Once Upon a Christmas Eve (18 page)

When their mother didn't wish to discuss something, she simply…didn't. Having tacitly declared the subject of Uncle Harry off limits, the golf pro she'd mentioned apparently wasn't available for discussion, either.

She'd already lifted her glass. “To my girls.”

“To the Fairchild women,” said Frankie, only to notice that one of her sisters didn't have anything to raise. “Wait! Tommi needs a glass of wine.”

Tommi ducked behind the bar. Not wanting to attract
undue attention, she reached under the lower work surface for a tumbler. “I'll just get some water.”

Beside her, she saw Georgie's questioning frown return. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You love good wines.”

“Don't you feel well?” Bobbie echoed.

“I'm fine. I'm just…”

I'm just not in the mood for it,
she'd started to reply.

“Just tell them,”
Max had said.
“It'll be like dropping a hundred-pound weight.”

“Pregnant.”

With her sisters collectively focused on her, and her mother slowly setting her glass on the table, she now knew this moment wasn't as bad as she'd dreaded.

It was worse.

For a half dozen seconds, the only sound Tommi could hear was the beat of her heart behind her eardrums. Her quiet announcement had produced the same momentarily silencing effect as their mother's admission about their Uncle Harry.

“Pregnant?” Frankie blinked in disbelief. “But you're not even in a relationship!” She hesitated. “Are you?”

Tommi wasn't sure how to answer that. What she and Max shared was too fragile to be defined. After all he'd done for her, after the night they'd shared, she knew only that she wanted—needed—him to be part of her life. Explaining that would only confuse the issue, though. That wasn't the relationship her sister was asking about.

Rolling her eyes, Georgie cut into her awkward silence.

“Oh, Tommi.” Georgie always knew exactly what she wanted. She also managed to never let anything stand in her way of reaching whatever that objective was. As Tommi had feared, her hugely accomplished sibling wasted no time voicing disappointment in her apparent lack of that ability.
“What are you going to do with a baby? You barely have this place established. How are you going to keep it up with a child? Are you getting married?”

“Who are you seeing?” Frankie asked, still wanting to know what they'd all apparently missed. “I didn't think you even had time to date.”

Before Tommi could even begin to answer the assault of questions, Bobbie rose with the scrape of stool legs against the hardwood floor.

“Ohmygosh, Tommi,” she said, wrapping her in a hug. “Oh, wow.” Excitement vied with the concern in her voice. “You're going to be the best mom ever. You know that, don't you?” She held her back, looked to Tommi's middle, looked back up. “How far along are you?”

Her sister's faith in her was totally daunting. Tommi just wanted to do the best she could. “Four months.”

Her eyes widened. “Why didn't you tell me? You're not even showing! Is it okay? Are you?”

Tommi hugged her back. With her oldest sister looking on with another eye roll, she felt eternally grateful for the support. She also let her first question go. Until Bobbie's life had fallen into place the past few weeks, her little sister had always seemed to have enough problems of her own. As protective as Tommi had always felt of her, it hadn't seemed fair to have her youngest sibling worrying about her, too.

“The baby and I are fine. Really.” Placing her hand over her belly to show how little loose fabric there actually was, she gave a shrug. “There's more here than you think.

“And no,” she said to Georgie, painfully aware of her censure. “I'm not getting married.” Needing to move, Tommi picked up the wine bottle, poured the last few drops into her uncomfortably silent mom's glass. “The father is out of the picture. He's left the country, actually. Which is
totally fine,” she assured them all. “He was a…mistake,” she admitted, seeing no need to elaborate. “As far as I'm concerned, this child is no one's but mine.”

The sisterly concern in Georgie surfaced right along with her pragmatism. “That sounds fine,” she assured her. “The only thing worse than being married would be marrying the wrong man. But he has a financial obligation to that child. We can't let men just walk away from their responsibilities. Too many women do, you know? You need to assert yourself here, Tommi. At the very least, make whoever he is pay support.”

“Absolutely.” Frankie dug into the bar mix. “If you don't want anything to do with the guy, I'm behind you a hundred and fifty percent. But educations are expensive. And day care,” she added, getting to what came first. “You need good day care to get into good schools.”

