I'll Be Yours for Christmas. Samantha Hunter
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little crush on him developed in that moment.
And he knew it.
And she knew that he knew, even when they both emerged back out from behind the hedge and he’d smiled at her so knowingly.
“Hey, earth to Abby?” The voice finally broke through as Hannah Morgan, her best friend since high school, returned to the table, sliding back into her seat.
Abby shook her head clear and blinked the past away.
“Sorry, lost in thought.”
“Yeah, I saw Reece at the door. From the roses blooming in your cheeks, I assume you did, too.”
Abby grunted. “It’s just warm in here.”
Hannah grinned widely. “Warmer since Reece walked in,” she said without shame, watching him where he sat across the room from them. “I guess he’s home because of what happened with his dad.”
“I’m kind of surprised to see him, really. He had a bad crash last spring and has been recovering ever since—it was really serious,” Abby said, shuddering as she remembered seeing the replay of the accident on the news. Reece had been on his way to superstardom, living a glamorous and high-profile life as a race car driver until the crash.
Hannah cocked an eyebrow. “I’d heard, but didn’t realize you followed racing that closely.”
“I just watch the news. And I might have read a few things online.”
“Well, he looks healthy and hale to me,” Hannah said with a playful leer.
Abby knew better than to look again, but did anyway, and sure enough, as soon as she peeked, Reece turned his head to look directly at her.
The shared look nearly sucked the breath out of her.
The years disappeared, and she was the crush-stricken teenager again. His eyes narrowed, and she knew that he recognized her, too, even though she was now twenty-five pounds lighter and her previously plain, boy-short brown hair was now long and layered, curling softly with honey-blond highlights, her one indulgence.
“Why does he have to be so hot?” Abby mumbled, deeply annoyed and digging in to the beautiful salad that a server set before her moments ago. Shoving a forkful of spinach and various greens, fresh pears, walnuts and blue cheese into her mouth, she barely tasted it. Reece’s fault.
“Hey, I think he’s coming over,” Hannah whispered across the table, looking up with a big smile as Reece approached them.
“What?” Abby sputtered, swallowing a mouthful of greens, promptly choking on her food as she saw Hannah was right. Abby coughed, reaching for her water, but suddenly strong hands had her from behind, spanning her rib cage and pulling her back against a rock-solid chest.
“I’m okay, I’m okay!” she insisted. She could sense the heat from his hands on her skin in spite of the sweater she wore over her blouse. His hold released, and she took a few breaths, composing herself.
“Abby?” he said in a voice that was deeper than she remembered, his breath just brushing the back of her neck.
She didn’t turn around, not yet. Picking up her water, she took a sip, using the moment to focus. Then, smoothing the front of her sweater, she faced him with a bright smile.
“Reece. How nice to see you,” she said, and was yet again flung back to those hedges as his gray eyes sparkled with warm recognition. He was remembering it, too, she could tell. Damn it. “Thanks for the first aid, but I really was okay,” she said.
“Glad to help,” he said. “So, Abby Harper, all grown up. No more pigtails or braces,” he said with a smile and a wink.
Her cheeks heated and she wanted to kick Hannah for grinning so broadly.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father. I hope he’s doing well,” Abby said, meaning it, determined to act like an adult.
She noticed a network of thin scars, recently healed, that ran along the side of his neck, and what looked like another behind his ear. “And you, too,” she continued. “That was an awful accident they showed on the news. I’m so glad you’re up and around. You look great,” she said, proud of herself for sounding so mature, like an old friend who was happy to see him again.
Reece’s expression became more serious. She thought he looked bigger now, more muscular than she remembered. She assumed that all race drivers kept to a rigorous fitness regimen and needed to be physically fit to withstand the physical and mental pressures of racing, but … wow.
Those beautiful, thick-lashed eyes were the same, as were the sharp cheekbones and full lips. She’d always loved how his pin-straight, raven-black hair had fallen in his eyes, a little long in the front, but now he kept it cropped short, which only accented his features all the more.
“Thank you. Dad’s recovering well. Doctors are very optimistic.”
He obviously didn’t want to discuss his own near miss, and she couldn’t say she blamed him. Regardless of his celebrity status, it couldn’t be fun to have your private life and health problems made into entertainment news.
Abby nodded. “Is he still at the hospital? I imagine he’d probably be happy to be back to work when he can.”
Reece frowned. “Actually, he won’t. The surgery was remarkably fast—they can do amazing things these days. He and Mom were only home for a few days, but they’re down with Ben now, in South Carolina. The doctors advised it, so that he’d be in an easier climate, closer to hospitals. They’ll live with Ben and his family for a while, which will make it easier on Mom. Then they plan to find a new place down there.”
“Oh,” she said, her reaction part surprise and part regret. She liked the Winstons and would have liked to have seen them before they left. They’d been good neighbors. “Who’s taking over the vineyards? You?”
It was what she’d done when her parents retired. They were off catching up on all of the travel they had put off all those years. Abby was happy for them and she loved the updates they sent her and posted on their Facebook pages. Her parents—world adventurers.
“Not exactly,” Reece said, looking cautious. “We’ve decided selling is the best option. I’m taking care of the details, though, and I have some buyers interested, but—”
“You’re selling?” she interrupted, in shock.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“But, I thought … now that you’re not racing …”
Her misstep was reflected in the tightening of his expression.
“I want to be back to racing next year,” he said shortly. “As soon as possible, really. So there’s no choice but to sell. Which reminds me,” he said, glancing over at his table, “I have to get back to my meeting. I just wanted to say hello.”
“Oh,” was all Abby managed to say.
Reece’s expression shifted from cool to friendly again. Maybe a little too smoothly, in Abby’s estimation.
“It’s good to see you, though. Maybe we’ll get a chance to have a drink together over the holiday, catch up on old times. I should be home for the month, to see the sale through and finish things up here,” he said.
“Yeah, sure,” she responded, but he’d already turned to walk away. This time, she did notice a slight hitch in his gait and wondered about his injuries. Things might be happening behind the scenes that the public didn’t know about … still, she’d thought from what had been reported in the news and online that he was out of the sport.
“Wow, I can’t believe he’s selling,” Abby said again, her mind returning to that bombshell. There were some new start-ups along the lake, and some of the vineyards had closed over the years, but Maple Hills and Winston Vineyards were the two oldest in the area. “All the news said he was