by Olivia Miles
Holly tossed her head back in laughter, noticing with a slight jolt that she had inadvertently caught the attention of Max himself. Lowering her voice, she decided to put a polite end to the topic. “Enjoy your breakfast, Mrs. Adler. And remember, nine o’clock in the lobby for the sleigh ride.”
Evelyn reluctantly moved aside, disappointment written all over her face as she pulled her attention away from Max. She glanced back hopefully a few more times as she returned to her table and her eternally patient husband who stared at her over the rim of his reading glasses, shaking his head once more in mock annoyance before burying his nose in the newspaper.
Left on her own again, Holly did her best to ignore the less than subtle gestures Evelyn was making from her corner, which included larger-than-life head nudging in Max’s direction and mouthing of the word “adorable” with increasing passion. As if I need to be told how gorgeous he is, Holly thought. It was only when Nelson gave his wife a sharp look over the top of his paper that Evelyn lowered her eyes and focused on eating her breakfast.
Drawing a deep breath for courage, Holly squared her shoulders and quickly plotted her next move before turning around and facing Max. She’d have to say hello to him; there was no room for being coy. He was her guest and she would have to treat him as such. He was no different than...well, than Evelyn Adler herself!
“Good morning,” Holly said, her voice softer than usual from the sudden tightening in her chest. She forced a shallow breath and smiled up at Max, her heart warming as the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile.
“Good morning.” His voice was deep and smooth, and something in the low tone left her with a sense of suggested intimacy, as if Max felt they were in on some special secret together. Locking her gaze for enough time to make her heart sprint, he finally motioned to the buffet. “This is quite a spread.”
Holly exhaled a burst of pent-up air and with a humble shrug said, “Oh, it keeps the guests happy.”
“I can see why!” Max grinned, helping himself to a plate.
She gazed at the buffet, trying to see it through Max’s eyes. Platters of steaming cinnamon French toast, poached apples with vanilla syrup, fluffy scrambled eggs, sliced tomatoes, and crisp asparagus spears were lined side by side on the antique farmhouse table. At the end, tiered trays held fresh buttermilk scones and wild blueberry muffins, as well as several carafes of strong coffee.
“You have quite a talented chef,” Max said as he added a scone to his heaping plate.
“I actually do the breakfasts,” Holly muttered, averting her eyes and bracing herself for his reaction. She busied herself by straightening a set of napkins as the heat of Max’s stare burned her cheeks.
“You made all this?”
Holly shifted her gaze to his shocked face. He was looking at her as if she were half-crazy, as she knew he would. It must seem like a lot to take on—a whole lot—but Holly loved it and she would have it no other way.
“I’m an early riser,” she explained as the flush of heat crept around the back of her neck. Realizing her excuse was rather lame, she added, “And I like to cook. It’s the only time of day I can, since Stephen, our chef, takes over lunch and dinner service.”
Max’s aquamarine eyes sparked with interest. Speechless, he surveyed the buffet once more with an appraising raise of his brow. “Well, I’m impressed.”
Holly smiled to herself at the compliment. She’d been making breakfast for so long, she had stopped thinking of it as anything more than functional. It was an activity she intrinsically enjoyed, and with the number of guests at one time usually being not more than ten or sometimes twelve—and sometimes as few as four, but thankfully, never less than that—she had become a master of preparing meals for a crowd of this size. It was arranged nicely, she supposed, and one might go so far as to find it impressive.
Especially a bachelor, she couldn’t help but hope.
“Sit wherever you’d like,” Holly said. She glanced at a few tables by the window and caught a glimpse of Evelyn Adler watching the interaction with a tickled smile on her lips and a sheen to her eyes that was brighter than the flames in the fireplace. “Maybe this would be a nice spot,” she suggested, pointing to a table farther from Evelyn’s access.
Max pulled out a chair and sat down as Holly filled his mug with coffee. “If you’re around today, we have some festive activities planned,” she said.
Max tipped his head. “Festive activities?”
Holly felt her cheeks flush once more, but she bit back the wave of embarrassment she felt when she saw the twinkle in Max’s blue eyes. He was messing with her—looking for a reaction—just like the boys on the elementary school playground. Not that she wasn’t enjoying the game...too much.
“Everything’s detailed on the chalkboard in the lobby,” she said as she started to walk back to the kitchen to refill the carafe. Not quite ready to let him out of her sight just yet, she instinctively paused and tilted her head. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
Max grinned. “Maybe you will.”
* * *
What the hell was he doing? Max sampled a forkful of eggs and chewed thoughtfully. Maybe I’ll see you later. Maybe you will. What was he thinking, carrying on with Holly in this manner? It was completely inappropriate given the circumstances, and yet...he seemed incapable of restraining himself.
Max ripped off a chunk of scone and crammed it into his mouth hungrily. He sighed in defeat. Delicious. Of course. He took another greedy bite and washed it down with a swig of coffee so smooth and strong he was already hoping for a refill. He wanted to hate this place, and he was finding it downright impossible. From the goose down comforter to the Egyptian cotton sheets to the scented soaps to the gourmet food to the gorgeous proprietor...there was nothing to dislike about The White Barn Inn.
