Her Mistletoe Magic

“I remember you,” Anna said. “You helped me when I was sad, remember?”

It took Grace a moment to realize what the girl meant. Last fall at the lodge Anna had been crying. Her parents were late and she was worried because her little sister had had to go to the hospital with a fever.

“The Girl Scout dinner,” she said. She remembered dispensing hugs and tissues before returning the child to one of the Scout leaders, who’d informed her that Anna’s parents were on their way. The little sister had an ear infection and would be fine.

Another child, a fragile little angel with the sweetest expression Grace had ever seen, pranced into the kitchen and declared she was “dying for risotto.”

“That’s Emily,” Anna explained. “She wants to be an actress.”

“I think she’s a natural.”

They sat around the huge dining table and ate more food than Grace would have ever thought possible. Johnny Vitelli continued to laugh and hug and beam at everyone. Terry organized the cooking and the presentation of the food. The brothers-in-law greeted Grace with great enthusiasm and teased Nico for being the last single Vitelli.

“Someday,” Ben O’Rourke declared, “you, too, will be changing diapers and coaching soccer.”

“Hopefully not at the same time,” said Jon Nally, little Delia sprawled asleep in his arms, said.

“Though it can be done.” Ben winked at Grace.

She blushed. Nico frowned and didn’t look at all amused. He left her side shortly after that and went over to the stove to oversee the pasta.

Her hostess gifts had been a big hit. Terry gave her a warm hug along with her thanks for the spa time and the candles. Johnny immediately opened his scotch and took a “wee sip,” pronouncing it the best he’d ever tasted. Nico’s sisters were fun and welcoming, the children excited and friendly. Al hid under the table at her feet and Terry urged her to try every dish that was placed on the table. It was chaos and noise and laughter and love.

But the more comfortable she felt, the more she enjoyed his family, the more distant Nico grew. She’d overstepped, she realized. She’d read more into this week than was there.

He felt sorry for the lonely woman he worked with. He was kind and caring—he’d built a ramp for his dog, for heaven’s sake—and that was it.

Here at the Vitellis’ she felt as if she’d come home.

And that was the very worst thing that could have happened this Christmas.

CHAPTER TEN

“NICO.” HIS MOTHER was waiting for him when he came inside after cleaning the snow from the car. It was almost five o’clock—time to brave the storm and head down the road to the lodge—though Grace was busy learning how to make risotto with Cathy while Anna read Christmas poems to her.

He hated to leave, but there would be other holidays. Other Christmas Eve parties.

“Mom?” He stomped the snow

She gave him a quick hug. “You’re trying to hide it, but your heart is in your eyes.”

Nico didn’t know what to say. He’d hoped no one would notice. There had already been too many arch looks, too much teasing and too many assumptions. He was afraid Grace would feel trapped.

“She seems lovely,” his mother added.

“She is.”

“Yes. We’re happy you brought her today. When you were in California we worried—well, never mind about that.” His mother patted him on the arm. “Is this serious? Will we see her again?”

“You will, I hope.” He kept his voice low. “I’ve been half in love with her since the first time I saw her.”

Terry shook her head. “You are such a romantic, Nico. So it was love at first sight.”

“Like you and Dad.”

“We were very young,” she said, leading him toward the sound of people laughing and talking over each other in the kitchen. “And very lucky to find each other.”

“Then wish me the same luck,” he said, throwing an arm over her shoulder.

“Always,” his mother said. “And especially with that lovely young woman. I hope we didn’t frighten her off.”

“Me, too,” Nico replied, worried that he’d rushed Grace into an intimacy she wasn’t prepared for. He’d sped up the dating process this afternoon. Heck, he wasn’t even sure if he and Grace were officially “dating,” but in his mind they’d been a couple since she’d fallen into his arms four days ago. Four days. She’d lived at his house, slept with his dog, eaten meals in his kitchen and worked with him to plan a wedding and a shower. They’d also collaborated on events almost daily for months. He’d like to think that counted.

But what if he was wrong?

