“Something’s on your mind, Al.” Nick jiggled his leg, which in turn jiggled my foot resting on his leg. “When you worry, you go silent.”
“How do you know?” My gaze swung back around to him. And there it was again, that jolt of chemistry that had no place in a platonic relationship. I frowned.
“I know you, Allie Jameson.” There was a trace of annoyance in his tone. “We’re the kind of friends who know each other’s tells and deep, dark secrets.” He propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, staring at me intently. “Most of them anyway.”
My mouth went dry.
There was suddenly a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “I know that you prefer chocolate pudding over chocolate cake. I know when you’re serious about dance because you hum while mentally practicing and you watch every ounce of food that passes your lips.” His voice sunk low, almost to a whisper. “I know you hate to admit weakness, especially to your mother. And I know you say summer is your favorite season, but it’s Christmas you really love. The snow. The songs. You even wrap presents as if they were works of art.” And here, his voice turned husky, “And Secret Santas. You love those – the surprise and the mystery. It’s always been the not-knowing that gets you. I bet they didn’t have Secret Santas in New York City.”
I shook my head, unable to speak. Because it struck me then that Nick did indeed know me better than anyone in the world. And I had to wonder if I knew him as intimately.
My gaze found those lips of his…
He arched his dark brows, daring me to contradict him or prove that I knew him just as well.
I opened my mouth to say…something, but the last of the customers left and his mother cried, “Allie, you’re a God-send. I think we need to hire you while I’m gone.”
Nick shook his head, lifting my foot a little as if about to say,“You’re injured and can’t.”
At the same time Darla, his high school crush, appeared on the sidewalk in her cute coat and her enviable red leather boots. She stopped and stared at Nick as if he was in a window display and was on sale.
He’s mine!
I mean, he wasn’t. But I didn’t want Nick to be Darla’s. She’d ruin him. She’d make him stay in Christmas Mountain when a chef like him deserved to live his life out in the world.
And that’s the only reason I accepted Holly’s offer of employment.
For Nick’s protection.
“If I’m your employee,I should be doing something,” I told Nick hours later after Holly had left to finish packing and check on Eve.
Nick refused to let me do the dishes or clean the kitchen counters. He’d ordered me to sit on a stool he’d put behind the cash register. And the coffee take-out business was slow. At any moment, I fully expected my mother to charge in and demand I do something to find a new dancing gig. To avoid that, I wanted to be needed at the Sleigh Café, or at least be busy and look like I was needed.
“I can’t sit idle,” I told Nick.
“Check the Christmas card box,” he called from the back room.
“I didn’t see anyone drop a card off today.” I reached for the box anyway, shaking it. “Hey, there are cards inside.”
“That’s the thing about the cards,” he called back. “People sneak them in when we’re not looking.”
I removed four envelopes and read the names aloud, “Darla, Javi Ramirez, Holly Stocking and…me?” Mine was a bright green envelope with my name spelled out in small, blocky lettering that I didn’t recognize. “Who would have dropped a Christmas card in the box for me?”
Nick came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dark gray kitchen towel. “That’s what I said when I got one. Open it.”
I tore off the flap, eager to find the message inside. But the design of the card stopped me. A reindeer in a tangle of Christmas lights. The interior message read, “Wishing You Holiday Cheer. No matter the snags.” And someone had written in that same small, blocky, blue felt pen print, “Enjoy the season. Rudolph.” I showed the card to Nick. “That’s it? Enjoy the season?”
He took the card and peered at it. “Yep. That appears to be it. Enjoy the season.”
“But you got a deep message.”You are enough.
“Al, they’re just holiday cards of encouragement.” He flung the kitchen towel over one shoulder. It landed perfectly folded, a chef’s trick, to be sure. “Don’t read so much into it.”
Too late. “I wonder if Mrs. Willowtree dropped this off. She spent a lot of time scanning the cards on the board while I made her order this morning.” And she’d come in early. Perhaps to beat the crowd and remain anonymous?
“No one knew you’d be here this morning.” Nick folded my card and tucked it back in the torn envelope. “Maybe that’s why it’s generic.”
I didn’t like the idea that I was an afterthought. “Hey, I’m still Sherlock Holmes-ing it.” I removed the card once more. “This is definitely a woman’s handwriting. Look how neat it is. Maybe it was Mrs. Leonard. She writes like this.” I’d been working at the dry cleaners one summer when the county clerk impressed me with a similar style of penmanship on her check-in ticket.