Holiday Kisses

by Anna J. Stewart

  “We’re all manipulative when it comes to things we care about. Convincing others to see our point of view, showing them that view.” He shifted his gaze to the glossy blue sky and ocean at the edge of the grove. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. If anything, it shows what you’re passionate about.”

  “I’m passionate about a lot of things.”

  Xander tugged her forward and looped his arm around her waist. He held onto her gently, wondering if the hand she’d planted between them, against his chest once again, was to push him away...or pull him closer.

  “I’d have to be a blind man not to see that.” He dipped his head, kept his eyes locked on hers as he brushed his lips against her mouth. At her gasp of surprise, he expected her to walk away, maybe even run, but no. Calliope Jones wasn’t a woman who ran away from anything. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

  “It’s likely you never will again.” He caught a flash of wry humor on her face, but her down-to-earth authenticity rang true. “I am the only me there is.”

  It was all Xander could do not to laugh in relief. Something told him one Calliope Jones in the world was more than enough. He lowered his gaze to her mouth, to the lip she’d caught between her teeth. How he wanted to kiss her again. Really kiss her to see if she tasted as sweet and tempting as he imagined. As much as he longed to find out, he couldn’t bear knowing. He couldn’t take the chance that kissing Calliope Jones would prove what he already suspected—that she was unforgettable.

  “How about the rest of that view?” Fighting against the desire pushing him toward her, he instead took a deep breath and filled his lungs and mind with the scent of endless spring showers of flowers and rain. A scent he would forever connect to this amazing, transfixing, entrancing one-of-a-kind woman.

  “It’s pretty overwhelming.” Calliope relaxed her hands and let her arms drop to her sides. She stepped away, as if understanding and agreeing with his assessment. There couldn’t be anything between them. There was too much in their way, not the least of which was geography. He was a city man, from his product-pampered head to his designer-label shoes. And Calliope Jones was the human equivalent of Mother Nature herself. “Are you sure you can take it?”

  He grinned at the challenge that had returned to her voice. “If I fall you can catch me, right?”

  “Of course.” She reached up and brushed feather-light fingers against his forehead to push the hair from his eyes. “But I have faith in you, Xander Costas. Maybe even more than you have in yourself.”

  * * *

  CALLIOPE WAS LIVING her dreams.

  Not in the way normal people did, not in the I’ve-accomplished-my-goals kind of way.

  No. In Calliope’s case, standing within the dual embrace of the eucalyptus trees and Xander’s arms, she knew she’d been here before.

  She’d seen the face of the boy he’d been. She knew that the instant she’d met him, but did she recall seeing the face of the man she would one day come to love? Was that what her subconscious had been trying to tell her the day he’d arrived, as she’d watched him from the cliff top?

  Life before Xander Costas seemed so...clear. So unencumbered despite the difficulties she’d faced—difficulties many people faced on a daily basis. But try as she might, she still couldn’t see past a day and what those days might hold.

  Other than she longed to be held. Again. By him and only him.

  Which scared Calliope to the very marrow of her bones.

  He was steel to her grass. Unbendable to her pliability. Cemented in the world he helped to construct, while she thrived near the earth that had given her everything she ever needed. And yet...

  “If today doesn’t give me anything to work with, I don’t know what will.”

  Xander’s voice broke through Calliope’s thoughts. She glanced up as they stepped out of the grove. She offered a silent word of thanks to her butterflies for aiding her in her quest for the day.

  With a slow blink of her eyes and lowering of her chin, the trees erupted in a flurry of wings as her butterflies abandoned their leaves to return to the trees at her farm. A manipulation of sorts, she reluctantly admitted. But if it helped get her point across...

  Trees were more than obstacles to construction. They were testaments to time, with their own lives, their own histories and their own purpose. Special consideration should be taken when it came to removing even the most damaging of trees. Special consideration, planning and care.

  That’s all she wanted. For every tree to be given a fair assessment for survival.

  “I don’t mean to be difficult.” Calliope found herself apologizing before she could stop herself. She frowned. Where had that come from?

  “Sure you do.” Xander didn’t seem offended by the notion. “Just like I do. We each have our own motives and goals. Figuring out a way around them is what makes life interesting, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” Why was she surprised to hear that sentiment from his lips? “What are your motives, Xander?” Finally, she could explore Jason’s observations.

  “You mean why did I take this job when I’ve spent most of my life dealing with multimillionaires and country-gobbling conglomerates?”

  “I guess so.” The very idea that’s what he’d done was so foreign to her; she had no frame of reference. And wasn’t entirely sure she wanted one. “I might be wrong, but it feels as if you’re trying to rebuild something. Your family’s business, perhaps?”

  “Forgive me, but I’m not buying that’s something you feel.”

  “Jason mentioned your family is going through a difficult time. He also might have suggested I talk to you rather than expect you to agree with everything I’ve put forward.”

  “I knew I liked that guy.” He stopped short of where he’d left his bag and cell phone, shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back to the trees. “Life seems simpler in there.”

