by Naima Simone
“Yes, I’m Nessa Hunt,” she replied to his mother, belatedly shaking the other woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you...”
“Billie Dennison, though most everyone calls me Moe. Don’t ask. Long story.” She held up a hand, shaking her head on a laugh. “My family and I own and run Kinsale Inn, and I’m thrilled you’ve decided to stay with us through the holidays. You couldn’t have chosen a more fun and beautiful time of year to visit Rose Bend, although each season in the Berkshires holds its own special beauty. C’mon,” she chattered on, cupping Nessa’s elbow in a surprisingly strong grip for such a slim woman.
Billie Dennison led Nessa over to the big breakfast table next to a bank of windows that almost reached to the ceiling. Nessa glanced through the delicate white curtains to glimpse a broad porch, a couple of rockers, an old-fashioned swing and beyond, a field and trees. Sooo many trees.
A Starbucks. Was it bad form to offer up a perennially cranky preteen for just one Starbucks latte macchiato? Yeah, probably.
Dammit.
“You sit here and let me get you something to eat. You must be starved after your drive from...Boston, right?” Billie continued, dragging out a chair from the table and guiding Nessa into it with the efficiency of a mother who’d no doubt performed the same action many times before.
“Please, you don’t have to go to any trouble, Mrs. Dennison—”
“Moe,” the other woman corrected, patting Nessa’s shoulder. “And it’s no trouble at all, believe me.”
“Wolf already explained that we’re on our own for lunch—”
“Which is normally true,” she interrupted again, but with such a warm smile, Nessa, who usually hated the shit out of that, couldn’t take offense. “But since this is your first day with us and you’re our only guests so far, I’ll make an exception. It won’t be anything fancy, of course. But it’ll be filling.” With another smile and pat, she strode to her son to cup his face. “Good to know you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you about front-of-the-house service,” she teased, and Wolf grunted in response.
“I think what you meant to say was thank you,” he replied, and though he was talking to his mother, his low rumble vibrated through Nessa. A spark of resentment flashed through her. She wanted no part of him rumbling or vibrating anywhere near her.
“Now, Nessa—do you mind me calling you Nessa?” Moe asked, tugging open the refrigerator door.
Normally, yes, she would’ve. Informality, casualness. She didn’t do that. Hell, most of her coworkers called her by her last name. Her closest friend had been her mom. For years, Evelyn Reed had been Nessa’s rock, her security... Nessa hadn’t needed anyone else. Hadn’t trusted anyone else. Especially after Isaac left. But for some reason, telling this gregarious, kind woman that no, she couldn’t be that familiar with her seemed—she didn’t know—ogre-ish. And, hell, part of her wasn’t ashamed to admit that Billie “Moe” Dennison kind of scared her. All that damn...cheer.
“No, Nessa is fine,” Nessa said.
Moe grinned at her before the upper half of her body disappeared behind the steel fridge door. “Now, it seems like my Wolf gave you a rundown of the schedule, but did he give you a tour?”
“No, we didn’t do that yet.”
“Well, no worries. If you’d like, we can do that after lunch.” She reappeared, arms full of clear containers and produce. “How do you feel about homemade roast beef sandwiches?” She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing on Nessa. “I don’t remember any dietary specifications on your reservation.”
“No, Ivy and I are both carnivores and eat all the gluten,” she said, earning a chuckle from Moe and another cavemanlike grunt from her son. A grunt that did nothing to her nipples or belly, thank you very much. “But really, you don’t have to bother.”
“It’s no bother, and you aren’t either.” She started popping lids, then turned to the stove. Pans rattled. In moments, the mouthwatering aroma of warming meat and simmering gravy filled the air, and Nessa’s stomach rumbled its approval. “As I was saying earlier, you’ve chosen a wonderful time to visit with us. The Yulefest is one of our most loved traditions. We’ve celebrated it since I married and moved here, so like ten years ago.” Moe glanced up from her stirring to shoot a pointed look in Nessa’s direction that dared her to dispute the statement.
