Wintertime Love: A Christmas Billionaire Small Town Romance

by Blair, Emelia

  Wintertime Love

  A Christmas Billionaire Small Town Romance

  Emelia Blair

  Copyright © 2019 by Emelia Blair

  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.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  “Clara, the soup tastes different today.”

  I glance up from the menu I’ve been editing for the past ten minutes at the eight year old boy who’s sitting at the counter, his little legs dangling from the stool.

  Ben is making a face at the bowl of soup in front of him that he had insisted on getting.

  I walk over, pick up a new spoon and tasted the soup, immediately making a face when the bitterness floods my taste buds. However, being a chef for six years and counting, I quickly detect the over indulgence of salt and I narrow my eyes at him. “Who told you to dump salt into it?”

  Ben flushes and fidgets with his little bowtie, mumbling, “But Jerry was doing it.”

  Jerry is a long-time patron of Clara’s Hearth, Wicca Spring’s most famous diner/ coffee house. He was my first customer when I invested in this place and he’s been coming ever since. It’s a personal joke between us that the old florist who owns the flower shop right next to my diner, is the sole reason my business is booming.

  The corner of my lips twitch and I take away Ben’s bowl, handing it to a server to have it replaced by another one. “You’re lucky I consider you family or you’d be paying for that second bowl. And just because Jerry does something, doesn’t mean you should do the same. The man puts extra salt on everything.”

  Ben gives me a sly grin. “You know if you marry my brother, we could actually become family. I hear Danny broke up with Sharon last week.”

  Danny is Ben’s older brother. He and I used to be classmates and we have always had an on again off again relationship. You don’t get too many options in this small town, tucked away in a corner of North Dakota.

  “I don’t think so, cutie pie.” I watch as the server puts a new bowl of soup before him. “Now, finish your soup and I’ll give you a dessert on the house.”

  Ben’s grin widens and he digs in, making me chuckle.

  Since it’s around shy of four, the place is quieter. I make my way to the bathroom to fix my make-up. A fresh faced woman with fair skin, blonde hair tied up in a loose bun and light brown eyes looks back at me from the mirror. Usually, my long hair is down loose in long ringlets when I’m not at work. I’ve always had a slim build and an average height. I was lanky in high school and blossomed in college. I reapply my dark red lipstick and redo my bun before walking out.

  Ben is slurping down his soup in a messy manner, watching cartoons on my phone, my earphones tucked in his ears.

  I don’t bother with him. As long as the little scamp doesn’t run around causing trouble, l won’t say anything.

  Everything I’ve learned from cooking school had been after I learned from my two aunts who took me in after my parent’s death twelve years ago. Although it’s been more than a decade and I miss them every day, I have never lacked for love or affection of any kind. Both my aunts, unmarried, had doted on me ever since I walked into their home, a shattered thirteen year old.

  My diner is a large L-shaped space and my pride and joy. There’s a long counter as soon as one enters, where customers like to sit and have their meals or a coffee. Right behind it, there’s another counter which is stacked with a chrome expresso and coffee machines. There are different coffee blends that I order from the best suppliers I can find. Toppings, flavors, coffee pots, paper cups and what not. Behind this counter is the massive kitchen that I keep obsessively clean.

  The entrance is littered with spaced out bistro tables with mix and matched chairs I’d picked up at the flea market. There are some comfortable leather chairs as well around the coffee tables. The booths are around the corner, nestled against spotless windows. It’s an odd blend of a coffee house and a diner but surprisingly, it works.

  The sound of a soft tinkling bell indicates that someone has entered.

  Mayor Rogers walks in, his well-rounded figure giving away the fact that he hasn’t been keeping away from the sweets like his wife is trying to get him to do. He shrugs off his jacket, showing his gray suit underneath and takes off his woollen hat, revealing the shiny bald spot on top of his head. “The usual, Clara.” He hangs up his extra layers on the coat hanger beside the doorway, and plops himself down on the closest leather chair, looking weary.

  “You all right there, Roger?” I ask in concern, even as I whip up a mug of my special hot chocolate. I carry the mug over to him.

  He eyes me with something akin to guilt. “Well, not really,” he mutters. “Thanks for this.”

  I sit down across from him. “What’s going on?”

  He puts his cup down and watches me, uneasily. “Well, there’s this thing.”

  When he falls silent, I blink and say, “Well, don’t eat my ear off.”

  He hesitates and then takes out a large envelope from his suit jacket. “You know that property you were bidding on?”

  “Yeah, the closed bar across the street. You said it was a sure thing. What about it?”

  His mouth flaps open and closed for a few seconds before he says, looking a little scared, “Well, this guy from out of town placed a competing bid.”

  I freeze. “He what?”

  The mayor shrinks into the chair, looking down right terrified now. “His bid is higher than yours.”

  “But you said – How much higher?” I demand.

  He nudges the folder towards me.

