'Twas the Week Before Christmas (4 page)

The kid tilted his chin toward the window. “Just across the street.”

“Thanks.” Max reached for his bag and tucked his wallet back into his pocket.

“Tell Lucy that Bobby Miller sent you,” the kid said, managing a tight smile. “She’ll take care of you.”

Max squinted as sudden realization took hold. Miller. As in George Miller? After a slight hesitation, he nodded his thanks and jogged across the street to the diner as a blast of wind slapped his face, wishing he’d had the sense to have already put on that parka.

* * *

Holly’s heart flipped at the sight of Max walking into the diner and she paused mid-sentence in surprise. His broad shoulders filled that ridiculous overcoat perfectly, leaving her wishing she could see the fine details of what lay beneath. He stood in the doorway, all at once looking devilishly handsome and slightly bewildered.

Watching her reaction, Lucy Miller whispered over the Formica counter, “Who’s that?”

Holly slid her eyes back to her friend. “He’s a guest at the inn.”

Lucy lifted her head and murmured, “Looks like you’ve made quite an impression on him.”

Holly followed Lucy’s gaze back to the front of the room, where Max caught her stare and lit up with an almost relieved smile. He held his hand up and began winding his way through the crowded tables to where Holly was perched at the counter, his athletic frame allowing him to do so with ease.

“Hey,” he said, flopping companionably onto the stool beside her.

“Hi,” Holly said cautiously, feeling a shiver of excitement at his proximity. “This is a surprise.”

“Thought I’d get a quick cup of coffee and check out the town before I went back to the inn.”

Lucy took her cue and pulled a ceramic mug off a shelf. She slid it toward Max and gave Holly a fleeting look. Holly pursed her lips and shifted her focus back to Max. “When is your, um, business meeting?”

“Already happened,” Max said simply and Holly’s heart turned heavy. The meeting was over. His purpose in Maple Woods was finished. He’d be leaving just as quickly as he’d arrived.

He was only booked for two nights but somehow Holly had hoped something would keep him longer. It was a silly thought, she realized now. He had a life to get back to in New York. A life that didn’t include her.

She forced a bright smile. “Did it go well?”

Max pulled a noncommittal face. He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Holly narrowed her eyes and looked down to her own coffee cup, not sure what to say next. Max liked his privacy, and she wasn’t one to pry. If he wanted to share his reasons for being here, he would. But his evasiveness was unnerving and unfamiliar. Maple Woods wasn’t a town based on secrets. If you had one, it was bound to come out sooner than later.

Max was a fresh reminder of what her life had been like back in Boston, and she suddenly realized how much she had changed since she’d moved away. And how little she missed her old life. After her parents died, the city had felt vast and empty. Cold. It wasn’t until she moved permanently to Maple Woods that she remembered what it felt like to be surrounded by friends and people who genuinely cared enough to let you in, not keep you at arm’s reach.

“I thought you’d be busy at the inn all day,” Max observed.

“Believe it or not, I do get out,” Holly said with a grin. “Abby helps hold down the fort.”

“And Abby is?”

“Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t have met her yet. She helps run things. Sort of a manager or housekeeper, if you will. But she’s also a friend.”

Max nodded, his blue gaze locked intensely with hers as if hanging onto her every word. It had been a long time since a man had paid this much attention to her, and Holly felt her nerves flutter under his gaze. Every time their eyes met, her stomach did involuntary somersaults.

The last man who had looked at her with this much interest was Brendan, her last boyfriend in Boston. And look how that had ended, she thought bitterly. But something told her Max was different.

Not that it matters,
she thought sadly.

“Here are your pies, hon.” Lucy placed a stack of white pie boxes in front of Holly.

Holly lifted the lid of the box on top and stole a peek at the contents. “Oh,” she cried. “Apple-cranberry. My favorite.”

“That’s for the guests,” Lucy remarked with a playful smile. She glanced at Max. “You like pie?”

Max shrugged. “I liked the pie I had last night.”

“That was Lucy’s creation,” Holly explained. “She bakes all the pies for the inn. I drop by every morning to pick them up.”

“This one keeps me in business,” Lucy said.

“I find that hard to believe,” Max said, an edge creeping into his once-pleasant tone. He looked around the crowded room. “This place seems to be doing pretty well on its own.”

“Eh. At times. But you’d be amazed how many regulars come in, spend a buck-fifty on a cup of coffee and sip refills for two hours. Like Mr. Hawkins over there.” She gave a pointed stare to the end of the counter where an older man sat sipping at his mug, the newspaper splayed in front of him. The poor man had been a fixture at the diner ever since his wife had died more than ten years ago. Holly couldn’t remember a day she hadn’t come in to collect her pies and had not seen him sitting in that very seat. He clearly couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.