Biting her lip, Nessa valiantly maintained a deadpan expression. “Wow, that long, huh?”
From his lean on the wall, Wolf snorted, crossing his arms across his massive chest. “That in dog years?”
“The spoon, boy,” she said. No, threatened. Yep, definitely a threat.
But from the grin that flashed in Wolf’s beard, he didn’t appear particularly frightened.
“Uh, hi.”
Nessa twisted around in her chair, facing the kitchen entrance. Ivy stood in the doorway, her small frame stiff, shoulders a little hunched, and her usual sullen expression firmly in place. After Wolf had dropped off their luggage, they’d retreated to their “corners.” Ivy had claimed the window seat, plopped in her earphones and glued her eyes to her phone. Nessa had settled on the huge sleigh bed, picked up the remote and switched on the television.
But soon, the warmth from both the central heating and the fireplace that someone had thoughtfully lit in preparation for their arrival couldn’t combat the icy chill from the cold war that waged between her and Ivy. At least back home, or back at Isaac’s home, where she’d moved in after his death so Ivy wouldn’t be uprooted, Nessa could go to her room or the living room while Ivy holed up in hers. But here, in this inn permeated with everything that she and Ivy were not—happy, loving, peaceful family—the loneliness seeped into Nessa’s bones like the rain they’d run into on the outskirts of Boston.
With shame dogging her like one of those yippy purse-sized dogs, she’d escaped the room. And something, maybe the low voices—or maybe something more nebulous that her analytical mind objected to—led her to the kitchen. And now it seemed Ivy had found her way here, too.
Moe twisted the knobs on the stove, then crossed the room toward the preteen, wearing the same delighted smile she’d so selflessly given Nessa. Only, she didn’t pump the hug-giving brakes with Ivy.
Worry for the girl trickled through, and Nessa half rose from her chair. Ivy had lost her mother when she’d been way too young, and it’d been her and Isaac for most of her life. God knows Nessa hadn’t been much of a mother figure in the six weeks she’d been in Ivy’s life on a daily basis. Should she go over there? Save her?
“What’s wrong?” Wolf’s cotton-over-gravel voice murmured in her ear, low enough so only she caught it. “Nessa?”
A hand, warm and huge, settled on her back and she jerked, shocked by the...impact of it. An electrical current sizzled through her, penetrating through her black sweater and the thin tank top to her skin underneath. Like a live wire, it crackled over her.
A heavy sense of foreboding settled on her chest, and she struggled to draw in a deep breath. She’d known. In that hallway, she’d known that touching him would mean trouble. And the bolt of lust that left her staring at him like he was her next biggest mistake had alarm bells clanging in her head.
This man might not cradle her cheek with his huge palm or cup her breast with those long, elegant fingers if she ordered him not to touch, but he wouldn’t be as courteous with keeping those stunning green eyes off her.
Wouldn’t be as polite with her heart.
If she let him have access to any part of her.
And now, gazing into the unshielded concern in his eyes and sidestepping the disconcerting warmth of his hand, there was no way in hell she’d be stupid enough to grant that to him.
Not any man again for a long while.
But especially not him. Because something—call it instinct, ESP or the bad coffee from the last stop at that 7-Eleven—whispered he would finish the job Jeremy
had started. And where her ex had left wreckage, Wolfgang Dennison wouldn’t even leave ashes in his wake.
“Nessa?” He didn’t try to touch her again, but his scrutiny and roughened-silk voice were almost a physical caress. She forced herself to refocus on Ivy.
Dammit. What kind of big sister did that make her? Well, if she were truly her big sister, instead of a sad impostor. She stepped forward, intent on rescuing the girl, but the older woman released Ivy from her embrace and shifted backward.
Slipping an arm around Ivy, Moe led her to the table. “I can definitely tell you two are sisters. You’re both gorgeous,” Moe continued, unaware of the gut punch she delivered to Nessa. “Now, like I was telling Nessa, you must be starving after traveling all the way from Boston, and with probably nothing more than junk food from convenience stores. I was about to fix her some lunch, and you can join her.”
