Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses: A feel good Christmas romance novel (2 page)

Abbey had gone online during a few of her breaks, ordering things that were more extravagant than she’d ever bought, but she knew just how to place them to give them life in Caroline’s cottage. She’d done it as a favor to Caroline, but she hadn’t made any money doing it, and it never occurred to her to ask for any. She realized that she hadn’t thought this through at all.

“I, uh…” She scrambled for an answer, feeling ridiculous that all she could produce were unintelligible sounds.
Get a grip!
she scolded herself.
Answer him!
This was too big a leap for her. She wasn’t a decorator. She’d always dreamed of being one. She had files of magazine clippings just in case she ever won the lottery and was able to buy what she really wanted for her and Max.

Her passion for art ran deeply through her—she painted, she could draw, she saw art in everything—but when it had come down to it, she’d had to choose the career that would be the least amount of risk. She’d had to pick something that would provide for Max. Because of that, she’d gotten a nursing degree as quickly as she could because it would give her that steady income. She’d taken as many classes as the local community college allowed, and she’d done nothing but study so that she could get her degree. Abbey still believed there was art in everything; she just didn’t always have time to notice it anymore.

As she sat across from Nick Sinclair, she felt very small, heat filling her cheeks. She blinked to keep the tears at bay. Never had she come to tears about anything before now—not even raising Max alone. She’d always been able to handle it. So why was she about to cry now? Abbey tried not to process the answer, but it was bubbling up: She knew her artistic talent was that one piece of her that she could always hold on to when she’d lost everything, hoping that one day she could tap into it. It was the only thing besides Max that she was proud of. Now, finding herself out of her league, she didn’t want anyone telling her that it wasn’t good enough because that would crush her.

And the last thing she wanted was for Nick to think less of her, but she didn’t know a thing about how to charge him for this job or the etiquette in a business relationship like this.

Abbey was silent, still trying to formulate an answer while not giving away how she was feeling. She didn’t know what to say, so she just sat there, inwardly screaming at herself to say
something
. “I’ll do it for free if you’ll let me take photos for my portfolio when I’m finished,” she said finally.

Then, his light blue eyes changed as he looked at her. He looked curious, but there was a gentleness in his face that she hadn’t seen until right then.

“My grandmother has wanted me to do this for a while. Before she was set on having you do it, she’d even called around and given me quotes. I’ve had quotes for upwards of a hundred fifty thousand dollars, so, with that said, I won’t let you do the job for free. My grandmother might disown me if I did. Why don’t we settle for seventy-five thousand dollars to decorate the whole house?” He searched her face for a reaction. “And that will be your salary. Then, I’ll buy whatever you need in terms of furnishings.”

Abbey blinked to keep her eyes from popping out of their sockets. Seventy-five
thousand
dollars? That was three years’ salary for her, and she was about to make it in a matter of weeks. All of a sudden, she felt lightheaded, her excitement swelling up inside. This could change everything. With money like that, she could pay for extra childcare—private sitters when she needed them. That would take the burden off her mother who was caring for her grandfather and watching Max. She might even be able to get Gramps that medicine he needed so badly.

“Does that suit you?” he asked. “Are you okay with those terms?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t say anything more than yes. Her emotions were getting the better of her. She wanted to get up and hug him and tell him what a Christmas miracle that money would be for her and her family. She wanted to thank him for being so generous despite the fact that, clearly, she was inexperienced.

“Great.” He stood up and walked around to her side of the desk. She followed his lead and stood, tucking her portfolio under her arm.

He was so close that she caught his scent, and it caused a tickle in her chest. Abbey had never smelled cologne that good before, and she wondered what it was that he was wearing. Had she ever even heard of it? It was probably very expensive.