Makes two of us.

Max raised his eyebrows as he considered Lucy’s logic. “Never thought about that. And on that note, I’ll take a slice of pie.”

A warm glow flowed through Holly at his kind effort. Why couldn’t she have met a guy like Max in Maple Woods?

But then, that was the drawback to living in a small town. She couldn’t find the right one in Boston. And now she couldn’t find the right one here, either. Max seemed like everything she was looking for and more. But of course, he came with a hitch. He was just passing through her life. He wasn’t a permanent part of it.

“What’s your poison, stranger?” Lucy asked. She pointed to the blackboard on the wall. “We’ve got pumpkin, apple and pear.”

“If apple-cranberry is Holly’s favorite flavor, then I think I’ll take her up on the recommendation.”

Holly bit her lip to hide her smile and locked eyes with Lucy, who had approval stamped all over her face.

“Good answer,” Lucy observed. She pulled a fresh pie off a baking rack and cut into it.

“Looks like we’ll need a fresh one for the evening crowd,” Emily Porter said, coming around the counter. Holly smiled at her friend, who was another familiar face at Lucy’s Place.

“I’ll get started on that after things quiet down.” Emily paused, noticing Max for the first time, and then slid her eyes to Holly, barely suppressing her interest, before she disappeared into the kitchen.

“I worked in a restaurant in college,” Max volunteered.

Holly perked up with interest. “So did I! I waited tables.”

“You never told me about this,” Lucy said, a sly smile creeping at her lips. “How long were you a waitress for?”

“Five hours,” Holly admitted. It was such a short but horrifying memory that she often forgot she had ever endured it.

“Five
hours?
” Max guffawed, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement. He stared at her, enraptured, and Holly felt the room tilt.

He was just...perfect.

Holly shook her head and closed her eyes, just thinking of her stint as a waitress. “It was awful. I was in college and I needed a part-time job, so I applied to work at this little café. I showed up to work on the first morning and they spent ten minutes showing me how to work the espresso machine—nothing I tried helped me to succeed in foaming that milk.”

Lucy nodded. “It’s tricky.”

“So they—wait, they fired you for not being able to foam milk?” Max’s lips twitched in amusement.

“No, it went beyond the milk,” Holly said. “They were short-staffed that day and my boss wanted to go golfing. He spent another ten minutes teaching me how to use the cash register—”

“Let me guess?” Max’s eyes danced.

Holly gave him a playful swat, wondering for a split second if she had gone too far, but he swatted her right back. Her heart did a little jig. “So I couldn’t foam the milk and I could barely use the cash register. I was the only person working aside from the cook and I had to seat people, take their orders, foam the milk, bring the food, take care of the bill, and bus the tables. It was awful. Well,
I
was awful. So awful, that one customer left me two nickels for a tip.”

Max’s hand was covering his ear-to-ear grin and his eyes were now wide as saucers. A heavy silence was interrupted by a sputtering of laughter and then Max tossed his head back, roaring. Lucy simply shook her head in dismay.

“Two nickels?” Max repeated, when his laughter had died down.

Holly nodded solemnly at the memory. She had never been so mortified. Never felt so ashamed. But looking back, she had to agree it was rather funny.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. But—two nickels?” Max erupted into another wave of laughter and finally composed himself, wiping at his eyes. “And here I was, just beginning to think you were perfect. Now I know you have a fatal flaw. You are a terrible waitress.”

Holly’s cheeks flushed deep and hot but her pulse kicked up a notch. He thought
she
was perfect. And here she thought it was the other way around.

“I bet you were a good waiter,” Lucy said to Max.

Max shrugged and gave a humble grin. “I was better than Holly.”

“Hey!” But she wasn’t mad. How could she be? He was teasing her, and there was only one reason why boys teased.

“I’m just being honest.” His eyes gleamed in merriment. “I mean, you were able to buy some penny candy with your tips and I was able to, well...pay rent.”

Holly laughed but silently considered his words. Max seemed like the type of guy who came from money. Not one who had to earn it. But then, there was a lot about Max she didn’t know.

Yet.

“Restaurant work is hard work. There’s a lot most folks don’t think about until they’re in the business,” Lucy commented. She handed Max his slice of pie and placed a fork on a fresh napkin. “It’s grueling at times. For everyone. Not that I’m complaining. I love this place—don’t get me wrong—but it’s hard work. And having a little extra cash, especially around the holidays, helps.”

Max’s mouth thinned. “I’m Max, by the way.”

“Lucy. Lucy Miller.”

