It's in His Kiss Holiday Romance Collection

by Mary Leo

  “Can I get you anything? Aspirin? Water? Alka-Seltzer? Coffee?”

  He slowly nodded.

  “Which one?”

  “All of them,” he whispered.

  A devastatingly spectacular smile lit up her entire face, and Rudy flashed on her name, but it slipped away just as quickly.

  “Poor baby,” she cooed, and patted his shoulder as if they were good friends, or as Rudy hoped, good friends with benefits.

  Had there been sex last night?

  A strong part of him hoped not, at least not while he was drunk. A woman like this deserved to be remembered.

  Ten minutes later she returned with a tray and set it down next to him on the funky wooden nightstand he and his grandfather had made out of a salvaged barn door when Rudy was about eight years old. He was surprised his gramps still had it, but then from the looks of the majority of the deep attic stacked with old trunks, bookshelves, boxes, lamps, dressers, and who knew what else, his gramps probably still owned everything he ever carried into this old house.

  “I brought you an Alka-Seltzer Plus. It’ll settle your stomach, and help with your stuffy nose. It’s a little pink this morning.”

  Rudy rubbed his itchy nose with a tissue she gave him from the tray. The tissue felt soothing against his sore nose, just what he needed.

  She held out two aspirin, along with a glass of fizzing relief.

  “Thanks,” Rudy told her as he reached for his cure, popped both pills then eagerly drained the glass.

  Everything he needed for hangover survival was on the tray, including a dish of assorted cookies from his grandfather’s bakery, not that he could possibly eat a cookie at this point.

  “That was some reunion you guys had,” the mystery girl said, getting all comfy at the foot of the bed then sliding her long legs under his blanket.

  He remembered now. His gram had taken up needlepoint when he was growing up, and the bed was testament to her obsession. There were at least a dozen pillows scattered around in various sizes and shapes, all with a Christmas theme. They were enough to make him dizzy, and combined with the unusually warm weather in this town, the attic seemed hot.

  Or was it the girl that was making him hot?

  Especially now when she rested those fine legs of hers against his as if they were lovers, only he couldn’t feel skin on skin. Unfortunately, he still wore his black slacks and heavy wool socks. No possibility of sex with all those clothes on, but why so familiar on her part? He couldn’t figure her out.

  “I seem to be lacking some of the details of last night. Maybe you could fill me in.”

  She chuckled. “Understandable, especially since you kept drinking those really sweet Christmas Bombs that Carol pushes this time of year.”

  “Carol?”

  “Carol Winters, the Bartender over at Yule Tide’s. You went to school with her, remember?”

  A bright pink fizzy drink in a tall glass garnished with a candy cane now took center stage in his memory, along with Carol’s charming face.

  “Yeah. She was wearing one of those Santa hats.”

  “Yep, we all were.” She nodded toward the coat hooks on the wall next to the stairs, and there hung two Santa hats along with coats, scarves, her jeans and white sweater.

  That’s when it came to him. “Jenny Bells! You’re Jenny Bells from Donner Street. You were my very first kiss.”

  “Good grief, how bad off are you?”

  He chuckled, careful of any actual movement. “Apparently, pretty bad.” Then he stared at her for a moment as last night began to come into focus. “You were there, along with Kris and Nick, and some guy who looked a lot like the real Santa or was that a dream?”

  “I don’t remember the Santa guy, but your buddies Kris and Nick were absolutely there. I came in at midnight with a plate of your grandfather’s cookies which you all devoured. Carol told me you kept buying rounds, and everybody kept drinking. I’m sure the guys are feeling just as bad as you do this morning.”

  “Why aren’t you dying like the rest of us?”

  “Somebody had to be the adult. After just one of those Christmas Bombs, I knew you three guys would never make it home if I didn’t drive. Besides, I’ve been living here in this attic ever since my apartment building went into foreclosure, so any way I can help out your grandfather, or his grandson, seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “You live here?” He looked around at the long, narrow room and could tell she had transformed half of it into a livable, feminine space, but still … “Why the hell would you live here?”