“Let me show you the rooms that you’ll be decorating,” he said, distracted, as he pulled out his phone and put it to his ear. She was glad to be up and moving again, and hoping to finally get to have a normal conversation, but he was already barking into his phone. “I don’t care how much it costs,” he said. “It’s a car. Just buy it… I’d like it detailed and cleaned before it leaves the lot this time.” After a minute’s more conversation, he ended the call and looked down at her. “I collect cars—mostly Ferraris,” he said, with an air of pride.

“Cars?” she asked. Max collected cars, but she wondered if he might be talking about a slightly different kind.

“There’s a Lamborghini that’s up for auction—very limited number of them. I’ve got someone bidding for me and I’m trying to manage that while I show you around. My apologies.”

She stared up at him long enough to realize that it was becoming awkward, so she looked down at her feet. Her grandfather couldn’t even buy the medicine he needed and this guy was wasting money on luxury cars.

“You need more than one car?” she asked.

He looked at her, the skin between his eyes wrinkling as if he were trying to make sense of what she was saying. “I
collect
them. I don’t necessarily drive them.”

“Where do you keep them?”

“I have a garage on the property. They’re displayed there.”

She knew that her face was showing her distaste, and she couldn’t straighten it out no matter how hard she tried. She had no right to offer any opinion about what he did with his money. “So who comes to see them?”

He eyed her again. “No one,” he said, his voice sounding slightly exasperated. “I collect them for my own amusement. No one else’s.”

She was quiet after that; the idea of all that money sitting somewhere in a garage helping no one had silenced her.

“Basically, you’ll be decorating all the rooms except for a couple. I know that’s a big job…” He looked down at her as they walked, changing the subject. Had he been able to interpret her opinions? “And you’ll have only a short time to do it.” He stopped, so Abbey did too. “I have family coming and I’m having a Christmas party. I want you to make the house look
lived in
.”

A punch of laughter rose in her gut, but she cleared her throat to remove it. She remembered the ballroom with nothing but a piano and a set of fluffy sofas, and thought to herself,
How can I make a room like that look livable?

If she’d chosen to be a full-time decorator instead of becoming a nurse, Abbey would take something like a cozy corner nook, paint it a warm color, add a pop of white furniture, and fill it full of bookshelves. She’d arrange the books on the shelves between knickknacks from various locations around the world that her client had gotten on his travels. She’d even drape a snowy-white throw across the arm of the chair and add a floor lamp for ambience.
That
would look lived in. This house was like a museum. It was too big to make it even
seem
like someone would live in it. But then, her thoughts went to Nick. He lived here. And as far as Abbey could tell, he lived here all by himself.

Caroline had never mentioned a family when she spoke of her grandson. She’d only said that he needed help with his home because he was too busy working to do anything with it. How sad to have to walk these giant hallways alone.

They rounded the corner and headed up a curling staircase to the second floor. Everywhere she looked, she saw lofty ceilings and balconies. It made her feel the need to take a deep breath to release the growing tension she was feeling about this job she’d taken.

All the doors to each room were shut, which was odd to Abbey, but then again, perhaps it was hard to heat such a large house. He stopped at the first one and opened it. It was another colossal expanse of space with vaulted ceilings, ornamental woodwork, and more chandeliers.

“This is a bedroom,” he said as she walked around the room, snapping photos of walls and architectural features. She looked up at the intricate crystal chandelier above her, with its strands of diamond-like jewels dripping down, and took a photo. “There are eight bedrooms in total. I’d like each room to feel distinct, yet consistent with the style of the home. What you do with them is up to you. I trust you.”

Abbey dragged her hand along the ornate woodwork in the recessed doorway, noticing how the patterns in the wood emerged from under the thick coats of shiny white paint. She’d keep that, she decided. She imagined Georgian-style furniture to maintain the integrity of the home, but with a few present-day traditional accents to make the look current. In such a large space, she’d want to focus on breaking the room up into smaller pieces—perhaps put a sitting area at one end of the bedroom. The key was to make this cold space seem warm and more personal. The walls needed neutrals but in inviting colors like light buttery yellows and subtle mint greens, rather than just plain white. She jotted down notes in the notebook that she’d included in the front pocket of her portfolio.

