Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss

by Barbara Wallace

  “My taste buds can hardly wait.”

  “Go ahead and joke. I will be vindicated.”

  Naturally, his responding smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  Dragging James to the market had been a bad idea. If she hadn’t let his eyes get to her in the first place, they wouldn’t have had to stand here listening to Mr. Heineman go on and on about Kevin. Normally, the man’s effusiveness didn’t bother her; people always talked about Kevin. Their marriage. His heroism. Being Kevin Fryberg’s widow was part of who she was. This afternoon though, Mr. Heineman’s reminiscing was too much like a spotlight. It left her feeling guilty and exposed.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She was feeling guilty and exposed before they ever reached Mr. Heineman’s booth.

  It was all James’s fault. Him and his stupid, sad, kaleidoscope eyes. Twice now, he’d looked at her in that intense way of his, and twice she’d had to move away before her knees buckled. Twice, she’d held her breath thinking he might kiss her. Which was stupid, because if a man like James wanted to kiss a woman, he would simply go ahead and kiss her.

  And, since he hadn’t kissed her, he obviously didn’t want to. A point she should feel relieved over, but she didn’t. She felt foolish. Mr. Heineman waxing on about her great love affair only made her feel worse.

  James’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Seems you and your late husband made quite an impression,” he said.

  “After a dozen years of buying hot chocolate, I should hope so.” Her attempt at lightness failed, so she tried again. “That’s the kind of person Kevin was. Everyone loved him. He didn’t even have to try.”

  “Some people are naturally lovable,” he replied.

  “Only some?” Something about his comment struck her as odd. Looking over at him, she waited for his answer only to get a shrug.

  “Not everyone is on that side of the bell curve,” he said.

  “Bell curve? What the heck’s that supposed to mean?”

  Mr. Heineman’s arrival prevented him from answering. “Here you go. Two cups of Fryberg’s finest hot chocolate. On the house,” he added, when James reached for his wallet. “To celebrate you buying Belinda’s company.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  The old man waved off the compliment. “My pleasure. Besides, it’s the least I can do for my longest and most vocal customer. You come back later in the season, okay?” he said to Noelle.

  “Don’t I always, Mr. Heineman?” There were customers waiting behind them. Leaning over the counter, she gave the chocolatier another hug and left him to his business.

  “Moment of truth,” she said to James. “What do you think?”

  He took a long sip.

  “Well...?” She was waiting to drink herself until she heard his verdict.

  James smiled. “This is good. Like truly good.”

  “Told you.” Her thrill at seeing his pleasure was ridiculously out of proportion. “And here you thought I was exaggerating.”

  “Yes, I did,” he replied, taking another, longer sip, “and I take every thought back. This chocolate definitely qualifies as amazing. What’s in it?”

  “Beats me. Mr. Heineman won’t share the recipe with anyone. Claims he’ll take the secret to his grave.” She took a sip and let the familiar delicious thrill wash over her. “That’ll be a dark day for sure.”

  James was studying the contents. “I can’t believe no one’s suggested he bottle and sell it. A drink this good, sold in stores, would make him a fortune.”

  “He’s been approached. So far as I know he’s turned all the offers down. I think he feels it would lose what makes it special if you could have the drink all the time.”

  “Sort of like a store celebrating Christmas every day?” James replied.

  “That’s differ—jerk.”

  He chuckled, forcing her to nudge him with her shoulder. It was like poking a boulder, and had as much effect, which made him chuckle again. Noelle hated to admit it, but the sound slid down her spine with a thrill similar to the cocoa. It was certainly as smooth and rich.

  Quickly she raised her cup to her lips, before her reaction could show on her face. “You know exactly what I mean,” she said.

  “Yes,” he replied, “I do. He’s also a rare bird. Most people would willingly sell out for the sake of a fortune.”

  “Would you?” she asked.

  His face had Are you joking? written all over it. “Weren’t you listening yesterday? Hammond’s already has.”

  Right. Their family fortune made by selling a fantasy.

  Cocoa mission accomplished, the two of them began walking toward the market entrance. As their arms swung past one another, Noelle’s muscles again tensed with a desire to make contact. She thought back to the lotion display and the way James’s nose brushed her skin. Barely a wisp of contact, it nonetheless managed to send tingles up her arm. Now here she was having the same reaction from the memory.

  Didn’t it figure? All day, she’d been pulling away from his touch only to wish for it now, when the moments had passed.

  But what if she touched him?

  She snuck a glance through her lashes. Walking in the snow had left James’s hair damp and shiny. At the back of his head, where the doctor had woven the stitches, there was a tuft sticking out at an odd angle. What would he do if she reached over and smoothed the unruliness with her fingers? Would his pupils darken the way they had before?

  Would his eyes fall to her mouth?

  She took a long swallow of cocoa. Thoughts like those were only asking for problems. Better to purge them from her brain.

  “Before Mr. Heineman brought us our cocoa, you were talking about bell curves,” she said. “You never explained what you meant.”

  He shrugged. “Ever take statistics?”

  “In high school.”

  “Then you remember how results look when plotted for a spectrum, with the bulk of responses falling in the middle.”

