Christmas Romance (Best Christmas Romances of 2013) (14 page)

Maybe I
am
a fool to think I can make The Perfect Plate work.

She propped her elbow on the window ledge and rested her hand on it.
I should get a job, settle down, and be responsible.

Her stomach churned. She’d had so much hope for her business.

Silence stretched on, but at least Sam’s hands relaxed on the steering wheel.

Maybe it’s not as bad as I think.

None of her previous business ventures had broken even before. There was still hope.

She stared out the window. The winds must have shifted because the storm appeared to be headed south, away from them.

When they rolled into the hamlet of Roxbury, her spirits lifted. Lights twinkled on railings and lampposts. Garlands and wreaths wrapped white clapboard houses, and Santa’s sleigh dominated a large yard. Mullioned shop windows displayed Victorian Christmas scenes. Candlelit diners were framed by light-infused greenery at a classy-looking restaurant.

She wanted to stay in the town forever. “It’s beautiful.”

He grunted.

She turned to him. “Why are you so grumpy about Christmas?”

“I don’t believe in it.” He pulled into the driveway of a two-story clapboard house.

“Where are we going? I thought you were taking me to a hotel.”

He shut off the engine. “We don’t have any. There’s a B & B way out of town, but it’s usually booked this time of year. My friend Charlie and his wife Lucy started this inn a few months back. They should have a room for you.”

“Oh. Okay.” She opened the pickup door. “Are you Jewish?”

He laughed, got out of the truck, and walked around to the passenger side.

She started to get out.

“Watch your step. It’s a long—”

She tripped on her skirt, knocked him into the bank of snow that lined the drive, and landed on top of him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She looked into his eyes and found him staring at her, their faces only a few inches apart. Heat infused her, and she longed to touch her lips to his.

If this was a movie....

“Umm,” he said.

…but it wasn’t.

She pushed herself up and brushed off the snow before she did anything stupid. Besides, she’d promised herself no more risks. Level-headed women didn’t kiss perfect strangers, especially men who hated Christmas.

If only he wasn’t so sexy, and if only she wasn’t a sucker for lost causes and dark brown eyes.

What would it take to get through to him, to make him believe again?

Sam stood up. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. How about you? You’re the one I squished.”

He wore an odd expression on his face; somewhere between hurt and joy. Then his features settled into a faint echo of the scowl she’d come to expect. “Maybe you should slow down a bit.”

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled, as if he’d finally retrieved his manners. “Wouldn’t want you to be hurt, you know.”

Her steely resolve to be practical softened, and she smiled back.

He helped her onto pavement, and they walked toward the house.

Charlie and Lucy answered the door and ushered them into the foyer. Lucy, a small dark-haired woman, was dwarfed by her husband.

Sam explained the situation with Clara’s car.

“You poor dear,” Lucy said. “Of course we’ll put you up. Why did you come to Roxbury?”

Clara gave her a brief overview of her venture, hoping Lucy would be more positive than Sam had been.

Lucy grabbed Clara’s arm. “What a great business! We have to talk. I have so many ideas to make this town a destination spot. Your business could really help us out.”

“She’s on the town’s board of directors.” Charlie sounded apologetic. “Have you guys eaten dinner?”

Sam shook his head. “I’ll get something together after I get home.”

“But Clara has to eat,” Lucy said. “We ate out tonight because we haven’t had time to go grocery shopping yet. There’s a new chef at the Roxbury Mill. It was fabulous! You should take Clara there tonight and make sure she eats, since you’re the one who can’t fix her car until tomorrow.”

“But—”

Lucy turned to Clara. “You’ll love the mill. It’s full of shops. Great setting.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Clara said. “I’m starving.” She glanced at Sam.

Scowling. No surprise there.

“Can I walk to the restaurant?” she asked.

Lucy frowned. “Not really.”

Maybe if she paid for the meal...

“Would you mind coming to dinner?” she asked Sam. “My treat. It’s the least I can do for the car repair.”

“I don’t think—”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Lucy beamed. “Don’t you think so, Charlie?”

Charlie looked like he’d rather be strung up by his toes than answer the question. “Well, it would solve the dinner problem.” He grimaced a smile at Sam.

Sam glared at Charlie. “I guess I’m outnumbered. See you later,
friend.
Let’s go, Clara. I’ll get you fed and safely back to the inn.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“I’ll bring her to your place in the morning,” Charlie said. “Got to see the egg lady down your way.”