They opened the next two doors, and he explained the purpose of each room. She wrote down where the light came in and areas on which she wanted to focus. When they came to the fourth door on the hallway, he skipped it and walked ahead. She looked at his face, his thoughts seemingly preoccupied all of a sudden. It was subtle, but she’d noticed. What was behind that door?

“Did you want me to see this one?” she said, stopping in the hallway and pointing back to the closed door.

“No,” he said. “I won’t need you to decorate that room. It’s fine.” He walked ahead and opened the next door. It was just like the others.

“I’m sorry,” she stopped him right there in the hallway. She was going to have to really make sure he understood if she ever wanted to feel comfortable in his presence. “I must drive home the fact that I haven’t ever had a decorating job of this magnitude. Ever. I’ve only done the cottage for your grandmother and I’ve decorated my mom’s house. I’ve never even been in a home on River Road before.”

Everyone in the vicinity of Richmond knew where River Road was. It was more than just a road; it was a landmark, a stretch of real estate showcasing Richmond’s finest. “I mean, my mother’s house is nice. She’s on the corner of Maple and Ivy Streets,” she kidded, trying to joke about the insignificance of where her mother’s house was located. Clearly, he didn’t get it. Maple and Ivy obviously didn’t have the same impact as River Road. Her joke had fallen flat.

He stared at her, as if waiting for something more.

“What I’m trying to say…” She swallowed. “What I’m wondering is…” She didn’t want to
not
take the job. But telling him the truth was the right thing to do. “I’m inexperienced. With all the money that you have, why don’t you just hire an experienced decorator?”

He was silent a moment as if he were trying to get his answer just right. “I mean no disrespect,” he said. “This was my grandmother’s idea. She thinks I need to make this house presentable for my family and friends when they come for Christmas. I agree, to a certain extent. And I think the emptiness bothers her in general. The problem is, I only want to make her happy. I don’t care enough about it to spend time searching for a decorator. I just want it done, and if she thinks you’re the person to do it, then so be it.”

So he didn’t care that she wasn’t a seasoned professional. He didn’t care about any of it. Any feelings of achievement she’d had by securing this job came crashing down. He was telling her loud and clear that it wasn’t about him trusting her abilities; it was just something to tick off his list. Nick turned and headed down the hallway again. Trying to look on the bright side, Abbey walked along beside him, thinking of all the possibilities.

A
bbey opened
the modest door to her mother’s house and nearly fell over. There, on the living room hardwoods, right in front of her, were countless shattered ornaments, tinsel strewn about, and a brightly lit spruce monster writhing on the floor. Abbey’s mother lunged for the outlet and unplugged the twinkling lights, the spruce monster going dark. A black bolt of lightning shot out from it, disappearing around the corner, leaving a heap of Christmas ruin in its wake.

With a huff, Abbey’s mother lowered herself down on the floor and put her hands on her cheeks in bewilderment.

“What was that?” Abbey asked in horror.

“Señor Freckles got the tree.”

“Señor Freckles is still alive?”

Her mom nodded.

Señor Freckles was Abbey’s grandfather’s cat. Born feral, he’d never quite gotten the hang of domestic life. He lurked in corners and crannies, only coming out to eat, and no one—as far as Abbey knew—had ever been able to touch him. He had to be at least twenty by now.

“Did Gramps bring that thing with him when he came to live with you?” she asked the question but didn’t hear the answer, because she was too busy wondering how they ever got that cat into the car, and why she hadn’t noticed him when she’d dropped off Max. But then again, he’d probably been lurking in a dark place somewhere. When Abbey looked up, her mother was nodding, so she guessed that her mom was now the proud owner of Señor Freckles.

