Chapter Nine

After Lyssa settled Tommy in the boys’ room, she waved good night to Brent, who sprawled on the second twin bed, his earbuds already in place. Again, Tommy had protested about staying alone, and Brent had come upstairs to keep the younger boy company until he fell asleep.

Seeing a light on in the next room down the hall, Lyssa went in that direction. She found Mollie already changed into the oversized T-shirt they had borrowed from Amber for Mollie to sleep in. The shirt made her think of what she had promised Tommy, thanks to Nick. She hoped she wouldn’t have to raid Amber’s room for clothes to cut up to make Christmas stockings.

Mollie stood at the dresser, looking into the mirror. She had undone her braid, and her wavy hair spilled down her back almost to her waist.

“Ready for bed?” Lyssa asked.

“Soon.” Mollie grabbed a handful of hair and piled it on top of her head. “Can you do my hair like yours, Miss Lyssa?”

“Sure.” Knowing she would be warm sitting near the fire all afternoon, after lunch that day, she had gone up to her room and pulled her hair back into a loose French braid. Now, she picked up the brush from the dresser and began smoothing Mollie’s hair. One day, she hoped, she would do this for her own daughters.

Daughters she had hoped she would share with Nick.

But that had been yet another reason she had reluctantly realized she needed to say good-bye to him. Christmas, traditions, small-town values, family. Those were all the elements she wanted in her life. And the most important to her, the one that made the rest worthwhile, was family.

With their views so different and with Nick often halfway around the world on business, what kind of family life could they have?

“Do you think I should get my hair cut?” Mollie asked.

Lyssa started. Her hands had been busy brushing the little girl’s hair, but her mind had been…well, half a world away. “Why would you want to cut your hair? It’s beautiful just the way it is.”

“’Cause maybe it would make me prettier.”

She smiled. “I doubt you could look any prettier than you do now.”

“That’s what Miss Barnett says.”

“Your teacher is very smart.”

“You have to say that. She’s a grownup. And she’s your sister.” Mollie frowned. “I think she’s wrong. The boys at school don’t think I’m pretty.”

“What makes you say that?”

“They don’t want to be my boyfriend.” She sighed. “Miss Barnett says I’m too young to worry about boys, anyway.”

“She’s right about that, too.”

Her only older sister hadn’t said the same about herself years ago. When she wasn’t much older than Mollie, Callie had started going steady with her first boyfriend, the boy she had sworn would be the only one for her. That had ended disastrously, making her nickname herself the “bad-luck Barnett sister.” Little did she know that two others would eventually take on the nickname, too. But ever since that time years ago, when it came to young love, Callie’s was always the voice of reason.

In the mirror, Mollie stared at Lyssa. “Is Mr. Nick your boyfriend?”

For a moment, she froze. Hoping Mollie hadn’t noticed her reaction, she set down the brush and began to braid Mollie’s hair. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.” Not anymore… No matter how her heart tried to trick her or what Nick’s kisses seemed to say.

Mollie gave a little nod, as if in satisfaction.

Lyssa swallowed a sigh. In another ten years or so, this little girl could very well be her competition. With luck, they wouldn’t again both be in love with the same man.

Lyssa came downstairs prepared to gather up the dishes they had left in the living room from their picnic supper. Instead, the coffee table was clear except for a couple of magazines and the deck of cards Tommy had swept into a disorderly pile.

To her surprise, she found Brent in the kitchen with Nick.

“Tommy went right to sleep,” he said, “so I came down again.”

“And helped bring in the dishes?” she asked, looking at the crowded counter near the sink.

He nodded.

“It’s our turn to wash and dry,” Nick told her. “You take it easy.”

“Doing what?” she demanded.

“Sitting at the breakfast bar and supervising.”

At first she balked at the thought of his taking control of the kitchen. But how could she dislike him taking charge in a house that wasn’t even hers? Besides, Brent seemed comfortable with Nick, and keeping the teen happy was as important as amusing the younger kids. She gave in gracefully. “Well, why not? At home, my dad and brothers pitch in to help, too.”

“Do they cook?” Brent asked.

She laughed. “Not very well. Why? Do you?”

He turned red. “Yeah. I like cooking.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Nick said. “A man’s gotta do whatever it takes to survive.”

“In this case, what my mom makes me do.” He laughed. “But she says since I like eating so much, I’ll need to know how to cook for when I go away to college.”

“Your mom’s right. And cooking’s a skill you can turn into a career, if you want to.”

“Really?” Brent sounded interested.

“A lucrative career,” Nick added.

Money, again. All his thoughts went to nonstop work and the almighty dollar.