Holly felt Max stiffen in his chair. She scrutinized him sidelong, questioning the reaction.

“I think I might have just met your son—Bobby, is it? Over at the sporting goods shop?”

Lucy chuckled. “So, you’ve had the pleasure, then? Yes, he’s my son.”

“Excuse me for asking, but why doesn’t he work at the diner instead of the store across the street?”

“He’s too cool for it.” Lucy pursed her lips. “He used to help out here, but then his buddy got him that job at the sports place. It’s a chance for them to hang out and earn some money at the same time. I can’t complain since it keeps him out of trouble, but it would be nice to have the family help at the diner. Instead we’re paying another classmate of his to help out on weekends.”

Holly shook her head and heaved a sigh. Lucy often confided in her about her aggravation with her son’s behavior. Bobby wasn’t a bad kid. He was just a kid with dreams that extended beyond Maple Woods. “Kids these days.”

Lucy tightened the apron strings at her waist. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll grow up one day and take over this place. Hope springs.”

Lucy left them to tend to another customer and Holly turned to Max. She patted the pie boxes gingerly, so as to not crush the delicate contents. “I should probably get going.”

A wave of possible disappointment shadowed Max’s chiseled face and Holly instantly regretted her words. It wouldn’t kill her to stick around for a little longer. But then, why bother getting cozier with Max when he was just going to vanish from her life tomorrow?

“You’re really going to leave me sitting here all by myself? Why not stay and have another cup of coffee with me? ”

She hesitated. “I should probably get back and see if Abby needs any help...”

“Fine, fine, go. But on one condition,” Max insisted.

Holly’s pulse skipped a beat. She carefully wrapped her scarf around her neck and gathered her stack of pie boxes. “What’s that?”

“Give me a rain check?” He regarded her hopefully.

Like she’d even consider saying no.

Chapter Four

A
fter returning to the inn, Holly continued with her normal routine, helping where needed with the lunch service and overseeing any other guest requests. She spotted Max at lunch, sitting at the same table as breakfast, under the heated gaze of Evelyn Adler from across the room. It seemed dear Evelyn’s interest hadn’t faded through the morning hours, but if Max was aware of her unabashed stare, he’d done a good job of feigning oblivion. Holly had hoped to be able to chat with him before he was through with his meal, but the phone hadn’t stopped ringing. Guests slated to arrive in the coming days were inquiring about the weather conditions and yet another had already cancelled their weekend reservation. By the time she made it back to the dining area, Max was already gone.

Holly smiled to herself as she set down the wicker laundry basket outside the linen closet. She folded a soft ivory hand towel and placed it on its appropriate shelf, her mind firmly on Max instead of the task. She had thought her heart would nearly stop when she saw his tall, muscular frame standing in the doorway of Lucy’s Place that morning—it was her usual morning stop, and his presence had shaken her routine...in a good way. She had always enjoyed her quick trip into town to pick up a stack of fresh pies and have a cup of coffee with Lucy, but something told her from now on she would always have one eye on that diner door, half expecting him to walk through, looking every bit the strapping, rugged man that had so unexpectedly appeared this morning.

It was deeply unfair that he had to be leaving town tomorrow, Holly thought with a sigh. If not sooner, considering the storm.

“Holly?” From down the hall, Abby’s voice called out softly.

Holly felt her spirits perk at the sound of her friend’s voice. “Back here! Folding the linens!” she cried with a smile that drooped when she saw Abby’s worried expression.

“Don’t get upset,” Abby said, her normally pleasant tone laced with warning.

Holly stopped folding a pillow case and groaned. “Don’t tell me.”

“The Dempseys are checking out early.”

Holly drew a sharp breath as her heart anchored into her stomach. “Of course they are.”

The women exchanged a knowing look that required no other words. This was exactly what Holly had feared. The storm was scaring people away. And she would be all alone for Christmas.

The thought of the house falling dark and silent for Christmas was too unbearable to consider.

“Maybe the storm will blow over,” Abby said gently, sensing Holly’s distress, but Holly shook her head.

She had never been good at hiding her emotions and with the ache she felt in her chest, she didn’t think she could deny her disappointment even if she tried. This was her home. Her family home. A place of so many memories, which she had promised herself she’d keep alive. This house
couldn’t
fall dark and silent at Christmas. It had once, only once, and it never would again. She promised herself that.

Her voice caught in her throat when she said, “I doubt it.”

She folded another towel and set it on top of the others, the task suddenly feeling useless. The thought of an empty house tonight made her feel weary with dread. She didn’t want to spend Christmas alone. And, much as she loved Abby, she didn’t want to spend Christmas at Abby’s house. She wanted to spend Christmas here at The White Barn Inn, her own home. The one she had spent so much time and energy creating, whose doors she had opened to the public to share.