  I pick it up and open it. My eyes move through the legal jargon and I see my bid from three months ago and another bid that is four times what I have offered. My heart sinks and all the fight drains out of me as I slump into my chair, mumbling, “I can’t afford that much.”

  “I’m sorry, Clara. I did try to dissuade him,” Roger explains. “But he kept increasing the money so much that I couldn’t say no at one point.”

  Disappointment is a bitter taste on my tongue. After years of success with my diner, I had been planning to expand. I intend to convert this place into a proper diner and the new building into a large coffee house. My business plans, finances, everything has been in order for this past month and suddenly, the dream is being snatched from me.

  “Who is he?” I ask now, seething, and when I catch Roger flinching, I snap, “Oh. Stop being so overdramatic. I’m not going to bite you!” So, I’m known for being a little hot headed. It’s not like I go around beating people up. I just have a tendency to react first and deal with the consequences later.

  Roger takes out a handkerchief and wipes his forehead, looking nervous. “He put in his bid through an agent but it’s for some chain restaurant or deli. I’m not entirely sure. But it’s an international brand and it’ll bring a lot of business to the town.”

  If I was upset before, now I’m devastated.

  A chain restaurant?

  I look around m
y diner at the few odd people sitting around, drinking coffee or working on their laptops. There are two more diners in the West part of town but this is the only one here in the East. There’s a deli nearby but it’s not as popular as my place.

  “Clara?”

  I take a shuddering breath before meeting Roger’s gaze and hand back the file. “It’s all right. I understand.”

  Regret is visible on his face. “I really am sorry, you know. Me and the missus did think of investing in your new place but even we can’t match up to the amount he’s putting forward.”

  My heart warms and I reach over and kiss his cheek, affectionately. “You and Martha are the best.”

  I leave him to his drink and walk over to check on Ben, trying to subdue my troubled heart. If there is one thing that a chain restaurant wouldn’t have, it’s the intimacy that my diner offers. Wicca Spring is a small town, its population under five thousand. The town is a popular tourist attraction because of the large lake that has been lovingly dubbed ‘Wicca Lake’ – very original. It’s been rumoured that the ghosts of witches haunt the lake. At night, it is a beautiful spectacle and tourists often visit all year to catch a glimpse of a mournful witch floating on the shimmering service of the calm lake when the sun has set.

  A chain restaurant or whatever this man plans to set up can hardly compete with all the dedication and love I put into serving each and every customer that enters my diner. He can’t develop the relationships that I’ve cultivated over these past few years. I sniff, derisively.

  As if I’m going to be intimidated by some rich man with deep pockets.

  The rest of my afternoon is spent in a dark mood. News has spread and people have been popping in, unable to keep their noses out of my business. However, their nosiness is well intended, and they offer me comfort as much as they can. My intentions to expand across the street hasn’t been a secret.

  “We could always spray paint the building with really obscene gestures,” my friend, Lucia suggests, resting her chin in her palm as she sits at the coffee bar, sipping on the last dredges of her hot tea.

  The dinner rush has me distracted and I nod, not even pretending to listen to her, “Sure. Yeah. Are you done with that?”

  Lucia looks down at her empty cup. “No. I’ve still got plenty left.”

  I pick up an apron and toss it at her.

  She catches it just before it hits her in the face and groans, “Come on. I’m tired.”

  “You’re a receptionist,” I tell her, not buying her act. “Your entire job involves sitting down. Now, get up and help me.” Lucia and I grew up together and I ignore her complaints.

  She slips into the apron and grabs a notepad and pen. “You should pay me for this.”

  “I just gave you a free meal,” I inform her. “Now get moving.”

  “I’m being exploited,” Lucia complains to Timothy Warner, our local news anchor who’s chewing on a mouthful of beef burger.

  The good looking man swallows, and then grins. “I was exploited last weekend. Got me two free meals out of it. It’s all about how you negotiate, sweet cheeks.”

  Lucia’s eye twitches at the endearment and she whispers, “Just so you know, I’m spitting in your coffee for that.”

  Tim pales and says, loudly, “Clara—”

  “I heard you.” I glare at my unrepentant friend. “She won’t serve you. And stop calling her that, Tim. Learn to flirt like a normal person.”

  “I’ll have you know that I can charm off the socks off any woman,” Tim protests, leering at Lucia.

  She just rolls her eyes, and a few jeers are aimed at him as some of the diners overhear.

  I head into the kitchen to check up on the status of pending orders. One of the two chefs, who work in the evening, hands me two orders and I carry them to their tables. A short conversation with Doctor Hensen and his date has me laughing. I greet people as I cross them.

  The sound of the bell jingling as someone enters has me looking up.

  Danny, Ben’s older brother enters. He waves at me as he unwinds his scarf from around his neck and shrugs off his jacket.

  “Where’s Sharon?” I ask as he approaches.

