by Jane Porter
He settled a dark leather duffel bag at his feet as he took the red burgundy seat. “You were studying that paper so intently I didn’t know if I should bother you or not.”
“I love a good diversion,” she answered. “And you’re the best kind. You make me smile.”
“That is the nicest thing I’ve heard all day.” He beamed at her. “I have another joke for you. Or is it too early?”
“I could use a good laugh. Tell me the joke.”
He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “What do you call an elf that sings?”
She took in his bright blue eyes and the delighted curve of his lips. Some of the tension inside her eased. “I don’t know. What do you call an elf that sings?”
“A wrapper! A rapper. Get it?”
“Got it.” She groaned and laughed at the same time. “That was terrible. But good.”
“Terribly funny?”
“You’re lucky I like you.”
He chuckled. “I have lots of jokes. Kids are sending them to me all the time.”
The waitress stopped by to top off Whitney’s coffee and fill Kris’ cup and take his order. He wanted one egg fried and toast. The waitress moved on.
Kris doctored his coffee by adding a splash of milk and three packets of sugar.
“That’s a lot of sugar,” she said, amused.
“I have a sweet tooth,” he confessed before patting his round belly. “That’s how I got this.”
“But the belly suits you. The whole thing…it’s impressive.”
“Just trying to be myself.” He took a sip from his coffee before putting the cup down. “It’s none of my business but you seem a little down today, Whitney. And you can tell me it’s none of my business. I won’t get my feelings hurt but if you feel like talking—”
“I’m fine.” She put her hand on his red sleeve, patting it. He was the kindest person she’d met in years and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings but there was no way she could talk about Cormac with him. No way she could discuss Cormac with anyone. The only person who might have understood her feelings was April, and April was gone. “Everything is good.”
She gestured at the duffel bag at his feet. “You’re leaving Marietta?”
“Just for a few days. I’ll be back late on Friday. How about you? Are you here for Thanksgiving?”
“Yes. I’m here until New Year’s. And Thanksgiving…oh dear, haven’t even thought that far ahead yet, but I imagine I’ll be right here in this exact spot. Do you think the diner will be open for a turkey dinner?”
He chuckled. “It might be. But wouldn’t you rather be with your family? Where is your family?”
“I was born and raised in Bozeman, but my parents have become snowbirds. They’ve already headed to Arizona for the winter.”
“So why not go there?”
“I did last year but flights are expensive and since I’ve only just arrived I might as well stay put. What about you? What brought you to town?
“A job.”
“Did you get it?”
“Yes, I did.” His eyes shone with good humor. “The Graff Hotel has hired me to be their Santa Claus this year.”
She couldn’t hide her smile. “That’s fantastic. You’ll be a great Santa Claus.”
“I do my best,” he said with a wink, before glancing down at the paper on the counter. “So what are you looking for? Love? A puppy? A car?”
“A place to stay. My company has reserved a room at the Graff for me while I’m in Marietta, but I don’t want to spend another six or seven weeks at a hotel. I’m looking for a furnished apartment or a room to let, but there’s not a lot available.”
“Have you checked with the Bramble House? It’s a big red brick B&B over on Bramble Lane, just a short walk from here. I’m staying there when I return. Very nice people running the place. Mable Bramble and her niece and husband. You’d find it quite homey.”
Whitney reached into her purse for a pen and jotted the name Bramble House down on her newspaper. “The Bramble House on Bramble?”
“That’s it.”
“Thanks. I’ll definitely check it out.” She tucked the paper into her purse but stayed with Kris until he finished his breakfast.
“Just enough time,” he said reaching for his wallet and peeling off a number of one dollar bills. “I want to stop by Copper Mountain Chocolates and pick up something for the wife. Wouldn’t do to go home empty handed.”
“Do you need a ride to the airport?”
“I have a cab picking me up.”
“I can take you,” she offered, opening up her own wallet and pulling out cash and placing it on the check on the counter.
“No need. The Graff is covering the cab, and I’m sure you have more important things to do. Like finding a room someplace. Don’t forget about the Bramble House.”
“I won’t. I’m going to check them out today, but it’s early still. How about I walk with you to Copper Mountain Chocolates? I haven’t been inside yet and I’ve been meaning to stop in.”
“Can’t go wrong with that plan. Best chocolates in Montana. I think I’ve tried almost everything now. Sage—she owns the place—is always letting me sample new things she’s working on. Not sure if she’ll be in today but she promised to make up a special box for me to take back to Mrs. Krinkles.”
Whitney’s lips twitched at the mention of Mrs. Krinkles. “Is that really your name, Kris? Krinkles?”
“It is. You don’t like it?”
“No, I love it.” And she did. It was perfect. Maybe a little too perfect, which also made it cliché, but was that such a bad thing? What would life be like without imagination and magic and a bit of fairy dust? The last few years had been sadly lacking in magic and fairy dust.
Now yesterday at the movies and then the dinner at Rocco’s…that had been fun. It’d had a little magic and fairy dust sprinkled all over it. Even the kiss at Cormac’s door had been magical—
She ground her teeth tight and stopped herself there.
