Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine Rolofson
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“Get a bottle of scotch. My father loves single malts.”
“Single malt,” she repeated seriously. “Got it. And your mother?”
“Candle freak.”
“Seriously?”
“Like I could make that up?”
“Any special scent?”
“For what?”
“The candles.”
He frowned, stared absently into the distance. “Not that I know of.” He reached for his cell phone and punched out a text. “Cath will know.”
Sure enough, two minutes later he got an answer. Nico showed Grace the screen: Any. Bigger better.
So Grace would buy single-malt scotch and a humongous candle before one oʼclock, along with preparing the rooms for the wedding and getting the staff set up with their assigned chores.
Piece of cake, even on one foot.
“Drink up,” she said. “We have to get going. Do you mind stopping at my place to pick up some shoes? And drop off my things?” She thought about that for a second. Nico rummaging through her closet. It was clean and organized to the max, which would amuse him no end.
“No problem.” He fiddled with his phone. “There’s a storm coming. We’re going to get some snow.”
“A lot of snow?” She’d have to factor in more time for guests to arrive if that was the case. Snow slowed things down, wreaked havoc on tight schedules.
“‘A significant amount,’ according to Accuweather.”
She’d need to wear boots. Grace hobbled back to her room, grabbed her bag, iPad and phone, put her suede boot on her left foot and wrapped the soft azure scarf from her Secret Santa around her neck. She’d packed everything, but Nico would have to put her clothes and suitcase into the car. She looked around the room to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. She wondered if Al would miss her.
She wondered if Nico would.
“I’ll take those now,” Nico said, stepping into the room. “Unless I can talk you into staying longer.”
“I have tomorrow and the next day off,” she said. “I’ll stay home and rest. And then I think I’ll be as good as new.”
“All right. But Al is going to be devastated when he has to sleep on the floor tonight.”
He took her things and left, the dog following him down the hall and outside. They returned quickly, Al shaking a dusting of snow off his fur and moving immediately to his bed by the fireplace.
“He’ll sleep until Brian comes to take him to my parents’,” Nico said, chuckling. He helped Grace with her coat. “He knows it’s going to snow and he really hates this kind of weather. Why are you smiling?”
“I love weddings. I love big days like this when all of the planning and work pays off and everything is beautiful. And then something goes wrong but it doesn’t matter because I can fix it.” She grinned at him. “I live to organize.”
“Wow.” He took a step back. “The adrenaline’s pumping already?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said. “You love parties. Everyone knows that. You sing while you cook.”
Nico launched into a rendition of “Winter Wonderland” and ushered Grace out the door and into the cold.
SHE WAS ARMED with gifts. She’d called the gift-delivery company she worked with and had them send over a bottle of Highland Park scotch, a selection of fat candles from the Adirondack Company and a huge box of fudge for the children. She’d gathered gift certificates and lotions from the lodge’s spa for Nico’s sisters, then added an extra one for his mother. The brothers-in-law were a mystery until Lyndsie, her gift coordinator, suggested gift certificates to the new microbrewery.
It was all just too easy.
“We’re set?” Nico poked his head into her office. “You can still get away?”
“I can,” she pronounced, grabbing her crutch. “I have so many people who want to help that everything was set up by ten. The florist came early because of the storm. Noelle will check into her suite at three o’clock. She’ll get dressed in the room and then she and Ted will stay there tonight. I need to be back here by five or five thirty. It’s a small wedding, but everything needs to be perfect. How’s the food coming along?”
“We’re all set. My team knows what they’re doing.” He held out her coat. “Even the interns are getting smarter. They’re overseeing the buffet in the dining room. How hard can it be to make sure everything is hot and plentiful and neatly displayed?”
“Christmas Eve,” she mused. “It feels like it.”
“That’s because they’re playing traditional carols in the lobby.”
“Patsy stole my iPod last night.”
“I heard it’s in a safe place until Monday.”
“That’s what the note said.” There would be no more bluesy holiday music in the lobby this season.
“Bundle up,” Nico said, handing her the blue scarf. “It’s snowing.”
She didn’t ask if he thought they’d have trouble getting back to the lodge later. He had a vehicle equipped for traveling in snow, plus the village of Lake Placid knew how to keep roads clear.
“I hope you’re hungry. And feeling domestic. My family will probably put you to work stirring or mincing.” His eyebrows rose at the shopping bags she handed him, but he didn’t comment.
“I can stir,” she assured him. “I can mince,” she fibbed. She hoped she could avoid cutting her fingers or dropping something on the floor. “Don’t they make you do that, being the fancy chef and all?”
“You forget I come from a long line of chefs, fancy and otherwise.”
Nico drove along the lake, passing his house and then continuing along the road for another half a mile. “When I was growing up we lived in town, near the restaurant, but my folks bought this place about fifteen years ago. They decided they wanted to be closer to the water.”
“This place” turned out to be a low-slung modern ranch-style house at the end of a long driveway. Nestled into the hillside, it had breathtaking views of the water and a massive deck.
“They downsized,” Nico explained. “Mom wanted a newer home on one floor, so they bought this and completely redid it.” He parked close to the door, in front of a detached three-car garage. “Stay put and I’ll help you in.”
The snow was coming down heavier now and it coated the circular driveway. Someone had shoveled a path to the house and cleared the three stone steps that fronted a large entry door. Nico helped her from the car. Leaning on him seemed natural now.
She had grown used to touching him, to leaning on him. They’d become friends, she realized. Friends who kissed.
The door opened before they reached the steps, revealing a short, handsome man with a head of curly gray hair. Dressed in a down vest, khaki pants and thick snow boots, he beamed at them and hurried down the steps to help.
Nico’s father, obviously.
“Hello, hello, Merry Christmas. You must be Nico’s friend. How is that ankle doing? Oh, watch out now. It’s slick. One of the boys shoveled a while ago, but the snow is coming down hard, isn’t it?”
“It is,” she agreed. She liked the man immediately and some of her nervousness dissipated.