Holiday Intercepted

by Katana Collins

  He didn’t nod or blink or even acknowledge my question. Or was it an accusation? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a shrug. “Must be another one of those Christmas miracles you talk so much about.”

  “Oh no.” I put my finger up, wagging it in his face. “No you don’t. How did you do this?”

  “Elves,” he offered. I shook my head. “Fairy dust?” he tried again, and this time I couldn’t help but smile. I stood up, moving toward him and sat in his lap, putting my arms around his neck.

  “Santa doesn’t use fairy dust,” I said.

  “How would you know?”

  I cradled his chiseled jaw, the rough rasp of his stubble scraping my palm. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I whispered.

  He licked his bottom lip with a long swipe of his tongue that left my mouth watering. “I can’t take all the credit,” he said. “Kyra helped compile the various footage of your shows. And Scott helped edit it all together.”

  “I’ll have to thank them, too.” Bending, I took his wet parted lips against mine. The butterflies were back, but for a whole different set of reasons.

  I ended the kiss and Taylor arched a brow in my direction. “Hopefully you won’t be thanking them like that.” He paused, then added, “Actually, I could watch you thank Kyra like that—”

  I smacked his arm, then pinching him playfully as he laughed, a loud, barking sound.

  “So…” he said, once our laughter faded. “Are you going to take them up on their offer?”

  I nibbled my bottom lip. A small part of my heart ached at the thought of leaving Maple Grove. But an even larger part of me was excited at the new beginning. Even with moving away, I was only an hour away from my home town. I had no doubt I would still see Kyra and Scott a lot. And with my Airbnb, I’d always have a place to stay when I visited. “I think I am. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t do this now.”

  His smile widened. “You know… the theatre is only sixteen and a half minutes away from my apartment.”

  It was my turn to raise a brow in his direction. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yep. We have some time before your rehearsals start. But maybe you’ll just want to move in with me… instead of finding your own apartment? I mean, rent in Boston is pretty expensive—”

  My smile widened. “Maybe. We have five months until I begin with rehearsals. Why don’t we take this one day at a time?”

  He nodded. “One day at a time. But for today? We’re gonna celebrate the shit out of this victory for you.”

  Epilogue

  Paige

  Christmas Eve, One Year Later…

  A car horn blared as Taylor gripped my hand, tugging me across the street. He was practically running there and I was struggling to keep up because he was so fast, even though he had told me to dress warm and comfortable. “Good Lord, Taylor. The tree lighting isn’t going anywhere!”

  “We need to be there before seven,” he said, his breath huffing.

  I gripped Maisey’s leash tighter, and she happily trotted beside us as I glanced at my phone for the time. It was only 6:53 p.m., and we were across the street from the Maple Grove tree lighting. What in the heck was he freaking out about?

  Geez, he was in a mood. The whole drive up here, he’d been grumpy, nervous, and fidgety. Christmas usually made people jolly, but not my Taylor. This holiday seemed to be bringing out the worst in him. Although, the last two hours aside, we’d had a pretty amazing year together. We moved in together in June after I took the job at the theater. I played a small role in Midsummer Night’s Dream and then this fall, I was cast as the lead in Hedda Gabbler. Hedda-Freaking-Gabbler. It was a dream come true. I didn’t think I’d ever earn my living as an actress and yet, here I was. And even though I hated admitting it, I don’t think it would have happened without Taylor.

  He slowed down and for the first time since we got out of the car and started walking. He seemed to relax. He grabbed his phone, punching in a text, then let out a deep sigh that sounded vaguely relieved.

  As we drew nearer to the tree lighting, I noticed a stage set up. It wasn’t overly large—the sort of temporary stage you see at outdoor concerts. The tree was in the center of the stage. A large crowd of people were already seated, and I scanned the crowd waving at Kyra, Yvonne, and a handful of other friends and old neighbors. On the right side of the theater, a large group of my former students sat, beaming and waving at me. “What is going on—?”