With the grace of a really nice bulldozer, Moe settled Ivy across from Nessa. The girl wore the same dazed expression Nessa no doubt had minutes earlier.
“Just go with it, Mozart,” Wolf said, smirking. When Ivy glanced at him, he shook his head. “That’s my mother, by the way. She forgot to introduce herself before she smothered you against her bosom. And my advice? It’s easier if you don’t fight it. We just smile, nod and agree around here.”
“Um, okay.” Ivy nodded. “Thank you.”
“Good job, Mozart,” Wolf praised with a low snort. “Now, don’t look her in the eye.”
“The. Spoon.” Moe scowled, jabbing a finger in his huge chest. Turning back to Ivy, she shrugged, a sheepish smile warming her face. “My son is a pain in the—well, never mind, but he does have a point. My name is Billie Dennison, but everyone calls me Moe. I did fail to introduce myself...although this isn’t the first time we’ve met. Which is why I was excited to see you again. Why, you couldn’t have been older than three when you, your father and mom last stayed here. I was so delighted when I realized he’d made another reservation with us.”
Even as Ivy gaped at Moe, shock pummeled into Nessa. Isaac? Here, with Ivy and her mother? Why? And was his visit to the inn—his memories with the family he’d replaced Nessa and Evelyn with—why he’d sent them here? So his daughter—his favorite, his loved daughter—could have one last Christmas in a place where they’d been happy together? This trip wasn’t about Ivy and Nessa bonding. This trip wasn’t about Nessa at all.
As usual, she’d been an afterthought.
No, no. She’d been forgotten. By the only father she’d ever known.
Pain, anger, grief... Jesus. She blinked against the emotion that threatened to sweep her under its deluge. Instead, she focused on Ivy’s elfin face and the brown eyes that lit up with wonder as Moe’s words sank in. A desperate and heartbreaking hunger to hear more about her father burned in the girl’s gaze.
“My dad,” she whispered, voice thick before clearing it. “My dad was here. With my mom? And me?”
“Yes.” Moe lifted an arm, her hand hovering over Ivy’s shoulder. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she gently squeezed it, then released her. “Like I said, years ago. You were a little thing, but I remember you and your parents. It was summer, during the motorcycle rally—”
“Motorcycle rally?” Ivy interrupted, her lips parted in a perfect O.
Moe chuckled. “Yep. We host one of the biggest in the country. And the best, in my opinion,” she added, just a hint of smugness in her tone. Still smiling, she glanced at Nessa. “He mentioned he had an older daughter who he would’ve loved to have brought along...”
“Right,” Nessa drawled, tasting the bitterness on her tongue, hearing it in her voice.
Ivy’s head swung toward her, dark eyes wide with surprise and then a flash of anger. And underneath, betrayal. Betrayal that Nessa had dared malign her precious father. The apology razed a path up her throat, burning a trail onto her tongue. But she didn’t deliver it. Couldn’t. Because though Isaac had claimed to be her father, when he’d walked out on her and her mother, he’d failed to behave like it. So she had the right to be angry with him. The right to call bullshit on the lies he’d uttered so he appeared loving when he’d been an absentee father at best, a neglectful one at worst.
To Nessa.
Never to Ivy.
And dammit, here she was being a bitch again. A jealous, childish bitch.
A hand curved around her shoulder. Squeezed. She didn’t need to glance down to confirm its owner.
Part of her had the urge to shrug off the clasp that struck her as too familiar, too tender, just...too. But the other part... The other part wanted to beg him not to remove his touch. It grounded her. Made her feel solid, real. And God, that made no sense even in her own head.
So she shifted out from under it. Because she did want it.
“Can you tell me more about my dad and mom when they came here? Do you have any pictures? Did he send anything when he made the reservation? Did he leave a message for me?” Ivy’s questions nearly tripped over themselves as they tumbled out of her, her voice rising with unmistakable hope.
Moe’s green eyes softened, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t have any pictures, and he didn’t leave any additional messages when he made the reservation.” She glanced up at Nessa, a helplessness in her gaze.
Yeah, I know the feeling well.