And that was just a shame.
Max swallowed another bite of his scone and sipped at his coffee. Allowing his scope to widen, he scanned the room, noticing an older woman near the window smiling at him. Unsure of what to do, he gave a tentative smile in return and to his surprise, the woman winked and gave a little flutter with her fingers.
Max fought back a smile as he tucked back into his scrambled eggs. Avoiding the gaze of the silver-haired woman in the corner, he focused on the other guests, feeling oddly cheered by the soft tinkle of Christmas music that lent a subtle backdrop to the buzz of the dining room.
What had gotten into him? He loathed Christmas. He couldn’t stand those twinkling lights or the smell of pine. And yet here he was feeling downright merry.
Something was very wrong here.
He was out of his element and he wasn’t thinking clearly, it was as simple as that. He hadn’t had a vacation in too long. He was getting swept away. Yes, that was it. It had to be. But he had a job to do, a purpose for being here, and he needed to focus. He wasn’t here to flirt with the locals or get caught up in...festive activities. The sooner he got out of this town and back to his regular life in New York, the better he’d feel.
But even as he processed this reassuring thought, his stomach rolled with uneasiness. He was struggling to convince himself. And that was a problem. A big one.
As he ate, he scanned the business section of the local newspaper. It was a far cry from the national news he was used to reading—the biggest story, it seemed, was the rebuilding of the town’s library, which had apparently been damaged in a fire several months ago. Max leaned into the paper and squinted with concentration as he reread the article more carefully for a second time, his pulse quickening as he realized the importance of the story and the implications it could have on his purpose in Maple Woods.
It was just the leverage he needed.
Sensing that Holly wasn’t going to be emerging from the kitchen any time soon—and that it was probably for the best that she didn’t—Max folded the paper un
der his arm and wandered through the lobby, up the stairs and back to his suite. It was early, but he wasn’t one to sit around waiting. He’d go into town, feel out the locals, and then make his pitch to the mayor.
But even with his new information, something told him this wasn’t going to be as easy as he had previously thought. And Holly was only part of the problem. There were several moving parts that needed to fall into place, and if one of the necessary parties couldn’t be swayed—or bought—then the plans for the shopping center would collapse. A year’s work down the drain. They’d be back at square one, trolling Connecticut and Massachusetts for a new plot of land for the project and Max already knew from his own research that no other location would do. The few other options he had considered were too small, too far from major highways, or too close to other competing shopping malls. The land that housed The White Barn Inn wasn’t just ideal, it was really the only choice. Anything else would be a far second—the profit wouldn’t be the same. The chance of securing tenants would be too risky. The sales projections were too shaky. It would cost them...too much to even think about. It was Maple Woods or nothing. He had to make it happen.
Shaking off his own misgivings, Max changed into a suit and tie, grabbed his blueprints and thick folder stuffed with financial papers and locked the suite door behind him. Back downstairs, he crossed to the front door and yanked it open. A strong, arctic wind slapped him in the face and he reflexively recoiled and pulled his collar up around his neck.
Only two hours north of Manhattan and he was pathetically ill-prepared. He made a mental note to buy a scarf when he got into town. And some gloves.
“The drive’s not clear yet,” a familiar voice behind him said. Max turned to face Holly standing in the open doorway, shivering at the cold.
His brow furrowed. “Oh.”
“Hank just got in,” she explained. “He’s going to plow it now.”
Max closed the door. So much for his plans. “How long will it take?”
Holly’s hazel eyes flickered in surprise. “Eager to get away, are you?”
Realizing he’d spoken too sharply, Max offered a smile. “Sorry, I just had some business to take care of in town.”
Holly narrowed her stare suspiciously. “We’ll have you in town shortly. Doubt anyone’s there yet at this hour anyway. Things move a little slower in Maple Woods than they do in the big city.”
Max glanced at his watch. She had a point.
“It will probably take about half an hour to clear the drive, so if you want to go sit by the fire, I can have someone bring you a cup of cocoa.”
Admitting defeat, Max realized it was hardly a compromise to relax for a bit in the warmth of the inn. A fresh waft of cinnamon filled his senses, bringing a resigned grin to his face. “How about another cup of that coffee instead?”
“Cream?”
“And sugar.”
Holly smiled and patted his arm in a reassuring manner. Feeling instantly foolish, Max stomped the snow off his loafers—boots were another purchase he’d need to make—and shrugged out of his coat. Sitting in one of the leather club chairs by the fire, he pulled out some financial projections and studied them.
“You weren’t lying when you said you were here on business,” Holly observed a few minutes later as she placed a steaming mug of coffee on an end table.
“Bad habit,” Max shrugged, quickly closing the folder. “I’ve got a lot going on back at the office. And I’ve never been good at sitting around and waiting.”
“Or relaxing?” Holly arched an eyebrow.
Max held up his hands and grinned. “I stand accused. Guilty as charged.”
Holly tipped her head thoughtfully. “Christmas is only five days away. I would think business would be slowing down.”