While Frankie had echoed their mother's philosophy, Georgie had sounded just like Max.

Tommi turned on her heel.

“Where are you going?” Georgie wanted to know.

“To get Frankie something to eat. She missed dinner.”

“We could go after him,” she could hear Frankie saying. Her voice rose. “What country did he go to?” she called as Tommi disappeared through the open kitchen doors.

“It doesn't matter,” she called back, grabbing a plate from the rack.

Frankie remained undeterred. “We can find out and go after him,” she insisted, but whatever else she said was lost as Tommi took the chill off leftover chicken confit for her, heated bread in the microwave and put together a plate of pâté and brie for the rest of them.

“Still taking care of your sisters?”

Her mom's quiet voice drifted over the muffled sounds of her two oldest siblings speculating, debating and otherwise
deciding her options. Bobbie, as usual, wisely stayed out of the debate.

Glancing over her shoulder at her mom, Tommi gave her a strained little shrug. “Frankie should eat. I thought everyone else might like something, too.”

She returned to her task. It was easier than looking at all the disappointment she'd known she'd see in her mom's eyes.

The concern so apparent there didn't make her feel any better.

“You know, Tommi,” her mom began, folding the napkin over the basket of warm bread, “if you're already four months along it's apparent this happened before I made that remark to Harry. And I can't imagine that you'd have said anything to him before you told us, so his trying to get you married is just coincidental.

“All that aside, I'm not going to ask you for any details,” she assured her. “You're a grown woman and I'm sure you have your reasons for not wanting to discuss the father. That's not my concern right now, anyway.

“I haven't always agreed with the choices you've made,” she admitted, reminding Tommi all over again of how upset she'd been when Tommi had applied to culinary school instead of to university, “but I need you to know that this truly isn't what I wanted for you.

“I'm not talking about your bistro.” She touched Tommi's arm to keep her from turning away. “I know you love doing what you do. If this makes you happy and you can take care of yourself doing it, then that's really all that matters to me. What worries me is how you'll take care of yourself. And a baby. I raised the four of you without any help after your father died. I know how hard it is to do this on your own. So, what I need to know now is how you'll keep up. Most of the time, you work sixteen hours a day. Your reviews
are wonderful. And I'm so proud of you for that. But I also know you haven't taken a vacation in three years. You can't keep up that pace now. You need more help.”

For the first time in the last few months, Tommi actually felt some of the burden she'd carried lift from her shoulders.

Thanks to Max, this was the easy part.

“Everything here is under control, Mom.” She offered the assurance with a sort of certainty she hadn't felt in a very long time. “I've already hired a new sous chef. He starts next month,” she told her, looking back to the plate she prepared. “I worked with him and his wife in culinary school. She's a pastry chef. She may be coming to work for me, too.

“I'm expanding the bistro into the space next door,” she continued, tucking a few cornichons next to the pâté. “Since that will more than double my seating, I'll be hiring even more help.”

Surprise tempered concern. “You can do that? Expand, I mean?”

“Yeah, Mom.” She looked up with a small smile. “I can. I've taken on a partner who even wants to franchise my concept. That's at least a year or so away. But it's in my plans. As for raising this baby on my own, I know it won't be easy. But I have an excellent example to follow.

“So you know what?” she asked, watching her compliment sink in. “We're just going to look at the bright side. You wanted grandchildren. Between mine and Bobbie's new stepchildren, you'll soon have three of them. And for what it's worth,” she added, her throat going a little tight at the sheen of tears her mom blinked back with a smile, “I'm sure certain of my sisters will be more than happy to let me know if I'm doing something wrong.”

“I only mention problems,” claimed Georgie, clearly
having overheard as she walked in, “because I want what's best for you. You know I'll support you any way I can. But do you think expanding right now is a good idea? Shouldn't you be getting more rest instead of taking on such a big project?”

“Expanding what?” Frankie asked, in search of whatever her sister the chef was conjuring up for her.

Bobbie poked her head through the doorway. “I'm pouring you sparkling water. Okay?”

Telling Bobbie that would be great, she handed Frankie the bowl of confit she'd prepared and Georgie the bread. Picking up the appetizer plate herself, she ushered them all back out to where Bobbie took over the back of the bar.

