Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine Rolofson
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away from men with charisma and commitment issues.
“That’s what she worries about? You being alone?”
“That’s one of many things.” He made a face. “I love them all—my mother, my sisters—but they worry too much.”
They sounded nice, Grace thought. “They care about you and they want you to be happy.”
“This is true.” He grinned. “You could make them—and me—ecstatic, you know, if you would do me a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” She looked down at her empty plate. How had she eaten all of that?
His eyebrows rose. “You do owe me, sweetheart. For room and board.”
Grace choked back a laugh. “Nice try, Chef Hollywood.”
Nico groaned. “Cheap shot.”
“That’s what they called you in the tabloids. Hot Hollywood Chef, Chef Hollywood, Naughty Nico.”
“I’m not the man the media made me out to be. I never was,” he insisted, taking a sip of wine. He waved his arm toward his vintage kitchen. “Does this look like Hot Hollywood Chef style to you? The stove is green, for heaven’s sake.”
She wasn’t sure what the color of the stove had to do with Naughty Nico, but she remembered his mention of remodeling. “You’re going to modernize the kitchen, aren’t you?”
“Not exactly. I like its charm,” Nico declared. “I’ve found a designer who understands what I want.”
“A kitchen that looks like it belongs with the house but with high-end appliances and all the amenities.”
“Exactly. How did you know?”
“I watch a lot of those house-remodeling shows on HGTV,” she informed him. “I have the lingo down.”
He looked at her empty plate. “You like my food.”
“Of course.”
Nico beamed at her, stood and quickly cleared the table. “You look happy. And relaxed. And you are not in pain.”
“I took another ibuprofen.” She’d removed the boot and Nico had draped her foot with one of those refreezable ice packs from the drugstore. “It doesn’t hurt as much as it did a couple of hours ago.”
“Then let’s talk about this favor you owe me.” He returned to the table and refilled her wineglass. Grace didn’t protest. She was warm and content and even though Chef Hollywood was flirting with her again, she knew that was just part of his personality. For a Tuesday night, this was pretty darn good, as long as she kept reminding herself not to take him seriously.
“It’s Tuesday night,” she said. “I usually watch Hell’s Kitchen. Or the show with the little kids cooking. Master Chef Junior.”
“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re changing the subject,” Nico warned. “But I like the show with the children, too. We could do something like that at the lodge, you know. Just for a day. Or maybe a weekend. With some local kids.”
“Really?”
“For charity,” Nico added. “This summer?”
“I like it.” She took a sip of wine. The idea had all sorts of possibilities, so many her head swirled. Or maybe that was the wine.
“It’s almost Christmas Eve,” Nico said.
“So I’ve heard. We have a lovely wedding to work.”
“We do,” he agreed. “But before that...” He paused. “Well, actually before, during and after that, is the Vitelli family Christmas Eve party.”
“All afternoon and night?”
“Just about. We’re Italian. The cooking and eating goes on for hours.”
“And you’re going to miss it?”
“Noelle’s wedding’s at seven, cocktails after and dinner at eight-fifteen, which leaves plenty of time for photographs. Michael is itching to prove himself and we’ll have the prep done. I’ll be at my parents’ from one o’clock until five or so. I hate to miss dinner, but they understand. Everyone has commitments, the little kids have to go home and go to bed early, but somehow we’ll manage to spend a few overlapping hours together in total chaos and with enormous amounts of food.”
“All right,” Grace said. “I can oversee the setup in Wildwood. I’ll be decorating in the morning—the florist is coming early—and will have everything ready for the appetizers. Michael and I can manage without you. It’s a simple wedding and the whole staff is pitching in.”
“Sweetheart, that’s not the favor.”
She couldn’t think what else he would need. And whenever he called her “sweetheart” her brain turned to bread crumbs.
“Quit frowning at me like that,” Nico said. “I’d like you—I need you—to come to the family party.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve. It’s family.”
“Precisely. If I don’t bring you they’ll do nothing but ask me questions about you.”
“Because I’m staying here.” Or because you’ve kissed me. Because sometimes you look at me as if you are totally enthralled with the person you see? Because I blush when you tease me and secretly adore it when you take care of me? She eyed her ankle. Had a sprained ankle brought her a hint of romance? “You told them why, though?”
“Well, sure. And they’d like to meet you anyway.” He smiled. “Come on, do me a favor. If they think I’m keeping you a secret, which they do, they’ll never leave me alone.”
“Nico...” She didn’t know what to say. His family would think they were a couple. She was living in his house, for heaven’s sake. And she needed to remind herself she was only there because he felt responsible for her. Assuming there was anything else going on could only lead to major disappointment. She needed to stop thinking about kissing him and start getting a grip on reality.
“Stuffed manicotti,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. “Lasagna. Meatballs that will melt in your mouth. We don’t always do the traditional fish courses, having been corrupted by three sons-in-law whose requests for meat have to be honored. Antipasto. Cheeses. Shrimp risotto. And wine.” He stroked her palm with his thumb. “Lots of wine. Only the best Chianti. And Pinots, too.”
She groaned, but she didn’t remove her hand from his. He’d held her hand before and she’d discovered she liked that gesture. She liked that gesture very, very much. “You’re trying to bribe me with food?”
“Tiramisu like you’ve never had it before, babe,” he growled in a mock-sexy voice.
“They’ll think I’m your girlfriend,” she cautioned. “Instead of a clumsy coworker who can’t climb stairs.”
“They’ll think you’re lovely,” Nico said. He released her hand. “You’ll be doing me a favor, remember?”
“Tiramisu?”
“Tiramisu.” They clinked glasses to seal the deal. “Now,” Nico said, “let’s talk about this shower. I’m thinking hot and cold appetizers, with red and white wines, some local beer and a chocolate-dessert bar. A friend of Noelle’s called me and said she’d bring chocolates from the Candy Man. How many people are coming?”
“Thirty, maybe a few more. I think it’s mostly staff and Noelle’s and Ted’s friends. More of a party than a typical shower.”
“No games? No bouquets made of ribbons?”
“I doubt it.” Grace chuckled, and then stifled a yawn. “But Patsy’s involved, so you never know. She has a wild side.”
“Can