She couldn’t stop thinking about last night. Couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss…and how good it’d felt to kiss Cormac. And the very fact that she kept thinking about Cormac and his kiss made her realize she needed to do something about Jason.
As nice as he was, as attractive and smart as he was, Jason wasn’t right. He wasn’t the one for her. Not that Cormac wasn’t the one for her, either, but leading Jason on wasn’t the answer.
“There, you’re looking sad again,” Kris said. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? Get some old Kris Krinkles advice?”
She smiled even as her eyes watered and she impatiently dashed the tears away. “I don’t know why I’m crying. There is nothing wrong. It’s just life. Stuff.”
“Life isn’t all fun and games.”
“Oh, I know that.” She double-checked the bill and made sure she’d left a generous tip before putting her wallet back in her purse. “The last few years have been a little rough. I’m ready for something good to happen.”
“That’s why it’s so important to keep believing.”
“I do.”
“Do you?” He looked at her closely. “Because miracles need hope, love and faith.”
“I don’t need a miracle,” she said huskily, slipping off the stool and putting her coat on. “I just need to get back to Denver.”
They walked to the door. Kris held it open for her. “Is everything so much better in Denver?” he asked.
Whitney had to think about that one as they stepped outside into the chilly morning. “No. But it’s not Marietta. It’s not…here.”
“That attitude isn’t helping you,” he said, wagging his finger at her with mock sternness. “You’ve got to be positive. You’re one of the good ones. You don’t want to end up on the Naughty List!”
*
Cormac was walking Daisy to Copper Mountain Chocolates for their famous hot cocoa when he spotted Whitney and the old bearded guy from the flight exiting the chocolate
shop.
Whitney gave the old man a hug and then lifted a hand, waving goodbye, as the Santa-want-to-be shouldered the duffel, making it look almost like a sack of toys.
The old guy had the part down, and while Cormac gave him points for authenticity, he wasn’t a fan of a man playing on children’s imagination. He just hoped Daisy hadn’t seen him. But no such luck. She tugged on his hand. “Was that Santa?” she asked, tugging again. “With our Whitney?”
He inhaled, lips compressing. Our Whitney. Out of the mouth of babes. “Do you like Whitney?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“I think she’s wonderful.”
“Me, too.”
Whitney had spotted them and waited in front of the shop for them. “Morning,” she said cheerfully, before giving Daisy a hug.
“Where did Santa go?” Daisy asked breathlessly. “I saw you talking to him.”
Whitney adjusted Daisy’s knit cap. “He had to go home for a few days but he’ll be back Friday for the big holiday parade.”
Daisy looked from Whitney to Cormac. “Parade?”
Cormac nodded. “It’s a Marietta tradition, the annual Holiday Parade. It’s always held the day after Thanksgiving. It’s not a big parade as big city parades go, but if I remember right, there are usually some floats and decorated old cars, high school marching bands, baton twirlers, and then of course, Santa.”
“And then we can see him? I can talk to him again?” Daisy persisted.
“But I thought you already told him what you want,” Cormac said, curious to get a reaction. “You talked to him on the plane. Remember?”
“I know I talked to him. But I want to talk to him again.” Daisy was a little bit exasperated. “And besides, he wasn’t wearing his suit so I’m not sure it counts.” Daisy looked up at Whitney. “Santa Claus was on our plane from Los Angeles. Daddy didn’t think I should bother him but Santa didn’t mind. He loves all children.” And then with a pointed glance at Cormac, she flounced into the store.
“She knows how to put me in my place,” he said.
“She certainly does. I’m impressed. I should take some notes.”
“She gets away with it because she’s four years old.”
“Just wait until she’s sixteen.”
He looked pained. “Please don’t say that. I can barely manage her as it is.”
She laughed. “So Kris was on your flight to Bozeman?”
Cormac frowned. “Is that his name? Kris?”
“Yes, Kris Krinkles.”
“It’s not.”
“I didn’t believe it at first, but he says that is his real name.”
“You still shouldn’t believe it. That’s ridiculous. Kris Krinkles indeed. Why didn’t he just name himself Kris Kringle and be done with it?
“Maybe because his parents’ last name is Krinkles, not Kringle.”
“You’re sure he’s coming back?”
“The Graff has hired him to be their Santa this year.”
“I should have a word with Troy.”
Whitney frowned. “Why? He’s a really nice man, Cormac.”
“I just don’t think it’s right for him to take advantage of children. And he is. Dressing like that…leading kids on…it’s not right.”
“I don’t think Kris is leading anybody on. He’s a genuinely kind man and he spreads holiday cheer. How can that hurt anyone?”
“Daisy believes he’s the real thing.”
“And maybe he is?”
“Oh, no. Not you, too.”
“What does that mean?” she asked as he reached for the store’s doorknob.
“It means there’s a time and place for imagination but we have to be careful about keeping Daisy grounded, and not leading her on.”
“I think you sound a bit like the Grinch right now.”
“Maybe, but Daisy has enough angels and fairy godparents to last a lifetime. She needs real people in her life, not more fantasy and make believe.”
*
Whitney had to think about that one as she headed for Bramble Lane.
