Christmas Comes to Main Street (2 page)

“I can't think of a better way to spend the holidays,” Kara said through a desperate smile, and she was immediately rewarded with a whoop of delight and a long, hard hug.

“Thank you, thank you!” Molly cried. She pulled her hat back on her head, talking quickly. “I'll call you tomorrow. Or stop by. Or maybe I'll stop by tonight. If I'm not too tired. Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” She clapped her hands, the sound muted through the thick wool, and then shook two clenched fists in front of her to underscore her joy before turning and disappearing through the kitchen door, leaving Kara alone once more.

Kara stared at the ball of gingerbread dough, still waiting to be rolled out, and sighed. Christmas had just become a little crazier.

It was past ten by the time Nate Griffin pulled to a stop in front of the white mansion across from a snow-covered town square. He sat in his car, tense from the drive, and took a few minutes to decompress before he dared to knock on those front doors. Or did one just let themselves into a B&B? Not one to patronize small-town inns, he wasn't sure of proper etiquette. He'd knock, he decided, though no doubt his aunt was already staring out the window, tapping her foot, wondering what was taking him so long.

No good deed
, he thought, dragging out a sigh. He'd thought he was off the hook for the holidays this year. And yet here he was. In Briar Creek. For the next two weeks.

And Briar Creek loved Christmas. At least, that's what his aunt had told him when he announced his visit. The poor woman probably thought she was selling him on something, when all she was doing was making him wonder again why he'd sent his parents on that Mediterranean cruise, so carefully planned, booked specifically for the season as a Christmas gift—to both his parents and himself. It was the perfect coup, until his father had to go and suggest he spend the holiday with Aunt Maggie, because they couldn't bear the thought of either of them being alone…

He'd tried to point out that Maggie never spent Christmas with them anyway. Christmases were spent as just the three of them, year after year after year. But then his mother had pointed out that this year they had intended to spend it at her inn in Briar Creek, and oh, she'd be so disappointed. And she had that hernia after all. And she really was looking forward to it. And oh, Briar Creek was such a charming town…

Charming indeed. Dead was more like it. On his drive through town—if you could even call it that—the lights were out in every storefront he passed, even the few restaurants. Only one light glowed in the otherwise empty stretch—from a bakery.

He had half a mind to stop in, bring his aunt a gift. Then he remembered how picky she was about her food and decided against it.

No good deed
, he thought again.

He roved his gaze over to the town square, illuminated by the twinkling white lights wrapped around the center gazebo. Fresh snow glistened, conjuring up every travel-book image he'd formed of Briar Creek at Christmastime, and he felt his spirits lift a bit.

He was just grouchy and tired from the drive from Boston. It had been a long week. Hell, it had been a long year. The break would do him good, and so would a change of scenery. He'd kick back in an armchair, catch up on emails, and prep for the big meeting he had next month. The time would fly by…

Nate killed the ignition, and there was an almost immediate hint of chill in the car. Grabbing his duffel bag from the passenger seat and deciding to come back for the rest tomorrow, he pushed out of the car and walked up the salt-sprinkled cobblestone path to the inn. Two identical wreaths made from red berries hung on the black-painted double doors, and from the windows that framed them, he saw a shadow cut through the golden light. Before he could even reach for the door handle, the door swung open, and there stood his aunt Maggie, looking even more festive than the Christmas tree in his office lobby.

“Ho, ho, ho!” she sang, grinning so wide, Nate felt an immediate pang of guilt for the less-than-generous thoughts that had plagued him for the duration of his two-hundred-mile drive.

“Aunt Maggie.” He smiled warmly, taking in the familiar lines of her face, which had grown deeper since the last time he'd seen her. He was suddenly aware of how much time he'd let pass, and seeing how much his visit meant to her, he felt a wave of shame he couldn't put in check.

“Come here and give your old aunt a hug,” she ordered, and pulled him in. One of her dangling, glittery, reindeer-shaped earrings caught his scarf, and Nate wrestled with Rudolph's flashing nose as Maggie giggled, her head bent as she waited to be freed.

“I see you have a matching sweater,” he said once he had untangled himself.

