by Caroline Lee
Thinking over her words, he had to nod. Then, chuckling dryly, he shook his head. “Empires, eh? Resting on my laurels?”
“Enjoying your golden years,” she added with a wink, which made him warm.
“I confess,” he started, his voice a little hoarser than expected, “that the idea of spending my ‘golden years’ with someone is suddenly very appealing.”
Her lovely pale eyes widened, and he wondered if she’d understood the meaning behind his words. He wondered if he understood it himself.
Before he could figure out what to say next—change the subject or push her more—the waiter arrived to clear their plates and present him with the bill. Andrew was distracted, offering payment, and when Christa pushed her chair away from the table and stood, he figured that meant she was done with the meal.
But not done with him hopefully.
“May I walk you back to your—to the boardinghouse?” he asked hopefully, sounding—and feeling—like an infatuated schoolboy once more.
From the pink staining her cheeks, and the way she didn’t quite meet his eyes, but peeked up at him from her lashes, he thought maybe she didn’t mind him sounding like that.
She didn’t speak as he helped her into her coat—noting its threadbare condition and wondering what money she spent on herself—but when he offered his arm, she tucked herself against him as if she belonged there.
And maybe she did.
Despite this being their first dinner together, and their first chance to talk, Andrew realized he very much wanted her to belong with him. He wanted to spend more dinners flirting with her, wanted to hear her thoughts on—on everything.
As they stepped out into the cold December night, she bumped her shoulder against his as if they were old friends. When he raised a brow at her, she smiled teasingly.
“You promised to tell me all about Max, you know.”
He sighed theatrically, his breath making great clouds of mist in front of them as they walked. “A beautiful dinner with an intriguing woman, and she asks about another man.”
Giggling, she knocked her shoulder against him again, then pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
For warmth, likely, he reminded himself.
Still, it made him feel ten feet tall and thirty years younger.
So, in their remaining time together, he told her everything he knew about Max such as his horse ranch with Dmitri Volkov and everything else Andrew could think of. She nodded and hummed thoughtfully, and he had the impression she was taking mental notes.
All too soon, they’d reached the strange purple boardinghouse with the garish decorations, the one he swore he couldn’t recall seeing before. But it seemed unimportant at that particular moment.
He led her up onto the porch, pulled her hands from the crook of his arm, and held them in his own gloved hands. Even through the soft leather, he swore he could feel her warmth. When she exhaled, the puff of condensation between them was scented with Briar MacKinnon’s apple pie spices, and Andrew found himself leaning forward, wanting to taste the same.
No. No, it was their first dinner together. Surely it was too soon to kiss her?
Instead, he lifted her hands and placed a chaste kiss atop the worn wool covering the backs of them.
“Christa, I appreciate you being willing to bargain with me by coming out for dinner in exchange for information about Max.” Her lips twitched, but she didn’t say anything, and he got the impression she was holding her breath. “But now I ask for another deal.”
“Five-card stud?” she quipped.
His smile was soft. “Come out to dinner with me again, Christmas Harrington, but this time, don’t demand to speak about Max, or any other man. Let us just speak about…about you and me. Allow me to introduce you to my family. Allow me to escort you to Everland’s holiday celebrations. Allow me to…” He shrugged. “Allow me to woo you please.”
She stared up at him, her pale eyes difficult to read in the darkness. But finally, he saw a flash of teeth, and he found himself releasing his breath.
In his hands, her grip twisted until she was holding him. She moved his hand until it was touching her face, and then she pressed it against her cheek.
They stood like that in silence for a long moment—him holding her in the darkness—before finally she exhaled. “I think, Andrew, that I might like that very, very much.”
She slipped away, and he saw the front door open and close quietly.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, tipped his head back, and smiled up at the stars.
Merry Christmas indeed.
Chapter 6
Christa should have been working. Lord knew Doc kept peering at her and asking how she was enjoying her time with “Mr. Prince.” That must be a sign she knew Christa wasn’t actually working on getting Sibyl Miller and Max DeVille together and was judging her.