Abbey nudged her mother’s fallen Christmas tree out of the way, the ornaments tinkling together as they got jostled, just as Max came into the room to see what was going on.

“Hi, baby,” Abbey said, giving him a kiss on his head and tousling his hair. He looked up at her with his bright eyes. They used to remind her of his daddy, but now, they were just his.

“Hi, Mama,” he said, putting his little arms around her waist. “What was that noise?”

“Gramps’s cat knocked over Nana’s tree.”

“Gramps has a cat?” Max said.

“Yes. He hides most of the time,” her mom explained. “He hasn’t been around all day,” she said to Abbey, shaking her head. “I knew I should’ve waited until after Thanksgiving to decorate. I should’ve given the cat time to settle down after his move.”

“Will that cat get me?” Max’s face was serious with concern. His brows were pulled together, his lips pursed, a hint of a dimple showing on his cheek.

“No,” her mom laughed. “That cat won’t get anywhere near you, don’t worry. He hates people.”

“Then why does Gramps have him?” he asked.

“When Gramps found him, he was starving outside—skin and bones—in the cold of winter, and he felt like he could give him a better life. He loves that cat.” She shook her head again. “But I think the affection is one-sided.”

The front door wasn’t latched—the drama of the falling Christmas tree had clearly distracted her as she’d come in—so Abbey shut it, the cold air now overwhelming them in the small entryway. The snow had really started to come down, and she noticed how the bottom edges of her high heels were now discolored from the melting precipitation. She kicked them off. “Please sit, Mom,” she said. “You need to rest that ankle. Right now, I’ll get the tree back up for you.”

Her mom sat down, her face grateful.

As Abbey lifted the tree, the scent of pine making her nose itch, she caught sight of Señor Freckles in the corner. He was licking his paw until he noticed her glance. He stopped and stared at her unrelentingly as if he were about to pounce. She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t even think about it,” she said in his direction. “It’s awfully cold outside,” she teased. Her mom and Max both looked over at Señor Freckles too. The cat had turned his head and was now looking directly at Max, his gaze like lasers.

“I won’t let her put you outside,” he whispered to the cat across the room. “But you can’t scratch me or anything.”

Señor Freckles broke eye contact and began licking his paw again. In that moment, Max seemed a lot like his grandfather in temperament.

“Tell me about Nick Sinclair!” Abbey’s mother said with excitement in her eyes. “Is he as handsome as I’ve heard?”

Abbey eyed Max who was still looking at the cat. “He is,” she said. What she’d experienced earlier with him now felt like a dream.

“Is he nice?”

Abbey shrugged. “For a rich guy, I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“He has a very different life than we do.”

“Obviously. Wouldn’t it be great to live like that?”

Abbey contemplated that answer. She thought about Nick’s indifference regarding spending thousands of dollars on decorators and cars. Did he realize that there were others out there who were struggling to make ends meet? “I wouldn’t want to live like that,” she decided aloud.

“Speak for yourself!” her mother laughed.

“You never told me
how
you hurt your ankle, only that you’d hurt it,” Abbey said, changing the subject as she tipped the tree into the stand and set it upright. The water in the tray at the bottom had spilled all over the hardwoods, and she knew she’d need a towel to sop it up.

“I slipped on the ice outside. I was trying to keep Dad steady, and I fell.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mom,” she said. Abbey was glad to be there to help her mother. Her arthritis was giving her enough trouble; taking care of Gramps was just adding to it. For so many years, her mom had helped her; now it was Abbey’s turn to pay that back. “Where is Gramps?” she asked, as Max began to walk toward the cat. It skirted away, darting around the corner. He followed it.

“He’s taking a nap in his room, but he could be awake. You should check on him and see. He’s getting worse.”

“The medicine’s not working?”

“It is. But at some point, I worry it just won’t work at all. And his insurance isn’t great, you know. You and I can’t afford to give him the care he really needs. All we can do is give him the best we have.”

