'Twas the Week Before Christmas

by Olivia Miles

  Holly gave a shy smile as she looked up at him from under her long, graceful lashes. “Thank you.”

  “Now. What’s good here?” Max turned the menu over and studied the specials. Lucy’s Place was about comfort food, it seemed. Chicken pot pie. Mac and cheese. Fish and chips.

  “I’ll admit I haven’t eaten dinner here very often.” Holly’s brows knitted as she studied the menu and Max felt himself grow curious.

  “Really?” He leaned in closer to study her pretty face. Her soft, full lips were painted with a tinted red gloss that he wanted to kiss right off her mouth. His groin tightened as she met his gaze and he abruptly reached for his water glass to defuse the heat she stirred within him. Desire choked him, closing his throat and making it hard to swallow the icy liquid. He wanted this woman. Badly. But given the circumstances, she was off-limits. His mind knew it, but his body wasn’t yet ready to accept it.

  “I don’t really get out much,” she explained. Her hazel eyes darkened at the admission, and he felt a strange affection for her take hold and linger. Holly seemed like a woman surrounded by loving friends. Maybe he had misunderstood.

  “Life at the inn keeps me so busy,” she continued. “We serve dinner every night, so it usually makes sense for me to just eat there.”

  Max held her gaze with his, searching for something in them beyond her explanation. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he detected a shadow creeping over her face.

  “Well, they have wine,” he noted, pulling his eyes from hers to glance back at the menu. “Want to share a bottle?”

  Holly brightened. “Sure.”

  “White or red?”

  “Red for the winter. White for summer.”

  Max’s lips twitched. She was a funny little thing. “Red it is then.”

  The waitress he remembered from earlier came over to their table, grinning at Holly. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” she said.

  “Hey, Emily,” Holly said. She glanced at Max, pinching her pretty little lips. “I was just telling Max that I don’t get out much for dinner.”

  “Not enough,” Emily said. “Guess it takes someone special to drag her away from the job.”

  From the corner of his vision, Max could see a flush appear on Holly’s cheeks. He couldn’t deny the twist of pleasure that stirred his belly.

  “I’m Max,” he said abruptly to the waitress, forcing away thoughts that shouldn’t linger. “I saw you this morning, but didn’t catch your name.”

  The young woman smiled warmly. “Emily Porter,” she said. “So what can I get you?”

  Max placed the order and turned his attention back to Holly, his anxiety growing in their small silences. He needed to keep pressing forward, keep talking to her. If he stopped and thought about what he was doing, he’d stand up and leave. He knew better than to be sitting here with her right now, but he was powerless to his own desire. He liked this woman, and it had been a long time since he had felt this way about anyone. Normally, the first sense of heartfelt interest made him start thinking of an excuse to end things quickly, but not so with Holly. It went beyond the way his gut tightened in response to her natural feminine curves. It was something in her voice. In her smile. Something that touched him on a level he was unfamiliar with. Something that made his heart ache.

  Of all people.

  “I was sorry to see Evelyn leave,” he confided. “I was starting to like having her around.”

  Holly smiled and tucked her menu behind the napkin holder. “I was afraid she would scare you off.”

  “It takes a lot to scare me off.”

  Holly dropped her eyes once more and her lashes fluttered against her rosy cheeks. He hadn’t noticed how shy she could be, and her sudden vulnerability made the man in him want to wrap his arms around her and take care of her forever.

  He gritted his teeth. How ironic that the one person she needed protecting from was himself.

  “Is she always like that?” he asked, pushing down the guilt as best he could. He buried it deep in the pit of his stomach and focused on their conversation.

  Holly arched a brow. “Meddlesome, you mean?”

  Max chuckled, recalling Evelyn sitting in his room earlier that afternoon regaling him with tales of other guests she’d had the pleasure—or displeasure moreover—of meeting over her many semiannual visits. “Yeah, I don’t even know the best word to describe her. She’s certainly one of a kind.”

  Holly slipped him a secret smile. “I think she had a crush on you.”

  Max felt himself blush and he broke out in laughter to cover his embarrassment. “She seems like a very special lady.”

  “She is.” Holly cast him a challenging look, as if gauging his tolerance. “I remember one time she thought another guest was hitting on Nelson.”

  A peal of laughter sputtered out of Max’s lips. “What?”

  “I know.” Holly rolled her eyes at the memory but the twisting of her lips betrayed her fondness for it. “It seems silly, but she was just convinced this woman was flirting with Nelson. I mean, convinced. She couldn’t let it go. She went after that poor woman in the blueberry patch for asking Nelson to help her find a new bucket. Chased her all the way back to the barn.”

  “What about Nelson?”

  Holly waved a hand through the air dismissively. “He just stood there and watched. Completely bewildered.”

  Max shook his head, wishing he could have been there. “She’s a firecracker.”

  Holly tipped her head to the side. Her eyes roamed over his face lazily. “That’s a very good description.”

  “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, i
t 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 graz
e 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

  “Good 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.