“IT’S PERFECT,” GRACE assured the bride as she posed in her wedding gown. “You’re perfect. Everything is going to go beautifully, but you absolutely must stop crying.” She handed Noelle another tissue. “Blot, don’t rub.”

“The storm—”

“Hasn’t changed one thing about your wedding.”

“Just the maid of honor. My sister—”

“Is stuck because of the storm, I know,” Grace said soothingly. “But it’s all going to work out.”

“And Ted—”

“Is with Josh, in the Wildwood Room. And they both look handsome and nervous.” Grace had checked the room ten minutes ago. And twenty minutes ago. And forty minutes ago. Lanterns were in place, flowers were where they were supposed to be and the guests were pouring in.

The fire in the fireplace looked picture-perfect.

The music was ready.

“Time to go,” she said, smiling at the recently substituted maid of honor. “She’s all yours.”

The next hour and a half was a blur, leaving Grace little time to run and hide, no spare moments to wonder what on earth she had been thinking, allowing herself to fall in love with Nico Vitelli. It wasn’t until dinner was served and the happy bride and groom were being toasted by the best man that Grace had a chance to retreat to her office and sit down in the dark.

Nico had been busy in the kitchen and hadn’t spoken to her since they returned to the lodge. They asked and answered each other’s event-related questions through Brian, the good-natured waiter who hoped to be promoted next year.

The truth was that Nico had been a good friend and a helpful coworker. He’d kissed her a few times, but she assumed that was his nature. Kissing him and being kissed by him felt natural at the time, but now it just seemed idiotic.

He’d taken care of her when she’d hurt herself in his kitchen. He’d carried her and fed her and even returned her things to her condo. He’d seen her closet and found her red flats with the rhinestone toes. He’d brought her home to his family on Christmas Eve.

Maybe he felt sorry for her because she had no family around.

He’d been quiet on the short ride back to the lodge. He hadn’t teased her about how much risotto she ate or asked her if she’d had a good time. He’d seemed thoughtful and a little tired. He probably wasn’t thrilled to work on Christmas Eve, either, though that was part of the job.

What if he felt pity for the lonely event planner? What if he didn’t like that his family thought he was serious about her? What if he was embarrassed by it? That thought made her stomach knot up. She took a deep breath.

Well, Christmas and its hoopla were almost over. She would return home, go to bed early, open her gifts in the morning and rest her foot. The doctor had asked her to return on Monday, after the holiday, so he could check it. But he said she’d know when she could put her weight on it again. He’d also told her to avoid high heels for the rest of the winter.

She’d have to avoid more than just dressy shoes. She’d need to hide her feelings and pretend to be friends with a man who made her heart ache.

But that wasn’t going to be simple. Nico had offered to drive her home as soon as they were no longer needed at the wedding. Once the food was served, the wedding cake was ready to be cut, the hot-chocolate bar was in place and the coffee and tea were ready, he and Grace could leave Michael and Jilly to oversee the cleanup.

Grace had other plans. She’d leave him a note.

Wish him a merry Christmas.

Wrap the lovely blue scarf around her neck and limp away.

HE’D SCREWED UP. He didn’t have to wonder any longer because now he knew. Too soon, Vitelli. You rushed it. And Grace wasn’t a woman to be rushed. He should have known better, but he’d thought fate had stepped in with that foolish set of jingle bells to toss Grace right into his arms.

Now what? He checked with the staff to find out who drove her home, but no one knew what he was talking about. He caught up to Jilly as she was replacing peppermint sticks in the hot-chocolate bar.

“Grace isn’t in her office,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Is she around here somewhere?”

Jilly shook her head. “She left. Her foot was really bothering her.”

“She was in pain?”

“One of the EMT guys had to leave early and Grace caught a ride with him.”

“One of the EMTs?”

“Friend of the groom. I guess some of them were in the military together. But she told me to call her if there were any problems.” She reached into her pants pocket. “And she asked me to give you this.”