  She shrugged. “Your grandfather needed some help both in the bakery and around the house after your gram passed. I needed a place to live. It just made sense. He won’t let me pay rent, so I try to do the things he can’t.”

  “I’m sure Gramps loves having you around, but doesn’t your day job get in the way?”

  “Helping your grandfather is my day job. He’s teaching me how to bake Santa’s favorite cookie, or at least that’s the plan. We haven’t exactly gotten around to it yet. Gramps can’t remember the recipe, nor can he find your grandmother’s recipe book, but we’ve got ten days to go before Christmas. I’m sure we’ll figure something out by then.”

  Rudy hoped to have the Smart-Mart deal locked-up by then.

  He sneezed.

  “Bless you,” she said.

  “Thanks. Don’t you miss your own place? I mean if this is your room, it’s not very private for overnight guests.”

  Rudy felt a mild pang of guilt for taking her bed, but on the other hand, he was over six feet tall and that sofa would never have been long enough.

  “It’s a small town, remember? Not much guest action going on. Besides, I thought you’d have a room at the Inn, when you didn’t, I had no choice but to bring you home.”

  “You could have slept in bed with me. I wouldn’t have attacked you,” he lied. If he had awoken and been at all coherent, he probably would have tried it. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell her that.

  His nose suddenly itched. He tried to ignore it, but it tickled like a son of a bitch.

  She threw him a little grin that told him there was no way in hell she would have climbed into bed with him. He had the distinct feeling she knew his game.

  “It was tricky enough just sleeping on the couch. You kept telling me how much you still loved me. You must have tried to get me into bed ten times before you finally gave up and fell asleep.”

  “Sorry ‘bout that.”

  “Accepted. I really loved my old apartment. I would have lived there forever if I could have. I heard someone bought the building, but they haven’t done any work on it yet. Shame, it’s such a cute place that with some TLC it could be beautiful again. I’ve been hoping to move back in, but so far, I haven’t heard who bought it or when the renovations are going to start.”

  Rudy didn’t want to tell her he was the owner and when his deal went through with Smart-Mart the apartment building, along with this building and several others on Prancer Street, would be demolished to make way for the mega-store.

  “I’m sure the new owner is just waiting until after the holidays to begin the repairs.” As he spoke his nose itched again, and he could feel a sneeze coming on. “Excuse me,” he said, as he grabbed another tissue and sneezed five times in a row.

  When he finished, he gazed over at her. She had a curious look on her face as she tried to stifle the grin spreading across her sweet lips.

  “What’s so funny?” Rudy asked. His headache had begun to retreat, and his stomach had calmed down to manageable ache.

  “Nothing, at least I don’t think it’s anything. It’s just that as you were talking, your nose seemed to get a bit pinker. Even bordering on red.”

  “I’m probably getting a cold.”

  She giggled. “Does your nose usually turn this red when you get a cold?”

  Concerned, Rudy said, “Define ‘this red.’”

  “Stay right there. Let me get you a mirr
or.”

  Jenny slid out of bed, and walked to the back of the attic. While she was digging around through the trunks, Rudy grabbed a sugar coated cookie off the tray and ate it in two bites. It tasted all sweet and yummy, but as he swirled the sweet-goodness around in his mouth, he could tell it lacked the proper amount of cinnamon, and it needed an extra pinch of vanilla.

  He had grown up baking alongside his grandfather, something his parents discouraged, and had developed a distinctive pallet for every cookie in the bakery, so he knew when his grandfather was on target. This cookie, although good, was not perfect.

  Gramps was slipping.

  “Found it,” Jenny said as she held up an ornate hand mirror that undoubtedly had belonged to his late grandmother.

  She handed it to him and he gazed into the mirror at bloodshot eyes, bed hair, rosy cheeks and an unnaturally deep red nose.

  “What the hell?”

