by Debbie Mason
“I bought one and my sister bought the other one, but we love them. Honest. Give me the singing Christmas tree cookie jars to display. I promise I won’t buy them.”
Evie understood why. Listening to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” every time someone opened the lid on the plastic tree got on her nerves, and she’d celebrate the holiday year-round if she could. Which she supposed she already did.
“All right.” She moved the cell phone light around the room. “Now I just have to remember where I put them.”
A muffled ping came from Mackenzie’s pocket, and she pulled out her cell phone. “It’s Julia. She’s opening Books and Beans early and needs her cupcakes. Drop the cookie jars off whenever you get a chance,” Mackenzie said as she walked toward the door. She turned back, digging around in her pocket. “I almost forgot. We’ve been collecting signatures for Monday’s meeting. So far we have a hundred names on our petition to save Holiday House.” She handed the papers to Evie. “I’m sure we’ll double that this weekend.”
Evie looked from the list of signatures to Mackenzie. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. This is what friends do for friends.” Mackenzie hugged her. “I’ve gotta go. Let me know if you need more cookies.”
“I will, and thanks. Thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would have done this year without all of you in my corner.”
“It’s us who are grateful to you, Evie. You’re the one who’s led the fight against Wicklow Developments from the beginning. You’ve done all the heavy lifting, and it was for our benefit as much as yours. Now it’s our turn to fight for you and Holiday House. And we’ve got a secret weapon. Rumor has it that Theia Gallagher is like a sister to the CEO of Wicklow Developments, and he can’t refuse her anything. We’ve got this, girlfriend.” Mackenzie gave Evie a fist bump. “Have fun this weekend and forget about Monday.”
Surprisingly, it was easy. With so much to do in such a short amount of time, her mind was kept occupied. And while hauling the candles from the pitch-black storage room took longer than it should have, she’d gotten the job done. It was better than making the terrifying descent into the basement of horrors. Eventually she’d have to ask someone to help her with that. She could play the helpless-little-woman-who-didn’t-know-how-to-change-fuses card, something she hated to do. But if it meant she saved face while at the same time saving herself a trip into her own personal nightmare…
She took one last look around the room, from the candles that flickered on every available flat surface to the flames dancing in the fireplace. Despite being unable to plug in the Christmas lights on the three decorated trees, the room was not only well and safely lit, the ambience was as warm and as inviting as she had hoped. She just needed some music to put her customers in the Christmas shopping spirit. As she went to pull up the holiday playlist on her phone, The Grinch’s theme song, her mother’s ringtone, shattered Holiday House’s happy vibe—and Evie’s.
She was tempted to hit Decline—her morning had been difficult enough—but instead she did what her dad would expect her to. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom!”
“You’re a day late.”
“Well, I know, but remember I told you I’d be busy getting everything ready for the Thanksgiving dinner at the community center yesterday. I did text though.”
“Texts don’t count; nor does a video of dancing turkeys.”
Her dad would have loved it. “I’m sorry. I should have called. Did you have a nice time at Auntie Linda’s?”
“How could I? Her grandchildren were there. They’re spoiled and have no manners.”
Her cousin’s children were adorable and well behaved. It was just that her mother subscribed to the adage that children should be seen and not heard. Evie wondered if she should text an apology to her aunt and cousin. It used to be her dad’s job.
“But that’s not why I called. I received a registered letter from Wicklow Developments regarding the offer they made to buy Holiday House last month.”
Evie’s heart banged against her rib cage. “I don’t know why they sent it to you. It must have been a mistake.”
“I have a fairly good idea why they sent it to me, young lady. They’ve obviously learned that I own shares in Holiday House and wanted to be sure I was apprised of the situation. The situation in which the majority shareholder doesn’t have a shred of business sense. You’re just like your father. Too soft and sentimental. Honestly, I don’t know what possessed me to loan you the money. Now, as soon as I hang up, you are going to call Wicklow Developments and accept their offer.”
“Mom, you don’t understand. They don’t want to buy Holiday House. They want to bulldoze it into the ground.” And that offer would no longer be on the table since they had a ninety-five percent chance of getting their wish without paying a penny, which wasn’t something she would share with her mother.
“So let them. You’re barely eking out a living. Your last quarter—”
Evie hummed The Grinch theme song in her head. Her mother wasn’t shy about sharing her opinion of Evie’s and Holiday House’s shortcomings and did so on a regular basis. Neither of them measured up to her mother’s exacting expectations.
Evie knew it was her own fault for hiring her mom to do her books, but the thing was, if anyone could teach her how to manage inventory, cash flow, and pricing, it was her mother. Lenore Johnson (she’d refused to take her husband’s last name) was a highly regarded accountant who’d won New York’s Outstanding CPA in Industry Award three years in a row.
But more than her mom’s business acumen and advice, Evie had hoped Holiday House would give them something to bond over. Because of course glass-half-full Evie had been positive that she could turn around the family business. And make her mother proud, she thought with a sigh.
“Mom, Holiday House has been in the Christmas family for more than a century. Daddy would want me to do this. You know he would.”