Maggie patted the reindeer on her stomach and adjusted her flashing earrings. “Women like to accessorize. You'd have known that already if you'd settle down and find a nice girl.”

And so it began…

“I made you dinner,” his aunt said as she ushered him into the sitting area of a lobby. Sure enough, there was a steaming pot pie on a plate and a glass of milk. His favorite meal as a kid. He was touched that she remembered, even though he'd kill for a beer.

He didn't bother to mention that he'd already eaten after work. She'd gone to great effort, and he was never one to turn down a home-cooked meal. They didn't come often. Though perhaps if he visited his parents a little more often, they might.

Guilt churned in his gut, but there wasn't any time to dwell on it, not when his aunt was looking at him so pertly, her hands folded patiently in front of her, her green eyes wide, waiting for a reaction.

“This looks delicious,” he said honestly. “Thank you.”

He shrugged out of his coat, eager to relax and settle in, even if he still felt a little uneasy about being here at all. The flames flickered in the hearth and the lobby was quiet. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. More guests perhaps? A bar? But then this was an inn, not a hotel, and above all, it was his aunt's home.

Maggie brushed the snow from the shoulders of the thick wool before hanging it on a rack near the front vestibule. Nate took the time to look around. He had only visited the inn a few times, and he'd been too young then to form a clear image. Now he was impressed with what he saw. The lobby was tastefully furnished in a traditional but lived-in style, impeccably clean and modestly decorated for the holidays. Fresh garland was wrapped around the banister of the winding stairs, and an arrangement of red, white, and green flowers was set on the polished cherrywood check-in desk. It was clear that his aunt took pride in the place, and no doubt people paid a pretty penny to stay the weekend. The ski resorts weren't far, he knew, though he'd only picked up skiing in recent years and didn't get to the mountains much. But people liked country getaways. Some people.

“You're looking a bit thin,” Maggie said as she came to sit across from him near the crackling fire. “Tell me. What do you normally cook?”

He was hardly thin, but Maggie liked to fret, and he decided to humor her. She eyed the fork, and so he picked it up, happy he'd done so when he brought the bite of pie to his mouth. Rich, buttery, and creamy. Just like he remembered.

“I don't cook, Aunt Maggie,” he said, grinning. He didn't need to meet her eye to sense the disapproving pinch of her lips. “That's what microwaves are for.”

“Microwaves!” She tossed her hands in the air and shook her head. “Well, good thing I've got you for a couple weeks. You'll be fattened up by the new year.”

Nate paused as he brought another forkful of pot pie to his mouth, recalling the six o'clock trip to the gym he'd put in that morning. There was no telling how much butter and cream had gone into this thing—enough to undo forty-five minutes on the treadmill, that much was for sure.

He opened his mouth, savoring every bite. This was a vacation—sort of—and people were supposed to indulge a bit on vacations. He eyed the milk, wondering if he could ask for a glass of wine at least.

“Drink up,” Maggie said, noticing.

Nate grimaced. “I think I'll pass,” he said.

“I understand.” His aunt winked. “It's late. You don't want to have an accident in the middle of the night.”

Nate choked on the last bite of his pie. “What? Aunt Maggie, I'm thirty-two years old.”

But she just gave an innocent shrug. “So? Why don't I show you to your room? I'd love nothing more than to sit and chat with you all night, but it's late and I have to be up at four to start breakfast.”

Nate frowned as he pushed himself off the couch. His aunt was in her early seventies, older than his parents by a handful of years. She'd never had any children, and her husband—his father's brother—had died years back, leaving her alone to run this inn. He thought of what his parents had told him, the concerns they'd had for Maggie's health, and hesitated.

“Why don't I make breakfast tomorrow and give you a chance to sleep in?”

She stared at him blankly before bursting into a roar of laughter. “My dear boy, I appreciate the gesture, but it's the one meal I offer here, and, if I do say, I'm known for my breakfasts, and I wouldn't want to let my guests down…” She patted his arm and gave a little smile.

