Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses: A feel good Christmas romance novel

by Jenny Hale

  Chapter Four

  The short man that continued to answer Nick Sinclair’s front door was named Richard Smith. He was the house manager, and every decision regarding day-to-day happenings went through him. He’d sat Abbey down in Nick’s office with the promise that Nick would be with her shortly. Abbey welcomed the silence as she waited, facing his desk.

  She’d left Max with her mother and felt a touch guilty because Gramps was in a mood, and she worried that Max would have to entertain himself. Her mom had insisted they’d be just fine. Truthfully, Abbey didn’t have any other options.

  She’d had days like this one before—it was part of being a working mother—but this day was harder to swallow because she was leaving Max and burdening her mother in order to do something she didn’t really have to do. She could easily just be a nurse, tell Caroline she couldn’t do the decorating job, and apologize to Nick, but she kept thinking about how that money could change her family’s lives, so she had to make herself do it. Plus, there was that dangled carrot in front of her: the idea that maybe—just maybe—this interior design opportunity could lead to something bigger, something amazing: the start of a new career, a new life for her and Max.

  She’d been frazzled before she’d even left her mom’s house, and, while the silence around her now was helping to calm her, her initial anxiety was being replaced by the zinging simultaneous excitement and fear of seeing Nick again.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said from behind her, as the sound of his footsteps got closer. She turned around. His gaze slid down to her sneakers, up her jeans, and back to her face. It wasn’t an appraising look; it was more inquisitive than anything else. There was no way she was going to move furniture and sit on the floor to sketch in different rooms wearing her fanciest clothes.

  Nick had on jeans today, and a gray sweater, the collar rolled and held together with a button. She could tell the quality of his clothes by the way they fell on his body, and she wondered where a millionaire like Nick Sinclair shopped. Did he have to order them? Were there shops for the rich and famous hidden somewhere in the city?

  When she finally surfaced from her thoughts, she caught him still looking at her.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “O-oh,” she stammered. “Nothing. My thoughts get away from me sometimes.” She resisted the urge to run her fingers through her wildly curly hair, which seemed to have a mind of its own in this weather. Her friends had always said it worked for her and people would die for her hair, but she’d always wanted that gorgeous sleek look that she saw in magazines.

  “I’ve brought my sketchpad,” she said, trying to get down to business so she wouldn’t have to think about how gorgeous he was when he looked at her with those interested eyes of his. “I thought I could sketch out a plan for each room today. Then, once you approve the sketches, I can go to work finding similar furniture to fill the space.”

  “That would be fine.” His gaze shifted above her head as a shiny, midnight-blue Lamborghini inched its way along the drive outside the window. It was clear that whoever was driving was meticulously careful maneuvering it in the snow outside. Nick’s concern was evident on his face.

  “I was also wondering,” she said, trying to pull his attention back inside. She tipped her head up in front of his view. His eyes flickered back down to her. “I don’t know if you require a certain dress code for your staff, but I think better when I can be comfortable.” She looked down at her sneakers, wishing she could be in one of the bedrooms, behind a closed door so she could kick them off and go in her sock feet. “Are you okay if I wear jeans and sneakers to work?”

  He laughed a little, his chest rising and falling with his laughter as he refocused on her face. There it was—that expression she’d been interested to see. She’d made him genuinely smile.

  “You can wear whatever you like. I don’t mind at all.” He took a step toward her. “You’re free to roam the house—food, drink, anything you want. If you can’t find it, ask Richard. He’s usually in the small office behind the kitchen or you can text him. I’ll give you his number.”

  “I’m going to start in the ballroom with the piano downstairs. It reminds me of Cinderella,” she said with a smile. “I loved that movie as a child.” But he just looked at her so she continued, “Do you have any requests for the use of the room or anything you’d like me to include?”

  He shook his head, his disinterest clear.

  “Are you planning to decorate for Christmas?”

  “I wasn’t planning to. It seems like a waste of effort.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just me here, and the family will be here only a short time…” His face shifted as if he were only just now realizing something. “You know, you should probably put up a tree somewhere. Robin’s son will be coming. He still believes in Santa Claus. He may need a tree for presents.”

  “He may need a tree,” she repeated, her confusion running rampant. “It certainly helps to have one when Santa leaves his gifts. Have you thought about Christmas morning at all? You’re going to have guests.”

  “They are my family, remember? They know that I’m not much in the way of festivities. Knowing Robin, she’ll have her own tree delivered.”

  “You’re having a Christmas party, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you not need decorations for a Christmas party?”

  “I suppose. I was thinking you could just add a few in the ballroom. But you’re the expert. Provide whatever atmosphere you’d like. That’s why I’m paying you to do it instead of doing it myself.”

  “I’m not an expert,” she said. “I just believe in the magic of the season. Wouldn’t you enjoy fresh greenery and twinkling lights?”

  “It is a formality of which I have no opinion one way or the other.”

  “Well, I think it would be fun to decorate. Do you own Christmas decorations, or do I need to buy them?”

  “Buy them.” He pulled his money clip from a back pocket and handed her a credit card. “And you don’t have to show me the sketches. Just do it. Buy whatever you need. Richard is available for you and can arrange a staff when you need someone to install or move things.” He headed toward the door. “I’ll be in my office most of the day.”