  “It often is,” Calliope agreed. “You don’t have to tell me, Xander. It’s none of my business. But if you do want someone to listen—”

  “There’s no reason for you not to know. Honestly, I was surprised we were even given a shot at this design considering what happened.”

  “Surprised but relieved. This isn’t just about wanting the job.” Harkening back to something Jason had said, she added, “You need it.”

  “You do realize you could make a fortune as a therapist.”

  “And now would be the time to observe that you use humor to deflect your feelings.” She wanted to reach out, to take his hand, to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be okay. But she knew once she touched him, she wouldn’t want to stop. This connection, this whatever it was that tethered them, wasn’t weakening. It was strengthening with every moment they spent together.

  “It’s a family trait. Well, me and my brother at least.”

  “Tell me about your family. And the business, as I’m assuming they are one and the same.”

  “You really didn’t Google me?”

  “I never Google anyone without their permission.”

  That smile of his could light a shore of bonfires.

  “My grandfather started Costas Architecture more than sixty years ago. It was his dream, even before he came to this country, to create buildings that would stand as a testament to his vision. When I was a little boy, Grandpa Nico would take the entire family back to Greece every summer, and every summer, he’d take me and my brother, Antony, up the steps to visit the Acropolis. We’d sit there for hours, looking at every stone, every carving, every inch of that creation and he’d say ‘This is what the Costas name should bring to the world. Eternity. Stability. A statement that what is in here—’” Xander tapped the side of his head “‘—and in here—’” he tapped his heart ‘“—can be out there.’”

  “Your Grandfather Nico believed in being true to oneself.”

>   “He did, actually.” Xander’s smile dipped. “Funny, I never really thought of it that way before. But he made me understand we could do anything we set our minds to. He was so proud of his company, of the fact that the Costas legacy would stand the test of time and be a name known for excellence and superiority when it came to design and construction. Of course, my father followed in his footsteps, and then myself and Antony.”

  “The brother you endlessly compete with?”

  He nodded. “Although I’ll freely admit he has me beat in one area. He’s already married with two kids and a third on the way. Don’t think I’ve lived that down, yet.”

  “You do seem a rather good catch,” Calliope teased.

  “Never found the right woman.”

  The way he looked at her when he said it had Calliope swallowing hard and wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. But she focused her gaze steadily on his, accepting that which she was beginning to realize she had no resistance for. “You were telling me about the business?”

  “Right. The business. Dad and Antony are the creative force. The ones who can look at a site, then at a piece of paper and see what belongs there. Me? I’m the guy they send to find the clients, pitch the ideas. Close the deal.”

  “You mean you’re the people person?”

  “For most people. I’m betting you enjoy being an exception.”

  She did indeed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t kid.”

  His smile returned and she wondered if he saved it just for her. “I don’t mind. And I will freely admit to being more comfortable schmoozing clients over dinner and drinks than I am playing with a design program trying to come up with ideas.”

  “Yet you got your degree in architecture.”

  “Because that’s what was expected.” He shrugged, as if an extensive education was nothing more than an obligation. “I minored in business. That gave me the excuse to live and work remotely, dividing my time between Chicago and New York, traveling the world. But what I should have been doing was paying closer attention to what was going on at home. Antony tried to tell me he thought our father was taking on too much, overextending himself. He began to find mistakes in Dad’s work. Little things, nothing big, just enough to get those red flags ready to wave. He asked me to come home and talk to Dad with him. That we needed a united front.”

  “Tried to tell you.” Calliope flinched against the waves of regret rolling off Xander. The sense of them was so strong she nearly stumbled back. Instead, she reached out, wrapped her arms around his. Moved in. And absorbed them.

  “I didn’t listen. I was distracted, preoccupied with the next client, the next project. I thought I didn’t have time to go home and that Antony was exaggerating.” He shook his head and focused even harder on the grove. “As if it took a lot of work wining and dining clients, and spending money. I told him everything would be fine. That Dad would know when to back off and retire. In the meantime, Dad’s latest build was about to finish construction. A seven-story apartment building aimed at young professionals with families who didn’t want the commute to the suburbs. Quality living in the downtown with access to everything Chicago has to offer. A few weeks before it was done, part of it collapsed. Pancaked. The pressure brought down the rest of the building in hours and killed two construction workers. The investigation revealed a design flaw. One that Dad and everyone else had overlooked.” Xander cringed.

  “I’m so sorry.” Calliope rested her head on his shoulder. “Your father must have been devastated. All of you must have been.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone look completely defeated, Calliope? There’s this emptiness in their eyes, a hollowness in their face as if they’ve become a ghost of their former selves. My father didn’t try to deny anything. He didn’t fight the lawsuit and told the insurance company to pay out. He insisted we pay for all the funeral expenses, set up college funds for the men’s children. I found out a few months ago he’d paid off both families’ mortgages out of his own pocket. None of it helped him, though. He gave up. Turned in on himself. Turned on himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he brought the stroke on himself. Now all Antony and I can do is try to salvage what we can of the business. Rebuild the faith so many companies had put in us. And take on any project, big or small.”