Was she going to lose her chance at being a godmother?
The problem was, with Sibyl out of town, there was only so much she could do, short of cornering Max and being upfront with him about her plans. And The Book was very clear on that.
Under no circumstances should both parties know of your involvement. Well, your involvement is probably okay, as long as at least one of them thinks you’re a kook. The point is, you can reveal yourself to your client—usually a girl—as her Godmother, but if you declare yourself his Godmother as well, it’s a bit of a conflict of interest, isn’t it?
Sometimes it was clear Doc had written The Guide to Godmothering.
So Christa had to figure out a way to meet Max, subtly. But time was running out. Because, as The Book said:
No one is certain what makes holidays particularly romantic, but it’s impossible to deny that our Godmothering becomes easier around certain auspicious times of the year. The New Year (Hogmanay for some, the solstice for others), Valentine’s Day, the Fourth of July in America (in all other countries, the date remains just a date), Thanksgiving, Arbor Day for some reason, and Christmas are powerfully romantic times of the year. Endeavor to wrap up your clients’ romance by one of those holidays, although Arbor Day always seemed a bit silly to me, not that anyone asked.
It was the same thing the Godmothers had explained to Christa: Sibyl needed to be in love, and preferably engaged, by Christmas. Which was only a few days away.
Shoot.
Well, if Sibyl didn’t come home soon, Christa would find an excuse to meet Mabel Miller DeVille and ask her when her younger sister was returning. Of course, after all the stories she’d heard about Mabel’s terrible behavior, maybe Sibyl wouldn’t bother telling her sister her plans.
Look, if she’s not home by Christmas or New Years, you can arrange a Valentine’s romance for her and Max. Easy-peasy.
Besides, there’s not much she could do right now, so why not go out and enjoy herself?
With Andrew.
Yes, of course with Andrew. What better way to get to know her new town, and its citizens, than with someone who clearly loved the place? He was more than willing to introduce her to everyone, and he positively glowed with pride when he did so.
Right. That’s why you’re doing it? For research purposes?
Exactly.
Not because it feels oh-so-good to be holding his arms and laughing with him?
Well…that part didn’t hurt.
Maybe that was why Doc kept peering at her over the top of her glasses and humming all judgmentally.
“Do you mind if we stop in here on the way to luncheon?”
Christa was jerked out of her reverie by Andrew’s polite question. She glanced up to see the sign for Crowne’s Mercantile and smiled. “Not at all. I’ve been meaning to visit.”
“Excellent.”
He tucked her arm closer and pushed the door open. The bell made a cheerful little jingle, and Christa gratefully inhaled the warmer, pine-scented air.
“This place is amazing!” she whispered, looking around wide-eyed.
The s
tore was compact, with bins of a little bit of everything organized neatly in rows. Someone had taken the time to decorate with cheerful pine boughs and red bows, which lent an air of Christmas festivity to the entire place. There were three dogs lounging in front of a wood-burning stove, and a strange network of taut ropes were strung a little above head height throughout the store.
Andrew pushed the door shut and winked at her. “The place isn’t even the best part. Come along. Hallo?” he called, as he led her toward the back counter.
A pretty woman with coal-black hair and a baby strapped to her chest poked her head around a display. “Andrew! Merry Christmas!”
“Good morning, Mrs. Crowne,” Andrew offered formally, doffing his tall hat. Christa’s lips twitched at his formality, especially when the younger woman blushed and scoffed.
“Christa, this is Ella Crowne, the mistress of this remarkable establishment. Ella, this is my—my friend, Christa Harrington.”
Ella smiled kindly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Christa. May I call you that? You must call me Ella. Any ‘significant-pause-friend’ of Andrew’s is a friend of ours!” She laughed, then patted her baby’s bottom. “And this is Ariel, who finally has gotten to sleep.”