“I’ll be glad to tell you all that I remember about your parents’ visit here, though,” Moe continued when Ivy’s shoulders slumped. “Just come find—” The peal of a phone cut her off and she held up a finger, reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a cell phone. “Excuse me a moment. Hey...All right...Behave yourselves. I’ll see you two later. Love you.” She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket, smiling at Ivy. “Sorry. That was my twins, Sonny and Cher, checking in.”
Sonny and Cher? Nessa jerked around and stared at Wolf, just managing to prevent her jaw from dropping and the “You’re fucking kidding me” from falling out. But she couldn’t do a damn thing about her face.
Wolf mouthed, “I told you so.” And winked.
The man shouldn’t wink. On other men, it was douchey. On him, her ovaries transformed into shameless hussies, throwing their panties at him. Bras, too.
No, he definitely shouldn’t wink.
“Seriously? Sonny? Cher?” Ivy blinked. After a moment, a smile curled her lips. “That’s so cool.”
Moe grinned. “I think so, too.” She headed over to the stove and back to the food she’d been preparing. “They’re headed to the Christmas tree lighting later on this evening. You should go. I can tell them to keep an eye out for you. I think you three would get along famously.”
“More like notoriously,” Wolf muttered.
“Anyway...” Moe shot Wolf a narrow-eyed look as she returned to the table with two plates laden down with bread and thick slices of roast beef covered in steaming gravy. She set one down in front of Nessa and the other before Ivy. “It’s okay if you’re too tired to go tonight, Ivy,” she said, voice gentle. “The town holds events every day for the whole month of December. There will be plenty of things for you to attend.”
“Okay.” Ivy shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll think about it.”
Nessa should leave it alone. After all, the last time Ivy’d been to a lighting had been with Isaac. Hell, maybe she should just let the girl heal on her own time in her own way...
“Not to push and get out my lane, Mozart,” Wolf said, drawing Ivy’s attention. “But from what Moe said, this must’ve been some of the reason your father sent you here, right? So you could enjoy yourself in a town that you and your parents once visited? Maybe the best way to do that is to jump in feetfirst. Christmas isn’t something you ease into.”
Ivy studied Wolf, then nodded and picked up her fork, but not before Nessa caught the glance Ivy slid her from under her lashes. And she caught the yearni
ng in those dark eyes that the preteen would’ve probably sacrificed her precious phone to hide. Especially from Nessa.
But Nessa saw it. And couldn’t ignore it.
Smothering a sigh and mentally whispering an apology to her toes, Nessa propped her crossed arms on the table. “Actually, I’ve never been to a tree lighting, and I’m looking forward to seeing one. If you want to go to it, I’m game.”
“Nessa.” Ivy fiddled with her fork, her gaze on the sandwich in front of her. “You’re serious? You’ll go?”
“Not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean,” Nessa reminded her, and unlike how that had irritated her earlier in the car, now it seemed to assure her.
When Ivy nodded, and softly said, “Okay, I’m in,” relief rushed through Nessa.
“Wonderful.” Moe clapped her hands once and strode back over to the kitchen island. “Let me get back to this shepherd’s pie. No one’s leaving this house tonight without full bellies. You’re all going to need it out in that cold. No hot chocolate can do what my cooking can,” she muttered.
Wolf snorted, and Nessa glanced at him. His green eyes glimmered with amusement, but when they connected with hers, the humor dimmed, softening with a warmth she didn’t quite understand.
She also didn’t grasp the meaning of the jolt of crackling electricity in her chest at the sight of it.
Inappropriate. That’s what it was. Because she had no business feeling anything for a complete stranger. You’re here to fulfill your absentee father’s dying wish. That’s what she needed to focus on. Well, that and making it through the next month with a moody preteen without inciting the next world war.
She sighed, picking up her fork and digging into the delicious sandwich on her plate.
If she were going to survive this, she was going to need a lot of hot chocolate.
A lot of hot chocolate laced with a shit ton of whiskey.
Four
SHE’D SAID IT BEFORE, and she’d say it again...