Nate opened his mouth to protest but then decided to drop it. He'd already admitted he couldn't cook, at least not from scratch, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble for his aunt by upsetting the guests… and something told him they wouldn't appreciate his scrambled eggs with buttered toast, which was about as far as things went with his culinary skills.

“But I'd like to help while I'm here,” he pressed.

A look of interest passed over her face. “I'll remember that,” she said mysteriously.

Nate picked up his duffel bag and flung it over his shoulder. From the gleam in his aunt's eye, he had the unnerving suspicion she had plans for him while he was in town, and he couldn't begin to imagine what they entailed.

G
ood morning, sleepyhead. Rise and shine!”

Nate frowned as the soft voice lulled him from his sleep, and he resisted the urge to pull the duvet over his head and roll over. He became all at once aware of a strange bed, a firm mattress, flannel sheets, and a warm pillow.

And someone in his room.

He popped his eyes open to see Maggie sitting cozily on the edge of his bed, smiling serenely down at him. “You looked so peaceful,” she whispered loudly. “I almost didn't have the heart to wake you.”

Yet she had. Nate blinked away the fogginess of a good night's sleep, trying to orient himself with his surroundings. The room was dim, and just a bit of early light poked through the edge of the curtains that were tightly drawn across each of the four windows. His aunt had put him in a corner room—“best in the house!”—but he hadn't properly looked at it until now. He ran a hand through his hair and started to sit up, until he remembered he wasn't wearing a shirt. “What time is it?” he asked, pulling the blankets a little closer.

“Six forty-five,” Maggie said matter-of-factly. She gave his leg a little pat over the comforter. “Up and at 'em. You don't want to miss breakfast.”

“Six-forty—” He blinked and dropped back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Yep. No good deed. He was used to getting up early, hitting the gym before work, but the drive last night through heavy snow had left him tired, and though he was loath to admit it, the bed was ridiculously comfortable. He certainly couldn't complain about the accommodations. The wake-up call, however…

“I made peppermint scones this morning. Always popular with the guests,” his aunt continued as she walked to each window and pulled open the long curtains. Sunlight hit him square between the eyes and he squinted, holding up a hand. “The croissants tend to go quickly. I set one aside for you, just in case you didn't make it down in time.”

“Thank you,” Nate managed, even as it occurred to him that he had most definitely locked his guest room door last night and that his aunt had taken the liberty of letting herself in with one of the keys that hung from a ring hooked to her apron belt. He'd have to set some ground rules with her—later, once he was properly attired.

“Breakfast starts at seven, runs until nine, but I figured you'd want to get an early start on the day. There's so much to see and do in Briar Creek, after all!”

From his drive through town last night, Nate highly doubted that but managed a polite smile while he waited for her to finally leave his room. Briar Creek was his aunt's home after all, and she was clearly very proud of that fact.

“Well, I'll leave you to it,” Maggie said as she walked to the door. She paused as she set a hand on the knob. “Still hard to believe my little Nate has chest hair! Where does the time go?” She shook her head in disbelief and let herself out, seemingly unaware of the groan Nate emitted as he sunk fully under the weight of the covers.

He counted to ten and then flung off the blankets, hoping she wouldn't surprise him with another visit while he was in the shower. Unsettled, he ran the taps and jumped in, eyes darting while he washed his hair at record speed, and he sighed with relief when he finally wrapped a towel around his waist.

Still, he took far less time than usual in selecting his clothes for the day, not that he'd bothered to bring much with him from Boston. There were no meetings to go to. No suits required. It felt odd, and empty, as if he was forgetting something, when in fact he was just living like so many others did at this time of year. Taking a step back. Enjoying the holidays.

He resisted the urge to check his email before heading down to breakfast and, after careful deliberation, left his phone on the nightstand, telling himself that nothing was so urgent it couldn't wait and that this was his vacation, technically.

His aunt was settled in the big dining room, chatting with guests, when Nate came downstairs at twenty past seven. Over her green sweater and black pants, she wore an apron covered with a holly and ivy print. The plates anchoring the buffet table donned a painted picture of a Christmas tree, and carols played from somewhere in the distance. Even though breakfast had just started, he was surprised to notice that the basket of croissants was indeed picked over, and several tables were already filled.