“Of course he would. He was up for any lamebrain scheme you came up with. Remember when the two of you got it into your heads that you’d make a fortune selling candles for the holidays? There’s still a box of them in the spare bedroom. Or what about the time you and your father took up knitting Christmas stockings? Noelle sold them for less than it cost for the wool.”
Evie looked around the shop, wondering if her mom had a spy cam installed. “I was twelve, Mom.”
“Your father was old enough to know better than to encourage you like he did. It’s time you admit defeat and rejoin the real world. How you could up and leave New York and your job at the hospital to run Holiday House, I’ll never know. You have a doctorate in psychology, Evangeline. You were making a decent living. You had benefits and a 401K, and now what do you have? Nothing but—”
At the mention of her old job, Evie headed straight for the front door, unlocked it, opened it, and reached under the Santa attached to the outside of the door to flip his battery to On. Then she began opening and closing the door with Santa ho, ho, ho-ing as she did so. “Sorry, Mom. It’s getting busy. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.” As soon as she disconnected, Evie looked at Santa. “I love you. I really do.”
“Probably a good thing, considering you own a Christmas store,” said a smooth-as-silk male voice.
A tiny shiver of awareness danced inside her. Some women had a thing for handsome faces; she apparently had one for sexy baritones. She turned slowly as she worked to smooth the reaction to his voice from her face. Unlike people who wore their emotions on their sleeve, Evie wore hers on her face. At least that’s what her friends told her.
Whoa. His voice had nothing on his face. Which, if she was reading the slight uptick of his lips that were half-hidden by his beard correctly, he knew exactly what she was thinking. Unless she’d said Whoa out loud instead of in her head. She snorted at herself. The stress must be getting to her. She wasn’t a fan of men with beards. Except he kind of had her revaluating that opinion.
She had
a feeling that, with one look from those incredible blue eyes and that sexy half smile of his, he’d have her reevaluating her opinion on just about everything: like not dating a man until he had a psych evaluation (given by someone other than herself), not sleeping with a man until she’d dated him for at least three months, or like chocolate was better than sex.
Okay, so maybe not everything.
Not that it would matter because he was out of her league. And no doubt, with the length of time she’d been staring at him, she’d now embarrassed herself not once but twice. Possibly three times if she’d said Whoa out loud. She needed to say something, some witty remark to redeem herself.
“Ha ha, yeah, I love my men with beards…White beards, I mean, and jolly. Jolly with big bellies.” What was wrong with her? She should have simply smiled and walked back inside the store. Wait a minute. When had she walked outside?
“Brr, chilly out, isn’t it?” She wrapped her arms around her waist and pretended she hadn’t responded to the siren call of his voice and face and had instead come outside to check her window display. “Okay, everything looks good from here.” She tapped the glass. “I’d better get back inside. Nice, ah…” It had been a one-sided conversation, and she couldn’t say looking at you, even though it was true. “Have a good day.”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he walked around her to hold open the door. She glanced at the Red Sox ball cap he wore with a gray knitted scarf, black leather bomber jacket, and jeans. He wore the hat rather low and the scarf rather high, almost like a disguise…
“Um, thanks.” Her heart bumped against her ribs when he followed her inside. He hadn’t seemed as intimidating outside as in. Maybe because being this close to him she noticed how big he was compared to her. He had to be at least six foot four to her five foot three.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted to come inside. Are you looking for anything in particular?” Nerves caused her voice to come out a little high and a little breathy.
“Yeah, you.”
Chapter Two
Evangeline Christmas’s heart-shaped face lost its rosy glow, and she took two steps back. “Me?” she asked, her voice pitched so high it squeaked.
Brilliant. Caine had managed to terrify the owner of Holiday House, exactly what his grandmother had been planning to do to ensure the woman complied with the council’s decision to take her property. They had it on good authority that Monday’s meeting was more for show than anything else. However, since the owner of Holiday House was the most uncompliant, contrary, pain in the arse he’d ever had the misfortune of dealing with, he agreed with his grandmother’s concerns.
If anyone could find a way to scuttle the council’s decision, it would be Evangeline Christmas. But while the office tower was as important to him as it was to his grandmother, perhaps more so, there were lines he wouldn’t cross. Frightening women was at the top of that list, which was why, fifteen minutes after ending the call from his grandmother last night, he’d boarded his private jet and flown directly here to protect the owner of Holiday House. The woman who’d caused him no end of grief and tens of thousands of dollars in delays this past year.
Evangeline backed into a table, staring at him through wide hazel eyes. “Why are you looking for me?”
Unless he’d allowed his irritation at what she’d put him through this past year to show on his face, he didn’t understand her obvious panic. He was positive her reaction had nothing to do with him personally. They’d never met face-to-face, and even had she bothered to Google him, there were no photos of him with a beard, and he’d made sure to conceal his accent.
“Just relax, okay. I…Do you smell something burning?” He scanned the candlelit shop, wondering if she planned to burn the place down and collect the insurance.