“Thanks, Jilly.” So much for that mystery. He opened the folded paper and read what he already knew. Grace was holed up in her own little home. Alone at Christmas, which obviously was how she wanted it.

Nico went home to his dog.

GRACE CURLED UP in her blue-and-white bedroom, listened to voice messages from her father—“great weather, wish you were here”—her aunt—“great weather, the baby is gorgeous, wish you were here with us”—and Patsy, who’d attended the wedding ceremony but went home to her family afterward.

“Tell me everything,” her friend said. “Unless it’s after eleven. Then wait until tomorrow.”

Did Patsy want to talk about her afternoon with the Vitellis or the success of the wedding reception? She returned none of the calls.

There was nothing from Nico, not that she expected to hear from him. He wouldn’t be pleased that she’d left without telling him. He took his responsibilities seriously. She’d done him a favor, she told herself, reaching for a tissue. He wouldn’t have to take care of her anymore.

They would be friends.

Grace wept.

“IF YOU WEREN’T interested you should have told me. You didn’t have to run off with one of the bodybuilders.”

It was seven-thirty Christmas morning and a rumpled, pale Nico Vitelli stood at her door. “Nico, what are you—”

“Breakfast.” He handed her a plastic grocery bag. “I grabbed some things to make pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” She stepped back and let him enter her small living room. She’d been up for two hours and had opened her three Christmas presents while drinking three mugs of coffee. At least she wasn’t wearing a flannel nightgown, not that pink yoga pants and a white sweatshirt with the Mirror Lake Lodge logo was much better. She leaned on the crutch and waited for him to explain.

“Yeah. I need to apologize. And Vitellis apologize with food.”

“I didn’t run off with a bodybuilder.” She took the bag. “I was saving you a snowy drive to town.”

“Liar.” He followed her into her tiny kitchen and leaned against the counter as if he owned the place. “You were running away from me. Why? Who hurt you?”

“That’s not—”

“Really, Grace. Who hurt you and how long ago? I heard you were dating someone for quite a while, but he moved away. Was it an ugly breakup?”

“His name was Josh. He got a job offer in Houston and he left me.” She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him.

“Thank God for Houston’s booming economy,” Nico muttered.

“The relationship was getting serious,” she continued, her voice soft. “Or so I thought. I trusted him and he walked away.”

“You were in love with him.”

“It felt like love at the time.” Grace saw the hurt flash in Nico’s eyes and wished she hadn’t been quite so honest.

“He obviously wasn’t the right man for you.”

“No. I know that now. But at the time? I was heartbroken. He wasn’t ready to get married, he said. He wasn’t ready to ‘take the next step.’ That was news to me, because he’d hinted at a future together and I’d believed him.” She tried for a smile. “I seem to attract men with commitment issues.”

“No,” Nico said. “Those men just weren’t right for you. If that guy, the one who moved to Houston, had been the right guy you’d be eating tacos and drinking tequila right now.”

“Nico—”

“Just so you know, I have zero commitment issues,” he informed her. “I’m as loyal as Al.”

Grace couldn’t help smiling at that statement.

Nico continued. “I started to fall in love with you when I interviewed for the job here. The evening I asked you for a drink.”

“But—”

“Not because you were gorgeous. And wearing that red dress. Or because your hair was coming undone in a very sexy way. I fell for you when I saw you comforting a little girl. You really cared about her feelings and you took the time to make her feel better. I loved that. It made me want to know you.”

“I was talking to Anna.”

“Yes. I didn’t know who it was then—Marie told me later what had happened. If I’d only known it was her, I could have stepped in and been the big-hero uncle.” He smiled ruefully. “I didn’t see her face, but I saw yours.”

“She was crying into a corner when I found her. It took a few minutes to get her to tell me what was wrong.”

“I waited around until you came back, to ask you out. I was desperate to impress you, to convince you to talk to me.”

“You were flirting.” And she’d thought he was a well-practiced charmer and would have none of it. “I was a tongue-tied mess,” he confessed. “I’ve been trying to get your attention ever since.”

“You have not.”