Lyssa blocked out whatever he said next to Brent, then let her concentration drift…but not too far. Only as far away as the sink, where Nick stood with his back to her as he washed the dishes.

She watched the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders as he lifted clean plates from the pan and reached across to set them in the draining rack. She listened to the deep murmur of his voice as he talked to Brent.

The faint tang of lemon-scented dishwashing soap filled the room. As she inhaled the scent, she daydreamed about more nights with Nick, with the two of them doing dishes together in their own kitchen.

She could just imagine his reaction if she told him about her dreams. Of course, he would remind her she didn’t set her sights high enough. At the very least, he would insist they buy a dishwasher. Top of the line, naturally, like the “bike” he—as Santa—had recommended to Tommy.

When the last dish was dried, Brent hung up the cloth and said good night. “For sure, this time,” he said to her, grinning.

She laughed, happy he was getting comfortable enough to joke with her. Then she realized he might not have been teasing at all. Maybe he’d meant to reassure her she would now have Nick all to herself.

All to herself. That phrase sent a shiver up her spine. The last time they were alone in here, earlier this evening, he had kissed her again and again.

She watched Brent lope from the room. Then, slowly, she turned back to Nick.

From the opposite side of the breakfast bar, he stood looking at her. He crossed his arms, straining the fabric of his T-shirt, and leaned back against the counter. The same counter they had both stood near when he’d kissed her.

Suddenly, she felt the need to distance herself from that memory.

“The fire should still be going. Want to take a cup of chocolate or tea out to the living room?”

“And make more dishes?” he asked with a laugh.

“I’ll wash them in the morning.”

“Then, a tea for me. I’ll go stoke the fire.” He left the room, and she exhaled in relief.

She needed a rescue party ASAP.

When Lyssa carried the tray with their tea mugs and a plate of petit fours left from the party, Nick rose from his chair to take the tray from her.

He had added another log to the fire and turned off the lamp, leaving the room lit only by the dancing flames and the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the corner.

She swept aside the magazines on the coffee table to make room for the tray, then settled on the couch. To her dismay, after Nick set the tray down, he took a seat beside her.

“Sugar? Cream?” she asked briskly, reaching for his mug.

“Black’s fine.” He took it from her, his fingers brushing hers. He reached for a petit four. “Tommy will have a fit if he finds out we’ve been making inroads into the desserts.”

She laughed. “He probably will. But there are plenty of sweets still in the pantry. We won’t run out.”

“You should have offered some of these to Brent. Give him a taste—no pun intended—of what he might do if he opts for culinary school.”

“He was serious about that?”

“Yeah.” Nick sounded surprised. “Didn’t you hear what he said?”

She blushed, knowing she must have missed that part of the conversation while she was thinking about Nick. Luckily, he went on without waiting for her answer.

“He’s all fired up about the idea. He’s going to talk to his school counselor. I told him I’d do some checking into it for him, too.”

“Really?”

“Sure. It won’t be hard for me to pull some info together, and it’ll be interesting to see just what’s out there.”

She smiled. Maybe there was hope for him. This was the first time he had ever mentioned research not connected to a job, the first time she had heard him speak about doing work that didn’t have a hefty commission attached to it. His willingness to do this for a teenager he’d just met filled her with a warmth that rivaled the steaming mug of tea she held.

“He’s willing to go out on a limb,” Nick said, “and to spread his wings.”

Abruptly, the tea mug seemed hot enough to scald her. She set it down on the coffee table. “He is, and I’m not—is that what you’re trying to say?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“Nick. Once and for all, I’m not going to become this big business player you think I can be. It’s not what I want.” She shook her head. “You just don’t understand. I’m satisfied with my life.”

A small doubt struck her. No, she wasn’t entirely satisfied. How could she be, when her dreams about him could never come true? But she pushed aside the thought and said what she could say truthfully. “I’m satisfied managing a store in my hometown. I just don’t need all the glamour of a big-city job or the extra money or, for sure, the added stress!”

“What do you need?”

You.

The automatic response made her blush again. She had to be stronger than this. She took up her tea mug again and rested back against the couch. They had never come this far before in a conversation on this topic, and she didn’t want to brush him off without answering. They could never be together but at least she would have the chance of making him see the truth.

…

Nick turned sideways on the couch and watched Lyssa stare down at her tea mug. She sat quiet for so long, he thought she wouldn’t answer. But finally, she shot a glance at him and then back at her mug.

“I need my family,” she said slowly. “You know we’re a big family, with seven kids. And with that many of us, we have our squabbles from time to time. But for the most part, we all get along. We’ve had some hard times, too, some years when my dad’s job didn’t cover the bills. We’ve all pitched in to help when we could. It’s why I took the job at Holidaze in the first place, when I was still in school.”

