Christmas in Eternity Springs (13 page)

Unless all she wants is casual.

A uniquely lit display of glass ornaments caught his notice and he paused and read the sign. “
HANDMADE IN ETERNITY SPRINGS
.
Visit Whimsies to see a larger selection of beautiful art glass.” Jax tugged a four-color brochure from an acrylic holder and flipped through it. He wasn't much of an art connoisseur overall and he knew nothing about glass art or artists, but being married to Lara Hardcastle had educated him to some extent. He liked this Cicero guy's work. The pieces in this brochure were cool.

Hearing Claire come up behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. “It's nice that you advertise for other businesses in town.”

“It's the Eternity Springs way. They advertise for me, too.”

“I like your shop, Claire. It's festive.”

“Thank you. I'm proud of it.”

“It shows.” Not just in the shop, but in her countenance. The woman glowed.

“Just wait until I've thinned it out a bit down here and have the upstairs the way I want it. It's going to be fabulous.”

“Speaking of upstairs, want to show me what we'll be moving? Larry Wilson has a trailer we can use if we need it.”

“That's nice of him,” Claire said as she walked toward the stairs. “I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your help, Jax.”

“Glad to…” His voice trailed off as they walked past the Angel Room.
It's a cross between Christmas and heaven,
Jax thought. Without making a conscious decision, he veered inside.

Angels, angels everywhere. The colors in the room were predominantly gold, silver, and a celestial blue. “It's like the parlor at Angel's Rest, only … more.”

“Celeste is my best customer. I swear if I didn't have another customer until the end of the year, she'd do enough business to keep me afloat.”

“It's magical.”

“Thanks.”

He folded his arms and studied her. “Do you believe in angels? Believe that they're real?”

For a long moment, she didn't respond. Her gaze drifted around the Angel Room. Finally, she nodded. “I do. Everyone should believe in angels because no one can deny that they walk among us. They're the people who nurse the sick and feed the poor and offer that kind word when it's needed. They're people like Celeste Blessing whose unbounded generosity is motivated by love. They are the people who bring light into the dark places.”

“That's a broad definition of angels, but I get your point.” He waited a beat, then asked, “So what about the spiritual angels. Do you believe in them?”

“I do.” She gave him a curious look. “You don't?”

“I did. I was raised in a religious family. When I was a kid I used to make quick glances into mirrors thinking I might be fast enough to catch a glimpse of my guardian angel.”

“What made you stop believing?”

Jax thought of that god-awful day and that terrifying phone call. “If guardian angels exist, where the hell was Nicholas's when he needed one?”

Claire reached out and touched Jax on the arm. “I'm so sorry. I don't know all the details, but what I know of the accident is heartbreaking.”

“I need to be drinking to tell that story. Suffice to say I've lost my faith in angels.”

“Don't let Celeste hear you say that,” Claire warned. “She'll make you her next project.”

Jax's lips twitched. “I dunno. That might not be a bad thing.” As Claire laughed, he gave the Angel Room one final scan, until his gaze snagged on something almost totally hidden behind an elaborate tree topper on a shelf.

“What's this?” he asked. He stepped into the room in order to see it better. Though she was hidden, one angel stood apart from every other angel in the room. She was a tree topper … and not a new one. Both the burlap overskirt and glittery silver underskirt sported a tear. Her silver pipe-cleaner halo was bent. One dingy white-feathered wing was broken in half. She was one bedraggled Christmas-tree angel—and the sight of her made Jax smile.

“I see what you've done here.” When she returned a blank look, Jax nodded toward the angel. “You've created your very own
Christmas Angel Waiting Room
. She's Starlina. I worked in a bookstore for the past few weeks so I am up-to-date on my movie tie-ins. Clever marketing, though. Consumers are bombarded with Starlina everywhere they go. Your approach is subtle. You bring people right into the pages of the storybook. Bet you sell a truckload of those little angels.”