As it tended to do when they were together, conversation bounced all over the place. But as it jumped from the expansion of her bistro to the need for baby furnishings, which led to her mentioning her move to the bigger apartment, then on to the plans for Bobbie's wedding right after Christmas, Tommi found herself still listening for the ring of the phone.

It was because of Max that she'd been able to assure her family that she did, indeed, have everything under control. Thanks to him, too, she was actually feeling the first flickers of excitement over the changes she was about to make. The expansion suddenly seemed more daring than daunting. Except for when it came to food, she'd never felt daring in her life.

Because of him, she was now thinking outside the little box she lived in. She would be making changes she'd mentally fought, but which would allow her to expand in the culinary world she loved. There was something exciting about that growth; something she could actually feel in her smile. Or maybe her smile came more easily now because, for the first time, too, she could feel excitement mingling
with her lengthening list of anxieties about all the ways she could mess up a child.

Yet, “under control” was not how she felt when it came to Max himself. She seemed to have no power over how important he'd become to her. But no matter how she felt about him, she had the awful feeling he might never be able to love her back.

M
ax had spent the first of the week in Chicago straightening out a client's zoning problem during the day, and evenings with their office manager discussing personnel options for New York. Just because Scott didn't care to be involved in an expansion didn't mean Max wasn't going to proceed. Ninety percent of the company's growth wouldn't have happened if he'd let Scott dictate its direction.

The leasing agent in New York had two new office spaces for him to check out. Having left Chicago for his meeting in San Jose, and only now returning to Seattle, he greeted Margie with a preoccupied smile and the request to get him on a morning flight to LaGuardia. He'd just left her desk when he walked into his office to find the L&C file for Tommi's bistro on his chair with a note from Scott.

His partner had written the note on a sheet from a yellow legal pad and clipped it to the front. Behind it were the two copies of the unsigned agreement from the envelope
Max had thrown into the file when he'd grabbed what he'd needed to take with him last Monday.

Anyone reading the message would think it nothing more than a communication between the two partners. Max, however, didn't miss an iota of the sarcasm, resentment and revenge in the man's bold scrawl.

Nice work. Really appreciate the way you handled things with Tommi Fairchild. I repaid the favor. She knows what kind of returns you're after.

A quick call to Scott's secretary revealed that he had already left for the weekend. For Aspen.

A call to his BlackBerry went to voice mail.

Max hung up his desk phone.

His frustration with his partner had moved to something infinitely less benign when he'd come up against Scott's apathy and lack of conscience last week. His disgust with the man now rose with his latest offenses—not the least of which was that the guy had gone through his office. That file had been in his bottom desk drawer.

There was only one thing that concerned Max at the moment, though. Yet he really didn't want the jerk's take on how Tommi had reacted to whatever it was he'd said to her.

He'd find out for himself.

He needed to see her, anyway.

 

At the heavy double knock on the bistro's back door, Tommi's glance flew to the security monitor near the wall clock. Within seconds of recognizing Max's image on the screen, she'd darted across the kitchen and pushed the door open.

Knowing he was due back, she'd felt as if she'd been holding her breath since dawn.

“Hi,” she said, her smile cautious.

“Hi, yourself.”

His features were as guarded as his voice as he stepped into the warmth of the narrow space. Closing out the rain as she backed up, he looked straight to where the lights beyond the kitchen doors had been turned off for the afternoon, then to the ovens filling the room with aromas savory and sweet.

His jaw was working as his glance finally settled on her.

“Is anyone else here?”

She gave a quick shake of her head. “Alaina just left. The Olsons aren't due for another hour.”

Raindrops clung to his dark hair, beaded on the wide shoulders of his open overcoat. She wanted nothing more than to have him walk up to her and wrap her in his arms. But that wasn't what he seemed to have in mind as he took off his coat and tossed it over a stool a few feet away.

Muscle-knotting tension radiated from him in waves, grazing nerves already jumpy just seeing him again. That agitation seemed to be doing battle with something far less definable as he carefully searched her face.

“Max, what's wrong?”

He stepped closer. “What did Scott say to you?”

The quick anxiety she'd felt leaked out like air from a punctured tire.