  Nick headed out of the room, and she followed, turning in the opposite direction once in the hallway. Abbey pulled her eyes from him as he walked away from her, let herself into the ballroom, and plopped down on one of the two facing sofas. She let her gaze wander the space, wondering what she could do with such a room. She really liked the high ceilings and windows that stretched to the second floor, but they made it very hard to create a cozy space. In the very center of the room, on one wall, was a working wood-burning fireplace with a mantle as thick as the bow of a ship. It was painted white and empty of any decorations whatsoever. The snow outside had turned to a dreary rain, and, as she looked at this fireplace, Abbey thought that she definitely needed Christmas decorations to brighten things up. Then, it occurred to her just where to get them.

  She pulled her phone from her handbag, stood up, and walked over to the fireplace. On her phone, she searched for the local Christmas tree farm where she and her mother always got their Christmas trees. As she scrolled through her search results, Richard peeked his head in.

  “All okay?” he called.

  “Yep! Thank you, Richard. Except… do you have any matches? I’d like to light this fire.”

  “I’d be happy to find you some, Ms. Fuller,” he said with a smile. “Does it have enough kindling?”

  “It looks like it.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  Once Richard had left, she called the Christmas tree farm and, after a bit of haggling, she ordered seven of the biggest Colorado Blue spruce trees they had and a few miles of fresh garland, and she got them for a very good price. With a smile, she also ordered a few bundles of mistletoe, thinking of all the places she could hang it ar
ound the house. What would Nick do if he were caught under it with her? The idea of him out of his comfort zone was enough to create a little giggle that rose in her throat. The Christmas tree farm worker promised to have it all delivered by noon, and it would come by truck, he’d said. Then, she grabbed her handbag and headed out to check on Caroline and find Christmas decorations.

  * * *

  “How was your Thanksgiving?” Caroline asked with a smile as she held the door open for Abbey to enter. Her shoulders were rounded forward from age, even though she was clearly attempting to stand quite straight. She had on a pair of slacks with a blouse that had fabric-covered buttons. Her white hair was curled and tucked behind her ears, showing off her pearl earrings. With a delicate touch, she pulled the door closed after Abbey entered.

  “It was good.” Abbey watched Caroline’s face, wondering if the holiday had made her feel lonely, but she didn’t look unhappy in any way. She never did. “Nick sent me two pumpkin pies.” Caroline’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Want to hear the story?”

  As Abbey told her the story of Gramps and how he’d dropped the pies, and how Nick had been so thoughtful as to send her some, Caroline was almost smiling.

  “I knew you’d make a good impression on him,” she said, her lips pressed together as if to keep her smile from surfacing.

  “Well, I haven’t started decorating yet. He may have a different opinion when I’m done,” she teased. “What if he doesn’t like my choices? Decorating is so subjective. How do you know I’m the right person for the job?”

  Caroline sat there, smiling now, thoughts behind her eyes. “Nick took a very long time to find me a nurse. He worried so much that he wouldn’t find someone who could work to his—and my—standards. He was fully expecting to go through a few nurses before finding a good fit. But then you came in and I just loved you. You are so kind and thoughtful and careful. Even if you don’t decorate like he would, I think he’ll love it. You will surprise him at every turn, and I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  “I don’t know…” Abbey worried aloud.

  “I have never known Nick to send pie…” She put her fingertips to her lips to squelch the bubbling laughter for a moment before she continued, “I’ve never seen him send anything to anyone.” She giggled again. “I think he’ll enjoy having you around.”

  “Okay,” Abbey said, standing up. She hoped Caroline didn’t have some sort of ridiculous matchmaking plan going on or anything. She seemed awfully giddy. That was the very last thing Abbey needed. She’d promised herself that she’d never do that to Max again. She’d had a few boyfriends since his father, and they’d all ended badly.

  Max’s father, Vince, had been nice enough when Abbey had met him. He was always on the go—party to party, never settling down. Abbey had enjoyed the chase when it came to him. He was that bad boy she’d wanted to tame. And, for a while, she thought she had. Their relationship had progressed and, before she knew it, he was moving into her apartment. As a bartender, he kept crazy hours, but she delighted in the fact that he spent his free time with her, he took her to his parties, and he seemed to be in love with her. Until she got pregnant.

  After Max was born, Vince had tried to be there for her, but when it came down to it, he wouldn’t change his lifestyle to be with her and Max. She became more and more fed up with his party-going and lack of attention to her and their baby. He came in at all hours, stayed out, drank too much. Ultimately, she realized that he wouldn’t change because that wasn’t who he was. She confronted him during an argument and he admitted that he had never wanted to be a father. She didn’t need to hear any more. He moved out the next day, and she hadn’t heard from him since.

  Dating people caused too many questions to answer for Max, and she could tell he felt the loss of those people in his life. She wouldn’t put him through that again. “Let’s check your meds and see what you need to have at the moment.” She looked at her watch. “I need to take your blood pressure.”