“I have,” he insisted. “Ask Patsy. She arranged the Secret Santa gift. I bought the birdseed as a cover.”

“It worked. I was totally fooled. She set it up so I got your name, you know.”

“I suspected from the way you blushed.”

“I did not.”

“You did.” He slipped his arms around her waist. “Could we start over? I rushed things, I know. I scared you.”

“Only because I thought you seemed so...distant yesterday. I thought you were embarrassed that your family thought we were serious. The guys were teasing you about changing diapers and having kids.”

“I was afraid they’d know how very serious I am,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to scare you off.”

He kissed her then, and it was definitely not the kiss of a man who was just looking for a friend.

“Can we start over?”

Grace looped her arms around his neck, letting her crutch drop to the floor. “What did you have in mind?”

“We could go out on a date. To the movies. Eat popcorn. Hold hands.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll have Sunday dinners with the family once in a while. Watch the Super Bowl. Emily has a dance recital coming up. We could go and cheer.” His hands tightened around her.

“We could.”

“Then on Valentine’s Day I come up with some clever way to surprise you with a great big diamond ring. I get down on one knee and beg you to marry me.”

Grace blinked back tears as she looked up at him. He was serious. And he was nervous. “And when I say yes?”

He broke into a smile. “We plan a Christmas wedding, which I know from experience you are very good at.” Nico pulled back from her, reached into his pocket and pulled out a little bundle of jingle bells. “I kept them for luck. What do you say?”

“They’ll be perfect in the bridal bouquet,” she managed to say.

“And we’ll live happily ever after?”

“Of course we will.” She sniffed. “You, me and Al.”

“And maybe a couple of little Vitellis.” His lips skimmed her mouth.

“The more the merrier,” Grace whispered before she kissed him.

Her Holiday Prince Charming

Christine Flynn

Can a single mom and a Scroogelike self-made millionaire find their fairy tale for Christmas? Christine Flynn delivers a tale of holiday magic in the latest installment of The Hunt For Cinderella!

All Rory Linfield wants is to give her little boy a perfect Christmas. A new job and new home would be nice, too! So when a mysterious benefactor asks her to manage a shop in a picturesque seashore town, she eagerly accepts. The only catch? Her supergruff—and supersexy!—new boss.

The last thing bachelor Erik Sullivan needs to deal with is an inexperienced “businesswoman.” Especially one whose gentle manner and vulnerable allure awaken feelings he’d rather let lie. No, it would be easier to keep his distance, because Rory and her son remind him all too much of things he once wanted, but couldn’t have. But then, this holiday season seems to be full of surprises…perhaps even a family under his tree?

For the lovely ladies

who have made the “Hunt” happen,

and everyone who believes in the fairy tale.

Prologue

“What’s on your Christmas list this year? No matter how big or how small, you’re sure to find what you’re looking for at Seattle’s one-stop answer to all your holiday—”

With a quick flick of the dial, Rory silenced the cheerful voice suddenly booming from her car radio. In an attempt to drown out her worries while she waited to pick up her son from kindergarten, she’d turned the music to a decibel she’d never have considered had her five-year-old been in the vehicle.

The ad had just brought to mind the one thing she’d been desperately trying not to think about.

She’d hoped to make the holiday special for her little boy this year. Not just special, but after last year’s unquestionably awful Christmas, something wonderful. Magical.

As of three days ago, however, she was no longer sure how she would keep a roof over their heads, much less put a tree under it. Due to downsizing, her telecommuting services as a legal transcriptionist for Hayes, Bleaker & Stein were no longer required. She’d needed that job to pay for little things like food and gas and to qualify for a mortgage.

Without a job, she had no hope of buying the little Cape Cod she’d thought so perfect for her and little Tyler. She had no hope of buying or renting any house at all. Since the sale of the beautiful home she’d shared with her husband closed next week, that left her four days to find an apartment and a job that would help her pay for it.

A quick tap ticked on her driver’s side window.

