Her lips are magnets for my gaze. Pulling me, drawing me, calling me until I can’t stop. We bump once. The sensation sends tingles up my spine into my fingers. I tighten my grip, urging her closer. She set her lips to mine. It’s good enough. It’s permission, and I capture her as my own.

  Her body caves into mine, trusting, willing, wanting more. Her long fingernails run over the back of my scalp, releasing more passion into my kiss. I can’t pull her close enough, there is no enough when it comes to her. She’s perfect, not just in character, but perfect for me, like the best Christmas wish that was never granted. As if every missed holiday gift was stacked into this prize at the end of my trials. I’d give up a thousand Christmases if it meant I could have her for the rest of my life.

  “Evan.” She gasps my name against my ear, spreading affection from her lips over my cheek, jaw and neck. I grasp her hips, pulling her up to sit on the edge of the pool table. Unsatisfied, I dive into her warmth once more, pressing my hands between her shoulder blades to close the gap between us.

  She’s everything.

  Everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman, in a partner, in a family. I have to have her. I have to become the kind of man she deserves. Her hands rub against my chest, and I’m starving for more. There can’t be an end to this. I can’t walk away from her, not now, not ever.

  The thought derails me, remembering what I’m supposed to do to her. My future depends on it. Her lips steal my attention, fierce in ways I never expected from someone like her, the angel with reindeer sweaters and a laugh made from jingle bells. They want me to crush her. They want me to break her heart.

  I can’t.

  It’s not possible.

  But the second they see us like this, the second Andrew knows what I’ve done, he won’t relent. He’ll insist that this is the only way to keep the empire alive. He’ll talk about the families and their Christmas gifts, and how I need to have a black heart for the sake of the company. My only choice is to never let on that I’ve won her over. I have to stop before she gets hurt.

  “Brooke, wait.” I break the kiss, but her lips land on my jaw, then trail down my neck. My eyes roll back in my head, rational thought vaporized for a second. “Brooke, I mean it. Hold on.”

  Maybe it’s my tone that stops her, no longer playful or flirtatious. Her eyes search me for an answer, but everything I am is rotten.

  “What is it? I wasn’t good or—?”

  “No.” I catch her face with my palms, aching to keep up what we’ve started, but knowing the destruction that waits for her, I hold back. “No, you’re amazing. This is amazing.”

  “What’s wrong then? I thought we were having fun.”

  Fun. I’m glad it’s still only fun for her. It’s touching parts my heart I thought were destroyed years ago. Her touch wakes me up, reminds me of what’s good in the world. I can’t let her get to this place, this place I’m at where there’s no return. I’ll never be the same again.

  “We have to stop.” I hurts me to say it when all I want to do is kiss her. “You’re so good and wholesome. So pure and perfect. I’m stained, and broken. I’m bad. I’m bad for you, Brooke.”

  “What if I don’t care?” She tightens her grip on my arm, pulling me back to her.

  “You should. I’ll ruin you. Let me do the right thing for once in my life.”

  “Why can’t I do the wrong thing for once, Evan?”

  “Please.” My willpower is fading. I want her. I desperately need her. “I’ve gotta go.”

  I pull free and force the distance between us. Her voice follows me, plaintive and concerned, but I don’t stop. I can’t. For her own good, I can’t turn back to her. I take the stairs two at a time. I have to keep her safe. I can’t let this life of mine destroy what’s left of hers. She has no idea what’s really at play here, or how quickly she could be taken down.

  My job was to seduce her, make her fall for me, then break her heart. I refuse to go through with it, no matter the consequences to my career, but there’s still a problem.

  Repercussions I never expected.

  Instead of her falling for me, I’ve completely fallen for Brooke.

  Chapter 15

  Evan

  At least no one has control over my dreams. In my dreams she’s still in my arms, against my lips, wrapped around me with no hope of leaving. In my dreams, reality doesn’t matter. There’s no deal, no alter egos. Just Evan and Brooke, lost to the world.

  I thread my fingers into her hair, taking my time with her, listening to her body for what she might need from me. I’d give it all to her, anything, everything, be hers forever if that’s what she asked of me, at least in my dreams
. Her mouth slips over my neck, teasing the collar of my shirt. A shiver grates through me, buzzing over my skin. I whisper her name, pulling her back to me, but she evaporates from my hands. A song chimes, Andrew face pops up where she once was. I scream. My eyes snap open again, heart pounding. The song hasn’t stopped, but at least I know why Andrew infiltrated my safe haven. It’s his ringtone, signaling a call from my agent.

