Wrapped Up in a Beau (3 page)

Chapter Three

Greta woke up in the sunlit bedroom, drowsily smiling as she reached for her robe and shuffled to the bay window. It had been overcast yesterday when she flew in, and she'd slept through most of the day because of jet lag. Today the sun was out, casting a bright shine to the fresh snow and lighting up the space. Already she was happy with her choice to spend Christmas in the States. It'd been so long.

When Sophie had suggested Greta come to Swan's Crossing, Greta assumed she'd be staying in the hotel Sophie managed, the establishment the Renclairs also happened to own. However, her friend wouldn't hear of it, insisting there was a guesthouse waiting for her. Not only was it separate from the main estate, it had a small living room, kitchen, and a metal winding staircase that led to the loft-like bedroom. A place of her own.

Mrs. Renclair decorated a Christmas tree for Greta's private joy, trimmed with white lights, red, gold and silver ornaments, and a glittering star at the top. The scent of the fresh pine made her smile every time she walked in the door.

After her shower, she slipped on a pair of black leggings, a long, cream-colored sweater, scarf and her favorite Loriblu boots, ready to see the town.

She enjoyed the crunch of the snow as she made her way to the main house. Sophie had mentioned some guidelines and Greta made sure to remember them. Shoes off when entering. Knock on every door before walking in a room. No yelling from the top or bottom of the stairs. Ask Linda for any housekeeping needs; Ben for butler needs. Though the estate could accommodate a family of twelve, only Grandfather Renclair and Sophie's parents lived in it. Sophie had her own townhouse down the road and Greta assumed the brother had his own bachelor pad as well.

Opening the back door, she took a seat on the bench to remove her boots, smiling.

Mason.

All night she'd thought of him and then some, replaying their encounter in her head. The more she thought of him, the more she liked him. Not a surprise. Many women probably did. He might've tried to seduce her from the looks he'd been her giving throughout the night. Good thing she wouldn't have to worry about that now. Worry…or succumb.

While Linda and a few others finished up cleaning from last night's party, Greta found her way to the kitchen. She was greeted by the resident cook, Amah, who kindly asked what she'd like for breakfast. Eggs benedict? An omelet with fresh asparagus, cheese and salmon? Perhaps homemade oatmeal with caramelized walnuts and brown sugar?

“An egg on toast, please? Can you make that?” She took a seat at the breakfast nook, reaching for the carafe of coffee.

The crow's feet around Amah's eyes deepened as he nodded. “Right away,” he replied, with an accent Greta noticed.

“South African?” she asked with a curious smile.

“Very good, Ms. Marcum!” he exclaimed. “For that, I will endeavor to create the best egg on toast you have tasted.”

“Eggs on toast?” a voice echoed. “Those Brits took the American right out of you, didn't they?”

She froze and looked up.

Mason grinned, standing in the doorway, a mug in his hand.

At night in a tux he was heartbreaking, but in a short-zippered sweater and jeans, he was the stuff made of girlish daydreams.

But he was obviously no mirage.

Shocked, she attempted to appear nonchalant while her heart pounded wildly at his unexpected presence. “Aren't you supposed to be dipping your feet in international waters by now?”

Mason sauntered in and took a seat across her. “I had to cancel. Looks like I'll be right here for Christmas after all.”

What could've possibly come up between nine o'clock and midnight last night to warrant a complete cancellation? Oh, boy. This changed everything. “That must be such a disappointment. Sophie said nothing could keep you from going.”

“She was right. But I have to stay this time. She's going to get her second Christmas miracle when she sees I never left.”

“Indeed. What happened?” She was curious. Very curious.

He didn't respond right away as he looked into her eyes, making her stomach flutter, her skin bloom. “Plans changed, that's all.”

Caught in his stare, all she could say was, “Oh.”

After Amah presented her with the best egg on toast she'd ever seen, and Mason had requested his meal of choice, she finally tore her eyes away. She feigned indifference to his presence, blindly scanning the headlines of the
New York Times
as they sat in companionable silence.

“So,” he mused, raising the mug to his mouth, “what are your plans for today? You look ready to paint the town red. That'll take all of thirty minutes.”

