Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine Rolofson
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to hug him because he looked so uncharacteristically embarrassed. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him until they were both breathless because he’d given her a scarf that matched her eyes and kept it a secret. He’d built a ramp for his elderly, lame dog and kept that information to himself, too.
She was in love with him. Despite her best intentions she’d fallen for Nico Vitelli, who dated models and cooked for movie stars. And had just introduced her to his family as his friend from work.
This wasn’t good, she realized. Not good at all.
“Where are the guys?” Nico attempted to change the subject as he dangled a little girl from each arm. “Hiding from their snoopy wives again?”
“Jon and Mark are in the basement doing a project for Grandpa.” Cathy frowned at him. “Birdseed? What’s that about?”
“Never mind.” He turned to Grace. “I put your bags in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” Nico certainly didn’t want to talk about the scarf.
“Where’s Marie and her gang?” Nico released the girls, whispering something in their ears that sent them running out of the room. Cathy chased after them.
“Running late.” Everyone laughed at that, leaving Grace to assume that Marie was usually running behind schedule. Terry shook a finger at her youngest daughter. “You wait until you have three children to get out of the house on Christmas Eve. It’s not so easy.”
Beth patted her stomach. “I feel like I have three of them in here right now. Besides, little Elvis in here might be an only child.”
“Elvis?”
“His due date is January eighth. Same day Elvis was born.” Beth grinned. “Mom hates it when I call him Elvis.”
“I keep wondering if you’re serious,” Terry sputtered.
Nico held out a hand to Grace. “Come on, Grace. I’ll take you into the kitchen where the real action is.” He turned to his mother. “We haven’t had lunch. Or breakfast.”
Terry’s face lit up. “Good. I’ll fix you something nice. Grace, do you like eggplant parmigiana? Or would you rather have lasagna? With a nice salad and some lovely Tuscan wine we ordered last month and fell in love with.”
“That sounds lovely, but don’t go to any—”
“Save your breath,” Nico said, holding her tightly. “She will feed you no matter what you say, and it will make her happy. After all, we’re here to eat, aren’t we?”
“You are, you are,” Johnny Vitelli said. “We are all here together and what could be better than that?”
Nothing, Grace decided two hours later. Nothing could be better than spending the afternoon with the large and noisy Vitelli family. Maria, her husband, Danny, and their three children arrived while Grace was seated at the large farm table, sipping her first glass of wine and sampling rosemary focaccia with a peppery olive oil. They brought Al with them, since he’d been at their house again that morning. The dog greeted her like a long-lost friend and she sneaked him a piece of her bread. Brian gave Grace a shy smile, then let his grandmother hug and kiss him. His older sister, Anna, got the same treatment from both grandparents before hurrying over to say hello to Grace. She was eleven, she confided while eating a thick slice of bread, and the oldest grandchild.
“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.
“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