“No!” Claire snapped. “She's not for sale and her name is not Starlina. She's Gardenia.”

Jax could tell he'd touched a nerve, but he didn't know how. He lifted his hands in surrender. “Oh. Okay. Sorry.”

She grimaced and gave her own head a little slap. “No. I'm sorry. My bad. I have this … thing … about that book.”

“Apparently,” he drawled.

She blushed, closed her eyes, and gave her head a little shake before attempting to explain further. “Gardenia is a family heirloom. I keep her there as a reminder to myself of the reasons I chose to move to Eternity Springs and open Forever Christmas.”

Jax sensed some complexity in those reasons.

Claire continued, “Also, the commercialization of the book rubs me the wrong way.”

“You don't stock it at all? I noticed you have a section of the shop dedicated to books.”

“People can buy that book everywhere so, no, I don't stock it. I offer my customers the unusual and the unique, items that stand the test of time. The vast majority of my inventory is made in America, Germany, or Italy. A little in England and Ireland. I want to be the source for my customers' next family heirloom. Stuffed Starlina dolls are manufactured in the sweatshops of China and aren't future heirlooms!”

Jax thought it advisable not to mention the manufacturing origins of the Pez candy containers by her checkout counter, though even if he'd wanted to, she didn't give him a chance. Claire Branham was on a roll.

“And Starlina. What they've done to that character. The way she's drawn with those exaggerated eyes … you'd think she was a sci-fi character instead of an angel. And the clothes they put her in for her adventures aren't right at all. Something different every page. You know why they did that? Not because the story required it. Because it enhanced the merchandizing opportunities. Now they can sell tutus and leotards and ballet shoes
and
cowboy boots and hats and flannel shirts. Flannel shirts! Who ever heard of an angel wearing a flannel shirt?”

Her snit amused Jax. Obviously, Claire Branham felt passionate about angels. He couldn't help but tease. “Well, what about those earthly angels you spoke of earlier? I'll bet Celeste has worn a flannel shirt a time or two.”

Claire waved it away. “I'm talking about Christmas angels. Two different things.”

“Ah.”

“As a small-business owner, I have the freedom to sell what I choose, and I choose not to support that book. I will encourage my customers to try other Christmas classics that haven't been ruined by commercialization.
The Polar Express
is a perfect example. It hit big. It had a movie. It's still a charming story, unlike the Starlina show.”

Another time, Jax might have argued with her.
The Christmas Angel Waiting Room was
charming. The message about the key to Christmas was subtle and sweet and appealing to both children and adults. That's what had made it so successful. Well, that and a kick-ass title.

Instead of challenging her, he tried to calm the waters. “I think a lot of people dream of owning their own business due in part to reasons like that. It's basic nature to resist giving up control, but when you work for someone else, that's exactly what you do. There's power in being the decision-maker.”

“Yes, there is. Of course, along with the power comes the burden of responsibility. And I'm not the only decision-maker where Forever Christmas is concerned.” She ticked off names on fingers. “There's the banker, the tax man, the landlord, the city and its restrictions … I can go on and on.”

“But you love it, don't you?”

Claire's gaze stole to the bedraggled Christmas angel hidden on the shelf. “Not always, no. Sometimes I can be a real Grooge.”

“Grooge?”

“A combination of Scrooge and the Grinch.”

“Ah.”

“But I'm trying,” she hastened to say. “I really am. And you're right, more often than not, I do love it.” Then she gave a little laugh and added, “I'll love it even more once I get this move behind me.”

“Then let's get to it, shall we?”

He followed her upstairs, enjoying how her slacks pulled tight against her shapely ass as she climbed the steps. He didn't feel a speck of guilt about his licentiousness. Helping her move should have some perks, shouldn't it?

In her apartment, he discovered she'd been busy since making the decision to move to Three Bears Valley. “That's a lot of boxes.”