“Most of the guests are heading up to the mountain shortly,” his aunt said as he helped himself to a cup of coffee from the carafe. “The bus arrives at quarter to eight to shuttle them. I don't mind if you want to go skiing with them.”

“Maybe another time,” Nate said. “Today I thought I'd hang out with you. Maybe walk around town a bit.” Maybe buy a padlock for his guest room…

His aunt's face lit up. “Oh, you should definitely get out and explore, especially with the fresh snowfall we had last night! Why it's simply a winter wonderland out there! Certainly nothing like you have in Boston,” she was sure to add, pinching her lips.

“We have snow in Boston,” he assured her, taking a sip of his coffee. It was smooth and rich and exactly what he needed at this hour. He was still groggy, still in a state of disbelief that he was here at all. He should be en route to the office right now.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was playing hooky.

“Yes, but
dirty
snow! City snow is always so
messy
. It's the soot and the smog and…” She shuddered. “Once you've been to Briar Creek, you start seeing things a little differently.”

Unlike himself, who had been born and raised in Boston, his aunt was a Briar Creek native. This inn was her family's house, and when his uncle married her, he settled into it with her. Nate and his parents had visited a few times but not regularly. There wasn't much opportunity for a vacation growing up, even if the accommodations were free of charge. “It's good to know you're so happy here,” he said diplomatically, taking a croissant from the basket.

“I think you will be, too. If you just give it a chance.” His aunt winked and then, turning to another guest, began chatting enthusiastically about the condition of the ski slopes thanks to all the fresh powder.

Nate took the opportunity to grab a muffin and hurry back to his room, where he worked for the next few hours preparing for a big meeting he had scheduled for the first week of January. At the management consultant firm where he worked, his colleagues were always taking advantage of their allotted time off, coming back with tans and stories of trips abroad. It didn't bother Nate. He'd been working for so long and so hard that he didn't know how to stop. Didn't want to stop. Didn't want to think of what would happen if he took a step back. Not a day went by that he didn't feel lucky for what he had, and the thought of losing it felt all too real.

By midmorning, he'd cleared out his inbox and decided to get some air. The Main Street B&B was technically just off Main, but the north end of its grounds extended to the corner of Briar Creek's downtown—
If you could call it that
, Nate thought. Nate tucked his hands into his pockets, happy he'd managed to slip away before Maggie noticed he was missing gloves, and quickened his pace through the biting wind. In the light of day, the town did seem more alive, and shoppers filled the sidewalks, ducking in and out of shops that were outfitted for the season with more than just a wreath on the door. His aunt was certainly correct that Briar Creek was a winter wonderland. Every lamppost was wrapped in garland or ribbon, and even the fire hydrants were capped with Santa hats. It was almost enough to get him into the Christmas spirit. Almost.

A crowd was gathered around the shop window at the next corner, and Nate paused to see what the hype was about. Of course, he realized, scowling to himself. A toy store, decked out for the season with strands of lights, tinsel, and enough toys to make dozens of children
ooh
and
aah
. He'd been one of those kids. Once. Until he'd learned that Christmas wasn't the same for everyone and that Santa didn't always visit, no matter how nice you'd been.

Turning from the window before his mood completely plummeted, he felt the impact of a soft wool coat, felt a whip of silky hair in his face, and heard a woman's dismayed cry as several packages fell to the ground.

Startling, Nate blinked, trying to digest what had just happened. A woman was already bent over reaching for the boxes, and Nate stooped to help, reaching for a white cardboard box tied with red ribbon that had landed facedown on the snowy sidewalk.

“I'm sorry, I—” He hesitated, distracted for a moment by the flash of bright blue eyes that snapped to his, contrasted against dark hair that fell at the woman's shoulders. She couldn't have been much younger than him, and the distress in her gaze told him that no further apology would help matters. Nate held out the white box he'd picked up from the salted sidewalk and brushed off the snow. The contents of the box rattled ominously. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Is it—broken?” But the answer was obvious.