“Business never slows down. Not for me at least.” He stirred the cream in his coffee and noticed the steady stream of guests filing into the lobby. “But then, I guess the same goes for you.”
Holly smiled as she turned toward the gathering crowd. With a shrug, she said, “Yep. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Max dragged in a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. If she kept talking like this, she was going to make things a lot more difficult than he preferred.
He watched Holly retreat to the end of the lobby and fall easily into conversation with a middle-aged couple. She looked nothing short of gorgeous this morning, with her chestnut hair cascading over that creamy sweater that—even from this distance—looked so soft it was practically begging to be touched. Surely a woman as beautiful and sweet as Holly couldn’t be without a handful of men lining up and hoping for a date. She’d talked unabashedly about the inn all through their conversation the night before, but she hadn’t mentioned if there was someone special in her life. It didn’t appear there was, but Max intended to find out just to be sure.
Holly was exactly the kind of woman he imagined himself marrying—if he ever intended to get married, that is. And he didn’t. Marriage didn’t work—he’d lived long and hard enough to know that—even if he wished it did. The older he grew, the more he found himself wondering if maybe...but he always came to the same conclusion: nope, not for him. Some memories were too deep. Some facts were just facts.
So no, he didn’t have any intention of settling down with Holly, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from getting to know her a little better. And besides, if he managed to win her over, maybe Holly wouldn’t think twice about giving up this place and moving to the city herself.
* * *
“Drat!”
She’d done it again. Holly grabbed an oven mitt and threw all her upper-body strength into moving the enormous stainless-steel pot of hot chocolate to the back burner just before it boiled over. Flicking off the gas to the stove, she grabbed a ladle from the ceramic pitcher on the counter and began filling a dozen red thermoses with the bubbling concoction. She’d managed to save it just in time, and the aroma of freshly melted dark chocolate mixed with heavy cream was heaven for her senses. She—and more often Stephen—made this treat in batches during the fall and winter seasons, but despite years of practice, she almost always got so busy talking to a guest that the simmering pot would slip her mind. Today that guest had been none other than Max Hamilton. Of course.
Pulling a jar of homemade powdered-sugar-coated marshmallows from a shelf, Holly dared to steal a glance out the window above the sink. The snow was still falling steadily, but it was the threat of more that worried her. She’d overheard more than one guest grumble about the impending storm and the road conditions, and two others who were scheduled to arrive today had cancelled their reservations. With all the energy she’d poured into the holiday week’s events, it would be a shame to see none of it come to fruition.
Her heart ached a little when she considered her real concern. She couldn’t bear the thought of being alone at Christmas.
“Hello, hello!” Abby burst into the kitchen, all rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. Snowflakes still spattered her eyelashes and she blinked rapidly to melt them.
“Hey there!” Holly brightened at the sight of her friend, comforted with the knowledge that she could at least spend the holiday with Abby and her husband Pete. She was their token charity case, she liked to joke. But the joke was becoming old. And she herself was becoming tired. Tired of being alone in this world. Tired of watching life pass her by. All she wanted was a family of her own. Was it really too much to ask?
Hard work usually eased the pain and kept her from thinking of how different life could have been and should have been, but Christmas brought a fresh reminder. It was her favorite time of the year, but it would be even more magical if she had someone special to share it with her.
“Um, Holly?”
Holly finished placing a marshmallow in each thermos and found Abby leaning against the counter and sta
ring at her expectantly. “Yes?”
“Who is that guy?” Abby practically hissed the last word of her question, and the gleam in her eyes said everything.
“He’s our VIP.”
“Green Room?”
“Yep.” Holly heaved a sigh. It seemed everyone was as smitten with Max as she was. Chances were there were many more women back in New York with the same intentions.
“What do you know about him?” Abby reached for a lid and screwed it on top of a thermos.
“Thanks...I don’t know much about him actually. But we did—we did have a nice chat last night. He’s very nice.”
“Holly!” Abby squealed and did a little dance on the floorboards. “How long were you planning on keeping this from me?”
“It’s nothing,” Holly said, instantly regretting she had said anything at all. She was building this up to be more than it was. Max was her guest. And he would be leaving tomorrow. If not sooner, she thought, turning to the window with a sinking sensation. “He’s nice. That’s all.”
“No, that is not all!” Abby insisted. “And besides, a man like that is not nice. Nice is not an appropriate adjective at all.”
Holly snorted. “No? Do you have a better term then?”
“Dashing. Dapper. Completely irresistible.”
Holly smothered a laugh and shook her head. “Come on,” she said, picking up the rattan basket now loaded with the thermoses. “We’ve got a group eagerly waiting for a sleigh ride and we don’t want the hot chocolate getting cold before we’re even outside.”
Holly pushed through the kitchen door with Abby in tow, crossed through the dining room and ventured into the lobby, where nearly every guest was now gathered in their winter best around the roaring fire, awaiting the morning’s activity. Evelyn Adler had bundled herself into a royal-blue coat with a black fur collar and matching hat. Ever the lady of the house, Holly noted with a smile.