“I’ll go see him now. I need to find Max anyway. He’s probably chased Señor Freckles outside, and it’s freezing out there. I don’t want him out without a hat.”

The house where Abbey had grown up wasn’t anything grand—a single-level three bedroom with a small front porch and a deck out back—but it had a fenced in backyard, and her wooden play-set was still there, so Max could swing.

“I’ll get the towels and a broom for the floor,” her mom said, standing up and swinging her large cast out in front of her. “You go and see Dad. It’ll make him happy. But after that, I’m dying to hear about your new job.”

Abbey went down the hallway toward Gramps’s room. He would ask—she was sure—how life was treating her. He always did. And she knew that he was hoping for some kind of exciting answer.

The problem was, growing up, Gramps had always told her, “You can do anything you want if you just want it enough.” She could still remember the times he’d told her that, and, back then it had all seemed so feasible. Of course she could do anything she wanted—the sky was the limit. But when she’d gotten pregnant at twenty-four, she had to refocus. As she looked at Max the day he was born, she realized that what she wanted didn’t matter so much. What she wanted then was for Max to be happy. That was all.

“So you finally decided to come and see me,” Gramps said with a sly grin as she walked through the open door. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, trying unsuccessfully to pull on his cardigan. His hands were shaking so badly, he was struggling to hold on to the hem of the sweater as he tried to pull it around his shoulders. Abbey attempted to help him, but he batted her hand away gently. “How’s life treating you?”

There it was—the question. The answer to it was so far out of her grasp that she could never get her mind around a good response. “I’m doing well,” she said, unable to articulate anything else.

He stared at her, his head wobbling slightly back and forth from the Parkinson’s. His eyes were telling her he could see through that answer, but he didn’t say anything more. He just stood up and walked toward her. “Max is growing up quickly,” he said, clearly deciding to focus on the positive. “I haven’t seen the little guy for a few months and, I swear, he grew a foot!”

Abbey stepped aside to allow Gramps to maneuver down the hallway. After seeing how he insisted on handling his own sweater, she knew better than to try to help him.

“You’ll be here tomorrow for Thanksgiving, right?” he asked over his shoulder as he led her down the hallway. “I feel like you spend all your time working these days.”

“Of course I’m coming to Thanksgiving,” she said with a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Nick floated into her mind—the thought surprising her. She imagined him all alone in that big house tomorrow for Thanksgiving. Did he have any family coming over? Was he going somewhere else? Would he see Caroline? He’d been so direct and quiet during their meeting that she almost couldn’t imagine him sitting around a table, talking to his family. She wondered if he even cared about Thanksgiving at all.

They entered the kitchen and Gramps sat down at the small, oval table nestled near the bay window overlooking the swing set. Max was drawing in the dirt under her childhood swing with a stick. Abbey grinned at the sight of him and turned back to Gramps. Her mom was pulling his many bottles of medicine from the cabinet and lining them up on the counter.

“Have you bought the turkey for tomorrow, Abbey? If not, you’ll want to get it soon or all the good ones will be gone.”

Her mom hobbled toward the table, swinging her boot in front of her with every step, her broken ankle a reminder of the burden Gramps was putting on her. She set down the pills in a little pile and placed a glass of water beside them.

“I already have the turkey,” Abbey said with a smile, glad that she was able to put her mother’s mind at ease. “And I bought some of those oven rolls. All I have to do is make the pumpkin pie. I was hoping I could bring Max over tomorrow morning and make it here. Maybe Gramps could help since he was always so good at it. Gramps, do you still have your recipe?”

“You’ll have to ask your mom,” he said. “She packed up my whole house. She’s put it somewhere, I’m sure.”

“It’s in the recipe box,” her mom said.

“Would you make the pie with us tomorrow morning?” she asked.

With a shaky hand, Gramps picked up the pills and dumped them all into his mouth at once. He chased them with a swig of water. “Yep.”

“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll come by first thing.”