  I fumble for my phone buzzing on the bed next to me. I click the call through and barely manage a grunt.

  “Well, good morning, lover boy.” Andrew’s chipper voice is like a mariachi band blaring in surround sound. “When I ask you to deliver, you really deliver, don’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Couldn’t he leave me to my dreams? What could be this important?

  “Last night, you and Brooke. Your little game of pool. Made for some real great reality TV, brother.”

  In an instant I sit up in bed, clutching the phone. “There were cameras down there?”

  “Don’t freak out. I cut the sound. No one knows about your past. They did enjoy that little show you put on with our innkeeper though. It’s all anyone is talking about.”

  My confessions about my past hadn’t even crossed my mind. Not when Brooke’s reputation is at risk. “This is a huge violation of my privacy, Andrew.”

  “You signed that away before any cameras ever started filming. You’re lucky I pulled the sound before anyone heard you.”

  “Brooke’s gonna kill me.”

  “I doubt it. This is all part of the game. This might make her more popular than you. Oh, and that last shot, right before you left. That was my favorite. The executives had me pull it out so we can use it for promos.” He laughs like this is going to work out somehow. “I’m so proud of you. You thought of everything. I’ll send you the link.”

  I call his name, but the line goes dead. I stare at the blank screen, feeling sick. I tried to save her from me, but ended up making it worse than I’d ever imagined. My phone chirps with a new message from Andrew. I click it open to find a file marked, “Bad Boy Promo.” Saliva pools in my mouth, my stomach sways between nervous churning and full on heaving. I click the file icon and brace for the worst.

  My eyes bulge at the sight of us. Brooke perched on the rail of the pool table, back arced into me, leg bent against my hip. If it stayed between the two of us, it’d be a beautiful shot. Her surrender, my careful protection keeping her safe, but it’s not staying between us. It’s filtering over the Internet. I press a hand over my mouth, nervous that I might lose it. In the video, I watch myself ease her back. I can’t quite see what’s happening. The camera shifts. It pans in on my mouth. Even without sound, I can make out my words.

  “I’m bad. I’m bad for you, Brooke.” A logo bleeds over the top of our image, the words, “Bad Boy Baking Co.” almost block out the hurt in her eyes.

  I have to stop it. I have to end this before she ever finds out. It won’t be that hard to contain it. How popular can it get in less than twelve hours? Besides, she never leaves the inn. She doesn’t seem to follow gossip rags, or even watch TV. For once, I’m grateful for her out of touch practices. No matter what, I can’t let her know this video exists.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Brooke

  I might kill him. On top of everything else, this is the one morning he doesn’t cook anything for breakfast. Seriously? In the least, he could have warned me. Instead, I have a dining room full of people expecting a Granny McPherson breakfast, and he’s upstairs sleeping it off.

  My exhale blows my hair away from my face. Waffles. I can make waffles. The recipe card is still on the counter where we used it during that first special. I go through the motions, drawing back on the memory while trying not to indulge the feelings I had toward him. I have to let that die. It’s clear he got what he was after, and I was found lacking. No surprise there.

  It’s not until I’m folding the egg whites into the batter that the memories take over. I feel his hand over mine, his warmth surrounding me. It melds with last night’s escapade, like I’m the egg whites being folded into his arms. Safe, warm, protected, at home for the first time in longer than I want to admit.

  The waffle iron chirps an impatient cry, telling me it’s heated and ready to work. I banish thoughts of Evan Skruggs from my mind and set to work on breakfast.

  None of it matters.

  Last I heard, he’s out of here in a couple days. I’ll never see him again. I’ll close the door to the billiard room, and this will all be a distant memory. He’ll return to his life, and I’ll return mine without anyone ever knowing I was a part of this circus.

  The guests love my waffles. It’s a first. I even manage a batch of maple syrup without burning it or turning it to rock candy. I fill juice, top off coffee, and spend the morning chatting with them about plans for the looming holiday. It’s nice to see that they’re all planning to spend it with family. Pain pricks my heart. This will be my first Christmas alone. My parents were killed in a car accident when I was six, and since then it’s been me and Grandmamma and Grandpapa. With Winnie going back east to her sister’s house, I’ll be alone at the inn.

