by Kim Loraine
Mistletoe Magic
Kim Loraine
Copyright © 2018 by Kim Loraine
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
His Whiskey Sour
Perfect Whiskey Sour
Chapter 1
Meet the rest of Santa’s helpers
Also by Kim Loraine
About the Author
Langley
“Only a few days left until we close down permanently,” my dad says, joining me on the porch of our family home. “It’s hard to believe.”
The mid-December chill has left a soft dusting of frost on the branches of the neat rows of Christmas trees that span our property. I sigh and take a drink of my coffee. “I should have been here. I should have helped you.”
Dad’s hand settles on my shoulder. “It’s not your fault. I downplayed how sick I was. Thought I could handle it on my own.”
My chest tightens at the memory of the call from Mom. She finally broke and told me the stroke had done more damage than we thought. He didn’t have the heart to tell me. As soon as I got her call, I dropped everything and flew home. Now, feeling the shaking in his hand as he grips my shoulder, I know it was the right thing to do. I only wish I’d made this choice sooner.
“You don’t have to sell. You know GPM is going to flatten the land and build some strip mall.”
He shrugs. “We’re not making money. We can’t go on like this. I want to spend as much time as I can with your mother. I can’t do that now.”
I drag a hand through my hair and fight the anger building in my blood. My dad has always been the strongest man I know, and now this disease has taken the fight out of him. “I’ll figure something out. This is your legacy. I can’t let you sell it.”
Heaving a sigh, he nods. “Thank you for coming back. I’m sorry it has to be for something like this.”
“Easton isn’t going on tour any time soon. And I can work on our new songs anywhere. I just need a guitar.”
“My son, the rock star.” Pride shines through my dad’s words.
“I’m not the rock star. That’s Easton. I just play in his band.”
He shrugs. “You’re still on that stage, giving it your all.”
“Well, until their baby is older, Easton has put everything on hold.” I take another drink and give thanks for my friend’s dedication to family. When I told him I had to leave, there was nothing but compassion in his eyes. “I won’t be touring for at least a year.”
“And you’ve got enough saved to be out of work that long?”
I nod. “I do just fine. East made sure the band got a percentage of royalties when he renegotiated his contract.” Unfortunately, I don’t have enough to buy out the mortgage on this place. I’d do it in a heartbeat.
“Good. It’s good to have you home, son.” Dad leaves, heading for the warmth of the house I grew up in and, presumably, the pancakes Mom made most mornings.
I stare out at the trees and marvel at the condition of the land. Even after his stroke, Dad worked to keep things in order. Unfortunately, there’s more to running a business than keeping things looking good. Advertising, events, maintenance, and of course, money. The bills for his treatment and therapy have been astronomical, but he won’t let me pay them. Stubborn old man.
Walking inside, I head for the kitchen. Mom sits at the table with Dad at her side, his hands shaking so fiercely he can barely cut his pancakes. I watch as she gently takes the fork and knife from him and slices his food without speaking. Instead of being embarrassed, he smiles softly and leans in to kiss her.
“I’ve got a few things to take care of,” I say, dumping my coffee into the sink and rinsing out the mug. “You need anything from the store, Mom? I’m going to set up the tree today, get this place ready for Christmas.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’m just moving a little slower this year. I’ll get to it.”
It’s ten days until Christmas. The cozy house is just as I remember it, but Mom loves the holidays and usually has everything out by the first day of November. Today I see a home that should be decorated and festive, instead it’s clouded under stress and medical bills.
“I’m setting up the tree. You just tell me where you want it.”
She smiles and nods. “Okay, honey.”
“Is…uh, is Noelle still in town?” I ask, my stomach flipping at the mention of her. She is the one regret I have about leaving to join Easton.
“I’m sure you’ll find her if you’re looking for something sweet.” My mom always makes me work to get what I want.
“So she is here?”
“She’s been back a while. You would know that if you’d come home for a visit.” That stings. But she’s right, it’s been too long.
“I offered to bring you guys out while I was on tour.”
Her face softens. “Honey, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just been a long time since you’ve been here.”
“I know. I just…I honestly didn’t want to face her. Not after the way we left things.”
She nods and offers me a sad smile. “Sometimes it’s hard to have to own up to mistakes we make. But I’ve always thought you and Noelle had something special. Maybe you should use this time to fix your relationship with her rather than trying to fix our Christmas.”
The thought of getting Noelle back sends a wave of determination through me. Mom is right on one account. I need to own up to my mistake. I might not be able to get her back, but I can at least make things right.
I grab the keys to Dad’s old truck and wrap a thick scarf around my neck before I head out. A light snow has started to fall and I think of all the things we should be doing today. Selling cider and hot cocoa, the reindeer petting zoo, pictures with Santa, carolers, carriage rides through the property, the light display. All things that brought in customers who’d buy little knick-knacks from our shop. None of it has happened, and next to the sale of trees, that was what kept our farm in the black all these years.