  It was at that moment when Rudy remembered exactly what that Santa guy with the white beard and heavy black boots had said to him, or rather, sang to him as they stood outside in some cold place that looked an awful lot like the real North Pole complete with miles of packed icy snow, and several reindeer grazing alongside a huge log cabin. There may have even been an elf or two visible through a snowy window.

  Then another vivid memory gave Rudy a momentary full body shudder.

  He was on Santa’s Naughty List.

  The crazy tune Santa sang to him came rushing back:

  You better look out. You better not lie. You better not doubt, I’m telling you why. Santa Claus is coming to town. He sees you when you’re sleeping, and knows when you’re a fake. Your nose will shine when you really lie, so be good for goodness sake.

  Rudy put the mirror down, and leapt out of bed.

  “I am so screwed!” he mumbled.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Rudy stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror, his nose had reverted back to its natural state. The red was entirely gone, leading him to believe that clearly the meet-up with Santa was, in fact, a dream.

  All Rudy’s aliments, including the red nose, were a direct cause of his monster hangover, and nothing else.

  Confident he had everything back under control, he performed his usual morning ritual at the tiny bathroom sink in the attic, ignoring all the girly products Jenny had lying around, like her makeup, various bottles of perfume, a hairdryer, and things he didn’t want to know about.

  Now that he was back to his normal, self-confidant self, he intended to tackle his gramps first. The sooner he could convince him it was time to retire and allow Rudy to handle his estate, the better.

  Rudy’s dad wanted nothing to do with it, which was fine by Rudy. He had experience in dealing with stubborn guys like Gramps. He knew all the right buttons to push, and which ones to leave alone. He’d have Gramps eating out of his hand before the end of the day.

  “Why should this be any different,” he said to his reflection in the mirror.

  He smiled at himself as he combed his blond hair, giving it an extra bit of shine with a touch of Jenny’s mouse. “It’s all good, buddy. Nothing can stop you now.”

  Rudy had planned a meeting with some of the decision makers for Smart-Mart, the night before Christmas Eve, at Jack Frost’s Steak House. He wanted everything to be locked and loaded by then. No loose ends. Gramps was a loose end that he intended to tie up ASAP.

  Thirty minutes later, Rudy sat at a small green table across from his grandfather inside Sugar Plums bakery. The bakery hadn’t changed much over the years: sage colored walls, a smattering of pictures depicting most of the bakeries the Raindear family had once owned, and three glass display cases that were well over four-feet high.

  Jenny, who periodically threw Rudy one of her adorable smiles, waited on the lone female customer picking out two dozen assorted cookies.

  Not that there was much of an assortment. Rudy counted only fifteen different cookies tucked inside the glass counters where there once was more than forty, with five different cakes, at least ten types of breads and a mixture of muffins. The customer also bought a half-dozen doggie bagels, which seemed to sell better than the cookies.

  “Looking kind of empty in here, Gramps,” Rudy said after he slid his empty plate to the side. His grandfather had made him two eggs, turkey sausage, grits, and baguette toast. Now all that was left was a small plate of Italian wedding cookies.

  “It’ll pick up. Always does,” Gramps continued, then sipped his black coffee out of a red mug. Although Gramps was in his late eighties, he still looked as if he hadn’t even reached his seventies. His gray hair was still streaked with blond, his face was barely lined, and his clothes reflected a man who took good care of himself.

  “Economy’s bad, Gramps. I don’t know how you’ve been hanging on.”

  His grandfather sat back in his chair. “Been doin’ just fine, son. Don’t you go worrying about me. I hear you and the boys really tied one on last night.”

  Rudy ignored the last comment and pushed on. “But I do worry about you, Gramps. I want you to be happy. You should be relaxing on a beach somewhere, instead of working yourself to death in this money pit.”

  Rudy picked up a cookie and took a bite. He knew instantly it was lacking the right amount of sugar. He put it back on the plate.

  “Now you don’t like my cookies anymore? What else is going on with you?”

  “What? No. Your cookies are great. I love ‘em. You know that. I’m just saying, wouldn’t you rather be someplace warm and sunny?”