“No. I…” She sniffed, glanced over her shoulder, and gasped. “My Santa collection!”
Spotting a flicker of flame, Caine reached into the window display on his left to grab a tall red vase that held an elaborate floral display. Tossing the red and white roses from the vase, he nudged Ms. Christmas aside and dumped the water on the table. A table that didn’t appear to be on fire, he noted a nanosecond before dousing it completely. He glanced at the candle in her hand and a singed Santa bear on a wood floor in need of repair.
She looked from him to the table. “I can’t believe you just did that! My entire Santa collection is ruined, and so is the floral arrangement from In Bloom. What were you thinking?”
Did she just stamp her silly green-and-red knitted bootie at him? “I was thinking I was saving your shop from going up in flames. What were you thinking having candles sitting within inches of flammable material? It’s a bloody fire hazard.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
Bollocks. His accent had come through. He reached inside his jacket and held up the envelope she’d returned to him last month, and not very professionally or appreciatively, he might add, recalling what she’d told him to do with the offer. An offer that was five times above the appraised value of her Christmas shop. “Messenger,” he said.
“Really. You don’t look like a messenger.” She glanced out the front window as though searching for his mode of travel. “Where’s your car?”
Hopefully in the back lane where he’d told his uncle Seamus to park. An uncle who Caine had assumed was dead up until two weeks ago.
“I parked across from the florist. A white Honda Accord. Would you like my license plate?” She looked like the type to ask, so he handed her the envelope. “I just need a signature and I’ll be on my way.”
And while he did a bang-up job of keeping his emotions from showing, Evangeline Christmas did not. She looked at the envelope with his company’s logo as if she wanted to tear it into a thousand little pieces. He reached in his pocket for his smartphone and was about to pull up the signature app he’d downloaded earlier in order to stay in character when she tried to do just that.
“You can tell your employer exactly what I think of his offer,” she said, struggling to rip the bulky envelope in half.
“He’s not my employer. I was simply hired to deliver the envelope to you. Would you like a hand?”
“No, I would not like a hand. I’m perfectly capable of doing this on my own,” she said through gritted teeth, her face flushed. “And if you’re just a messenger for hire, how did you know that I was Evangeline Christmas?”
The woman was sharp, something he should have remembered from their previous conversations. Although conversations weren’t an apt description. They were more like lectures on the evils of big business destroying the beauty of small towns with a total disregard for the lives they ruined, a complete evisceration of his company and himself in particular. Granted the woman was the emotional type, but the tears in her voice at the end of their last conversation had been his undoing. It was why he’d quadrupled his initial offer.
“I knew you worked for him,” she said when he didn’t immediately respond.
“No. I don’t. I was just trying to remember who gave me your description.” He scrolled through the e-mails on his phone as though looking for the source, holding back a sigh when texts from Seamus, his grandmother, and Theia Gallagher popped into his feed.
Out of the three, Theia’s most concerned him. Because not only was she his best friend and former employee, since her move to Harmony Harbor, she’d become Evangeline Christmas’s biggest fan and champion. It was bloody annoying. And the last thing he needed was for Theia to catch him here.
She’d blow his cover, and once she had, she’d try guilting him into backing out of the project, which he couldn’t. Saying no to her was easier over text or phone than it was in person. It was time for him to leave. He’d obviously overreacted to his grandmother’s remark that she’d ensured Ms. Christmas would be only too happy to leave Harmony Harbor after today. The woman seemed perfectly safe.
He checked his grandmother’s latest text to be sure that was the case. She knew he was
here and was apparently pleased with his initiative to personally take care of the problem, which in her mind was Evangeline Christmas. If his grandmother only knew what he was up to.
“Here it is.” He held up the phone, intent on getting out of there as soon as possible. “Your description was on the order form.”
Theia had once described Evangeline as smart, beautiful, and exactly his type. And while he’d seen evidence the owner of Holiday House was a bright woman and admittedly attractive with her lush, dark hair and hazel eyes, his best friend didn’t know him as well as she thought if she believed Evangeline Christmas was his type.
As the woman in question squinted at the screen as though trying to find the aforementioned description, he brought up the signature app and then held out the pen and phone. “If you’ll just sign here.”
Santa ho, ho, ho-ed and let in a gust of cold air and three older women. The one who looked like Sophia Loren, with her dark, shoulder-length hair, seemed familiar. As soon as she said, “Madonna Mia, what has happened here, Evie?” he knew why.
It was Theia’s grandmother-in-law-to-be, Rosa DiRossi, and the two women with her must be part of the infamous Widows Club. And if this morning’s run of bad luck continued, Kitty Gallagher, who just happened to be Rosa DiRossi’s best friend and a member of the same club, would be walking through the door any moment now, no doubt with Theia in tow. Because these days his best friend couldn’t get enough of her new family. If only she knew…
“Just a little mishap,” Evangeline said with a smile, and he saw why Theia called her beautiful. “Nothing to be concerned about. We’ll have it cleaned up in no time. Help yourself to some gingerbread cookies while you browse.”
