Mending Christmas With The Billionaire (Artists & Billionaires Book 2)

by Lorin Grace

  “Came? Don’t you mean cane?”

  “Nope, it is came, with an m. Remember my explanation the other day?” Tessa moved back to the last room and opened another box.

  Sean followed. “I’ve looked in most of the boxes at some point. What would a rubbing look like?”

  “Both the plan and the rubbing would be rolled up and the size of the window. I am also looking for receipts for the repair done in the seventies. I want to know what glass house they used. I am fairly sure the blue uses a cobalt recipe banned by the EPA. Trying to find a close match is going to be very difficult, and if I can find a hundred-year-old piece of glass, the process may have been similar.”

  “Like finding matching ivory to repair an old keyboard. Not only is ivory illegal to sell, but the quality of what comes from old keyboards also varies so much. It is easier to use high-quality plastic replacements.” Sean opened the box nearest him.

  “I’ve already finished that stack. I believe you are looking at flannel-board Bible stories.”

  “How did you remember what was in this box? It looks like so many of the others.”

  “I have a partially photographic memory. I can’t remember words for the life of me, but shapes, pictures, items in a box—those I can recall fairly consistently.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Or annoying. Depends on your point of view. My roommates get annoyed when I can recall every painting I ever studied. I get annoyed as sometimes I see the picture of the frog from my ninth-grade biology class textbook when I am trying to fall asleep.” Tessa closed a box of fabric.

  Sean opened another box. “I owe you an apology. I was rude yesterday when I questioned your motives. Don’t get me wrong. I am glad you are fixing the window, and it fits in Granda’s budget, but—”

  “But you budgeted the money to fix the trumpet pipes, right?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Once I found the boxes, I put two and two together and did a search. Even if I can keep this job under $1,000 in materials, which, with the new protective window probably won’t happen, there isn’t the $4,000 or $5,000 you need for the pipes, is there?”

  Sean shook his head. “I planned to revive Handel’s Messiah this year to surprise Granda. I’ve been working with the choirs from the other churches around here. And I really need those pipes.”

  “And now they are missing.” Tessa closed the last box. “As is any trace of the repair of the seventies.”

  “Maybe not.” Sean held up a baseball. “It is signed July 2, 1979, by my father, Cameron. The other side is signed by Ansley Gooding.”

  Tessa hurried over to look in the box. “Receipts!” She took a handful and moved directly below the bare lightbulb.

  “Anything?”

  “No and yes. I have the name of where they got the glass, but I am pretty sure they went out of business a decade ago. But the receipt is for more glass than could have been used. You haven’t seen a box of glass anywhere?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  The lights flickered and dimmed.

  “Not again.” Tessa pulled out her phone and fumbled for the flashlight app.

  Across the room, a flashlight sprang to life. “Did this happen last night?”

  “Yes, the power was out for several blocks.”

  Sean held out his hand. “Come on, let’s go check the fuse box. I doubt there is a second outage.”

  His hand was firm and slightly calloused. Tessa knew if there were ghosts in the catacombs, Sean could keep them away.

  “My bag. Shine a light over here so I can gather my things.” When she finished, Tessa set her hand back in his.

  It felt too perfect there. It wasn’t wimpy, like she was trying too hard to rely on him. It fit like a reed pipe fit its base. They wound their way through the rooms until they reached the bottom of the stairs, where light filtered down the stairway from above.

  “Looks like the basement blew a fuse.” Sean kept hold of her hand as they climbed. Once they were in the corridor, he reluctantly let go, wishing he had an excuse to hold it a moment more.

  Granda was already at the fuse box. “Did you find anything down there?”

  Tessa answered. “Maybe. Do you remember there being any glass left over from the repair in ’75?”

  “Can’t say I do, but then, I tend to forget more than I remember most days. There. That should do it. Sean, go make sure those lights are off.”

  It wasn’t until Sean reached the bottom of the stairs that he wondered if Granda might have thrown the switch. “No more matchmaking,” Sean muttered as he went from room to room, pulling the chains hanging from the lights. Sean didn’t do love. He’d watched his mother lose his father, and it had nearly killed her. He’d seen Granda’s loneliness since his grandmother passed. Sean wasn’t above an occasional fling with someone he met at a nightclub, but it never lasted. Tessa didn’t seem like the type who was in town for some two-week romance. And he was tired of those, too.

  eight

  O’Malley’s was not what she expected. But then, she had never been in an Irish pub before. Tessa still wasn’t sure how she’d ended up there with Sean. When they’d left the church, there had been three of them. At some point halfway across the square, the reverend vanished. Of course, almost everyone they passed had stopped the old clergyman to show him some preparation for the festival starting tomorrow. The town only needed a dusting of snow to be Homefire perfect. A camera crew had been filming over by the gazebo, probably recording some feel-good news story.

  A red-haired man hailed them from behind the bar. “Sean, m’lad. W’ere ya bin?”

  Sean turned to Tessa. “Don’t believe a word Mike says. The accent is as fake as his red hair.”

