by Olivia Miles
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.”
&nbs
p; 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.”
Max pounded the snow off his boots on the mat and followed George into the cramped living room. “Is Bobby still in school?” he asked.
“Winter break,” George replied.
“Ah,” Max said.
“Those were the days, weren’t they?” George said ruefully, and Max felt his lips thin.
He had loved the academic side of school—the distraction and hope that reading and learning provided. When he was very young, he looked forward to the school year, seeing it as an escape from his unhappy home life. By the time he was in middle school, his classmates had grown mean, and Max dreaded the shame he felt from the judgment in the eyes of his classmates, the pity in the faces of his teachers. They knew all about his father—about the brawls down at the bar, about the black eyes and drunken tirades. Those who lived close enough heard the doors slamming, the glass breaking as it hit the walls. They saw the flashing lights from the police cruisers late at night. It was a common sight, but the dread Max felt the next day never faded.
And they all knew about his mother, of course.... His teachers had been particularly kind to him as a result, he knew. But he didn’t want their sympathy. He didn’t want anyone’s sympathy.
Holly’s words that morning at breakfast had made him pause. He’d almost opened up to her then and there. What had he been thinking? He didn’t open up to anyone. Those who knew his story taunted and teased or felt sorry for him. He didn’t want anyone to think that way of him again.
“I loved school, actually,” Max managed. And despite it all, he had. He’d considered dropping out more than once by the time he was in high school, but he knew that a good education was his only chance at a better life, so he stuck with it. And look at me now, he thought. He should feel proud, he should feel successful, but being here in the Miller house, a house not much bigger than the one he’d grown up in, just depressed the hell out of him.
It was this damn town, he told himself. It was making him soft. Making him wish for things he could never have.
“Is Bobby a senior?” Max inquired, shifting his thoughts back to the conversation.
“A junior,” George replied.
“I imagine he’s busy applying to colleges, then. Isn’t this the year for it?”
George dodged the question by taking Max’s coat and hanging it in a hall closet. Eventually he said, “We’ll see about college. He’s hoping for a scholarship. He’s quite good at football.”
Max nodded, thinking of how quickly circumstances could change.
“So you’re staying at The White Barn Inn?” George asked, sinking down into a well-worn armchair.
Max took a seat on a sofa, noticing the threadbare quality of the fabric. “I am,” he said. “It’s a beautiful establishment.”
“Holly does a good job with it,” George mused. “She’s a sweetheart, that one.”
Max allowed himself an internal grimace. It seemed Holly had succeeded in charming the whole town, not just him. “I take it you know her well?”
“She’s friendly with my wife. Lucy supplies the inn with those pies you like so much.”
Max gave an easy smile. “Your wife is very talented.”
George did a poor job at masking his pride. “What can I say? I’m a lucky man.”
Looking around the cramped, simple room, Max had a moment of clarity. George was happy with his life. It didn’t suit Max’s needs any more than it seemed to suit Miller’s son, but to George it was enough.
And that wasn’t good. Max had thought it impossible for the Millers to turn down the sum he was ready to offer, but now he wasn’t so sure. They didn’t seem to yearn for muc
h more than they had. They were uncomfortably friendly with Holly. What reason would they have to sell the land to him? If it wasn’t for cold hard cash, than what other motivation could he give them?
“Has Lucy thought about branching out with her pies?” Max asked.
“Oh, she’s got dreams of opening a little bakery,” George said, “but she’s too busy running the diner to pursue that right now. He smiled fondly. “She wants to call it Sweetie Pie. She’s been saving for years, but it hasn’t added up to much.”
“You could bring in extra help at the diner to free up her time for another business,” Max offered.
“Help doesn’t come free, and neither does another rent payment,” George replied and Max felt a flicker of hope spark. “We’d hoped Bobby would help out more at the diner, but he’s too busy running around with his friends to roll up his sleeves on our account.”
Max rearranged himself on the couch and gave a benign smile. It wasn’t his place to comment on a situation he had only just come into.
“Lucy thinks getting him out of Maple Woods for a while will be good for him, but I’m not so sure. The kid needs to grow up and once he does, I think he’ll decide to follow in his old man’s footsteps. We’d love for him to take over the diner one day, maybe grow it into something bigger even.”
Max said nothing, using the time instead to consider his best approach. George Miller was a man of deep roots. He was tied to Maple Woods. The situation—from Max’s view—was bleak.
“Enough about me,” George finally said. “You wanted to meet with me and I have to say, I’m curious. What can I help you with?”
Max inhaled deeply. This was it. If George Miller shot him down, his efforts in Maple Woods would be finished. His purpose for staying gone. He’d have to head back to New York immediately to start salvaging the project and he would most likely never see Holly again. If George turned him down, news of Max’s attempts to swipe her home out from under her would travel back shortly, possibly before he’d even have time to pack his bags and peel out of town.
