The Naughty List Bundle with The Night Before Christmas & Yule Be Mine. Fern Michaels

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      She was normally very compulsive about things like pan placement and rack spacing. Both were vital to a perfectly baked cake. At the moment, however, she couldn’t afford to be picky. As it was, she was putting more pans in one oven than she’d like, but time was of the essence. She’d already set up the cupcakes that needed to be decorated on one of the worktables, so she headed over to it, leaving Griffin to do as directed. She would double back and check on them once she got the base frosting on the first tray.

      “How long have you been a baker?” he asked, over the clatter of the pans sliding onto the oven racks. “Does it run in the family?”

      “No,” she said, knowing small talk probably wasn’t a bad idea, but finding it a challenge. His presence was unnerving. Perhaps if she kept things casual and civil, she could gain a bit more knowledge about his plans for Hamilton. The more information she had, direct from the source, the better chance she’d have of getting her starry-eyed, fellow business owners to listen to her concerns.

      She could hardly believe the pied-piper spell he’d cast over them. She’d known going in that the sentiment had not been running high in favor of the rumored new plans. So she’d been more than a little stunned to walk into the auditorium and feel a very distinct vibe of excitement, rather than frustration, or even outright anger.

      She’d looked over the brochures she’d grabbed as she’d stomped out of the auditorium and quickly away from the inquiring eyes of her neighbors. Not that it had mattered. Every one of them had found one reason or another to drop by the shop later that afternoon. Some had been circumspect in expressing their curiosity about her apparent earlier run-in with Griffin. Others had been downright blatant. She shuddered to think what the rumor mill would be saying if they knew he was with her after shop hours. It led her to belatedly wonder if anyone had seen him enter as she was flipping the CLOSED sign.

      Dammit.

      “So, then”—came his voice from directly behind her left shoulder, giving her another little jolt—“what did get you into baking? I understand you’ve only been back in Hamilton for a few years.”

      She tried to turn around, then realized how small the space was between the worktable and…him. She seemed to be making a habit of that whenever he was around. Of course, like the gentleman he wasn’t, he didn’t shift to give her more space.

      “I’ve been back almost four years now. I’m surprised, if you’ve been doing homework on me, that you don’t already know why I came back.”

      “I know your best friend was quite ill.”

      “Yes. I came back to help with her business, and…be here for her.”

      There was such compassion in his eyes then, she almost couldn’t believe it was the same grinning man of a moment ago, shamelessly using his charm and his accent to woo her good favor.

      “God rest her soul,” he added, with quiet sincerity. “I’m sorry for your loss, Melody. The world doesn’t often see fit to populate our paths with those who become near and dear to us. It’s a shame, indeed, to lose a single one of them.”

      He was standing so close, and sounded so damn…earnest. She wouldn’t have thought he had it in him, but as close as she was standing to him, she was pretty sure she’d have been able to detect even the slightest hint of artifice. She wanted to ask who he’d lost, why his understanding was so keen. But the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t want to get to know him in that way. She didn’t want to care about him.

      “Th-thank you,” she stammered, groping for the anchor her frustration and anger had provided her thus far with him…and coming up empty-handed.

      “Was this her shop, then?”

      “It was,” she said, hearing the clipped tone in her voice. But at his continued look of sincere interest, she finally relented. “I’d helped her set it up a year or so before, and came back to help her run it when she became too weak to handle the workload.”

      “What was it you gave up to come back?”

      “You mean, what did I do for a living before this? I thought you checked up on me.”

      “I asked after you with the innkeeper, the lovely Mrs. Crossley, but we were interrupted by new guests arriving before she got much further than telling me about your friend. I haven’t had time to do more than that.”

      “Ah.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about his asking around town about her. “Well, I was born here, I left, I came back. Having been gone, I have a much greater appreciation for exactly what Hamilton has to offer. I’m afraid I don’t see the tourist draw that you do. Nor do I think that’s the right direction to push our town.” One corner of her mouth kicked up. “Sorry, ‘village.’”

      To his credit, he smiled too. While her non-answer had diverted their conversation from the more serious direction it had been heading, it didn’t do anything to create the distance she so badly wished to reestablish between them. Getting him out of her personal space would be a great place to start…she just didn’t seem to be able to accomplish it.

      “You’d like for your hometown to stay just as it is for the remaining years of your life. I can understand that, the sentimental attachment, the security that comes with the familiar, the trusted. But what you don’t see is that if Hamilton doesn’t reach forward, it will sink hopelessly into the past. And that won’t allow you to thrive. Not as you could, if you’d be willing to embrace new ideas. I’m no’ looking to destroy your home, Melody. I’m looking to expand on it, improve it, and with that, give you a greater opportunity for bigger successes.”

      “You seem to forget I did do my homework. I’ve seen the befores and afters of some of your handiwork.”

      He didn’t seem remotely abashed by either her pronouncement or her clear lack of respect. He also seemed entirely too close to her. Still. She could see the tiny, darker flecks that tinted his almost translucent green eyes, could see that he had, indeed, broken his nose at some point. And there was a hairline scar that ran along the top of one eyebrow, and another still, high on his forehead, clearly indicating she hadn’t been far off in her assessment of him as a competent, or at least willing, brawler.

      “Some places required more work than others to shore up the foundations,” he responded with the ease of someone who was quite used to defending his work.

      It made her wonder how often he had to do that very thing. But rather than make her feel more confident in her arguments, she worried instead that she was going to be outmatched by someone who had fought and won the battle many, many times.

      “In those cases,” he went on, “the citizenry was happy to have their home restored in such a way as to guarantee its longevity well into the future. You were right about this not being an Old World town. But some of the ones you’ve researched were. There were few options for renewal without rebuilding, restructuring. It made sense to modernize, to give those villages every opportunity to become successful, thriving communities that could sustain themselves in the modern world, and into the future. Yes, old traditions may have to evolve into new ones. But age-old traditions, while cherished and fondly remembered, won’t sustain a community alone. There has to be flexibility and room for reinterpretation, for building new traditions, new legacies. Isn’t that the very core of your country’s philosophy? If you didn’t embrace growth, you’d all still be driving horses and buggies.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