“Are fishnets involved?”
He didn’t smile. “No, but Christmas is.”
“I’m aware of this. You think I can’t handle some Christmas events? On Sunrise News, I single-handedly organized a nationwide coat drive for children, raised over three hundred thousand dollars for cancer research, and initiated a yearly marathon for—”
“Emma, I’m sure your resume is stellar. But Melissa’s job is more than just throwing some punch-and-cake events at the VFW. Sugar Creek is a unique town. We have the Civil War battlefield, our nature offerings, and our historical homes. We’ve decided to capitalize on every aspect of the community. Do you know what people love for Christmas?”
“iTunes gift cards?”
“Small towns. Charming burgs with welcoming people.” He reached across his desk for a folder of his own, pulled out a stack of papers, and handed them to her. “Sugar Creek will become a Christmas destination for travelers. We want to be their go-to Christmas village, and we’re behind as it is.”
Emma flipped through a few pages of the Project Christmas plans. Community tree lighting. Tour of homes. A trail of lights for visitors to drive through. Ice rink off the square, a nativity, a play at the arts center, community choral concert. The list went on and on. Things that would put Christmas spirit in anyone’s heart.
Except hers.
“You hope to give people a Rockwell Christmas.” She shut the folder, dropping it into her lap like it weighed a hundred pounds.
“Not hope. We will give them this small-town charm for Christmas. It starts immediately. The person who fills in for Melissa will live, eat, and breathe Christmas.” He watched Emma closely, and it was all she could do not to gag right in front of the man.
“I can do this.” And somewhere in there would be a story so inspirational, she’d get her job back.
Noah rested his hand on Emma’s. “You told the world you hated Christmas on live TV.”
“Mostly just the West Coast.” Thanks to a time delay.
“Every citizen of this town saw it.”
“That explained Silas Mooney’s snubbing me on the sidewalk this morning.”
“He’s only been the town Santa for forty years.”
“He knows he’s not the real one, right?”
“See, right there. That’s exactly the kind of attitude we don’t need. There’s too much at stake.”
The job was slipping through her fingers. “No, I can do this. Give me a chance. Please, Noah.”
Noah looked down at the armrest where Emma now clutched his hand. “I don’t think it’s in the best interest of the town.”
“What about my best interests?” Please let me stay. “I need this chance.”
“You could just go work for another news station. Do what you were trained to do.”
But she couldn’t. She was blacklisted. “On Christmas Eve, a star led the Wise Men to Jesus. I feel . . . I feel like I’m being led to Sugar Creek. Following . . . yonder star.”
“You’re really reaching here, aren’t you?”
“I’m committed to this.”
He lifted his eyes so slowly, so deliberately, and his voice dropped low. “And why should I believe a commitment means anything to you?”
His words were a scythe right through her battered heart. At one time this man had been her everything. “I was twenty-one years old,” she said quietly. “I’m through apologizing for that.”
“I didn’t ask you to apologize.” He rose from the chair and sat on the edge of his desk. “I asked why I should assume a commitment from you was worth anything. You don’t care about this town.”
“Of course I do.” Granted, she needed the town to get her job back, but she did care for Sugar Creek. “It’s the closest thing to a hometown I’ve ever had.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face before turning those intense eyes back to Emma. “I’ll give you two weeks. You have two weeks to not only pick up where Melissa left off, but take it a step further. Melissa had good things planned. It’s your job to make them great.”
She nodded furiously. “Absolutely. Consider it done.”
He studied her for a moment, and Emma wondered what he saw. She was no longer the girl who wore the daily pony-tail, but the woman with chestnut hair that fell in waves down her back. Her face had a few lines, but late nights and little sleep would age anyone. Did he see that her hazel eyes still captured everything about him—his every move, his every feature? And right now—the way he wanted her gone.
“I won’t let you down,” Emma said. Not this time.
“It’s not me you should worry about. It’s an entire town.”
