Christmas Comes to Main Street (16 page)

“She sounds like a special little girl,” Nate observed, thinking of how different she seemed from the kids he'd grown up with. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the names they'd call him, see their sneers, feel their eyes on his back as they whispered.

“She is. She's Kathleen Madison's granddaughter.” She laughed again.

“Ah, Kathleen. I have to admit I'm sort of curious to get a peek in that house. And to meet this elusive woman.”

“I think you'll find she is quite normal. Still, she's extremely talented when it comes to her holiday decorations. It's hard to top a professional designer.” Her tone turned sad as her brow furrowed on that thought, and Nate realized again how much winning this contest meant to her. Recovering quickly, she grinned at him. “Word is she bought a snow machine. She intends to flock her trees if we don't have a true white Christmas.”

“Considering all the snow on the ground, I don't see that happening,” Nate remarked.

Kara tipped her head. “Still. She's in it to win it. So am I.”

He held her gaze, seeing the fiery determination that flashed through her blue eyes and wondering if the same could be said for himself. For the first time in a long time, there might be one challenge he'd be happy to lose.

R
osemary and Thyme was busier than Nate had anticipated. He'd been inclined to assume that most people in Briar Creek went home for dinner with their families in their quaint homes, a Christmas tree flickering in the bay window for everyone on the street to admire. Instead, every table was booked, and the only thing that saved them from a twenty-minute wait was Kara's relationship with the owners.

“Gotta love nepotism,” he joked as they took their seats.

“I do have a lot of relatives in this town,” Kara admitted as she unwrapped her scarf and set it on the back of her chair. “But I used to work here, too.”

“Oh? In the kitchen?” Nate waited to open his menu, interested in hearing more.

Even in the dim lighting, he sensed a flush in Kara's cheeks as she cracked the spine on her menu and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No. I was the hostess, actually. Then I was promoted to work in the back office, handling the orders, overseeing paperwork, that type of thing.”

“I thought you said Anna taught you how to bake,” he said, wondering if he'd misunderstood.

Kara nodded as she reached for her water glass. “Oh, she did. But that was before she opened this restaurant. It used to be a café. She ran it alone, and I had a lot more responsibility in the kitchen there.” She stole a glance at the hostess stand and shifted her gaze back to him, leaning to lower her voice. “I have to admit that I always feel a little guilty when I come in here.”

Her blue eyes were so earnest, he felt a little tug in his chest. He tipped his head. “Why?”

Kara leaned back against her chair, shrugging. “Anna is one of my closest friends. My brother is married to her sister Grace. I grew up with those girls. And Mark… he's my cousin. It didn't feel good to have to hand in my resignation.”

Nate grimaced. “Yeah, that would be awkward. But they must have understood. You wanted something for yourself.”

Kara's eyes lit up. “Exactly. And they did understand. In fact, they've done nothing but support me. I even supply cookies to the restaurant on occasion. Their menu is seasonal,” she explained.

“It sounds like everything worked out then,” Nate said.

A shadow fell over Kara's pretty face. “I hope so. I… I don't know what I'll do if it doesn't. It's another reason I feel so worried about my own store's fate, too. I don't want it to all be for nothing.”

“Don't think that way,” Nate said. He hesitated, wondering if he should risk ruining what was turning out to be a very pleasant evening. He eyed her, deciding he couldn't hold back. “I won't tell you what to do, but I still think you should reconsider raising the prices for the gingerbread houses.”

Kara pursed her lips. Finally, she said, “Maybe next year.”

“Ah, now see, that's the right attitude.” Nate grinned. “There will be another year, and a year after that.”

“You sound so sure of it,” Kara remarked.

“I speak from experience,” Nate considered. “When you want something bad enough, you find a way to make it happen.”

Kara smiled. “I think that calls for a drink.”

“Should we split a bottle of wine?” Nate asked, turning his attention to the list.

Kara hesitated, but the spark in her eyes as she caught his gaze didn't go unnoticed.

“I'd like that,” she said softly.