A moment ago, she hadn't known what to make of the fierce edge in his expression. Now, her own tension fading, she realized that that edge had a decidedly self-protective feel about it. He obviously had some idea of what his partner had told her. He just didn't know how she'd taken it.

“More than he'd first intended, I think. But everything's okay.” She offered the assurance with a soft smile. “It would have been nice if he'd checked his email before he'd come here,” she conceded. “That way he'd have
known I'm working with you and not the company. But if he hadn't come by, I wouldn't have known about Uncle Harry's bribe.”

With his brow furrowing at her logic, she tipped her head, hoping it was just his uncertainty about what she'd been told holding him back from her. She couldn't believe how badly she'd missed him.

“I take it he told you why Hunt set you up with him?”

“He did.”

“Did he tell you I was out to collect on that bribe?”

“Not in so many words. But he did make it sound as if that was why you'd offered to be my partner.”

“And?”

She shrugged. “He doesn't know you as well as he believes he does.”

It took a moment, but the tightness in his jaw seemed to change quality. As if debating whether or not he wanted to touch her, or maybe, if he should, he finally lifted his hand to her cheek.

“Just so you know, I didn't have any ulterior motives with you, Tommi. You do know that. Right?”

He was talking about more than the document they'd signed. There was no doubt of that in her mind as his eyes held hers. Though something about his use of the past tense bothered her, she didn't believe for an instant that he'd tried to maneuver his way into her bed. It seemed he needed to be sure she understood that.

Heat gathered where his fingers skimmed her cheek; partly from his gentle caress, partly from the memory of how she'd all but begged him not to let her go. “Of course I do. I've never thought otherwise.”

Her head unconsciously turned to his touch. The movement was barely perceptible, but it caused something to shift in the tense lines of his face.

As if memorizing the feel of her skin, he let his fingers drift to her jaw. “That's good to know,” he murmured, and let his hand fall.

“So,” he continued, taking a step back to push his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “What are you going to do about your uncle?”

Confused by his touch, more than a little uneasy with the deliberate distance he'd created, she focused on the concern in his voice.

“Mom will take care of Uncle Harry. She was pretty upset when we told her what was going on.”

“We?”

“Bobbie and I. We think he set her up, too. I'd called her after Scott left,” she explained, because he clearly wanted details. “She thought we needed to bring Mom in on it, since she's the only one who really knows how to deal with him.”

“You called your mother?”

“Actually, she came here. She was with my oldest sister when Bobbie called her, so one call led to another and pretty soon my whole family was out there at the wine bar.”

Nothing in the uneasy way she watched him gave Max a clue about how that little scenario had played out. The disquiet he knew was there because of him overshadowed the reactions that would have otherwise been easy for him to read. He wanted badly to reach for her again, to make that disquiet go away. But that relief would only be temporary for both of them, and he had no business thinking about anything other than what he'd come there to resolve.

His first intention after reading Scott's note had been to make sure she hadn't believed he was out to use her in any way. Her comment about her family had led straight to the next concern on his list.

He didn't know if it was because the chef's jacket she wore had become more snug since he'd last seen her wearing one, or because he was intimately familiar with the betraying curve of her belly. But he couldn't look at her now and not be conscious of the baby she carried.

For a few unguarded moments, in the heat of their love-making, he'd almost wished that child was his.

“Your family was all here,” he prefaced, banishing the unwanted memory. “Did you tell them?”

She didn't have to ask what he meant. “I did.”

“How did they take the news?”

“With varying degrees of acceptance. But it's going to be okay,” she allowed, a hint of a smile surfacing. “Bobbie's excited and Mom's getting that way. And you were right. I do feel better now that I've told them.”

“What about your staff?”

“They know, too,” she continued. “I told them in our meeting yesterday when I explained our initial plans to expand. They were wonderful about everything. It was a little awkward at first, because they know I wasn't going out with anyone. But I just told them what I told my family…that the father is gone.” Her eyes sought his as her voice dropped. “You're the only one who knows about him. Okay?”

She was asking that he protect what she'd shared with no one else.

Honoring that confidence was the very least he could do.

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and tried for another smile.