  “Which is what brought you to Butterfly Harbor.” She could feel the pain rolling inside of him as acutely as if it was her own. “You’re hoping it’ll get the business back on its feet. And maybe show your father there’s a way back too.”

  Xander nodded. “He’s a good man, Calliope. A proud one, but a good one. No matter how busy he was, he found time for us, for each of us, even if it was a few minutes before we went to bed at night. Or he’d wake each of us up early in the morning so we could have breakfast together before he went to work. But I couldn’t do the same for him. I couldn’t find or make the time. Now Antony and I just want to do something for him. As if we can agree on what that is.”

  “You want to rebuild what your grandfather began.”

  “Antony thinks we should sell, not that the company is worth very much at the moment. But if we could manage one or two projects that would put us on the map again...”

  Calliope tried yet again to reconcile the man beside her with the cold, detached drawings of the sanctuary he’d shared in the diner. There was such passion in Xander. Controlled, yes. But simmering beneath that surface of calm. She hadn’t seen it as clearly as she did now, no doubt because her preconceived notions about the man had been clouding her vision. Her intuition. “You didn’t draw them, did you?” She spoke without meaning to. He glanced at her, his brow furrowed.

  “What?”

  “The sanctuary plans you showed me and Gil. They weren’t yours, were they? Antony drew those. Because you asked him to.”

  “How did you—?”

  “That’s why you couldn’t convince us they would work. Because they aren’t you.” So much more made sense now. Her heart swelled, twisted for him. No wonder she hadn’t felt any connection to that building’s plan. It hadn’t been his. Except for the one, small sketch of colored glass in the bottom corner. “Xander, why? If you thought this job could be what you were looking for, why didn’t you present your own ideas?”

  “Because I don’t have any.” Now who looked defeated? “I told you, I’m the closer. The one who collects the checks and writes the contracts. I’m not creative. I don’t think that way. Don’t believe me? Check out the overflowing trash cans in the cabin I’m staying in. I’m a man who quite literally cannot see the forest through the trees.”

  “You’re wrong, Xander.” She let go of his arm and moved in front of him, placed herself in his line of sight and rose up on her toes so he had no choice but to look into her eyes. “If anything, you might be one of the few who honestly can.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  FROM HIS SOLITARY spot at the railing overlooking the harbor, Xander felt the sadness of his Calliope-induced confession session earlier in the day lift. Not because the day—aside from the lone gray cloud circling Butterfly Harbor—was as clear and blue as the Aegean. Not because whatever weight he’d been carrying in his chest had somehow lightened.

  His mood improved because it was impossible not to smile at the sight of Santa Claus disembarking a sailboat called Rudolph’s Nose.

  Poor guy, Xander thought. With the full sun and seventy-five-degree temperature, all those layers of flannel and fill must be acting like a makeshift sauna. Sure enough, as Santa clomped and limped his way up the gangplank, Xander saw dots of perspiration dotting his beard-encased face. That face broke into a smile as the sound of squealing children, yapping dogs and relieved parents exploded down Main Street.

  “Santa’s work is never done,” the man said to Xander as he rested his cane against the railing and bent down to scoop up the tiny toddler wobbling toward him. “If it isn’t Miss Delilah.” Santa bopped
the blonde, chubby little girl on her nose. “Have you come to escort me to my workshop?”

  “’Anta!”

  Santa shifted her onto his hip and retrieved his cane before heading across the street to a storefront fully decked out as Santa’s playland, complete with visiting hours with the big guy.

  Part Pied Piper, part rock star, Santa led the trail of children and parents down to the store. The door opened, and Christmassy jingles floated on the air.

  Xander leaned back against the railing, which had been accented with a lush bough dusted with fine, flaked fake snow. The giant bows and candy canes displayed on the streetlamps and from second-story windows and the cascading lights twinkling and blinking in storefronts all mingled with the sound of ocean waves rattling over stones to create the most distinctive and welcoming setting for the holiday season that Xander had ever seen.

  In the hours since he and Calliope had parted ways, he’d taken the time to explore—really explore—what Butterfly Harbor had to offer. He’d spent over an hour in the hardware store alone, entranced by the old-fashioned but comprehensive offerings that included a post-office annex in the very back. The staff had been friendly and welcoming and had even asked about his plans for the sanctuary.

  The residents had a special place in their hearts and minds for the proposed tourist attraction that could help continue the revitalization of their town. He’d followed that trip with a stop at the ice-cream shop and decided that the honey-lavender ice cream could very well be the best thing he’d eaten in town so far. The antiques store and gift shop provided him with five Christmas gifts, including an antique cameo necklace for his mother, and stunning, handmade butterfly bracelets for his sisters and sister-in-law.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Chicago addiction aside, he was beginning to understand the appeal of slower-paced California living.

  He groaned when his cell rang. He pulled out his phone but this time when he saw Antony’s name on the screen, he didn’t cringe or ignore the call.