She was supposed to be spending the holiday with the cheerful buzz of her guests. Just enough company to keep her amused. Just enough work to keep her distracted, preventing her from remembering how truly alone she really was in this big house—and in the world.

And then Max had to stroll into town and remind her of what she was missing. The hope of a future and a family to replace the one she had lost.

For a fleeting second, she wished she had never met him. It was better to fill her life with guests, to keep the companionship constant, than to risk being left alone again.

“Who else?” she asked.

Abby sighed.

“Who else?” Holly repeated, realizing her suspicions were confirmed.

“The Fergusons,” Abby said quietly.

“And?” Panic was starting to build and Holly’s hands trembled slightly as she pulled a fluffy towel from the laundry basket.

Abby hesitated and then, as if just wanting to get it over with, she blurted, “The Browns are thinking about it.”

Holly nodded gravely as she folded the towel. “Thinking about it.” After a pause, she ventured, “Anyone else?”

“No,” Abby said evenly. “At least not yet.”

“Not yet. Exactly my sentiments,” Holly said bitterly.

“It’s going to be okay, Holly,” Abby said firmly. “Pete and I will have you over. You can even spend the night, if you’d like. It could be fun.”

Holly’s mouth thinned with displeasure and she glared at Abby. “You’re giving up pretty quickly.”

“Oh, come on, Holly. I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted you to know you can spend the holiday with us if you need to. Or...want to.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m being silly. I’m just... It’s just hard, you know?” Holly said. Tears sprung to her eyes against her will and welled into warm pools. She fanned them away with her fingers but it was no use.

“I know it’s hard,” Abby said quietly. And she did know, Holly thought. It was some comfort. “You’ve had a rough time, Holly, and it hasn’t been fair. Not fair at all.”

Holly nodded and brushed away another hot, thick tear. She’d have to find a way to sneak down to her quarters and clean herself up before she faced what was left of her guests.

“I know you miss them,” Abby said. “And I know this time of year is especially tough.”

Holly sniffed loudly and squared her shoulders. Enough crying. Wiping away the last of her tears, she blinked rapidly and let out a small laugh. “I’m being ridiculous.”

Abby shook her head. “No, you’re not.”

But Holly couldn’t help feeling indulgent. After all, her parents had died six years ago this Christmas.

* * *

Max sunk into the thick duvet and powered up his laptop. The inn had internet access, which for some reason surprised him, and he quickly scanned his email for anything new. Predictably, business was slow this week. It seemed everyone else had something—or someone—to fill their time with for the holidays. Everyone but him, anyway.

Max couldn’t remember the last time he had celebrated Christmas. Never in all of his adult years, that much was certain. To him, it was nothing more than an excuse to gather with friends. Nothing more. Christmas Day, when everyone was busy with family, Max tended to work, go to a movie, or go for a long jog—anything to distract himself. Anything to make the day feel like nothing more special than any other. But it was hard not to think about what he was missing, hard not to think about that last hope-filled Christmas all those years ago, and the way his world came crashing around him so quickly. To others, Christmas was a time to build new memories. For Max, it was simply a painful reminder of what he didn’t have, and he always felt a surge of relief the day after Christmas, when he wouldn’t have to deal with it again for another year.

Skimming over his notes, Max then researched the library fire. The little information he found indicated that the cause of the fire had never been determined, but that it was most likely the result of a teenage prank or random accident. The library had been an historical landmark, donated by one of the founding families of the town, and was essentially irreplaceable. The age of the building lent a complication, from what Max could gather, and a structural engineer would be needed to determine the extent of the damage. Then there was the authenticity of the building itself, and the desire to restore it as close to its original form as possible. The cost of this project was monumental for a town of its size, and it appeared there was a lack of wealthy patrons standing around with their purse strings open.

Max considered the predicament for a long moment. He could understand the mayor’s position. Being a real estate developer, Max knew how much a project of this size would cost to build. The mayor had a long, expensive road ahead of him and he seemed fully aware of the impossibility of his situation. Max’s vision for this mall could jumpstart Maple Woods’s sluggish economy and that library project. The taxes collected from the retail sales alone would fuel that development.

He had the mayor’s support. That much was clear. Now he just needed George Miller’s. The planning committee was something Max would think about later.

A twinge of guilt knotted his stomach when he thought of how friendly Holly was with Lucy Miller. She had mentioned George Miller in passing the night before, but Max had never stopped to consider that she would know them on a personal level. That created a serious obstacle. Holly loved this inn—why would the Millers agree to have it taken it from her? Holly would never forgive them.