Had she been anyone else, Max knew he would have let his absence and his silence of the past few days speak for itself. When it came to personal relationships, he'd learned
to never give a woman reason to expect anything more from him than what was mutually beneficial at the time. He always made it clear from the start that he had no expectations where she was concerned. More important, he never mixed business with sex.

Despite the fact that he'd broken every one of those rules with the woman cautiously watching him, he hadn't been able to just walk away. He'd done what he could for her business. But he'd wanted to know she would be okay with her family. Knowing that they and her staff now knew about her baby and would be there for them, he could let that concern go.

As for how she'd taken what Harry Hunt had done, he couldn't help being impressed by the way her family had banded together for her. He wasn't familiar with that kind of backing, but it seemed to be the very sort of support she needed.

She had family. She had friends. She and her child would be fine.

“Listen,” he said, knowing it was time to let go of it all. “I'm moving to New York to set up a base for my own holding company. Scott doesn't know it yet, but we're splitting up the partnership. The break has been a long time coming,” he conceded, not wanting her to think she was responsible for that. Not totally, anyway.

“I'll be in Seattle on and off for a while, but just to take care of splitting up the operation.” He hadn't had time to work through that quagmire. He just knew he'd make it happen. “Since our agreement is separate from all of that, if you have any problems with my accountant or J.T.'s assistant, call me on my cell and I'll make sure Margie sees it's taken care of.”

She'd thought she was prepared. She'd thought that having told herself he might never be able to feel about her the
way she did about him would have somehow equipped her for what she was hearing now.

She'd been wrong. Because of all he'd done for her, because of how he'd been there for her, hope had loomed too large for the warnings to have provided any protection at all.

Scott had said something about Max's personal portfolio. Remembering that, she didn't know which hurt the most just then; that Max was done with her now that she'd been acquired, or that he was staffing her out.

Desperate to hide that hurt, she turned away.

She hadn't turned fast enough.

“Tommi, I'm sorry.” Max caught her by the arm, then swore under his breath when she pulled back and stepped from his reach. “I never intended for things to go as far as they did between us. And I never said I'd be around after we signed our—”

“Max, don't. Please.” Taking another step back, she held up her hand as if to physically halt the words. She didn't need to have him tell her he'd never intended to get involved with her the way he had. She especially didn't need to hear him say that what had been so emotionally significant to her had been a mistake. What she did need was to keep them both from saying anything they would have to regret. She might be little more to him than a small investment he wouldn't personally oversee, but he was still a partner in her business.

“I'm not asking anything of you,” she defended. “So please don't make it sound as if I am. I don't expect anything from you other than what's in our agreement.” It was painfully clear he didn't want her thinking he'd be there for her in any way other than financially. She didn't need him to verbalize that, either. “We have a silent partnership,” she reminded him, not feeling anywhere near as strong as
she hoped she sounded. “So what happened between us is something we'll just stay silent about.”

Feeling every bit as defensive as he now looked, she watched him take a shoulder-raising breath and shove his fingers through his hair. She didn't know if he was relieved by her solution or frustrated by it. As he let his hand fall, all she knew for certain was that whatever internal chaos he was dealing with was hardly due entirely to her.

“I'm sorry about what's going on with you and your partner, Max.” Her defenses where he was concerned had finally shown up, but she knew what it was to have certain fundamentals in her life change whether she liked the idea or not. With his partnership somehow forced into breaking up, he could well be feeling that upheaval. Especially since he had chosen to add the pressure of opening a new office on top of it all.

She had the feeling, though, that he welcomed what would have only compounded her stress.

“But mostly,” she added, “I'm sorry you haven't found whatever it is you're looking for. Or that you haven't run far enough away from whatever it is you're trying to escape.”

His dark eyebrows darted into a single slash. “What are you talking about?”

“That thing that drives you,” she said quietly. For her, it had always been the need for security. Having grown up as he had, for all she knew, that could be what drove him, too. “I don't know if you push yourself so hard with work because you're looking for something, or running away from it. Whichever it is, I suspect it won't let you stay still long enough to enjoy whatever it is you have at the moment.” The thrill of the acquisition undoubtedly provided its own sort of rush. She just had a hard time believing he
found any contentment in it. “For your sake, I hope you figure it out.”