  “Come on,” Taylor said, taking my hand and dragging me toward the front. “Taylor, we’re the last ones here. There’s no way there’s going to be a seat up front—”

  I froze, turning into the front row where my brother sat a few seats in. Beside him, there were three seats reserved for Taylor, Maisey, and me with blankets and steaming to-go cups of hot chocolate waiting for us. My brows dipped. “What is all this?”

  Taylor grinned, and for the first time since we left Boston, I watched the tension fade from his face and be replaced with something entirely different. Nerves. And excitement. “Merry Christmas, Paige.”

  He bent, lifting the hot chocolate and placing it in my hands. Then, he wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and kissed me on the nose. Maisey jumped onto the chair beside us and Taylor handed me a program that read “The Boston Ballet Company Presents The Nutcracker {Abridged}”.

  A lump formed in my throat. “Boston Ballet? I-I don’t understand.”

  “Your mother’s dance company,” Taylor said.

  “Yeah, I know that. But—”

  “You said last year how you wished more than anything you could bring your students to see a production like this one. Like the one you watched your mother star in long ago.”

  I did say that. But this was… elaborate. Even for Taylor. “Did you seriously arrange for my mother’s dance company to perform for all my past students?”

  He smiled and I loved the small wrinkles that formed around his eyes.

  “Well, I couldn’t bring all your students to Boston… but I was able to call in a favor. And it turns out, the director of the ballet company remembered your mom. I guess he was one of the dancers in that production she filled in for.”

  I blinked back tears as Taylor leaned over, opening the program for me. On the first page was a picture of my mother in an arabesque as Clara with a caption below it, dedicating tonight’s performance to her.

  I hadn’t seen The Nutcracker in years. Not since I was little and my mom took Scott and me. I couldn’t bring myself to go without her. Tears burned hot against my closed eyelids and I sniffled, opening them again as a single tear fell onto the open program, landing on my mom’s face. She was here with me. I could feel her here.

  I took my seat, swiping at a stray tear that rolled down my cheek. Scott leaned over to quickly take my hand.

  A man stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand. “Thank you so much for having us here tonight. I’m Shawn Preston, President of Boston Ballet. I’m not going to lie… I was hesitant when I first received a message a few months ago from the Patriots Tight End, Mr. Taylor Wilson, asking my company to do a one-night show in this little town of Maple Grove. First of all, I didn’t know football players even knew ballerinas existed.” A low rumble of chuckles rolled through the audience.

  “But then, I realized… Maple Grove. I’d heard of that town before. One of Boston Ballet’s star dancers moved there many, many years ago. I watched her fill in flawlessly twenty-seven years ago as our Clara. And sure enough, when he told me it was for his girlfriend—Paige Williams, I knew immediately. Victoria Williams. Our Vicki. Or should I say… our Clara.”

  His gaze fell to me in the front row and I didn’t bother wiping away my tears anymore. They were coming too fast. Silently streaming down my cold cheeks. “I haven’t seen you two in years,” he said glancing between Scott and me. “The last time was when you were maybe four and your mom played Clara for us one last time in a pinch because our prima ballerina
hurt her ankle on preview night. I hope we can make tonight just as magical for you. For all of you.”

  He stepped aside, and looked at Taylor, giving a little nod. I felt, rather than heard Taylor’s deep exhale and he stood, climbing the stairs to center stage.

  What was he doing? My heart fluttered as he turned, taking the microphone and faced me. “Most of you know I play for the Patriots. I’m constantly surrounded by testosterone. Sports. Balls—no pun intended. I hear all kinds of talk from my teammates about the holidays and their families. I even hear some of them complain about their in-laws. It’s like a running joke—who has the worst in-laws.” He paused, pressing his lips together and tucking his four fingers into his front pocket. I smiled at the action because it was so adorable. It was a nervous tick he had, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. And I loved that I was only one of a few people who knew that about him.