Max rubbed his forehead, sensing the first hint of a headache. This project was proving to be far more difficult than he had expected. He didn’t have to push it; he could just let it go. He could head back to New York and start the site selection process all over again after the first of the year. Lose most of the department stores he’d come to rely on to anchor his other centers. Throw more money away. Spend more sleepless nights trying to salvage the business he’d built from scratch.

But for what? For a woman he had met only the previous night? As beautiful as she was, even he knew this was foolish thinking. No, he hadn’t come this far to back out now. And Max Hamilton was no quitter. He liked Holly. He wanted to get to know her. And he wanted to build this mall, too.

There was a way to have both, and the two were not mutually exclusive.

A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts and he quickly shut his laptop and shoveled his papers under a pillow. He ran his fingers through his hair and stood, marching to the door with a pounding heart in anticipation of seeing Holly.

With one last deep breath, he pulled open the door, air catching in his lungs when he realized that the person who had come to see him was not Holly at all.

“Hello there, young man.” Evelyn Adler stood a good half a foot shorter than Holly would have, and Max lowered his gaze to her.

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips as he peered at the older woman. Brow furrowed in confusion, he said, “Hello, Evelyn. Can I help you with something?”

A little sigh released from Evelyn’s mouth and she pushed past him into his suite saying, “Nelson’s taking a nap—a good, heavy meal always does it to him. I went down to the lobby to find someone to chat with and I couldn’t find you anywhere, so I thought I’d come say hello.”

Max watched with a stir of amusement as she made herself at home on a chair near the fireplace. She looked around the room with obvious curiosity, not bothering to hide her interest. Realizing it would be easier to humor her, Max closed the door and took the other seat near the fireplace. “How long does your husband usually nap?” he inquired.

Evelyn shrugged noncommittally. “Oh, it depends. Sometimes an hour...sometimes four.”

Max raised his eyebrows but said nothing. His pulse quickened with anxiety when he thought of all the work he had planned to do that afternoon. At the top of his list was a phone call to George Miller. Evelyn was a sweet lady, but time wasn’t on his side and he wasn’t in Maple Woods to socialize.

Something I should keep in mind when it comes to others under the roof of this old house,
he thought wryly.

“As I said,” Evelyn continued, patting her hair, “a good meal does it to him every time. And they do have good food here, don’t you think?”

Max pulled his thoughts away from Holly. “What? Oh, yes. Very good food.”

“We live in Providence,” Evelyn said. “Even with all the restaurant options we have there, nothing compares to The White Barn Inn. But then, that Miss Tate certainly has a way of making her guests comfortable.”

Max swallowed a smile and dodged the question. “I take it this isn’t your first time here?”

“Oh, heavens, no!” Evelyn exclaimed with a wide smile and Max noticed that she had applied a fresh coat of deep red lipstick in an almost garish fashion. “We’ve been coming here since it opened. This will be our fourth Christmas here.”

“Really?” Now that was interesting. Evelyn must know Holly fairly well, then. Despite calling her Miss Tate, he thought with a flicker of humor.

“The first time we came here we were so charmed, we returned again in the winter. We come in the summer for the blueberry picking, you see—the orchards here are simply gorgeous. And then, of course, for Christmas.”

“You don’t want to be home for Christmas?” It seemed a strange time to go away, he thought, but then, as someone who didn’t celebrate the holiday himself, what did he know? Evelyn lowered her eyes to her small, bony hands that were tightly folded in her lap. “Little point, really. It’s just Nelson and me, you see. Everyone else has passed on and...we were never blessed with children.”

Max frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Evelyn raised a hand. “It’s fine. We’re blessed in other ways. Two days after Christmas, we fly down to Florida to spend the rest of winter in Palm Beach. Probably couldn’t do that if we were busy taking care of grandkids.”

Max offered her a small smile. “No, I suppose you couldn’t.”

“And Miss Tate does such a wonderful job with the holiday. She has a way of pulling the Christmas spirit out of people.”

So I’ve noticed,
Max thought ruefully.

“She’s like the daughter I always wanted,” Evelyn mused, glancing at him sidelong and holding his stare. Max fought back another smile. Evelyn’s matchmaking skills were far from subtle, but entertaining nonetheless. “Pity that I didn’t have a son to match her up with.”

“Mmm,” was all Max could say to that.

“Was your mother lucky enough to have a daughter?”

The questioned formed a knot in his stomach. “I was an only child.”

“I bet your mother’s hoping for grandchildren soon,” Evelyn observed. She stared at him expectantly, as if willing him to just announce impending fatherhood.