Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses: A feel good Christmas romance novel Page 6

  “Have you been to Nick’s today?” Caroline asked.

  “I’m heading over there after I finish checking you over.”

  Caroline pursed her lips. “Nick’s little decorating job is dipping into my conversation time. I’m getting jealous,” she teased.

  “It’s your fault,” Abbey teased back. “You were the one who set it up.”

  Caroline smiled. “Ah, well. It’s far worse for him to be alone than it is for me. It’ll be good for him to have some company.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “It’s an awfully large home to have all to himself.”

  “I thought that too.”

  “When he bought it, he was married.”

  “Oh?”

  That annoyed look consumed Caroline’s features again. It was clear to Abbey that she had strong feelings relating to her comment, but her manners were preventing her from saying anything. “He’s divorced now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Abbey knew all too well what it was like to have a failing relationship. She knew that a divorce was only the tip of the iceberg and all the heartache and loss and disappointment were lurking under the water where no one else could see. Telling people she’d broken up with Max’s dad was a tidy way to discuss it, but all of that emotion had been there.

  “I’m not. Sarah wasn’t right for him. She put too much pressure on him. She was never happy.” Caroline shifted in her seat again, her leg clearly giving her some trouble. “Sarah’s remarried now. She has kids.”

  Abbey knew how unsuccessful relationships had taken a toll on her. She was absolutely over Max’s father, Vince, but there was always that lingering feeling of wanting to be with someone who loved her. She didn’t often allow the thought to process, but sometimes, she wished she didn’t have to go through life alone and raise Max all by herself. It would be so nice to have someone to experience life beside her, someone she could share it all with. But, as soon as the thought entered her mind, she reminded herself of how lucky she was. Max was a good boy, he had a great temperament, he was healthy, and she had enough money to put food on the table. Wishing for the luxuries of life only made her feel guilty.

  “Things happen for a reason. I believe that,” Caroline said.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am!” She winked at Abbey. “I’m right about this as much as I’m right about you being the person to decorate Nick’s house. Go talk some sense into him. Tell him he needs area rugs.”

  “Haha.” Abbey looked at her watch. It was time to go. “I’ll call the doctor and make you an appointment.”

  “Sounds good. And when you talk to Nick, tell him I’d love another visit.”

  Abbey nodded and packed her things. Then, she headed out to Nick’s.

  Chapter Six

  When Richard let Abbey in, he allowed her to find her own way, assuming she knew where to go by now. As she stared at the sparkly Christmas trees she’d erected, the most gorgeous music came toward her. It was like nothing she’d ever heard before—sad, and light at the same time, the notes circling her like a musical cyclone. Every sound echoed through the large space, the deep notes filling her ears and settling in the pit of her stomach. It was so beautiful. She followed it to see where it was coming from, but she had a pretty good idea.

  As she walked into the room with the piano, the sound crashed around her like a cool wave on a summer’s day, and she found herself mesmerized. She stood in the large doorway, and allowed her head to rest on the frame as she watched Nick from behind sitting at the piano, under the mistletoe. His hands moved along the keys so smoothly, it made his arms look as though they were dancing. His head was tipped down, turned to the side, in total concentration, as his foot tapped the pedals. The top of the piano was propped open, allowing the glorious music to penetrate every space in the room and beyond.

  She was transfixed, watching his fingers on the keys. They were gentle and careful as he played each note. She’d seen him hold his pen, flip papers on his desk, turn zucchini with his fork, but she’d not seen his fingers move like that. She wondered what else he was capable of. What would it feel like to have those fingers touch her skin? She snapped her head upright. What in the world was she thinking? Abbey mentally corrected herself for having those kinds of thoughts about the man who was employing her.

  As she watched Nick playing alone at his piano, she could feel her heart aching for him, and she knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t stop the emotions she was feeling. They assaulted her against her will.

  “Hello,” he said, his head turned in her direction. She realized then that the music had stopped. “You’re earlier than I expected.” He stood up and walked over to her.

  “That was beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What was that you were playing?”

  “Chopin.”

  Nick’s Chopin was a far cry from her “Chopsticks” the other day. She’d never experienced anyone playing piano like that, and yet he played like it was nothing to him, when it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard in real life. How many hours had he practiced as a child? How many lessons had he had? While she was playing softball, her hair in a ponytail and her cleats kicking dirt on the field, he had been learning classical piano.

  Their worlds couldn’t be any more dissimilar yet there was an art to his playing that she felt on another level. She knew that it took just the right person to know when to leave one note and begin another; he had it down perfectly. It was the same way she’d always felt with her art when she was in school, knowing when to taper that brush stroke just enough to make the painting create a feeling. In different mediums, they were both aware of how to create emotion, and that fact made him so interesting to her that she could hardly take her eyes off him.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, and she realized that her thoughts were apparent on her face. She was terrible at hiding them. “You look worried about something.”

  “I’m fine,” she smiled, straightening her face into a more pleasant expression.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m going to start on the bedrooms today.”