“You can count on me to bring Christmas to Sugar Creek.” She stood and held out her hand, hoping he didn’t notice the way it still lightly trembled. “Do we have a deal?”
Noah captured her fingers and shook, his skin a fire on hers. “You’re hired.”
“Thank you. You won’t regret it.” She slipped her hand from his, picked up her purse, and walked toward the door.
“Emma?”
She stopped and turned, struck by the way the sun piped through the window, illuminating his form like a holy spotlight. “Yes?”
“Don’t treat this like our engagement,” he said. “If you take the job, you can’t just walk away from it.”
Nodding, she turned her head before Noah could see the tears and walked away.
Just like she’d done all those years ago.
Chapter Four
When Emma awoke the next morning, her very first thought was that she was in hell.
Her second was that she was going to kill her grandmother.
A violent alarm sounded from the hall. Not the sort that rudely jostled one awake for work, but more like the noise one might expect before a bomb struck your city.
Sylvie’s voice called through a staticky microphone. “This is a drill! This is only a drill!”
As the obnoxious noises got closer, Emma let her back melt against the headboard, rested her hand on her spastic chest, and waited for the appearance of her grandmother.
“This is a test! This is only a test! Take your emergency positions.”
Clothed in head-to-toe black, as if she were about to do a little midnight B&E, Sylvie opened Emma’s bedroom door and slinked inside, checking to her right and left.
“There are no perps in here,” Emma said.
“Hon, there are pervs everywhere.”
“Did you put your hearing aide in this morning?” Emma yelled.
“No time. We need to establish your escape route should there be trouble.”
“Would you put that megaphone down, for crying out loud?” Emma slapped her hand against the bedside table, searching for her phone to check the time. The darkness outside was a good hint she wasn’t in danger of being late to work on her first day.
The megaphone honked like an angry goose as Sylvie set it to her lips once again. “Your phone has been confiscated. Your generation can’t find your way out of a Wal-Mart parking lot without your modern devices. Now what are you going to do? There’s an intruder on the first floor and a fire on the second.”
Emma snatched the megaphone in a football play worthy of the Hall of Fame. “Sylvie, what time is it?”
“Oh five hundred hours.”
“I don’t have to be at work ’til eight.”
“Danger doesn’t wait until you’ve had your kale smoothie, Barbie doll.”
The woman would never change. “I think we’re pretty safe here. From . . . ” What had Sylvie said? “Robbery and tornado.”
Her grandmother huffed loud enough to lift the ceiling then plopped on the bed. “It was fire and intrusion.”
“Right.” Emma rubbed her bleary eyes and yawned. “I know retirement’s hard, but you really need to get a hobby.”
“I have one. Frannie and I make conceal-and-carry purses. I sent you one last Christmas.”
“That hidden compartment was for a gun?”
&
nbsp; “What did you think it was for?”
“Hiding my Snickers.”
“You are absolutely your mother’s child.” Sylvie reached for Emma’s hand and clasped it in hers. Her grandma’s hand was so delicate, yet held an undeniable strength. Those hands had taken down assassins, protected dignitaries, rocked babies, and dried Emma’s tears. “You don’t come out of the CIA without a neurosis or two.”
Right—one or two.
“I just like to make sure the ones I love are as safe as possible at all times,” Sylvie said.
And Emma loved her for that. “I used to be the only girl in school who’d get a twelve-pack of Mace in her stocking.”
“Santa’s no dummy.” Sylvie scooted right next to Emma, shoulder to shoulder. The two had spent many evenings together like this. Emma talking about school and boys. Sylvie talking about bomb detonation and bullet trajectories.
“Are you ready for your big day?”
Emma let her head fall onto Sylvie’s narrow shoulder. “It feels so weird.”
“What’s that, Shug?”
“To be back here. To have lost my dream job.”
