Kissing Santa Claus. Jill Shalvis

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СКАЧАТЬ She really hadn’t changed much from high school. Sure she was more polished, presumably more mature, her features and her fashion sense a bit more refined. But her dark brown hair still swung around her shoulders like a shiny, silky curtain, and even in her smartly belted, British tweed coat, she was still a slight little thing who looked like she might blow over in a stiff wind. He knew better. She might be nothing like her gregarious, outgoing, fireplug of a mother, but he knew from growing up in the same small town as she that she not only had her father’s reed-thin frame, but his reserved, rock-steady strength as well.

      It hadn’t surprised him a bit when, as a barely turned eighteen-year-old, she’d moved a continent away to continue her education. Or that she’d stayed to build a life for herself in such a metropolitan, worldly city as London. He had no doubt she could handle whatever life threw at her. She’d been preternaturally poised as far back as he could remember.

      He watched as the cab pulled away, leaving her with a single piece of luggage and what looked like a computer bag slung over her shoulder. She didn’t immediately go inside. Instead she stood, curbside, and stared up at the store that had become part of her family decades before either Sean or Holly had come into the world. Sean knew the whole story by now. Bev had grown up in Willow Creek and had started dating Stan while completing her business degree at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville.

      Stan had been a few years older, born in Charlottesville, but had inherited a family home in Willow Creek and was establishing his own accounting business there. They’d been planning their wedding by the time she graduated and took over the dusty little antique book shop in town from Old Lady Haversham. Both Bev and Stan had poured everything into their respective businesses, and took the same kind of pride and joy in watching them grow and flourish as most folks did with their children. Holly had come along much later. In fact, though Sean was a few years older than Holly, his parents had been several decades younger than hers.

      Like Holly, Sean had gone away for college, too, only he’d just gone as far as the Culinary Institute in New York. He loved his family dearly, but while his mother and father had built the family restaurant in Willow Creek using cooking skills they’d learned at the elbows of Sean’s grandparents, great-aunts and -uncles, on both sides of the ocean, he’d wanted classical training. He’d envisioned opening his own place in the nation’s capital, attracting the locals, the politicians, and the out-of-towners. There were Michelin stars in his future, he’d been sure of it. And though he’d missed being in the middle of the boisterous Gallagher clan, he’d only been a train ride away, and the visits back and forth had been frequent in both directions. His parents and the rest of the family had supported his dreams and he loved them all the more for that.

      And then, in one night, everything changed. His life, his dreams, his foundation, his strength. Instead of moving to D.C. and beginning the climb toward opening his own place, his parents’ death had brought the brand-new culinary graduate back to Willow Creek instead. But while he still missed them both, every day, he’d never regretted the new path fate had set him on. As it turned out, he loved running Gallagher’s, loved having family and lifelong friends surrounding him. He wondered if he’d ever have been so truly fulfilled with his old dreams, but was too busy, too content and focused on the here and now to really give it much thought.

      Staring at Holly, he remembered what it had been like, coming back. Only he’d come back into the warm embrace of extended family, sharing their grief over a devastating loss. She was coming home to an early inheritance, her parents happily alive and kicking up their heels in the Mediterranean right about now. So…no grief, no tragedy to overcome. But, perhaps, a similar weight of sudden obligation on her slender shoulders. Did she resent it? Was she happy to be back?

      He couldn’t fathom what it would be like to come home to, well, no home, actually—he knew the house was newly occupied by a young couple with toddlers—and no family waiting with open arms. Only a darkened shop welcomed her back. She’d always been quiet, smart, focused. He remembered how he’d catch her watching his boisterous, crazy family with a combination of terror and wonder in her oh-so-serious deep brown eyes, and wonder what she was thinking. Her family was the opposite of his: small, neat, tidy. But friendly. He’d always found Mrs. Bennett’s holiday world somewhat amazing and the woman herself nothing short of a wonder. He enjoyed the friendship they’d developed, and had often spent time chatting with her at her shop when he’d bring her dinner on the nights she checked in this late shipment or that. He’d enjoyed Mr. Bennett, too, and could see where Holly got her seriousness and quiet demeanor from. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he was dedicated to his wife and their business, and Sean respected both. He still couldn’t really process that they were off playing golf and cruising the high seas. It was almost impossible to picture it.

      He watched Holly and thought maybe there was a grieving of an entirely different sort taking place there. The fact that she’d had the taxi drop her off at the shop with a single suitcase indicated a certain level of ambivalence. But what did he know? And why did he care?

      “Sean! There you are. You’ve got O’Hara on the phone, barking mad about the fish order, and the damn grinder is acting up again. What the bloody hell are you doing?”

      Sean waved a hand back at his cousin Mickey. “You know how to fix the grinder, and tell O’Hara that if he hadn’t tried to pawn off that load of crap scallops on me, I wouldn’t have canceled my order and gone to Halloran’s instead. His loss.”

      “Sean—”

      “Handle it, Mick.” And, without really giving it any actual thought, he strolled straight across the street.

      3

      “Hey, let me help you with that.” At the sound of the deep voice, Holly spun around. Sean Gallagher. The living, breathing embodiment of every single one of her high school fantasies. Feverish fantasies, they’d been, too. Of course, popular Sean, football and basketball star Sean, cheerleader-of-the-week girlfriend Sean, had never once paid her the slightest bit of attention. When they were in school, anyway. Of course she’d seen him almost every day of her life outside of school, given their parents ran businesses across the street from one another.

      He’d nod on occasion, even wave to her when he was alone. But most often he was surrounded by a half dozen teammates and friends, or two to three times that in Gallagher’s, and Holly hadn’t the first clue what to do with a person like that. Especially when that person featured very prominently in every daydream and night fantasy she’d ever had. So, like the awkward geek that she’d been back then, she’d stare back at him, likely with a deer in headlights look, then duck into the shop and hide. All the while bitterly chastising herself for not being more forward and confident in herself when given such perfect openings.

      Thankfully, her mother had never had a clue. One of the few times Bev Bennett’s total absorption in running the shop had worked in Holly’s favor. The instant Holly had popped into the store after school, or debate team practice, or art club, her mother would sigh in relief at the extra pair of hands and put her straight to work. On those days where Sean had privately favored her with that big smile of his, she was thankful for both the haven and the distraction. Today, neither were readily available. The store was locked up and there was no bustle of customers to demand attention.

      Just big, broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, dark-haired, brightly smiling Sean Gallagher.

      Who, at thirty-two, was only about a million times hotter than he’d been at eighteen. She was afraid the same could and would never be said of her. No amount of London polish would turn the small town mouse into a big city swan. She clutched the handle of her suitcase like it was her only lifeline to safety. “I—that’s okay,” she stuttered as he drew closer. “I’ve got it.”

      Her less-than-commanding self-confidence СКАЧАТЬ