  “M’hair is all natural. It says so on the bottle. Who’s this? And what lies did ye tell ’er to get ’er to go to dinner with ya?”

  Sean dropped a protective arm around Tessa’s shoulders. Automatically she stepped into his side. Mike wasn’t threatening, but she felt he might try to turn on his best Don Juan given the chance. “This is Tessa Doyle. She’s here to fix the window.” Sean looked down at Tessa. “This charlatan is Michael O’Malley. His younger brother used to own a drone.”

  Tessa studied the proprietor. He was dressed like an overgrown leprechaun, complete with green bow tie and gold vest. She thought of the teen at the inn. Sean must be correct about the source of the red hair.

  “And me accent comes naturally. The day I kissed the ol’ stone.” He made a kissing noise for emphasis.

  “There is a reason they call it the Blarney stone.” Sean’s voice was low enough she was sure the comment was meant for her ears only.

  Tessa was tempted to laugh at both men. “Odd. I kissed it and my voice didn’t change.”

  “And wee lovely voice it is, too. But yer not Irish, are ya? You be Norse?”

  “Swedish.”

  “See, the stone only works on those born with Gaelic blood!” The last sentence contained only a hint of an accent.

  Sean consulted his watch and shook his head. “Not even three minutes. There is no way you can keep your accent going all weekend.”

  “Can’t blame me for trying. I had the California film crew going at lunch. I think they were fooled.”

  “Film crew?”

  “Yeah, someone thinks our little Christmas festival is the perfect backdrop for one of those lovey-dovey chick flick Christmas movies.” Michael rolled his eyes. “Find yourselves a seat. Special is the Shepherd’s Pie.” He waved them off.

  Sean dropped his arm. “Booth or table?”

  “I don’t care, as long as it is not under one of the TVs.” There were few things Tessa hated more than being in a restaurant with a guy who was so interested in the sport being played overhead he couldn’t carry on a
thirty-second conversation unless a commercial played. “Will your grandfather be joining us?”

  They picked a booth by the back wall.

  “Maybe. If he doesn’t, I’ll order him some carryout.”

  Sean didn’t bother opening his menu before the waitress took his order. Tessa tried the special.

  Dinner was fun. With the intensity of a real fan, Sean explained why the Mets were a better team than the Yankees. Tessa still pictured the museum every time he said the word Met. Confessing such nearly left her paying for both dinners. Then the subject changed to music, more specifically organs.

  “Last year I cleaned and tuned more than three hundred organs, not including Granda’s. I started cleaning it when I was thirteen or so and got ahold of a how-to book. I was lucky I didn’t cause any more damage than I did.”

  “Part of me is surprised there are so many organs around, but I guess this is the Big Apple. If I was looking for a place to exclusively restore windows, New York would be in the top ten.”

  “You mean that’s not what you want to do?”

  Tessa took another bite before answering. “I want to create them. I practically completed my MFA project before I earned my BFA. Only second semester student in the history of the school to display their show before completing the last year.”

  “But I thought you needed this window for your MFA. If your project is done, why?”

  “I chose to do a practical application, for lack of better term, as part of my study. I spent January to May in Europe learning glass-preservation and repair techniques. To get credit, I needed 160 hours of repairing and documenting windows. I came back from Europe about twenty hours shy. The Nativity window is at least forty hours of work, so I should finish off the course.”

  “What else do you need to graduate?”

  “Basically write a few papers, show a PowerPoint to the faculty. I don’t even need to go full-time next semester as I only register for my review class. I taught last semester, but I’ve thought of trying to get a commission to build something for a real client. Candace says I can clean out the garage and use it for a studio.”

  “Who’s Candace?”

  How did one describe the best roommate ever? Tessa managed it, from the activities of the Friday Night Artist Society and their incredibly painted house to the various wigs Candace wore.

  “Why wear so many wigs?”

  Tessa shook her head. “Only Candace can tell you that.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Of course I know, but it is her story. She decides who she wants to tell and who she wants to leave guessing.”

  “But I’ll likely never meet her.”

  Tessa shrugged. “Then it will be one of life’s mysteries.”

  For a moment she thought Sean might not let it go, but his phone beeped.

  Halfway through dinner, Sean received a text from Granda: The Sullivans asked me to dinner. Sorry for leaving you ;)

  Sean wondered if the winky-face emoji wasn’t an indication of Granda’s matchmaking. Although the dinner conversation had been pleasant, it stayed on safe and generic topics. Tessa was as guarded as he was.

  It wasn’t often he dined with a female who didn’t seem to want something more from him.

  The waitress brought the check.

  “Did you drive to the church this morning? I don’t recall seeing an extra car behind the church.”

  Tessa looked up from searching in her bag. “No, I walked.” She pulled out a twenty. “This should cover—”

  Sean held up his hand. “Granda would have my head if I let you pay for dinner. Consider it my treat—the least I can do after questioning your motives yesterday.”