****

Sam glanced at Clara’s face as they pulled out of the driveway. Her expression reminded him of a small child the day before Christmas.

Like Hailey used to look.

The memory saddened him. All he wanted was to get home to Maggie May and forget, but Charlie and Lucy were right. Clara needed to have dinner, even if his friends had manipulated him into it. They always tried to set him up with some woman or another, and this one had fallen into their lap. Why couldn’t they believe he didn’t want to fall in love with anyone? Loving meant loss, the pain of someone wrenching his chest apart and pulling his heart out.

He was done with love.

As he turned down a side road by the river, he shut off the faucet of his memories and concentrated on the moonlit ripples of the water.

“Thank you.” Clara’s voice broke the silence, “for helping me out.”

“It’s what we do up here; help each other.”

She touched his arm. “That may be true, but I know you’d rather be alone with your dog and your sheep.”

He allowed himself to smile. “Well, maybe not the sheep...”

She chuckled.

Roxbury Mill appeared in the distance, nestled in a bend in the river. Several decades back, the old stone building had been converted from a non-working flour mill into small, exclusive enterprises. The restaurant changed hands periodically on its quest to fit into the ambience of the rest of the place.

Maybe the new chef would make a difference. Sam would have to contact him to see if he needed any cheese.

Lights twinkled on the iron railing lining the driveway and parking lot. Sam helped Clara out of the car—this time without mishap—and walked with her down the mostly-shoveled sidewalk as flakes drifted down from above.

“Wow!” Clara exclaimed. “This is so beautiful! I love it when winter’s like this—the crunch of the snow underfoot, a few flakes sparkling in the night—I can even smell the snow, can’t you?” She grabbed his arm and smiled up at him.

His determination to spend the rest of his life alone developed a hairline fracture.

I’d better get through this night quickly.

“If you lived here, winter wouldn’t seem so romantic,” he said, trying to dampen her enthusiasm.

“This is Christmas winter. That makes it magic!”

Joy radiated from her face and pierced his heart’s armor like a laser, sending a smile to his lips. For a moment they simply stared at each other, as sparks bounced through his body.

Then he took her arm. “Shall we go in?”

The maitre d’ sat them at a table near the stone fireplace with its gentle flames. Clara beamed with a happiness so contagious it began to seep into the hard-to-reach spots of his soul where the darkness lay.

She chattered about her plans for the holiday season, her company, and her family—at least five brothers and sisters, of which she was the youngest, by his count.

“What about your parents?” he asked.

Her lips turned down. “My dad was killed in a car accident a few years ago, right before Christmas. My mom hasn’t really recovered. They’d been married thirty years. She’s in a small apartment in a retirement community now. I see her two or three times a week.”

“Don’t your sisters and brothers help out?”

“They’re scattered around the country with kids of their own. I’m the only one left in New Jersey.” She smiled. “It’s no problem.”

He took a sip of wine before asking the next question. “How can you be so up about Christmas since your dad died around the holiday?”

Clara stared at him for a few seconds before she answered. “To do anything else would dishonor my father. He and my mom were—are—Christmas nuts. He’d dress up as Santa Claus every year. Keeping Christmas happy means keeping memories of my dad alive.”

Sam sat back in his chair. Was he dishonoring Hailey by keeping Christmas like a reincarnation of Ebenezer Scrooge?

A waiter came over to take their orders.

After the waiter left, Clara asked, “What about you? How many siblings do you have?”

“Three.”
This was territory best left behind
.

“Tell me about them. Are you the youngest?” She shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t be. You’re too serious. You have to be the oldest.”

He nodded and cast about for another subject. “Where did you go to school?”

“Montclair State. I started out as an art teacher, but discovered I hated to teach—especially the school politics. Kids were okay, but most of them hated art.”

“What did you do then?”

“I worked as a secretary in New York City for a while, and then I started a business.” She frowned. “It didn’t do so well.”

The waiter brought soup to the table in a basic white tureen. “Soup is family-style,” he said, “and comes complimentary with all dinners.” He lifted the lid to reveal the deep aroma of onions and beef stock.

Clara drew in a breath. “Smells wonderful. I‘ll have to bring my group here for dinner.” She smiled at Sam. “How can I convince you to show them your cheese making process? Maybe even give them a sample? Your cheese is available where a lot of them shop. It could increase your sales.”

Her earnestness almost made him laugh. “Maybe I like the size of my company the way it is. Not everything needs to be bigger to be better.”

Her eyes widened.