  “It’s almost seventy degrees outside. I hate it. Hotter than it’s ever been since me and your grandmother moved here back in the forties. I like cold and snow, lots of both. Never was one for hot sand and hot air. Takes the fun out of Christmas, and me and your gram were all about Christmas.”

  Rudy’s nose itched.

  He told himself it was nothing, to ignore it.

  The jingle bells rang on the door behind Rudy signaling that the customer had left. Now Rudy felt as if he could be more forthcoming with his grandfather. Lay it on the table, so to speak.

  Tell him the facts.

  “I want to buy the bakery from you, and run it myself.”

  A total lie, but once he moved Gramps to a suitable retirement home, which he intended to prepay so Gramps would have nothing to worry about except having fun and relaxing, the old guy would be too busy to ever know the truth.

  Gramps stared at him, leaning in closer across the table.

  “You’re nose is red, son. Bright red. Red enough to lead Santa’s sleigh.”

  Rudy covered his nose with his hands.

  This can’t be happening!

  “I’m getting a cold.”

  “That might be a cold if you was livin’ in New York City, but you’re in North Pole, Maine now, and you’re a Raindear. That ain’t no cold. Not here. Not in this town. I know exactly what that is.”

  “It’s noth—” Rudy sneezed five times.

  Gramps stood up, and pushed in his chair.

  “He got ya, didn’t he?”

  “Who?” Rudy asked, rubbing his nose with a white paper napkin.

  “You’re on his naughty list, ain’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Woo-hoo, this is gonna be a good one.” Gramps laughed, long and loud, until tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “It’s not funny. I can’t go around like this. I have important people I need to meet with. Things I have to do.”

  After a while, Gramps gained control of his laughter. “Aint nothin’ you can do about it, son, ‘cept stop your cheatin’ ways.”

  “I do not cheat!” Rudy’s voice went up an octave, and when it did, his nose actually throbbed.

  Gramps roared with laughter. “This is better than one of them comedies on TV. Heck, son, you got it bad.”

  Rudy stood. “How do you know so much about this? Did somebody come and talk to you about me?”
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  “Didn’t have to.” Gramps walked back behind the counter then turned to Rudy. “I got me some first-hand knowledge with that there red nose.” Then he tsked, shaking his head. “And I thought you was different, but you’re a chip off your grandpa’s block. Woo-hoo, I’m sure lookin’ forward the next couple’a weeks!”

  He laughed again, and Jenny came out from the back, dusted with flour, hair pulled up in a ponytail, looking so cute Rudy could eat her up.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, all smiles, ready to get in on the fun.

  “Rudy here’s got hisself on Santa’s Naughty List, and, well, he’s gonna have to tell you the rest.”

  Rudy wasn’t in the mood to tell Jenny anything, especially with his nose in its hideous condition, so he headed back upstairs to try and figure this whole thing out, without his grandfather’s laughter making matters worse.

  * * *

  Four days had gone by since Jenny had seen Rudy. She was beginning to get worried even though Gramps had assured her “the boy just needs time to figure out how to handle his peculiar predicament.”

  Then he’d laugh.

  But sales at Sugar Plums had taken a real turn for the worse despite Jenny’s secret attempts to improve the flavor of the cookies Gramps was baking. It was time she took action.

  Mrs. Claus was depending on her.

  Not to mention that Christmas was fast approaching and if Sugar Plums had any hope of survival, she needed to find the ancestral recipe book that Rudy’s grandmother kept hidden somewhere in the building.

  Gramps, a nickname everyone in the town had given Mr. Raindear years ago, was losing his memory faster than Santa could zip up a chimney, and she simply couldn’t sit back and let the bakery die. He’d forgotten to add the pecans to his latest batch of pecan sandies, causing his best customer, Camden Kane, the owner of Candy Kane Inn, to threaten to cancel his standing order of five dozen cookies per day in December.

  So, there she was, knocking on Rudy’s door at said inn, sporting a red box of not-so-good cookies, hoping to convince him to help her find the recipe book and save Sugar Plums.