“It’s not too late,” I say to myself as I start the truck. But I’m not sure if I’m talking about the farm, Noelle, or both.
Noelle
“There you are, Mrs. Watson. Two dozen reindeer sugar cookies.” I pass the box containing individually wrapped and beautifully decorated—if I might add—cookies across the counter to my first customer of the morning.
“Noelle, these are absolutely perfect. The kids are going to love them. Thanks for opening up early for me.”
“No problem.” Her gaze shifts to the freshly baked scones in the top of my display cabinet. “You want one for the road?”
She grins. “I shouldn’t.”
“Come on, last day of school before Christmas break. Treat yourself.” A laugh leaves her and she nods. I pull out the spiced pumpkin scone and wrap it up for her, placing it on top of the box of cookies. “No charge.”
“Thank you. That’s so sweet.”
I shrug. “Merry Christmas.”
She leaves with a smile on her face and I return to stocking my baked goods, turning on the holiday music and starting a pot of coffee brewing. The bell on the door jingles as it opens, announcing the arrival of my employee, Mary. Late, as usual. I call out, “Cinnamon buns are about to come out of the oven. Ca
n you frost them?”
“I wasn’t planning on frosting any buns this morning, but if you insist.” A deep, masculine voice hits me like a bucket of ice water. That’s definitely not Mary.
Turning around, I lock eyes with a ghost from my past. The man who left with my heart in his hands when we were eighteen. Langley Holt. “Langley?”
His eyes sparkle with interest. “Noelle?”
I haven’t seen him since…well, to be honest, I’ve followed his career with Easton Harrison’s band since he left, but I haven’t talked to him in years. “It’s…uh, good to see you.”
“You look, wow, you look amazing.”
A hot blush creeps up my cheeks and I can’t help but look him up and down. He’s the picture of everything I shouldn’t want with his well-worn jeans, boots and flannel. The edges of dark curls stick out from under his cap and that neatly trimmed beard of his has things tightening low in my belly. “Thanks. You too.” I turn around and silently beg the coffee maker to finish brewing so I can offer him something. The oven timer dings in the back and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Your buns are done. I’ll get ready to frost them for you.”
Oh, God. “I’ll just…go get those.”
He chuckles as I walk back into the kitchen. The tray of sweets is perfectly cooked and I take a moment to calm my racing heart as I slide it onto the rack to cool. When I’ve pulled myself together, I return to the front, adjusting my red and green holiday apron as I go.
“What can I get you, Langley?”
He leans on the counter, his delicious cedar wood scent making me want to close the distance between us. “Have any gingerbread? I want to take some home to Mom.”
“I do. I just made gingerbread Santas this morning. They’re almost ready. The icing has to dry. If you come back in about an hour, I’ll be officially open for business.” I don’t want him to leave though and I could kick myself for giving him a reason to leave. “If you want, you can stay and have some coffee and a treat while I finish a few things.”
His eyes light up. “I’d really like that. It’s great to see you again.”
I pour us both a cup of the freshly brewed Christmas blend and hand his over. “What’ll you have?”
“What’s your favorite?”
I look over the items in the display, but honestly, the cinnamon buns are what I love the most. “One second.”
I rush back to the cooling confections and remove one from the tray. It’s still hot and as I spread the cream cheese frosting over the top it melts into each nook and cranny. Exactly how I like it. I bring the cinnamon bun out to him and offer it along with a fork.
“I thought you said they weren’t ready?”
I shrug. “I like them like this. Hot and gooey. They just don’t package well when they’re hot so we usually wait to frost them until they’re only slightly warm.”
He takes a bite and moans around the treat. “God damn, you’re dangerous.”
I giggle. “Are you talking to me or the cinnamon bun?”
“Both.”
“So, what brings you home?” I ask. He hasn’t been back for years.
Some of the light leaves his eyes. “Dad’s been sick.”
Shock rolls through me. “What? He hasn’t said anything.”
“I know. They haven’t told anyone. He had a stroke last year and even with therapy, he’s lost too much mobility. They’re selling the farm to GPM on January first.”
“So that’s why Holt’s didn’t do their holiday events?”
“He’s pretty bad. He just can’t keep up with everything, and the cost of his medical care is draining them.”
“Oh, no. I should’ve checked in. I could’ve helped out.”
He shakes his head. “Stubborn man won’t accept hand outs from anyone. I didn’t know it was this bad until a few days ago.”
I reach over the counter and take his hand. The feel of his skin on mine sends a jolt of heat through me. If I was at all wondering about our connection, I’m not any longer. Langley Holt and I have always been drawn to each other. That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to let him back into my life. I swallow hard and try to bring my focus to the real issue. His family farm. “We can’t let the farm go to GPM.”