  “I just have to shake my head when I hear that. Don’t they know how lucky they are? They get to meet, to hug, to shake the hands of the people who created the person they love most in the world.” His crystal blue eyes connected to mine and his voice cracked. “Neither of us will get to know our future mothers-in-law. I’ll never get to dance with my mom at my wedding. You’ll never get to shop for your wedding gown with yours. But I feel like I know your mom, despite never officially being introduced as your boyfriend. I know your mom even though I haven’t spoken to her in well over thirteen years. I see her in the kindness you show to strangers—a testament to how you were raised. I see her in the way you add a pinch of nutmeg to your coffee, just like she taught you to do. I see her in your love of the arts and the way you nurture that love in other kids and students. The same way she nurtured it in you.”

  I stood, walking toward the steps to the stage, unable to sit any longer. Unable to be benched and on the sidelines of this. I needed to be in front of him. I needed to touch him. To hold him.

  Still holding the microphone, Taylor made his way down the stairs and paused in front of me, taking my hand in his. “I may have not known your mom well when she was alive… but I feel like I know her now. And if she were here today, I would ask for her blessing to do this.”

  He lowered onto one knee, pulling a small velvet box out of his back pocket. “You saved me, Paige. I didn’t know how to be in a family. I’d forgotten how to be a friend, a boyfriend, a son, a brother until you re-entered my life. You taught me how to trust again. By finding my way back to you, I actually found my way back to myself. And now, I never want to be without either again. Paige Williams, will you marry me?” He flipped open the box, but I barely even looked at the ring. It could have been a twist-tie for all I cared. And through my tear-filled eyes, I couldn’t have seen it anyway.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Of course I will.”

  He stood, sliding a cold band onto my finger. Around us, I could hear clapping and sniffling, but it sounded distant. Like the world around us was falling away.

  I pushed onto my toes, hugging him hard. Then, pressing my lips to his ear, I whispered, “You know what this is, right?”

  His rough chuckle bounced his chest against mine. “Don’t say it—”

  “A Christmas Miracle,” I joked, laughing.

  He smiled, too, shaking his head in spite of our running joke. “This wasn’t a miracle, Paige.”

  “No? Then what was it?”

  He bent down, kissing the tender skin just below my ear before whispering, “This was fate.”

  Want more from Maple Grove? If so, here’s a sneak peek of Capturing You!

  Welcome to Maple Grove, where the temperature might be freezing cold, but inside, it’s steaming hot!

  Prologue

  THE EDGE OF the heavy card stock bit into Lydia Ryder’s palm as she gripped the pamphlets. Numbness crept up her body, beginning with her toes until it nearly swallowed her.

  “There are alternatives when and if you’re ready to be a mother. Premature ovarian failure doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t have children. There are plenty of options. In vitro, adoption...” Dr. Seaver’s voice faded into the recesses of Lydia’s mind. Even though the doctor only stood only a few feet away, it may as well have been miles.

  Lydia stared, hypnotized by the pamphlet in her hand. Coping with Infertility...

  She wasn’t even thirty years old, too focused on her photojournalism career to consider a serious relationship, much less a family. Hell, she didn’t even know if she wanted children, and yet here she was—with nature making the choice for her.

  “Depression can be very common in the wake of a discovery like this. I’m referring you to a therapist—someone you can talk to. And in the meantime, we’ll start you on estrogen therapy. You’ll feel a lot better once your hormones are balanced. Lydia... are you listening?”

  She jumped at the weight of Dr. Seaver’s palm on her shoulder. With rapid fire blinks, she raised her gaze to the gynecologist. “Yes. Yes, I’m listening. Thank you, Dr. Seaver.”

  She pushed off of the exam table, hiking her leather camera bag and laptop case onto her shoulder and draping her blazer over an arm. Taking the prescriptions the doctor held out, Lydia tucked it into her

  purse along with the folded pamphlet.