  “Perfect. As I said before, you have free rein of the house. Use whatever you’d like. You have my credit card. Please feel free to use it however you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be out most of the day, but I should be home to see your plans and what you’ve done with the rooms before you leave.”

  “You’ll be out?”

  “I’m flying to Kentucky, to Turfway Park. I’m betting on a horse out there.” He said it with an air of satisfaction as if he thought it would impress her or something.

  “Horse racing?”

  “Yes. The odds are good, otherwise I wouldn’t bother.” When she didn’t respond, partly because she knew nothing about horse racing and partly because she’d always thought that there were better things to do with money than gamble it away, he added, “I’m also doing business. I’m meeting someone from New York about his corporation.”

  “So, instead of meeting at his office, you’re betting on horses?”

  “Yes.”

  Max needed new jeans. She’d bought some but she was saving them so that she could wrap them up and put them under the tree for Christmas because it would give him more to unwrap and she didn’t have enough money for both his clothes and Christmas presents. His current jeans barely grazed the tops of his ankles, and she was glad for the snow outside so he could wear his boots to school to cover him up. And here was Nick betting away his hard-earned money. “And if you lose?”

  “No big deal. It’s only a thousand.”

  “Dollars? A thousand dollars? For one bet?”

  He studied her for a moment while she tried unsuccessfully to hide what she was feeling and then—she could see it—realization sheeted over him. “It’s the price of business,” he said. “That’s just how things are done.�
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  “And you don’t mind doing business that way?”

  “It doesn’t make a difference to me how I get it done as long as I get the signature on the dotted line.”

  “Don’t you think there are better uses for that thousand dollars?”

  “I consider it an investment toward a bigger bet. I’m trying to get someone to sell me his entire corporation. It will make me millions, and the thousand dollars is a blip on that scale.” He started toward the door but turned around. “Is there anything else you’ll require before I head out?”

  “Caroline said she’d love a visit.”

  He nodded and then walked past her through the door and into the hallway, leaving her standing there. In the silence that remained, she was still pondering the fact that he was going to bet all that money. In an attempt to refocus herself, she tried to recall the sound of the piano, and at that moment, she wished she could have Nick’s memory to remember it perfectly. But the betting on horses was still weighing on her.

  “Wait!” she called after him.

  He turned around.

  “What if you win? Then what?”

  He stood silent for a moment, pondering her question. “What would you like me to do with the winnings? You choose.”

  “If you win on the horse, I’d love you to donate your winnings to charity.”

  He smiled. “Okay. I promise. I’ll let you pick the charity.” With another smile and a wave, he headed down the hallway.

  Feeling pleased with her arrangement with Nick, she slipped her shoes off and set them on the bottom step before walking up the curving staircase to the second floor as she tried to get herself together. When she got to the top, she opened the door to the first bedroom, walked inside, and, still trying to recall the sound of the music, she opened her sketchpad and began drawing.

  She looked up, taking in the shadows of the room, the color of the walls, the way the fixtures reflected in the winter light. Then, with her hand moving as fast as Nick’s had on the piano keys, she sketched, long, gray lines, shading in at the edges. She drew a four-poster bed, stark linens, and romantic lighting. More sketching—tall dressers with rounded corners, and warm rugs to cover the cold hardwoods. Her pencil moved along the paper effortlessly as the ideas came to her. When she was finished, she looked at her creation, and was happy with what she’d drawn. Despite her initial frustration over the way Nick spent his money, his music had stayed with her and actually inspired her. She set her pad of paper down and walked the space, getting a good look at it from every angle.

  The next two bedrooms went just as smoothly. Abbey had a wonderfully colorful list of furniture to look for, and she couldn’t believe she was going to buy so much. Before she left each room, she checked the closets just in case there was anything in there that she could use. They’d been empty, and she almost didn’t check the one in the third room, thinking it, too, was probably bare. But something made her check, and was she glad she did.

  Abbey let out a gasp as she squatted down in front of the most gorgeous framed picture of a landscape. At first, she wondered why it wasn’t hanging up somewhere, but then she realized that Nick’s ex-wife had taken all the furniture, so why would he have this one picture up anyway? She pulled it out to get a better look. The picture itself had an overall green tone to it, the landscape full of trees and underbrush with the most incredible white waterfall slamming down onto jagged rocks below. It was some sort of print, she figured, but it was absolutely amazing—the scene looking more like streaks of color than an actual waterfall, even though it was clear that it was real.

  As she looked at her plan for the room, she realized that she’d gotten this room wrong. This picture needed to be the focal point. It was perfect in every way, and she couldn’t believe it had been abandoned in a closet. Since it was already there, it also boosted her confidence. This picture was certainly elegant enough; it had a dark wood frame and creamy-white matting. Abbey imagined gauzy fabrics in white with green accents, perhaps a lamp with the tiniest floral pattern on it. She saw bookshelves and dark wood furniture, a bright white oval rug to cover the dark hardwoods. She flipped her page over and began sketching, the picture inspiring her.