“I know.” He laces our fingers and runs his thumb over my knuckles. Pushing down the familiar rush of attraction at his touch, I tug my hand out of his grip.
“I think I have an idea.”
Langley
One look at Noelle and I am even more certain I made the worst mistake of my life leaving her behind all those years ago. I let my gaze travel to her left hand, praying there’s not a wedding band there. Her finger is bare, and my heart lifts. I wish she hadn’t been so quick to pull her hand from mine.
“A Christmas Eve event,” she says. “I’ll talk to the Chamber of Commerce today. I’m sure can get the carriage rides moved to Holt’s. I’ll donate baked goods, and I’ve got an in with Santa.”
I cock my eyebrow. “Santa?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “My dad took over for Bill last year. He even bought a sleigh.”
“You’d really do all this for us?”
“I’d do anything for…for your family.” She locks eyes with me, her dark emerald irises sending waves of undiminished love through me. God, I still love her. I never stopped. “I’m not doing it alone. You’ve got something to do too.”
“What is that?”
“Call in your band. Talk to your agent. Get them out here for a concert. In one night, if Easton Harrison and his band are playing at the farm, you’ll get enough donations to save it.”
She’s right, but I don’t want to ask Easton to do this. He and Ireland have a newborn and he promised her no more touring for a while. “I don’t know…”
Her frustrated sigh hits me hard. “Langley, what are friends for? I know you must be close to Easton if you left everything you had here to be in his band.” She doesn’t say the one thing I’m thinking. If I left everything…her.
“Noelle, when I left—”
She holds up a hand. “That was a long time ago.”
“It still hurts. Not having you with me.”
Expression guarded, she tears her gaze away from me and I can see the pain is still there in her just as much as it is me. “I don’t want to talk about it. You made your choice.”
“It was the wrong choice.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “I…”
“I’m back for more than my family, Noelle.”
I nearly groan when she takes her lower lip between her teeth. “You are?”
Leaning forward, I attempt to close the distance between us, desperate to see what her lips taste like. “I am.”
Her back straightens and she takes a step away from the counter, putting distance between us. The door jingles and a small, curvy woman walks in with snow in her hair and red cheeks. “Sorry, sorry! Tully had a meltdown as I dropped him off for daycare. Oh!” She stops in her tracks and I grin. “Langley Holt. I never thought I’d see your face in front of me again.”
“Mary Eriksen, how are you?”
“It’s Mary Prince now. I married Tommy.”
My eyebrows rise at the thought of those two together. “Really?”
“Yeah, he wore me down after a while. Smartest thing he ever did.” Then she looks from me to Noelle and back, understanding dawning in her features. “Oh, did I interrupt something?”
“Yes,” I say.
“No,” Noelle mutters at the same time.
“Hmm. Okay. Well it smells like there are cinnamon buns I need to frost. Good to see you, Langley. How long are you in town?”
I shrug. “A while.”
“Good. Don’t be a stranger.”
Mary bustles around the counter and back to the kitchen, leaving Noelle and I alone again, but our moment is lost and I know now isn’t the time to try and recapture it. “I’ll leave you to it,” I say, but grab a napkin and pull a pen from the little jar
filled with them next to the register. Scribbling my phone number on the white paper napkin, I grin. “We’ll have to meet up and talk details. Can you get away for dinner tonight?”
Noelle toys with her honey-blonde hair. I love how long she’s let it grow, and the loose braid she’s got over one shoulder makes me want to free the locks and see if her hair is still as soft as I remember. “I can probably manage that. I’ll let you know.”
I hand her my plate, nothing left of the cinnamon bun except a few crumbs. “Thanks for letting me taste your buns.” I go for humor rather than serious talk, hoping I’ll be able to leave her on a happy note.
She chuckles and pulls the plate toward her. “Oh, wait! The gingerbread.” Then she heads back to the kitchen again, giving me a view of her perfect ass. When she returns she’s got a white box in her hands. “I added two pecan rolls. I know your dad loves them.”
“Thanks,” I say, my throat suddenly tight. I’m not sure how I can make this work, but I’m not leaving this town until Noelle is mine again. I turn away from her and head for the door, but I can’t help looking back over my shoulder at the one who got away. “Noelle?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget to call. Or I’ll just show up at closing time and kidnap you.”
“I won’t.” Then she pulls her phone out of her pocket and I watch as she adds my number to her contact list. My phone buzzes in my coat, bringing a grin to my lips.
The cold air hits me in the face, snow swirling around me as I make my way to the truck. I need a minute to process everything that just happened. I’d known seeing her was a possibility. But what I hadn’t planned on was how strong those old feelings would be. I hadn’t planned on still being in love with her.
Pulling out my phone, I open the text message she sent me.
Dinner at six. Meet me under the mistletoe.