Still, the girl opened the box, her shoulders dropping as she inspected the contents. “Oh my God!” she groaned, and, to his horror, tears filled her eyes as she looked back at him.

Quickly, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and began fumbling through the bills. “Here, let me reimburse you.”

But the girl just waved his money away. “No, it won't help.” She stared despondently at the box, her nose turning pink.

“But you just bought it,” he insisted, holding out what he hoped was enough money.

“It can't be replaced. Not easily, at least.” She pinched her pretty red lips as a flush spread over her cheeks. “It's something I—Oh, never mind.”

Frustration coursed through him, and, finally, he shoved the cash back into his wallet. No doubt a special order, and probably a Christmas gift. “I didn't mean to crash into you. I'm genuinely sorry.”

The girl nodded miserably, staring down at the box, her lashes fluttering as she blinked away the tears. Nate sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind racing.

“Let me make it up to you,” he tried again, and she slid her eyes slowly up to his, shaking her head.

“Next time watch where you're going,” she said suddenly. “You could have knocked me over. Or one of these kids.” She motioned to the group of youngsters near the toy store window who had barely noticed the exchange; they were too busy mentally adding to their lists for Santa.

Nate took a step back, surprised at her sudden burst of anger.

She was clearly upset by whatever was broken, and maybe he was to blame. “Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

The girl pinched her lips and, to his surprise, dropped the white box into the nearest trash can. “You've done enough,” she said, and, swooping up her remaining shopping bags, hurried away, her red knit scarf trailing behind her.

Nate watched her for a few blocks and then turned, shaking his head. And people wondered why he hated Christmas.

Kara knew that crying over broken cookies was right up there with crying over spilled milk, but she couldn't help it. She was
exhausted
, and the thought of making another three dozen snowflake cookies for the inn—before tea time!—was enough to make her march back to the bakery and hang the
CLOSED
sign on the door. For good.

Bells jingled as she pushed open the door of Main Street Books. She stomped the snow off her boots on the mat as her sister-in-law finished ringing up a customer. Sweet cinnamon bread and fresh coffee wafted from the adjacent café, but it did little to lift her spirits.

“Why so glum?” Grace asked as she came around the counter.

“Some tourist just crashed into me on my way here and he… he broke my cookies.”
Not just some tourist, though
, she thought.
More like a really hot tourist.
A face she'd certainly never seen before. Her heart sped up when she thought of that square jaw, the crinkle of concern at the corners of his deep-set eyes. That mouth.

Then she thought of the cookies. Crumbled and cracked, after she'd worked so hard on making them just so. God knew Mrs. Griffin inspected each and every one. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes, but any concern she had that she was being wholly ridiculous vanished when Grace's expression crumbled and she pulled Kara in for a much needed hug.

“Were they for a delivery?” Grace asked when she let her go.

Kara nodded slowly. “For Main Street Bed and Breakfast. Mrs. Griffin is going to kill me!”

Grace didn't argue with that. Mrs. Griffin was a strong-minded businesswoman and a difficult person to please. She had high standards, ones Kara clearly wasn't going to live up to today. She could just imagine the passing comment to her mother…

“Have you told her yet?”

“No.” Kara sighed and set the bag of—fortunately undamaged—gingerbread house kits on the counter. “But I have to tell her. She expected those for tea today.”

“You go call her while I set up these adorable kits. I've decided to place them on some of the higher shelves in the children's corner, lest little hands get curious.” She winked, and taking the bag, she disappeared to the back of the store.

Kara pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at the screen, thinking of the way she'd behaved on the sidewalk. Normally around a guy who looked like that she'd be all flush-faced and flustered. Instead, she'd been so upset that she could only react to her disappointment, not to that smooth voice or the tingle that she felt when his coat brushed her arm.

She'd been hard on that guy. Rude, really, and that wasn't like her. Neither was skipping out on her own sister's engagement announcement dinner. The stress was getting to her, bringing out a side of her that she didn't like and making her feel even more unsettled than usual. It was Christmastime, after all. It was supposed to be a season of happiness and cheer. Here she was, making Christmas treats night and day and not enjoying the season at all.