He could hear the pride in her voice at being able to help her family. He couldn’t miss the love she felt for them, too.

“I need Snowflake Valley,” she went on. “The whole community is like an extension of my family. I know it sounds like an advertising slogan, but it’s a small town with a big heart. And just like in a family, people squabble over things once in a while.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Like the feud going on between those who want to modernize Icicle Lane, our business area in town, and those who like it just the way it is. But like my family, eventually they’ll come to a compromise.”

“The way I told Tommy.” He smiled. “See, that’s a big-business tactic at work.”

“But on a smaller scale.”

“True.”

“And I need tradition,” she said. “From the annual town picnic to the annual Christmas Festival. Tradition is a big part of Snowflake Valley, and that’s part of who I am. My dad’s family has been in charge of the festival since it began. I know some people think it’s crazy to have an entire town devoted to Christmas and Santa.” She looked at him again, this time as if in challenge.

And he was always up for a challenge. “I hate to burst your snowflake bubble, but some people don’t have holiday traditions.”

“Meaning you?”

He nodded. “Christmas wasn’t much of a big deal in our house. I was an only child, and most years, my parents would leave me home with the housekeeper while they went off on a cruise.”

She gasped, and her eyes suddenly shone with tears. He’d known she was softhearted about homeless people and orphaned kids and abandoned puppies and kittens, but to see her compassion directed his way gave him a funny feeling in his chest. Not a good funny feeling. He didn’t need anyone’s sympathy.

“Hey, no sense wasting time getting upset on my account. I’m used to it. None of the holidays mean much to me, and neither do vacations.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s probably why I keep myself too busy ever to take time off.”

She looked appalled. “That’s nothing to joke about, Nick.”

He wanted to reach across the space between them to touch her hair. He wanted to get back to kissing her again instead of having this conversation that history had already taught them wouldn’t come to a good end. But he had to tell her the truth. “Trust me, I’m okay with my work schedule.”

“I wouldn’t be,” she said firmly. For a moment, her eyes shone again. Before he could reach out to her, she set down her mug and rose from the couch. “Come on,” she said, crooking her finger.

“I’m all yours.” He nearly wrenched his ankle again, almost levitating to his feet. “What do you have in mind?” he asked hopefully.

“Not what you’re evidently thinking. We’re going on a hunt.”

“For what?”

“For something we can use to make Christmas stockings.”

“Not me.” He came to a halt. “If this is your way of teaching me your family traditions, no thanks. Besides, making those stockings was your idea.”

“And having Santa come to visit was yours. You’re as responsible for this project as I am.” She took his hand and tugged him along with her.

Suddenly less inclined to argue, he matched his stride to hers. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her. “I hate to burst another of your bubbles, but I doubt Michael’s got much in the way of stocking material around here. We might need to renege on our promise to Tommy, after all.”

“So, you’re admitting there’s a deal you can’t handle?”

He squeezed her hand. “Honey, there’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She laughed, and the sound set up another feeling in his chest. A very good one, this time.

Upstairs, she led him down the hall. “Let’s check the linen closet,” she said in a low voice as they passed the closed doors of the kids’ bedrooms. “I’d much rather cut up a towel or blanket than sacrifice any of Amber’s clothes.”

Reluctantly, he let her slip her hand from his. She began investigating the contents of the closet. “It looks like the kids may have taken most of the afghans already.” She stood on tiptoe to reach an upper shelf. “Wait, what’s this? It’s too far back for me. Can you—?”

Before she had finished her sentence, he moved in close behind her and reached over her head to bring down what turned out to be a dark-green woolen afghan. He held the afghan in front of her, his arms encircling her and his chin grazing the top of her head.

“Will this do?” he murmured in her ear.

“For the stockings?”

He laughed quietly. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” He took her arm and turned her to face him. “Or did you have something else in mind?”

“Like what?” she asked innocently.

“Like this.” He draped the afghan around her shoulders and tugged on the edges of it, gently bringing her even closer to him. As he leaned down to kiss her, he heard a thump from just a few yards away.

Groaning, she edged away from him. “Great.”

“Was that what I think it was?” he asked.

“A door closing. But which one?”

“I couldn’t tell.” He backed up a step, too, and glanced down the hallway. The afghan began to slip. He resettled it on her shoulders. “Now, where were we?”

“About to make a big mistake.”

“Why? We’re adults.”

“And we’re responsible for those three kids. We shouldn’t be making out right outside their doors.”

“My room’s just down the hall,” he murmured.

“So is mine,” she said, her smile revving his pulse, giving him hope…until she edged a few more steps away, wrapping the afghan around her. “And that’s where we need to go—to our own rooms. Alone.”