  “You don’t need to, but I am not going to pass up a free meal, either. Next one is on me.” She slipped the money back into her bag.

  No chance of that happening. But Sean knew better than to argue. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the hotel.”

  “I thought you wanted to get some practice on the organ tonight.”

  “I’ll have enough time to practice, and you will be saving me a lecture from Granda on my generation not having any manners.”

  “Well, if you are going to put it that way, I’ll save you the lecture.” She stood and picked her jacket up off the bench.

  Without thinking, Sean took it from her and helped her get it on the same way his father always helped his mother. When he was finished, Tessa turned to him.

  “Wow, if your grandfather does give you a lecture, I’ll inform him it is not needed. I don’t think anyone has helped me with my coat since I was five.”

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. My father always did that, and I guess I’ve made it a habit in his honor.”

  “You didn’t embarrass me.” Tessa’s cheeks pinked. “It isn’t often I experience manners out of old Cary Grant movies.”

  “Is that a comment on my age?”

  The pink deepened. “No, I didn’t—” She looked around the room, her cheeks taking on a glow not unlike the fabled reindeer’s nose. Tessa continued in a quieter voice. “People are—We should—”

  Determined now to put Cary Grant to shame, at least for the next ten minutes, Sean extended his arm. They made it out of O’Malley’s before bursting into laughter. They stopped at the crosswalk. Sean took a little bow. “Alas, there is not a puddle, or I would put my coat down.”

  Tessa laughed harder. “You wouldn’t!”

  The crosswalk chime chirped. “But I would. Anything to make Granda believe all of my nana’s lectures finally made it to my heart.”

  Lights flickered briefly on the huge pine in the center of the square.

  “Another power outage?”

  “No, they are doing a quick test before the lighting tomorrow night. Mr. Tanner believes in double-checking everything.”

  “It is a gorgeous tree. Where’d they get it?”

  “Right here. It’s been growing on the square for about fifty years.”

  “So it is live? Amazing.”

  “The entire town could run out of water, but we would still find a way to care for the three trees we use as the alternating center of the festival.” Sean pointed to two other trees. “On hot days, kids will come poor cups of water on the roots after hearing from their grands that the trees must never die. We just don’t tell them that about every seventeen years or so the oldest one is replaced by a new one.”

  “Did you water the trees when you were little?”

  Sean nodded. “I did better than that. I stole ice from Nana’s freezer.”

  They walked around the tree, Tessa’s arm still linked through his. As they completed their circuit, a man rushed up to them. “Would you two help us? Some of the extras didn’t show up tonight, and we need another couple to walk through the background of the scene we are shooting.”

  Sean noted the logo on the man’s jacket—some cable channel, he thought.

  The man turned to Sean. “All you need to do is keep escorting your girlfriend—”

  “I’m not—”

  “She’s not—” they protested in unison.

  The man waved his hand. “I don’t care what you want to call it. I just want you to keep walking like you were and smiling at each other from time to time.”

  Tessa shook her head only a fraction of an inch.

  Sean started to tell the man no.

  “There is fifty in it for both of you for an hour of your time.”

  Tessa’s hand tightened on Sean’s arm. He raised his brows, hoping she understood the question. His answer was a tiny smile and a shrug.

  He turned back to the man. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Come with me. I have a couple of papers for you to sign, and makeup will want to check you.” He walked off in the direc
tion of a trailer parked at the far side of the gazebo.

  nine

  This is crazy.” Tessa glanced up from the papers she was signing. “We’re going to be extras in a Homefire Christmas movie.” She couldn’t wait to text Candace.

  Sean met her eyes. “A bit more than crazy.” She was afraid he was annoyed, then he smiled.

  “This goes beyond good manners.”

  “Fifty dollars beyond. Plus, I can record it next year on Granda’s DVR and freeze the frame we are in to prove I once had manners.”

  She laughed. “He’ll tell you it doesn’t count if you got paid.”

  “Wow, you already sound like him, and you have only been around him for two days.”

  Two women came over and told them to turn around. “Like the bag.”

  “Nice coloring,” said the one examining Sean’s face.

  “Hat?”

  One of them picked up a strand of Tessa’s hair. “You owe me ten. She is a natural blonde.”

  The other produced a pale-blue knit hat and scarf. “Don’t move, sweetie. I want to get this one right the first time.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other woman pull out some makeup and a sponge, which she aimed at Sean’s face. He stepped back.

  “Oh, don’t do that!” said the woman with the hat. “He has such a perfect shadow, and you don’t want to color it. Put a bit of blush on her. “Sweetie, do you have any lipstick in that bag of yours?”

  Tessa produced the lone tube of red.

  The woman eyed it. “Not your shade, but you’ll be in the background. Next time you shop, get something with a bit more rose in it.” She proceeded to snatch the tube from Tessa’s hand and apply it.

  “Perfect. Now hurry on over to the gazebo.”

  Once they were alone, Sean leaned close. “Just so you know, if she had touched me with the makeup, I would have left.”