“Is she still teething?” Andrew asked kindly, and Ella shook her head.
“Her top tooth finally popped through, thank goodness.”
“Ariel and her older brother, Eric, are almost as handsome as my grandchildren,” Andrew offered in a false whisper to Christa, who smothered her chuckle in her hand, even as Ella laughed outright.
“Eric is playing with his trains in the back or he’d be out here demanding you buy him C-A-N-D-Y.”
Christa was peering around. “He must have remarkable hearing, if you’re worried enough to spell it.”
“That child can sense an opportunity for a peppermint stick from a mile away.”
“Candy?” A tousled head popped out from the rear of the store, and both Andrew and Christa chuckled as the little boy’s eyes lit up. “Mister Prince!”
Andrew released her arm to drop to his haunches and accept the boy’s hug.
“Are you gonna buy me candy? Please? Please? I’ve been good!”
“Have you now?” Andrew hummed and exchanged a glance with the lad’s mother, who rolled her eyes and smiled. “Tell you what. Maybe your mother would add a peppermint stick to my order, and I might just happen to leave it here with her. When she deems that you have been good enough for a piece of candy, she may give it to you.”
The lad cheered and threw his arms around Andrew’s neck once more. When the man stood, cradling Eric against him, Christa’s heart gave a little squeeze.
She’d never wanted children, not really. She had plenty of nieces and nephews, and saw no need to bear her own child, not when there were so many around her who needed love. But seeing Andrew holding a child made her insides do funny things.
From the rear of the store came the sound of a door slamming, and a man called out, “Whew! It’s colder than a witch’s—”
“Ian!” Ella interrupted sharply, calling toward the other room. “Eric is listening, and we have customers!”
A man chuckled, and Christa was surprised when he appeared. His hair was the same russet as his son’s, and he peered at the world through spectacles. His most notable feature, however, was his missing right leg below the knee. He used the tautly strung ropes to support himself instead of a crutch.
“Andrew!” he called with a big grin. “I’ve got your tobacco right here!” He reached under the counter and pulled out a small, wrapped package. “Been hoping you’d stop by.”
“Christa,” Andrew said, including her in the conversation, “this is Ian Crowne, the proprietor of this store and a good friend. Ian, this is Christa Harrington.”
Ian, who had propped his hip against the counter for support, nodded politely to her. “Welcome to Everland, Miz Harrington. Merry Christmas.”
It was impossible not to feel jolly in this place, and Christa was smiling as she murmured her thanks and watched Andrew allow Eric to choose a peppermint stick. Then he set the lad down to run back to his trains as he paid for the candy and his tobacco.
“Have the other items I ordered been delivered yet?” Andrew asked as he accepted his change.
Ian winked. “Not yet, but I’ll send word as soon as they are. It’s only been a week since you ordered, but I’m hopeful they’ll arrive before Christmas.”
Andrew seemed to be particularly interested in putting away his money, because he didn’t meet Christa’s eyes. But on the other hand, she’d only known him a short while, and only been out and about with him a few times since last week and their first dinner they’d shared. He wasn’t obligated to tell her everything about his life.
Behind her, the bell over the door tinkled merrily, and she turned to see a boy—much older than Eric—push inside, then hold the door open for a couple who she decided must be his parents.
“Merry Christmas, Eddie!” Ella called out, and the boy, who was not yet a teenager, but close, turned to beam at her.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Crowne! We’re here to pick out a new hat.”
“Yes, someone lost his while playing with Jack Horner and Tom Tucker down at the lake when they should’ve been working,” his mother said with a twitch of her lips, as she led her husband down the aisle.
When Christa got a good look at the husband, she managed to refrain from sucking in a startled gasp, but just barely. The man might’ve once been handsome, but his face had been mangled by some sort of terrible disaster which had taken his eyes. The skin had healed over the empty sockets, leaving him appearing out of proportion.