  He looks rueful as he states, “She broke up with me. Apparently, I don’t give her long term boyfriend vibes.”

  I snort at this. “You don’t say.”

  He gives me a dirty look.

  Now I note a smudge of soot on his cheek. “Busy day at work?”

  Danny takes a seat at the counter, looking annoyed. “Barty managed to set her kitchen on fire. Again. Third time this month.” He picks ups the menu, and stares idly at it.

  I already know as he does this, that it’s going to be the same thing he orders every time.

  He sighs. “Apparently a firefighter can’t tell an old lady that it’s time to move in with her daughter. I got a two week ban from her bakery. How is that fair?”

  I fling my arm around his neck. “How about I take you out for a drink later and you can tell me all about it?”

  His familiar rough hand settles on my waist and he smirks. “You buying?”

  It’s years of affection, friendship and love that has me reaching forward and pressing a light kiss to his lips. “Sure, you miser.”

  He squeezes my waist and releases me.

  I take his order and eye Lucia as she prances about, making conversation with the diners and taking orders. There’s a hint of pain in my heart as I look around at the full house I have. All those months of planning an expansion have been wasted. All those hours of making feasibility reports, conducting research, all that effort for naught, just because someone has more money than me.

  It shouldn’t eat at me so much but the hurt is a steady dull throb in my chest. All I want to do is curl up and sob in bitter disappointment.

  Danny, however, sees this and he stays back to help me close up. Finally, he helps me with my coat while sighing. “Guess you had a bad one as well, today.”

  I button up my coat, focusing my eyes on the round buttons, not wanting to meet his eyes. If I meet his gaze, I know I’ll burst into tears. He gives me the space to compose myself and I’m grateful for that. I let him out and then lock up after myself.

  Thrill and Shrill is the weirdest bar name I have ever heard but it’s been around for as long as I can remember. The seating is kind of relaxed with a low thrumming music in the background, muted, conversations. Usually, bars are loud but this one has always been my favorite go to, when I need a few drinks in me and want to be left alone. It’s not too loud, not too quiet. I don’t know what Elliot’s grandfather had in mind when he set this up but it’s been success for three generations, a family business now.

  I sit at the bar with Danny, on my fourth beer now, not quite tipsy but my tongue is a little looser. “No good, rich city boy,” I exclaim, loudly.

  A red faced Danny nods in agreement, completely drunk. It’s his second beer and since he’s a lightweight, compared to me, he’s completely gone. “Cl- Clara, you know what you should do?” He staggers to his feet, still holding his beer. “Let’s go piss on his building.”

  The idea has merit but I have no plans to get lectured by Greg, the town Sheriff. I stand up, holding up my friend by the arm, a giggle bubbling in my throat at the idea. “You know Greg will throw us in a cell and burn our ears off. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  Danny leans on me, heavily, suddenly looking indignant, and demanding. “What’s wrong with me?” He waves a finger in my face, pulling away from me. “I can be a good boyfriend. Right?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” I tell him, cheerfully.

  “Then why did Sharon break up with me?” His words are perilously close to a whine.

  I sigh, my head feeling light. “I’ll have to ask her tomorrow.”

  Danny cups my face in his hands. “We should give it another shot.”

  I scoff. “All right, Romeo. I need to get you home.” I take away his beer and call out, “Elliot!”

  Ellio
t, the owner and the bartender looks over from where he’s wiping some glasses, and he sighs. “I don’t even know why he tries. He should just stick to the non-alcoholic stuff.” He puts down the cloth and walks over. “I’ll call a cab. You want to go with him?”

  I shake my head. “Just send him home.”

  I watch as Danny is bundled into a cab with instructions given to the driver before returning inside and reclaiming my seat.

  Only now, there is someone else sitting in what was Danny’s seat.

  The broad shouldered man with a thick narrow waist is wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms that have always been a weakness of mine. His suit jacket is casually draped over my seat as he drinks some fancy looking drink.

  “Hey, you wanna remove that?” I ask. “I was sitting there.”

  He looks over his shoulder at me.

  I see amber eyes and a wickedly handsome face. This is the face of a man who can get a woman at the crook of his finger. His hair is dark black and he has this arrogant rakish quality about him which makes me want to stare at him for a while. “I apologize.”

  His accent is Irish, thick and melodic, and it wraps around me in that smooth deep voice, punching me straight in the gut. A lesser person than me would have drooled at this fine specimen of a man.

  When I keep staring at him, he arches a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Do you plan to stare me into submission?”

  This jolts me out of my hazy shock, and I blink. “Ah, sorry. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Of course, he isn’t, you idiot!

  I take my seat, reaching out for my beer then nurse the cool bottle against my heated cheeks, and turn to look at him.

  He’s smirking as he replies, “What gave it away?”

  “Could be the accent,” I comment, recklessly, and then proceed to drain my bottle. “We don’t usually get a lot of Irish up here. Elliot, hit me up.”