She gave him a chiding glance. “You are the worst local I've ever met.” At his chuckle, she replied, “Nothing in particular. Thinking about going downtown to browse and see where the day takes me.”

He nodded, tossing his napkin on the plate. “I'm headed that way myself. I'll drive you.”

She noticed how he made it a statement instead of an offer. Well, not a good idea. Better to keep some distance and shut down the flirtation. Last night had been different; she thought it harmless because he was leaving! “Thank you, but no. I have GPS in the Mustang and from what Sophie told me, this town isn't that difficult to navigate.”

“I insist.”

“I decline,” she countered without hesitation. “I'm pretty independent. I prefer to be on my own.”

His mouth turned down as she rose to leave. Was he really that disappointed? Well, too bad. He'd have to find other women to escort around town. Though she was more than a little excited to know he hadn't left, it was unwise to spend any alone time with him. Her instincts were loud and clear as a Christmas choir.

No matter what Mason said, Swan's Crossing was nothing short of inspiring, she thought later on, walking the sidewalk along downtown. Greta could hardly contain the inner child begging to come out and play. The virgin snow sparkled off the rooftops, chimney smoke suggested fires in the hearth and home cooking, children shouted playfully in the yards and bunches of little shops and boutiques enticed the senses.She stopped in nearly every store in the historic downtown, buying Christmas gifts and a few souvenirs. After a while, she decided to take a break, spotting an adorable café that boasted chocolates, espresso, scones and cake. Her stomach and sweet tooth shouted yes to all those things. The name of the business, “Galore”, was etched in gold cursive on the front door, and she smiled.

The ding-ding of the bell went off as she entered. Immediately her senses were revitalized at the smell of fresh espresso, truffles encased in a bright, pristine display and homemade fudge on top of the counter to sample. Frank Sinatra crooned some Christmas tune in the background. Ornaments dangled from the ceiling. The yellow-and-white-striped wallpaper and old-time photos added even more charm and character.

A short, gray-haired, older man emerged from the back, wiping his hands on his apron as she perused his goods. He grinned. “Welcome!”

Greta smiled back and hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder. “Hello. I love this café. So cozy.”

“Thank you! This is my place. My wife did the decorating. I haven't touched it in ten years. Except for the Christmas decorations of course.”

“It's lovely.”

“Now, what can I get for you? Try a chocolate truffle. I made them this morning. Have you sampled the fudge?” He pushed the tray toward her.

She selected a petite piece and it virtually melted in her mouth. “Oh my. Sinful!”

“Ha! Women and chocolate. It was an easy guess. Are you new in town?” he asked.

“Just visiting.”

“For the holidays? Family?”

She'd almost forgotten how small-town folk loved details. “Friends. The Renclairs.”

“Oh, I see. The big fish in the pond.”

Greta bit back a smile. “I'm a friend of Sophie's. May I try a slice of your lemon cake?”

“Of course. Indulge! Thirsty, too? I'll make you a latte that'll melt the frost right off your fingers.”

“How can I say no?”

Minutes later, she was enjoying her latte and a small piece of cake, chatting with the lovable Italian owner. His name was Leo Rossi and he'd lived in Swan's Crossing for over twenty years. Like most Italians, he was big on family and told her all about his. A son in the military, a daughter who'd recently gotten married. Though she tried to keep details about her background private, he was able to procure a few from her. She told him the truth; she was an only child, both parents gone, and she considered the whole world her home.

Once the lunch hour hit, a herd of patrons converged in the little café, and it was apparent within minutes Leo was overwhelmed. A few of the customers were patient; others didn't seem to take much pity on the man who was working by himself. Greta rose and squeezed in behind the counter. “May I help? I know my way around a café.”

He brightened. “Really? Can you handle an espresso machine?”

She winked at him. “Observe and prepare to be impressed.”

After the rush had ended—it took an hour and a half before it broke—Greta wiped her brow, taking a seat at the table.

“I can't thank you enough for stepping in,” Leo exclaimed, grinning as he waddled toward her with a white box. “Some treats to take home.”