  There was another few minutes of chatting, but she could barely focus enough to listen. It was as though she was submerged in water, straining to hear those above her.

  When she left the building, the roar of New York City traffic was like white noise, as comforting as the sound of waves crashing or crickets chirping.

  The prescriptions and pamphlet—merely three pieces of paper— weighed heavily in her purse. It was a boulder on her shoulder. Moisture welled in her eyes, the tears burning like acid, but she blinked them back. She would not mourn. She would not cry over something she never had and didn’t know she even wanted.

  With a glance at her watch, she felt the relief that she wasn’t yet late for Noah Blue Tripp’s press conference. She passed by a Newsstand off of Hudson; that horrible article that her name was now attached to sat front and center, nestled between People and Us Weekly. Noah Blue: Hot Actor, Cold Heart. She cringed at the cover; at the differences between the portrait she took, a smiling Noah against a simple white backdrop, paralleled against the dingy, dark photo that the ghost writer had found of him drunk at a club.

  It was her first ever mainstream magazine article. She understood why the Daily View wanted one of their veterans ghosting her. But did they have to so utterly botch her article?

  Not to mention the fact that they used off the record information. By the time Lydia had read the new copy, the article had already gone to print and it was too late. The ghost writer claimed that it would be their word against Noah’s.

  She pushed on, ignoring that queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. To make matters worse, a rival magazine, City Star, saw the Noah Blue article and liked it so much that they offered her a full time job.

  She hadn’t said no, but she also hadn’t said yes. Gotcha journalism and TMZ reporting was the last thing she had expected her life to become when she graduated with her BFA in photography and writing. Her throat tightened, sweat forming beneath her button down shirt as June’s hot sun beat down on her. But now? These medical bills were going to add up if she didn’t get on a better insurance plan. And how often did photographers get the opportunity for salaried jobs with paid vacation and sick days? It was a good opportunity; even if she only did it for a short time to pay off some bills. Lydia pushed her eyes to the ground, watching carefully as she huffed down the city sidewalk toward the press conference. The building was just ahead—a tall, corporate looking building that was plopped right in the middle of the West Village’s old city charm.

  She froze, waiting at the stop light from across the street as city traffic whizzed by. She blinked as dark hair, olive skin and dimples came into view. Noah Blue. Standing just outside the building, talking to another man. Oh, God, she felt sick about what had happen
ed. The Daily View using that story about his sister-in-law’s funeral was just appalling. And even though the magazine’s lawyers had warned her to stay far away from him, she just couldn’t. She owed him an explanation; an apology.

  The light turned green and she rushed forward as Noah walked into the coffee shop that was in the lobby of the building. Her laptop and camera bag bumped her hip with each bouncing step. What the hell was she even going to say? What could she say?

  She shook the doubtful feelings away. It didn’t matter. She needed to apologize; even if it opened herself up to a lawsuit. She needed to look this man in the eyes and tell him that she had nothing to do with that story—but even still, that she was sorry.

  She pushed through the glass doors as the familiar smell of heady arabica wafted around her. Scanning the bustling cafe, she looked for those signature blue eyes and dimples that made Noah Blue Tripp famous. How did he manage to disappear so quickly? There was a huge

  line of people waiting to place their orders. Then again, he was a star... maybe they let him through to the front of the line? She weaved her way through the crowd, just in time to see a glimpse of Noah getting on the elevators in the lobby.

  Damn. But maybe it was better this way. She didn’t even want to go to this press conference—she knew exactly what happened with that article. What else was there to learn?

  That nauseous feeling flooded her core once more and she leaned against the wall beside the restroom door. Was it the hormones Dr. Seaver had injected her with today? Or was that her stupid conscience rearing its head? Either way, it felt horrible. She felt horrible.

  Pushing off the wall, Lydia turned and reached for the bathroom door just as it swung open. A broad-shouldered man in a plain white T-shirt and perfectly fitted jeans barreled toward her. He didn’t look up as he shook his hands of water. Defined