“Temporarily lost. You’ll get that back in no time. Wait ’til they hear all about our Sugar Creek Christmas. I’m telling you, this town is the perfect human interest story. America will love it.” She kissed Sylvie’s forehead. “And they’ll love you.”
“But I’m working for my ex-fiancé.”
“At least he’s hot. You could be looking at worse.”
“The very thought is exhausting.”
“I hear that sigh. That was not a ‘Boy, am I pooped’ sigh. That was a ‘that Noah Kincaid is still one hunky dude, and my heart does a little flopsy doodle every time I see him’ sigh.”
“Is he dating anyone?” Emma had stopped asking about him years ago, and Sylvie had wisely stopped providing information.
“Not that I know of. He went out with our lady pharmacist for a while.”
“I figured he’d be married by now.”
Sylvie nudged her shoulder against Emma’s. “Maybe he hasn’t found the right one yet. It’s not too late to try again, you know.”
“No, that ship has sailed. Plus he’s barely speaking to me. I’m lucky he agreed to honor the job offer.”
“Of course he did. He’s a good man. And you’re a good girl. And I still think you’d make a couple hot as any we read about in our book club.”
“Except he’s not a billionaire Middle Eastern prince, and I’m not his knocked-up secretary.”
“We can’t all have the dream.” She patted Emma’s leg. “He’ll warm up to you, honey. Nobody can resist my Emma.”
“We’re not getting back together. So don’t go picking out ‘his and hers’ Smith & Wessons.”
“I still think you should stay with me while you’re here. We have so much lost time to make up for.”
Sylvie had a handful of rent houses in Sugar Creek, and with one conveniently in between renters, Emma was moving in.
“We’ve talked about this. It will give me time to work on my story for the show, and your house won’t sit vacant.”
“If you stayed here, we could have a slumber party every night—eating junk food and watching true crime.”
“Watching true crime is not nearly as fun when your grandmother somehow already knows every detail of the case.”
Sylvie picked up Emma’s hand and linked their fingers. “So I got in too late last night to share a bit of news.”
“You’re renouncing the NRA?”
Sylvie smiled. “Your daddy called yesterday.”
Emma stilled. “Why?”
“He calls from time to time to check up on you.”
“What does that mean? How often? Like weekly?”
Sylvie paused a little too long. “A few times a year.”
It was something, Emma supposed. “What does he want?”
“Edward wants to talk to you. Says he doesn’t have your latest number. He’d like to see you, Em.”
“No.”
“Hon, it’s time to let it go. Don’t you think?”
“He wrote a Christmas song about mom dying, dragged me all over the world like a prop, didn’t care about things like my education or whether we’d stay somewhere long enough to make a friend, and cursed the world with what is the absolute worst Christmas song ever.”
“He’s still your dad.”
“Dads don’t let grandparents raise their kids.” There was that old bitterness. She thought she’d taken care of that a long time ago. The hurt, the anger over being her father’s afterthought, the way he’d capitalized on her mother’s painful fight with the cancer that had taken her on Emma’s eighth Christmas.
“I still miss her,” Emma whispered.
“Me, too, Shug. God, I miss her.” She squeezed Emma’s hand. “But I see her in you. All the time. And she’d want you to forgive the man. Perhaps even call him once in a while.”
“Maybe one day,” Emma said. “But not this one.”
***
Ignoring Sylvie’s advice to pack heat and show cleavage, Emma made her first appearance as an employee of the city of Sugar Creek. Per her usual habit, she was fifteen minutes early and wearing her television smile.
“Good morning, Delores,” Emma said, proud to recall the receptionist’s name. “How are you today?”
“My bunions are killing me, and my kid wants a toy that can’t be found except by scalpers.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Um, I’m not sure if you remember me from yesterday—”
“I know who you are. Hope all our Christmas stuff doesn’t offend you.”
Emma blinked. “I think the town’s plans are lovely.”
Delores planted her elbows on her desk and her voice dipped John Wayne low. “If you touch that baby Jesus in the manger on the square, I will find you. You feeling me?”