It seemed like a safe topic, so he continued. “If I got any bigger, I’d have to follow more regulations, get new equipment, and, worst of all, hire people.” He shook his head. “Nope. I’m happy the way I am. You’ll have to find another cheesemaker for your tour.” He ladled soup into her bowl and handed it to her before doing the same for himself.

Maybe eating dinner will keep her from asking too many questions.

She frowned and took a sip of her soup. “Wow. This is definitely the place to come.” They ate in silence for a few moments. Then she put her spoon down, tilted her head, and smiled.

Uh-oh.

“If you don’t want to do it for your business, could you do it for me? A cheese stop would round out the tour, especially if I combined it with the wine-tasting.” If anything, her smile became broader. “That would be perfect. You could show them your process in your cheese cave—you have a cheese cave, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Then everyone could sample wine and cheese in there. It’d be fun.”

“It’d be cold.”

She touched his hand, tilted her head, and smiled. “Your participation would be a big help to me.”

He had to laugh. “That work on your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She grinned. “But it always got me what I wanted from my dad.”

Her deep brown eyes brightened when she smiled, which increased her charm—and danger.

“So what happened to your first business?” he asked.

She placed a spoonful of soup into her mouth, closed her eyes, and hummed her approval. After she’d swallowed, she said, “It failed. Like the second one. As you so helpfully pointed out earlier, I don’t handle the money aspect of business well. That’s why I need your help. I don’t know what I’ll do if this business fails, too. I’ll have to go back to slaving in an office. Please help me.”

The winsome look was back.

He felt like a heel, but shook his head anyway. “I can’t. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Chapter Five

Admitting defeat wasn’t in Clara’s nature, but she’d done everything she could to make the man agree, and hard as it was, it was time to give up.

But the spirit of the season
must
linger in his soul somewhere. If only she could get that spark to light, magic would take care of the rest—she felt
sure
of it.

As they finished their meal, the conversation meandered through the mundane.

“I’d better get you back to the inn before they lock you out,” he joked after the waiter returned with her credit card and receipt.

“They won’t really do that, will they?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, I’m kidding.”

“I knew there was a sense of humor in there somewhere.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes.
Damn, he’s good-looking.

She could almost hear her mother’s sensible voice.

What are you thinking, girl? You can barely keep your business going. You’ve got no time for romance—especially with a prickly pear who lives three hours away.

It was time to heed her mother’s pragmatic approach to life. Once the car was fixed, Clara would leave Roxbury and never look back.

They left the restaurant and walked past the shops toward the outer door. She spotted a store in a corner she hadn’t noticed on their way in. Christmas beamed from its windows. Best of all, it was open.

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed. “I have to go in.”

He scowled. “I don’t. I’ll wait for you on this bench.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Really?”

He sat and leaned against the wall behind the polished wooden bench. “Really.”

“Okay, your loss.”

“Uh-huh.”

She left him and walked into the store.

Not surprisingly, the proprietor looked like Mrs. Santa Claus with a warm personality to match. “Take all the time you want, dearie. We have some lovely things from our local craftspeople.”

Clara examined artistically created ornaments reflecting the countryside around them, quilted wall hangings, and woven throws. Knitted scarves entwined with holiday colors and matching hats enthralled her. Hand-carved rustic miniature villages lined the walls, complete with people, animals, and a dog who looked just like Maggie May, pulling a sled with four small children.

Without thinking of the possible consequences, she purchased the dog and sled, along with one of the scarves. She’d give the carving to Sam tomorrow after her car was fixed. He may not be willing to host her group, but he’d remember her.

“What’d you get?” he asked, standing when she returned to the bench.

She pulled out the scarf and showed him.

He examined the tag and nodded. “I thought that was Ursula’s work. She lives north of here. She buys a few fleeces from me, then spins, and dyes them by hand. It’s gorgeous craftsmanship.”

“It is.”

“What else is in the bag?”

“Nothing important. I think we should go now.”

He eyed her for a few moments. “Okay.”

Neither of them spoke on the short ride back to the inn.

“You don’t have to help me out,” she said and pulled up the door handle.

“Right.” He hopped out of the truck’s cab and came around. “I’ve seen you try to get out of this thing. Besides, around here, a man walks a woman to the door at night.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t want a rogue deer to get you or something like that.”

“Do you have many rogue deer here?” She strolled next to him, and hoped to prolong the few steps to the door.

“Depends on whether or not they get a whiff of a city girl.”

“Well, I’m not really a city girl, so I should be safe.”