Through the foggy glass, a striking blonde wearing studious-looking horn-rimmed glasses and winter-white fur smiled at her. The woman didn’t look at all familiar to Rory. Thinking she must be the mom of an older student, since she knew all the moms in the kindergarten class, she lowered her window and smiled back.

Chill air rushed into the car as the woman bent at the waist to make eye contact. “You’re Aurora Jo Linfield?”

Rory hesitated. The only time she ever used her full name was on legal documents. And she rarely used Aurora at all. “I am.”

“I’m Felicity Granger.” Hiking her designer bag higher on her shoulder, she stuck her hand through the open window. The cold mist glittered around her, clung, jewel-like, to her pale, upswept hair. “But please, call me Phil. I’m an associate of Cornelia Hunt. You’ve heard of Cornelia, haven’t you?”

Rory shook the woman’s hand, watched her retract it. “I’ve heard of her,” she admitted, wondering what this woman—or the other—could possibly want with her. Nearly everyone in Seattle had heard of Mrs. Hunt, the former Cornelia Fairchild. She’d been the childhood sweetheart of computer genius Harry Hunt, the billionaire founder of software giant HuntCom. Rory recalled hearing of their marriage last summer, even though she’d been struggling within her fractured little world at the time. Media interest in their six-decade relationship had been huge.

“May I help you with something?”

“Oh, I’m here to help you,” the woman insisted. “Mr. Hunt heard of your situation—”

Harry Hunt had heard of her? “My situation?”

“About your job loss. And how that affects your ability to purchase another home.”

“How does he know that?”

“Through your real estate agent. Mr. Hunt knows the owner of the agency she works for,” she explained. “Harry bought a building through him last month for his wife so she’d have a headquarters for her new venture. When he learned why you couldn’t move forward with the purchase of the house you’d found, he remembered Mrs. Hunt’s project and thought you’d be a perfect referral. So we checked you out.” Her smile brightened. “And you are.

“Anyway,” she continued, anxious to get to her point. “Cornelia knows of a property for sale that you might want to purchase. She’s aware of your current unemployment,” she hurried to assure her, “but she said you’re not to worry about that little detail right now. Just look at the place. If you’re interested, suitable arrangements can be made for you and for the seller.

“It’s not exactly what you told your agent you want,” she cautioned, reaching into a pocket of her coat. “But it could be perfect for you and your little boy. You really do need to keep an open mind when you see it, though,” she warned. “Don’t judge it as is. Look for the possibilities.

“You’ll be met at the address on the back.” She held out a white, pearlescent business card. “The owner’s representative will be there at ten tomorrow morning. A man by the name of Erik Sullivan. He’s quite knowledgeable about the property, so feel free to ask him anything that will help you decide whether you want the place or not. You should keep an open mind about him, too.

“I have to run now. Double-parked,” she said, explaining her rush but not the warning. “If you like what you see, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Rory took the pretty little card. Neatly hand-printed on the back was an address outside Port Orchard, a short ferry ride across the sound from Seattle.

With questions piling up like leaves in the fall, she glanced back up.

The woman was gone.

Seeing no sign of her in the Pacific Northwest mist that was closer to fog than rain, she looked back to the shimmery little card.

The past fourteen months had left her without faith in much of anything anymore. The sudden, devastating loss of her husband to an uninsured drunk driver who’d run a red light. The whispered and crushing comments about their marriage that she’d overheard at his funeral. The exodus from her life of people she’d once thought of as family and friends. Each event had been shattering in its own right. Together, they’d made her afraid to trust much of anything. Or anyone.

And that had been before she’d lost the job Harvey Bleaker had said was hers for as long as she needed it.

The lovely woman with the bookish glasses had appeared out of nowhere. As if by magic, she’d disappeared into the mist the same way, like some sort of a fairy godmother dressed in faux fur and carrying Coach.

Dead certain her sleepless nights had just caught up with her, Rory dropped the card into the open compartment on the console. Whatever had just happened had to be either too good to be true or came with a spiderweb of strings attached to it.

Probably, undoubtedly, both.