“I believe so.” Emma searched in vain for the appearance of a friendly face. Or anyone’s face but Delores’s. “Is Noah here?” “That’s Mr. Kincaid to you.”
Emma didn’t bother telling the woman that she had been months away from being Mrs. Kincaid, and she was not calling any man who had seen her in granny panties and head gear mister.
“He’s in a meeting. Told me to show you to your office.”
Now we’re talking. “Great.”
Delores pointed her chewed Bic to the left.
“That first door there?” Emma asked.
“You’re the fancy reporter. I’ll let you figure it out.”
Her camera smile wobbling, Emma tried the first door. Inside she found two bookshelves, a wall of file cabinets, and a desk with one picture of Melissa, her husband, and a border collie. She had to be in the right place.
Emma opened the blinds and looked out. The office had a perfect view of the entire town square. Early morning joggers braved the cold, while two school buses took their turns at the four-way stop. A few professionally dressed folks walked into Benton’s Coffee House, an establishment that looked brand new. The sky was a web of gray clouds that stretched over the top of the city. Sylvie had said something about a chance of snow this morning, but it was only late November. The town rarely saw the white stuff so soon.
“I see you found your office.”
Emma turned at that achingly familiar voice.
Noah stood in the doorway, more out than in, as if he feared stepping into her new territory.
“Yes. The square looks great, by the way. It’s really developed.”
“The lighting of the square is a big event for us. It’s a week from Thursday. I assume you’ve opened your email and checked the agenda I sent you.”
Emma bit back a snippy response and just smiled through gritted teeth. “I’ll do that right now.”
“The Trail of Lights begins tomorrow night. You’ll need to contact everyone on the list and confirm their participation. Brief me on that within the hour. Give them the details for the run-through tonight. I’ll need you to co
nfirm the caterer for the gala next month, the children’s choir for the tree lighting ceremony, Santa for the children’s fest, and—”
“Noah—” Emma crossed the floor and stood in front of him. “I’m here to do the job, and I’ll do it. You’re already expecting me to screw this up.”
“I do not think you’re going to—”
“Yes, you do. I’m sorry you have no faith in me, but I can do this. You want a dry run of the Trail of Lights tonight, and that’s what you’ll get. Just leave it to me.”
He checked his phone, already dismissing her. “I won’t be available all day. If you have a problem or a question, ask Delores.”
“Are you unavailable to me just today or will this be a normal thing?”
Noah’s eyes briefly held hers. “Run everything through my assistant.”
Emma watched the man she once loved walk away. She knew he had a right to be mad at her. But they had to work together. Surely he could be civil?
The rest of the day flew by with phone calls and emails. The Trail of Lights was not just a few streets of town. Over 200 homes had signed up to participate. According to Melissa’s notes, the lights would begin on the bridge over the creek, then snake through the town. The trail included everything from a simple outlining of a home in white lights to a professionally designed holiday display. Homes, businesses, and even organizations would be setting up displays on empty spots at the park. Food and drink trailers would be open late for the tourists, luring them in with lattes, cocoa, and an evening snack.
As Emma worked at her desk, fingers flying over the keyboard and phone pressed to her ear, she kept an eye on the door across the hall.
Noah never returned to check on her. Didn’t inquire about her plans for lunch or how she was getting along. Any questions Emma had, she grudgingly presented to Delores, who answered in her own Morse code of grunts and shrugs.
Yet it wasn’t as if Noah had totally disappeared.
Emma could hear him, even occasionally see him in the lobby from her desk. He laughed with Delores. He shot the bull with the county judge who stopped by. He was Mr. Good Humor to the ministerial alliance that dropped in to discuss the tree lighting ceremony. From the UPS guy to the old man who made an appointment just to complain about rising cable costs, Noah was the epitome of charm and charisma.
Sugar Creek Christmas Nook Page 3