Andrew noticed her reaction, even if no one else did. “Christa, this is Vincenzo and Arabella Bellini, and their son, Eddie. Arabella runs our local bookstore, which you might’ve seen, and Vincenzo is a world-famous violinist.”
“Retired,” the other man interrupted, his voice lovely and deep, with just a hint of an accent she couldn’t place.
As his wife led him to the counter, Christa could tell the man had a remarkable sense of spatial awareness. She cleared her throat. “Retired or not, I’m pleased to meet someone so famous.”
When he grinned, Vincenzo was almost handsome again. He offered a flourishing bow, unerringly pointing toward her voice. “Charmed, my lady.”
“Vincenzo, try to remember you’re married,” Andrew cautioned with a chuckle, although his wife had rolled her eyes and dropped his arm. “This is Christa Harrington, and she’s mine.”
Maybe he hadn’t meant it to sound that way. Or maybe, from the way Vincenzo cocked his head to one side and seemed to study them both from behind empty lids, Andrew had meant it exactly that way.
Regardless, his words caused a frisson of something to climb up her spine, then down again.
Finally, the blind man smiled. “Then I am doubly charmed, Christa. I shall call you Christa and insist on being friends. Arabella, we have a new friend!”
From where she was now chatting with Ella, his wife looked up and sent them a smile. “Welcome to Everland. We’ll have to have you over for dinner.”
Everyone was so…friendly. Everyone.
Christa smiled, certain she could be very happy here in this little town.
Happy enough you could skip poker?
She started, realizing for the first time that she’d been in Everland almost two weeks now and hadn’t considered going back to The Gingerbread House for another game. Of course, for the first few days, she’d been researching, and for the last week, she’d been…
…gallivanting about with Andrew?
I was going to say, “…dressed as a woman,” but I suppose that works.
Same thing.
Her lips tugged into a smirk at her own inner argument, willing to admit her foolishness to herself at least. Yes, she hadn’t thought about the poker table because she’d been having so much fun with Andrew. As a woman.
For the first
time in a long while, she, well, she felt like a woman. Not just the dress she was wearing, but by the way he treated her. Andrew made her feel beautiful and desirable. And heaven knew the desire she was feeling toward him was all sorts of womanly.
He wasn’t relying on her the way her family did. He wasn’t sitting across from her at the poker table—not anymore at least—cursing her for winning again. He was just treating her like a lady, and she found she enjoyed it.
Very much.
Around her, the conversation had turned to the upcoming Christmas celebrations, and she learned she’d hear Vincenzo play at church.
“He’s really remarkable,” Ian said teasingly, “but don’t tell him I said that.”
“I’m blind, not deaf,” Vincenzo quipped blandly. “And you ought to hear Eddie play. He’s really inherited— I mean, the lad is talented.”
Christa wondered if anyone else had caught his stumble and vowed to learn the story of Vincenzo and Arabella’s courtship as soon as possible.
“Speaking of Eddie,” Andrew rumbled by her side, “it appears he’s found a hat.”
“Can I get this one, Mother?”
Arabella patted Ella on the arm and turned to study her son. “I suppose that will be fine. It’s a bit big, but we won’t have to buy a new one next year, assuming this one makes it that long.”
“Yes,” the boy said, trying to sound more mature than he was, especially with a too-big-hat cocked over one eye, “that’s what I thought as well.”
Vincenzo chuckled. “Well, it looks wonderful to me.” When Eddie laughed and rolled his eyes, his father called flamboyantly, “Tally it up, Ian! And add in some of those peppermint sticks I can smell! We need more Christmas in our house!”
Laughing, Arabella placed a few more purchases on the counter. “These as well please. Vincenzo refuses to eat my baking since Gordy married Briar—they still insist on delivering treats to him—but the man will have to put up with my pie crust on Christmas, whether he likes it or not.”
“Oh, horror!” Vincenzo shuddered, but it was false enough to make Christa turn her head and press her face against Andrew’s shoulder to hide her giggle.
