Jingle Bell Romance. Mia Ross
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He didn’t elaborate, and Julia moved up to take his place at the front of the line. “Just the usual, Ellen. Thanks.”
Nick stood to the side but leaned in to add, “Miss Stanton’s order is on me.”
“Okay.”
Ellen scurried off to fill a take-out bag, and Julia looked at Nick. “That’s really not necessary.”
“You’re helping me out, so I figure it’s the least I can do.”
Baffled by his sudden shift in attitude from grim to generous, she smiled and offered her hand. “Then it’s Julia.”
“And I’m Nick.” Mischief brightened his features as they shook. “Does this mean you’re ignoring Lucy’s warning about me?”
“For now.” It was hard to resist the glimmer in his eyes, but she did her best. This guy probably had women fawning all over him on a daily basis. She didn’t want to give him any reason to think she’d be doing the same. “I like her very much, but I make up my own mind about people.”
Ellen returned with her breakfast, and Julia thanked her, taking the bag and cup while Nick paid. He added a nice tip, then angled to the side to allow Julia to leave the store in front of him.
Out on the sidewalk, a cold gust of wind hit them, and he shuddered. “Man, I hate winter.”
“Really? I love it.” To prove her point, she took in a deep breath of crisp, cool Maine air. “It smells clean and fresh, like anything’s possible.”
“It smells cold,” he muttered, glaring at the lazily falling snow as if he could will it to stop. “I’m headed back to Richmond today.”
“What a fabulous city, with all that history,” she commented, hoping to draw him into a more pleasant conversation. “How long have you been living there?”
He shrugged. “A year, I guess.”
“Virginia is a long way from here. What made you choose it?”
“No special reason. I just kept moving south ’til I found a spot where I can stand all the seasons.”
He didn’t sound all that thrilled with where he’d landed, and she wondered if he was still searching for a permanent place to live. Then again, maybe he didn’t even want to settle down. Having moved from one diplomatic post to another with her parents, the gypsy lifestyle no longer appealed to her. Still, she could understand how the excitement of it might be attractive to someone else.
Since Nick was clearly happy to be on his way out of town, there was no point in probing any further. Unfortunately, that meant she’d drained her usual well of small talk, and she was relieved when they reached her shop.
They paused outside the antique door, and Nick held their food while she dug out her keys. When she looked up, she noticed his eyes were fixed on the simple white church across the square. “Pretty, isn’t it?” she asked.
“My father’s church,” he replied in a clipped tone. “But if you asked him, I doubt he’d claim me. I’m the black sheep of the clan.”
Delivered in a near monotone, she couldn’t decide if the confession pained him or angered him. The flash of anger in his eyes answered that question better than any words. “I attend services there, and I enjoy his sermons very much,” Julia said.
“I can’t say the same.” Nick’s face twisted into something between a smirk and a scowl. “I guess they’re easier to take when they’re not aimed at you.”
Attempting to redirect the conversation, she said, “It’s a lovely church, with all that leaded glass and hand-carved woodwork. I’ve always been curious about who built it.”
His nasty expression faded, and he met her eyes calmly. “You’ve been here long enough to know the Landrys built it in 1817, a year after they got here.”
“On Christmas Day,” she added. “Which is how the town got its name.”
“You’re just trying to distract me with this little history lesson.”
For some reason, he was trying to start a fight with her. Rather than join in, she laughed. “Is it working?”
That got her a slow easy smile, completely at odds with the intensity she’d assumed was part of his personality. A pleasant surprise, it brightened his gloomy expression. “Let’s just say I could think of worse ways to kill a few hours before my flight than spending it with such a beautiful woman.”
His rapidly shifting moods set off alarm bells in her head, making her wonder what else he was hiding beneath that cool, detached exterior. Shaking off the thought, she cautioned herself that he was too arrogant to interest her.
She’d spent most of her twenty-eight years traveling the world, and she’d run across more than her share of alpha males along the way. The last one—a dashing Italian banker—all but destroyed her life before vanishing into thin air. Thanks to him, she’d given up on men a long time ago. Especially men like Nick, who clearly had no intention of sticking around.
* * *
Although he’d grown up here, Nick felt more claustrophobic than ever.
Perched on the rocky Atlantic coast, the village had been built around a town square with a white gazebo currently draped with fresh pine boughs. Up and down Main Street, shops and businesses were decorated with multi-colored garlands and twinkling lights. The snow drifting from the sky added to the effect, bringing to mind one of those Currier and Ives cards people loved to send him this time of year.
Holiday shopping wouldn’t be exactly like it was in other places, with crazed customers and twenty-four-hour sales, but for the handful of retail stores it would make or break their winter.
A cherry picker stopped at the far end of the short business district, and a guy wearing a hard hat climbed into the bucket with an armful of lighted garlands. They’d be looped in several spots across the width of Main Street, the way they’d been every year since Nick could remember.
That was the biggest problem with this town. Nothing ever changed.
Almost nothing, he amended as Julia unlocked the door and he followed her inside. He’d seen a lot since leaving for college at NYU, and not much surprised him anymore. Finding Julia Stanton here definitely fell into that category. Mostly because he couldn’t begin to comprehend why she’d chosen to settle down here of all places. Wealthy and connected beyond belief, she could have her pick of any glamorous city on the planet.
Why Holiday Harbor?
The reporter in him loved contradiction because they always led him in unexpected directions. These days, he spent more time editing articles, courting advertisers and designing copy layouts than writing, but the newshound in him smelled a story.
Standing in the entryway, he paused to take in the two giant Christmas trees framed in the display windows on either side of the glass-front door. A vintage train circled beneath one, snaking through festively wrapped gifts that reflected the bright lights and decorations. Under the other tree was a miniature version of Holiday Harbor, complete with ersatz snow, a skating pond and a white chapel lit from inside. Light glowed in the opaque windows, giving them the appearance of candlelight.
His father’s church, he noted grimly. As if seeing the real thing hadn’t been jarring enough. When he leaned closer, he saw that the gold lettering on the tiny sign read, “Safe Harbor Church. All are welcome.”
All but him. In an instant, his mind flashed back to childhood days spent in that church. Sitting in the front pew where Dad could keep a stern eye on him, make sure he didn’t daydream through endless sermons about saints and sinners, and how God knew what was in your heart. Week after week, year after year, he’d endured it because he hadn’t had a choice. His father never struck him, never raised his voice in anger, but he beat Nick down with God’s word, an inch at a time.
His