She smiled, accepting the gift. “It was my pleasure. You're here all by yourself, though?”

“I have an assistant who comes in really early to help with getting the sweets out, but he has another job he has to go to by ten. It's me here until the high school gets out. I have a couple of students who come in after class. They're off for two weeks starting Monday for Christmas, so I only have to hang in there a few more days.”

“I see.” With Sophie's days tied up at the hotel, Greta had plenty of free time, and an idea sprung to mind. “How about I come in during the lunch hour to help? Until the kids are off for winter break?”

He was taken aback. “You'd do that?”

“I'd love to. You can pay me in chocolate and consider me your Christmas helper for the week.”

“Little lady, you've got yourself a deal!”

After shaking Leo's hand, agreeing to see him tomorrow, Greta slipped on her leather gloves and left. Upon stepping outside, she took in the fresh, wintergreen air. She let out a breath, a white cloud blowing from her lips, and wondered if she should walk to the hotel to meet Sophie, or drive.

Turning left, she chose the former. She wouldn't be getting much exercise outdoors, better to take advantage of a perfect day. The walk took less than fifteen minutes. The Chamberlain was a small but luxurious hotel built in the 1920s by Sophie's grandfather, William Howard, and other local businessmen. Sophie had spoken of running it one day when they first met. Built in the Italian Renaissance style, the hotel had impressed even a seasoned traveler like Greta, who had seen and stayed in countless historical lodgings. Sophie had obtained a degree in hospitality management with honors, and could've easily begun her career anywhere in the world. Greta had expected her to land somewhere like New York City or Macau, but Sophie only wanted to work for the hotel her Grandfather had helped create.

Once she stepped inside, the magic of the season truly enveloped every sense—a rich, sumptuous interior of wood embellishments and plastered ceilings. The pine scent of the enormous Christmas tree combined with a cinnamon potpourri tickled her nose. A crackling fireplace instantly made her want to shed her coat, kick off her boots and take a nap on the plush chaise in the corner.

“Welcome to the Chamberlain.” A young woman smiled behind the front desk.

Greta asked how to find the restaurant, and was guided toward the back of the hotel. The host informed her Sophie would be joining her shortly, and took her coat. The phone rang and he excused himself to answer it.

The establishment appeared packed with customers…including Mason Renclair. He and an attractive woman with long red hair were sitting at a table on the far left.

Greta stepped back behind a tall plant for cover. Although she scolded herself for it, she observed the two like a covert spy.

The woman grinned, then laughed, reaching across the table to squeeze Mason's forearm.

Oh how obvious. The old arm-squeeze move.

Mason leaned in and spoke as if sharing confidential information, conjuring more laughter from his pretty lunch date. He enjoyed this woman's company, and vice versa. Obviously he had no trouble at all finding company and had recovered quickly after her rejection this morning. She felt a pang in her stomach. So silly! What did she care?
She
was the one who turned
him
down. To be jealous was petty and juvenile.

The woman rose, headed toward the powder room, and Mason accepted the bill after the server set it on the table.

Good. He's leaving
.

“My apologies,” said the host, giving Greta a strange look as she came out from behind the plant. “Right this way.”

She avoided Mason as they passed his table. The host pulled out her chair and she thanked him, keeping her gaze out the picturesque window that showcased a view of a frozen pond with a red bridge running over it.

“Greta.” Mason's deep voice elicited a shimmy down her spine, and he said her name as though he knew she'd been avoiding him.

She feigned surprise and lifted her eyes to his. “Oh. Hi. You're right, this
is
a small town.”

“I warned you,” he teased. “I eat here at least once a week.”

“Well, your family owns the hotel.”

“That, and the choices are limited in Swan's Crossing unless you like burgers and fried seafood. Plus, I had to stop by and give Sophie the news I'm staying.”

“I'm sure she's thrilled.” To avoid those penetrating eyes, she dropped her gaze and carefully unfolded her napkin, placing it in her lap. A moment of silence stretched between them, his electric-blue stare making her cross her legs.
Heavens, is it warm in here or what?
She grabbed the menu. “Nice running into you. Again. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Go away, go away
.