  “The bell.” Memories of mountain-shaped graphs popped into her head. “With the outliers on either end. I remember.”

  “Same thing works with personality traits, intelligence, etc. Most people are average and therefore fall in the middle. Every now and then, however, you meet someone who skews way over to one side. Like your late husband. He was clearly an outlier when it came to being well liked.”

  Noelle thought of how Kevin could charge a room with his presence. “He had a lot of personality. Like a big, enthusiastic teddy bear. It was easy to get caught up in his energy.” So much so, a person could misread her own emotions. “All the Frybergs are like that.”

  “Having met Belinda, I know what you mean.”

  “I wonder where I would have fallen on the bell curve if I hadn’t been with Kevin,” she mused. “Probably in the middle.” The poor little orphan girl dropped in the manger.

  “Are you kidding?” They were passing a trash can, so he took their empty cups and tossed them away. “You are definitely an outlier.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I’m talking about me without the Fryberg influence.”

  “So am I,” he replied. “From where I’m standing, you’d be impressive, Frybergs or not.”

  Noelle was surprised the snow didn’t melt from the blush spreading across her body. He’d looked her square in the eye as he spoke, with a seriousness to his gaze that matched his voice. The combination made her insides flutter. “Really? I mean, th-thank you.” She cringed at the eagerness in her voice. Sounded like she was leaping at the approval.

  Still, she’d been entwined with the Frybergs for so long. It was the first time anyone had ever suggested she was unique on her own. Well, Belinda had, but that was more maternal affection.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied. “And...” He reached over and smoot
hed her scarf. Right before pulling away, his gloved fingers caught her chin. “Really.”

  Her insides fluttered again. Double the speed this time.

  “Wait a second.”

  They’d resumed their walk when the rest of his comment came back to her. “Didn’t you say you were on the other side of the bell curve? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not?” Again, he shrugged. “We can’t all be warm, huggable teddy bears. The world needs cool and efficient, as well.”

  “True,” Noelle replied. Why did his indifference sound forced, though? He was leaving something out of his comparison. Whatever that something was, its unspoken presence made her want to tell him he was wrong.

  She settled for saying nothing. For his part, James seemed happy to see the subject dropped. “Traffic’s eased up,” he noted.

  He was right. With the snow done and the bulk of the day over, there were fewer cars on the road. Most of the tourists were either on their way home or warming up before the evening festivities. “They’ll start blocking streets for the Santa Light Parade soon.” A few hardy souls were already setting up lawn chairs. “Santa will drive his sleigh down Main Street to light the town tree, and then Christmas season will be officially here.”

  “And you all do this every year?”

  “Like clockwork,” she told him. “I’m not the only one who takes traditions seriously. You’ve got to admit it definitely kicks up the Christmas spirit.”

  “I’ll admit the town has a certain marketable charm to it, but I still prefer Boston and its other three hundred and sixty-four days.”

  “Marketable charm? You spend a day surrounded by Christmas and that’s the best you can come up with?” Worse, he still had those far away shadows in his eyes. “You really don’t like Christmas, do you? I know...” She held up a hand. “We covered this last night.”

  They were coming up on the Nutcracker Inn. The hotel had been decorated to look like a real gingerbread house. “So much for my theory that Fryberg’s enthusiasm could inspire anyone.”

  “Sorry.” To her surprise, his apology sounded truly sincere. “You shouldn’t take it personally. When it comes to Christmas...”

  He paused to run a hand over his face. “Let’s say my history with the holiday is complicated, and leave it at that.”

  In other words, sad. After all, people didn’t hate the holidays because of happy memories.

  “And here I thought I was the one with the juicy Christmas story,” she said. “In fact, we’re passing my birthplace now.”

  She pointed to the old nativity scene which had been relocated to the Nutcracker’s front lawn. “Back when I was born, Mary and Joseph hung out in the park next to the Christmas tree. The Nutcracker took them in a few years ago.”

  “I’ll refrain from pointing out the irony,” James said.

  “Thank you.” Pointing to the baby in the center, she said, “That’s where they found me. Bundled up next to the baby Jesus. I guess my mother thought he’d keep me warm.”

  They stopped in front of the display. “Anyway, a group of people walking by noticed there were two babies, alerted the authorities and a Fryberg legend was born.”

  “Manger Baby,” James said.

  “Exactly. And you say your Christmas history is complicated.”

  Noelle could make light of it now, but when she was a kid? Forget it. Being the odd man out, even at home. The foster families were decent enough and all, but she was never truly a part of them. Just the kid the state paid them to take care of. Whose mother abandoned her in a plaster nativity display.

  Thing was, she could justify her mother giving her up, but why couldn’t she have picked a fire station or somebody’s doorstep? Why did she have to go with the cliché of all clichés on Christmas Eve, thus saddling her child with a nickname that wouldn’t die?

  “I hated that nickname,” she said. “Every Christmas, without fail, someone would dredge up that story, and that’s all I’d hear on the playground.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Reaching across the gap separating them, she touched his arm. “I’ve gotten over it. People don’t call me the name anymore, haven’t since I was in high school.” Or maybe they did, and she didn’t notice because she’d had the Frybergs.