  I pick up the abandoned plates and retreat for the kitchen. It’s a triumph knowing I was able to deliver on the breakfast side of my inn. Not altogether helpless after all. The rush of hot water in the sink serves as white noise to block out most of my thinking. Out of habit, I run through what I need to do before the day is through.

  There are calls to the guests who want to attend the Christmas party special being put on by the network. Someone mentioned a clog in the upstairs bathroom shower. Likely a drain needing to be cleared. There’s always the shopping trip for Evan’s supplies. I’ve been putting it off, but I used the last of the flour to make breakfast, and despite his absence this morning, I know Evan will need it soon enough.

  The kitchen door swings open, but I don’t hear it swing back. Even without turning around, I sense someone standing, waiting. I don’t need more than one guess to know who it is. What is this, Heartbreak Hotel take two? Second round of gutting me? Wasn’t the first one sufficient?

  “Smells good in here.”

  “No thanks to you.” The plate echoes as I set it in the drying rack. “You could have told me you weren’t planning to make anything.”

  “I didn’t wake up.”

  “Glad you got some sleep.”

  His footfalls move closer. The door whooshes shut. I refuse to face him. Somehow I know it’ll kill my edge. One look and I’ll remember everything I was feeling last night. That’s a risk I can’t take.

  “Waffles?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” He doesn’t deserve a response. “There are a couple on the table in case you’re hungry.”

  “Will you eat with me?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He must be wearing boots, that’s why I can hear his steps, six more, moving closer. I feel him behind me, hands hovering like he might touch me, but for whatever reason, he holds back.

  “What are you doing today, Brooke?”

  “Normal mundane things.” I set the last plate in the rack, but return my hands to the counter. “Not making out in the billiard room, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Evan’s close enough that I feel his sigh on my neck. “I guess I should have let you go out with Winnie after all.”

  I twist my jaw from side to side, surprised by the surge of emotion tying up into the joint. “Yeah, maybe I could have met someone. Maybe I wouldn’t have been such a disappointment.”

  Warmth captures my arms. His hands pin me in place. “Is that what you think?”

  I doubt my ability to shake him off, but his grip lessens, palms slipping down the length of my arms until he laces our fingers. Every thought in my head turns to foam. I can’t hang on to any of it. All I want is to turn around and pick up where we left off.

  “You weren’t. You’re not a disappointment, Brooke.”

  “I m
ust be.” I draw in a breath to steel my nerves. “You certainly didn’t want me anymore.”

  The length of his body bumps against me, pulling me closer. “It’s not about wanting you.” His lips brush over my neck. My eyes roll back and with it my weight, easing into his arms. “I want you, Brooke. I need you, but I can’t have you.”

  Reality snaps beneath me like we’re standing on a frozen pond and spring just hit. I jerk my arms free, spin, and push him with open palms. Evan stumbles back, eyes wide.

  “How could I be so stupid?” I grab a hand towel from the stove and throw it at his face. “To start to fall for your lines again?” I rip open the drawer by the sink full of neatly folded towels. Might as well be an arsenal. I throw another one at his face.

  “These aren’t lines!” He puts his hands up to stop the next hand towel. “I mean it. There’s more at play here than you know. Can we go to your room?”

  “My room? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? See if you can get the pious girl to crumble on her morals.”

  “I just want to talk. I swear.”

  Likely story, not even a very good one. At least Robbie Filcher in the ninth grade pretended to have a kitten to lure me to his room. Men are getting lazy in their old age.

  “Right. What’s the game then? See how many times I’ll fall in line? Fall in your bed?”

  “Hey! I never said—” His eyes flash with frustration. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  Unsatisfied with the lack of impact, I twist a towel and snap it at his leg. It makes contact with a sharp yelp from Mr. Casanova. I reel it back and wind it up again.

  “That’s not fair. I’m unarmed.” Evan jumps out of the way of my next attack, like avoiding the strike of an angry snake. “Hey, I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “Maybe I’m done talking.” I snap the towel again. “Or do I get a say in any of this, Mr. Skruggs?”