  * * *

  In just slightly over two hours, Abbey had returned from shopping, her little Toyota full to the brim with Christmas lights, ornaments, boxes, wrapping paper, ribbon, candles, and wreaths. Richard met her at the door and immediately called the groundsmen to help her, although she’d planned to bring it all in by herself. They deposited everything in the ballroom, the fire roaring in the fireplace. She sat down in front of it to wrap presents, dumping her coat and scarf on the floor.

  The orange light of the fire reflecting on the surfaces of the great windows was helping with the ambience of the room already. Snow had started to fall again outside, and Abbey wished it would finally change over for good. It was as if the sky wanted to snow, and was trying to snow, but it just couldn’t. She felt a little like that with this giant room. She wanted to make it beautiful, she was trying, but she just didn’t quite know how to do it—it was so large. So she started with what she did know how to do, and that was decorate for Christmas. Abbey pulled out empty boxes that she’d purchased at the store and began folding them into shape. A log on the fire popped, sending an orange and yellow fizz up the chimney. After tearing the scissors free from their packaging and rummaging around in her shopping bags for the tape, she unrolled a section of bright silver paper. The blade of the open scissors slid along the sheet until it fell loose from the roll, and she began to wrap the empty boxes.

  After kicking her sneakers off and warming her feet by the fire, Abbey was just starting to get feeling back in her limbs by the time she had finished an enormous pile of silver boxes. The cardboard spool rolled away from her as she unrolled the yards of wide, shimmery silver ribbon. Snipping and securing, tucking and folding, she tied each ribbon around a box until they looked like a perfect pile of presents on Christmas morning, their bows cascading down the side of each box. She pushed them off to the side and pulled out the Christmas ornaments she’d purchased.

  Just as she’d gotten everything set out in one corner of the room, the Christmas tree farm called from the driveway. Abbey slipped on her shoes, found Richard, and asked him to round up the men to help once more. Seven trees were delivered: four twenty-five-foot trees in the ballroom, flanking the giant windows, two more in the entrance, and one smaller tree in the living room. She had the men leave the fresh garland on the floor of the entrance so that snow wouldn’t collect on it. They also left twenty-six wreaths, each with an oversized red velvet bow at the bottom—one for each front exterior window.

  As she held the large bundles of mistletoe in her arms, Nick came out of his office to see what all the commotion was in the entryway. His brows were pulled downward, his mouth set in a slight scowl as if that were the resting position of his lips. “What is all this?”

  “You said I could buy Christmas decorations.” She shifted to get a better hold of the mistletoe. It was wrapped in paper, but the sheer number of sprigs was causing it to slip from her arms.

  “I’d rather hoped you’d buy some furniture.”

  “I will.”

  “I just don’t see the need in doing all of this. It’s a waste of time.”

  “You said that you trusted me, so trust me when I say that I will have the house decorated by Christmas—furniture and all.”

  He shook his head, his chest filling with breath, and what she thought could be a slight smile on his lips emerged. Or was it a disbelieving smirk? He turned and headed back to his office.

  * * *

  By four o’clock, Abbey hadn’t even stopped once, but she had both towering trees done in the ballroom. Each one had two thousand white twinkle lights and shiny silver and winter-blue ornaments to bring out the blue in the rug. She’d added silver tree skirts and then covered them completely with the silver faux presents she’d wrapped. Dangling from shimmery silver ribbons that the groundsmen had helped her pin to the massive ceiling near each of the windows were the sprigs of mistletoe, one hanging just over the grand piano, the tails of the bow cascading like tiny, velvet waterfalls, thei
r reflection just beautiful on the surface of the piano’s bench.

  The fireplace was draped in spruce greenery and more white lights, a blue and silver bow with long tails holding it up at either corner. She’d placed silver stocking hangers perfectly centered along the front of the fireplace and from them, dangled cream-colored stockings with silver beading.

  Abbey sat down on the floor cross-legged and pulled out her sketchpad. She turned around to view the trees she’d just decorated. With the warmth from the fire on her back, she peered up at the gorgeous trees, like bookends on either side of the windows. They’d already filled the room with so much character, their white lights glimmering against the window panes as the snow came down outside. Suddenly, inspiration was hitting her from every direction, and Abbey began to sketch out the room, her pencil moving as fast as it could go, her ideas bumping into one another on their way out.

  She was going to make several seating areas in this room, each one angled so that everyone could feel the warmth from that gorgeous fireplace. Each group of chairs would have a small table in the center, allowing people to set down their drinks, talk, play cards, whatever they wanted. She imagined silver vases of Christmas greenery—tall shoots of holly branches with red berries. Above the mantle, she envisioned a colossal antique mirror with a thick silver frame. Her hands were sketching as fast as they could go, the side of her hand black from the lead of her drawing pencil.

  “How’s it going?” she heard from across the room and jumped, her concentration interrupted. Nick was standing in the doorway, his eyes moving up one of the Christmas trees. Then, he looked at Abbey, and she caught him stealing a glance at her sock feet before making eye contact. She tucked her feet under her self-consciously. He should be happy she wasn’t wearing her shoes on the nice rug. He walked over to her and peered down at her sketchpad. “You’ve been busy,” he said, his voice contemplating and careful.