What exactly was Cormac saying? Was that a dig at ‘fairy godmothers’ or was he simply trying to shield Daisy from too much holiday hype and disappointment?
Whitney lifted the collar on her coat as tiny snowflakes began to fall. It was barely snowing, the flakes were so light they didn’t stick to anything, but by the time she reached the Bramble House B&B at the end of Bramble where it ended near the courthouse and library, the snow was coming down steady.
She loved the quiet of snow and how the whole world suddenly felt very still and serene. Bramble, the prettiest street in Marietta with charming Victorians and Queen Anne style homes, was even more spectacular with a dusting of white.
It wasn’t hard to find the historic B&B. There were lots of older homes lining the street but there was only one three story red brick mansion with elegant white trim and a big welcoming porch.
She sighed a little with pleasure as she took in the house with its big yard and ring of protective trees. The Graff was wonderful but this was definitely more her style. It’d be a pleasure to stay here for the next few weeks…if the B&B had room. She hoped they’d have room.
Whitney stomped the snow from her shoes on the sidewalk and then climbed the stairs to ring the doorbell. No one came to the door. She was just about to turn away when she spotted the small sign in the window inviting her in.
She smiled and tried the massive front door. It was unlocked. She opened the door, stepped inside, carefully closing it behind. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone home?”
“Will be right there!” a friendly voice called from the back of the house.
Moments later a tall, pretty blonde in jeans and a thick oversized navy sweater came out through a side door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“I was wondering if you had any rooms available for long term rental. I’m in town through the New Year, and my friend, Kris Krinkles, suggested I try you.”
“Oh, yes, Kris. He’s lovely, isn’t he?”
Whitney smiled back. “He is. I have quite a soft spot for him.”
“Me, too.” The blonde held out her hand. “I’m Eliza Bramble.”
“Whitney Alder,” Whitney said, taking Eliza’s hand and noting her last name. “So this your house?”
“It’s my great-aunt Mable’s, but she can’t run the B&B without help, so that’s my job, and I do love this place.”
“It’s fantastic that the house has stayed in the family all these years.”
“I think so, too,” Eliza said firmly. “Now let’s see what we can do about getting you a room. You need something through December?”
“I expect to be in Marietta until early January.”
“Hmm. We do have several rooms open in the house, but there is nothing free all the way through January. I could move you around a bit but that really isn’t ideal.” Her expression cleared. “Would you prefer being in the house, or would you be open to an apartment over the garage? The apartment over the garage is probably our most spacious room and it has its own entrance. You could come and go and not bother anyone.”
Whitney did like the sound of that. “I’d love to see it if it’s available.”
“It’s empty. Let’s go have a look, and I’m taking you on a short cut right now, but we don’t normally go this way,” Eliza said as they walked down the hall, crossed through the breakfast room into the kitchen fragrant with vanilla and cinnamon. Eliza lifted a key ring from a hook on the wall. “Guests aren’t permitted in the kitchen due to health code rules and such, but since I’m not cooking anything at the moment I think we’re okay.”
They exited the kitchen and stepped outside. Whitney shivered at the blast of cold air. It was snowing harder, the flakes thicker, and the white powdery snow was sticking to railings and bushes now.
“Our first big storm of the season,” Eliza said, bundling her arms across her chest.
Whitney nodded
. “It’s supposed to snow all day.”
“Where is your car? Did you park it on the street?”
“I walked. I’m staying at the Graff.”
“That’s a very nice place,” Eliza said, leading the way up the stairs that ran along the side of the brick garage.
At the top of the stairs Eliza unlocked the white painted door, swinging it open and stepping in first to turn on lights.
The apartment was one large room with a small gas fireplace against the far wall and a pair of salmon-hued chintz-covered chairs featuring flowers and birds in front of the hearth and a low table between with a tray and a stack of books.
The bed’s padded headboard was covered in the same chintz fabric, while the duvet and pillows were all a crisp white. A fuzzy salmon-pink mohair blanket was folded over the foot of the bed.
“Every room in the house is known by its color, and this is the Pink Room. Although I think it’s really more coral than pink,” Eliza said. “But as I’m sure you can imagine, the Pink Room is not the first choice for most men. I thought we should redo it but Aunt Mable won’t hear of it.”
“I love it,” Whitney said. “When can I check in?”
“When do you want to check in?”
“Is it too late to check in tonight?
“I’ll have the room ready.”
Chapter Ten
‡
Whitney spent the rest of Sunday afternoon shifting from the Graff to the B&B, and then once at Bramble House, unpacking and settling into the Pink Room.
Snow continued to fall outside and now and then as she hung up her clothes in the closet, she’d glance out the window and would see how the snow, piling up on the trees, looked silver and lavender in the fading light.
As the dinner hour approached Whitney knew she had to do something. The B&B provided a hearty breakfast buffet, but it didn’t serve dinner for its guests. It also didn’t have TV in the bedrooms but that was a non-issue for her since it did have wireless and she could catch up on the news and stream movies on her laptop.
Her stomach growled again. If she was going to go get dinner, she should do it now before all the restaurants downtown closed.