  James looked down at her hand on his arm. Feeling her fingers begin to tingle with nerves, Noelle moved to break away only for him to cover her hand with his. “It’s a wonder you don’t hate Christmas as much as I do,” he said. “Considering.”

  “Never even crossed my mind.” She stared at the manger. “Christmas was never a bad holiday. I mean, yeah I got stuck with that nickname, but there was also all of this too.”

  With her free hand, she gestured at the decorations around them. “How can you dislike a holiday that makes an entire town decorated for your birthday?

  “Besides,” she added. “There was always Santa Claus. Every year, the school would take a field trip to Fryberg’s and we’d tell him what we wanted. And every year, those very toys would show up under the tree.

  “I found out when I was in high school that Ned Fryberg made a point of granting the low-income kids’ wishes,” she said. “But when I was six or seven, it felt like magic.”

  “At six or seven, everything seems like magic,” James replied. Noelle could feel his thumb rubbing across the back of her hand. Unconsciously, probably, but the caress still comforted. “But then you grow up and stop believing.”

  “In Santa Claus maybe. Doesn’t mean you have to stop believing in holiday magic. I believe that special things can happen at Christmastime. Like Ned making sure kids got their gifts. People come together during the holidays.”

  She waited for James to chuckle, and give her one of his cynical retorts. When none came, she looked up and saw him staring at the manger with sad, faraway eyes. “They also rip apart,” he said in a low voice.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JAMES’S WORDS—or rather the way he said them—caught her in the midsection. Taking her free hand, she placed it on top of his, so that he was caught in her grasp. “Ripped apart how?” she asked.

  “My parents broke up on Christmas,” he replied. “Christmas Eve actually. I woke up on Christmas morning and my mother and my little brother were gone. Moved out.”

  “Just like that? Without a word?”

  “Not to me.”

  Wow. Noelle couldn’t imagine. At least she’d been a newborn when her mother dropped her off. Unable to notice the loss. “How old were you?”

  “Twelve. Justin, my brother, was ten.”

  Definitely old enough to understand. She tried to picture James coming downstairs that Christmas morning and discovering his world had changed. “I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing his hand. The words were inadequate, but she couldn’t think of anything else.

  “It wasn’t a complete surprise. Whenever my parents got together it was a drunken screamfest. Mom liked her whiskey. Especially during the holidays,” he said with a half smile. “And Justin had always been her favorite, so...” He shrugged. Noelle was beginning to realize it was his way of shaking it off whenever the moment got heavy. Or in this case, touched too close to a nerve.

  “I’m sure she would have...” She stopped, realizing how foolish what she was going to say sounded. Mothers didn’t always want their children; she of all people should know that. “Her loss,” she said instead.

  The right side of James’s mouth curved upward. “From the woman who’s only known me for seventy-two hours. And disliked me for at least twenty-four of them,” he added, his smile stretching to both sides.

  “Meaning I’ve warmed up to you for forty-eight. Besides,” she added, giving a shrug of her own, “I don’t have to know you for a long time to realize your mother missed out on knowing you. Same as my
mother. Far as I’m concerned, they both didn’t recognize what they had.”

  He squeezed her hand. Even trapped between her hands, his grip was sure and firm. Noelle felt it all the way up her arm and down to her toes. “Are you always this positive?” he asked.

  “Me? Positive?” She laughed. “Only by necessity.”

  She let her gaze travel to the nativity set again. “For a long time, I dreamed about my mom coming back. She didn’t have to take me away with her...”

  “Just tell you why she left you behind.”

  Noelle nodded. He understood. “But she didn’t. So, what else can I do but focus on being happy without her? Best revenge and all that, right?”

  “You’re right,” James said. A chill struck her as he pulled his hand free from hers. Before the shiver could take true hold, however, gloved fingers were gripping her chin, and gently lifting her face skyward. James’s eyes had a sheen to them as he smiled down at her. “Your mom lost out. Big time.”

  It might have been the nicest thing a man—anyone really—had ever said to her. While the Frybergs—and Kevin, of course—complimented her, they always made a point of avoiding any mention of her mother. For as long as she’d known them, her past had been the great elephant in the room. Known but not spoken aloud.

  She’d had no idea how good having her past acknowledged could feel. “Yours did too,” she said, meaning it. “Your brother might be a modern-day saint for all I know, but your mom still missed out. On the plus side, though, at least your father didn’t.”

  He dropped his hand away. “That, I’m afraid is debatable.”

  While he sounded self-deprecating, she’d clearly said the wrong thing. There was a cloud over his features that hadn’t been there before. It made Noelle’s stomach hurt. “I’m...”

  “It’s all right,” James said, holding up a hand. “My father isn’t the most lovable man himself.

  “It’s all right,” he repeated. Noelle waited for the inevitable shrug to punctuate the sentence; she wasn’t disappointed.

  James was wrong though. It wasn’t all right. The implication that he wasn’t lovable wasn’t right. Granted, she’d only known him a few days, but the man she was standing with right now seemed very lovable indeed.