“I know. I'm not quite sure how I've accumulated so much stuff. My closets aren't that big. Of course, most of the boxes are filled with books.”

“That sound is my back groaning.”

She glanced at him in alarm. “You don't have to help, Jax. I planned to hire some—”

He cut off her protest by placing his index finger against her lips. Her full, soft, cherry-red lips. His voice rough, he said, “I was teasing.”

She'd gone still. The pulse at her neck visibly fluttered.

Jax recognized that he'd made a mistake by touching her. However, now that he'd done it, he couldn't seem to stop.

He allowed his finger to slide, stroking her bottom lip back and forth. Her mouth fell open. Back and forth. “Do you like to be teased, Miss Christmas?”

“No. Yes. It depends,” she replied, her voice low and breathy.

Jax chuckled softly. “You're quite a tease yourself.”

“Why do you say that?”

Had she swayed toward him as she spoke? Maybe so. “You have mistletoe hung from every doorway in the building.”

“That's not t-t-teasing. It's marketing.” Her gaze was locked on his mouth. “Customers who shop with their significant others tend to love it. They linger.”

He lifted his free hand to her waist. “I like to linger.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pulled her closer. “I've been thinking about lingering since last July.”

“You have?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Miss Christmas.”

“I'm curious.”

“You're delicious.”

“How do you know?” she challenged. “You haven't kissed me.”

“Now, you have a point right there. But like I said, I like to linger.”

He tilted her face up to him and finally … finally … lowered his mouth to hers.

Jax hadn't kissed a woman in a very long time, and he wanted to savor the experience, so he lingered as promised. He nipped and nibbled and leisurely explored, banking the rising heat her response triggered and keeping the moment within the bounds of a totally appropriate first kiss.

So when it suddenly caught fire, it caught him by surprise.

He wasn't aware of backing her against the wall. He didn't consciously tug the tie of her apron and free the knot, then slip his hand beneath her blouse to skim across the downy softness of her skin. She tasted of peppermint—
of course she does, she's Miss Christmas
—and smelled of cinnamon and made him ache. For sex, oh, yeah, definitely for sex, but also for something more.

For home.

For hearth.

For love.

Whoa.
That last was just what he needed to shock himself out of the sensual haze into which he'd fallen. He shifted his hands back to safer territory and broke the kiss, lifting his head and gazing down into her upturned face.

The vision of her lips pink and wet and swollen from his kiss proved irresistible. He needed one more taste, so he dove in again.

The one more taste became a second taste and then a third. Only when it threatened to flare out of control completely was he able to release her and take a step back. For a long minute, they gazed at one another in a bit of a daze. When Jax finally found his voice, he said, “Wow. You pack a punch, Miss Christmas.”

The slow smile that spread across her face was as sweet as a candy cane. “That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a very long time.”

“That kiss is the nicest thing I've shared with anyone in a very long time,” he responded honestly.

She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. A shadow crossed her face and her teeth nibbled at that sweet lower lip. “What's wrong?” Jax asked.

“I just … well … this is probably the absolutely wrong thing to say. Way too presumptive. But … after my last romantic disaster, I promised myself … you see … expectations are a dangerous thing. I don't ever want anyone to think … I don't want you to think…”

“Spit it out, Claire.”

“I like you, Jax. I really, really like you. And Nicholas, too. Like I said, I know this is presumptive, but I'd like to spend time with you. I'd like to share more…” She waved her hand about, obviously searching for a word. “More. But I'm not in the market for a relationship, and I want to be up-front about that.”

“A point of clarification. Define ‘relationship.' And maybe ‘more,' too.”

An embarrassed flush crossed her face. She looked so adorable that he wanted to kiss her again.

“This is so not me,” she muttered. “My definition of relationship is the kind that leads to a ring. I don't want a ring. Been there, done that, had my heart broken.”

“We are on the same page there. Nicholas and I will be moving on next summer.”

“I know. That's what makes you perfect.”

“For … more?”