  When she was finished, she slid it back into the closet. This would be her surprise. Finally, she’d found something of Nick’s to include in her decorating. Even if it meant nothing to him, he’d said she could have free rein of the house, and it moved her. It was the perfect piece to include—almost like putting her stamp on the room. Abbey would pull his personality into this house any way she could. She felt such a need to make it his.

  With a smile, she closed her sketchpad and left to buy furniture, paint, and décor.

  * * *

  When Abbey returned, Richard informed her that her dinner had been prepared yet again, and Mr. Sinclair was waiting for her in the dining room. She didn’t want to be excited, but the truth of the matter was that she was happy about seeing him again. If it continued, however, she would have to mention that she should have some say in the matter. What if she’d already eaten?

  Abbey walked into the dining room and found Nick sitting in the same spot as last time, to the right of her plate. He stood up, greeting her with a smile. She sat down, and he followed suit.

  “Thank you for having dinner with me,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.” She was trying hard to act like this was a totally regular occurrence.

  “I took the liberty of having dinner prepared, hoping that you hadn’t eaten while you were out.”

  “I haven’t,” she said. “But I do promise I’ll start packing food so that you don’t have to keep feeding me.”

  He smiled again, his face amused. “You don’t have to pack lunches and dinners for yourself. Richard can easily have meals arranged.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He took a sip of his iced tea. She took in the flecks of silver in his blue eyes, the slight auburn strands in his dark hair, the masculinity of his hands up close.

  “Did your horse win?”

  He smiled. “No. I’m sorry.”

  She smiled back, trying not to think about the fact that he’d lost that money. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have the loss of a thousand dollars have no impact on her life.

  “The reason I’ve asked you to dinner tonight is because I wanted to discuss what you think is going on with my grandmother. I went to see her today, and she said she’s having trouble breathing. She also said that you looked quite worried about it.”

  Abbey had made sure not to show any emotion when she’d checked Caroline. How did she know that Abbey was worried? “I won’t be concerned until I have a formal diagnosis. I’m not able to pinpoint her exact condition, so I can’t offer options for her. I told her I’d make an appointment with the doctor.”

  “Will you keep me informed of her condition, please?”

  Abbey nodded.

  “I also wanted to have a chance to discuss the Christmas party with you. I hope you don’t mind having a working dinner.”

  “You’re always working,” she said with a smile. She’d meant it to be a lighthearted comment but there was no shred of amusement on his face. She looked down at her plate. It looked like chicken. At least she knew how to eat that.

  “I’m pleased with what you’ve done in the ballroom,” he said, draping a linen napkin in his lap. “I was wondering if you could buy a freestanding bar for one end so that I can hire someone to bartend. It will need to be substantial—holding a small refrigerator and wine cooler. There are outlets hidden in the flooring—you’ll have to figure out where they are to install the bar.” He cut a piece of chicken and left it sitting on the fork in his hand.

  “Are you getting into the festive spirit?” she asked, glad to hear he’d given the party some thought.

  “I’m making sure loose ends are tied up,” he said, but she did notice a slight acceptance in his eyes. “I’m planning around a hundred people, plu
s my family. My sister, her husband, and her son will be heading down from New York. My mother will be coming as well. They’re scheduled to arrive Christmas Eve. I’m hoping we can have it all finished by then. I’d like you to help plan the party as well. Just the ordering mostly. I’ll get you the information that you need.”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you think of anything else for the ballroom that would facilitate a gathering of that size?”

  “Hmm. Let me think about it.” She reached down into her handbag and pulled out her sketchpad, jotting down a note to herself.

  “Tell me about your progress. How are the bedrooms coming?”

  “I’ve sketched out a basic plan for the first three, and everything has been ordered. The furniture should be arriving early next week. The bedding and decorations will trickle in within the next few days, and I’ll be working on paint and lighting soon. Would you like to see my sketches?” She turned the pages back and began to show him, but he dismissed it, holding up his hand to stop her.

  “Forgive me. You have the artistic eye. I trust your vision. Please. Eat. I’d hate to be a host who serves cold food.”

  “Does everyone always do what you say?” It was a bold question, but his eyes had given her the courage to ask.

  “Everyone who works for me, yes.”

  “But I want your approval on my ideas. I want to know that I’ve met your expectations.”

  “Believe me,” he said, a slight smile playing at his lips. “You’ve exceeded my expectations.”

  She wanted to do a good job, finish the deal. This money would give her enough to have a real Christmas for Max, one where she could get him everything on his list and make it the best Christmas ever.

  Max had asked her once why some kids in his class got such big things from Santa, but he didn’t. He’d worried that he’d been bad somehow, and he didn’t know it. Her heart ached when he’d said that. Under the pressure of that moment, she’d said that Santa did his best to get everyone what they wanted, but he didn’t have enough room in his sleigh to do that for everyone. She promised Max his year would come, but as he was getting older, and the items on his list were more specific and more expensive, she feared it wouldn’t happen. She was running out of years. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t believe in Santa anymore, and she wouldn’t have the chance to prove her statement true.