Nate felt his pulse kick at the slight change in her tone. He'd be happy to linger, enjoy the candlelight, sit in her company. He wasn't ready for the evening to end any time soon.

And maybe it wouldn't have to.

Kara relaxed into her seat after they'd placed their orders and the waitress promptly brought them a bottle of their best Cabernet. The restaurant was dimly lit, and the flame from the single candle at the center of the table flickered against the glass.

“A toast,” Nate said, holding up his glass.

“To—” She laughed. “I was going to say the Holiday House contest, but I'm not sure I want to think about that too much tonight.”

That made two of them. They were still competing for the same prize, after all. Why add any tension to the mix?

“To new friends,” he offered, and then saw the slight pinch of Kara's brow. “And… new possibilities.”

Kara's cheeks pinked as she clinked her glass with his, and Nate took a sip, feeling something within him shift.

“So, do you think the kids are going to like the toys we picked out for them?” she asked, lifting the glass to her mouth.

“I should hope so,” Nate remarked. “I know I would have.”

Kara frowned at this as she set her wineglass down on the table. “Would have?”

Panic flared in his gut. “Oh, you know… if I were one of the kids.” He held her gaze, wondering if she'd bought it.

“I suppose there's something to be said for less is more. The children who benefit from the toy drive will probably appreciate their gift more than the kids whose tree is overflowing. Same goes for the Christmas dinner, I suppose. I have to admit, my mother is good at many things, but cooking has never been her strength.” Her mouth quirked as she met his eye.

“You have a big Christmas dinner then?”

“Oh, of course!” Kara's look was incredulous. “My mom, my brother and his wife, my sister, me, then my cousins, their fiancées, my aunt… Sometimes friends join, too,” she added, then looked away, reddening.

He hadn't considered Christmas yet. Did his aunt have any traditions in place, or had she spent the past few years alone or with her guests? For all he knew he was already on the guest list at the Hastings table. He wouldn't mind it. Bad food and all.

“What about you? I feel like I already know you from your aunt's stories, but do you have any brothers or sisters that you've trumped for favorite nephew?”

Nate laughed. “Only child.”

“Ah, spoiled then.” Kara grinned.

Nate unfolded his napkin, his heart pulling. “In a way. Every choice my parents made was in my best interest. They… they really sacrificed for me.”

Nate's pulse kicked up a notch and he reached for his wine again, wondering what it was about this woman that made him question everything he'd promised for himself, everything he'd built, everything he'd tried to bury in the past and hide. He'd never told anyone the details of his past. Hell, even his parents didn't know the half of it. There was no reason to go back there, to dwell on those times, not when everything was different now. But was it? A part of him was always that kid, the poor kid, the charity case. And damn it if he didn't fear the day would come when he'd be right back where he'd come from.

“My parents… they struggled a bit when I was young,” he said. His voice felt hollow, his words unsure, but the kindness he saw in Kara's gaze encouraged him. He cleared his throat. “My parents both came from nothing, and unlike his brother, who ended up here, my father didn't have, well, the charmed life.” He gave Kara a wry smile.

“Briar Creek is sort of idyllic,” Kara admitted.

“It sure beat the one-bedroom apartment over the deli where I grew up. We lived in a rough part of Boston, but my parents always hoped someday they'd be able to give me more. When I was in middle school, my dad took a job as a janitor at a private school in Beacon Hill. One of the perks was free tuition. You should have seen how proud he was on my first day. It was like he was a new man. A man who was providing for his family the way he'd always wanted to and… couldn't before.”

“He wanted the best for you,” Kara commented, giving him a sad smile.

“I know it's because of that opportunity that I went on to Harvard. My dad knows it, too. You think my aunt has a bragging problem?” He cocked an eyebrow and Kara laughed. Nate relaxed, feeling the weight of the burden ease off his shoulders. It felt good to unload, to share something about himself he'd never told anyone before. To know it was all right. That he wasn't judged. Wasn't even looked at funny. With his friends back in the city, he kept things light and current. They knew the present-day him, not the whole story.

“Sounds like a great experience, then.”

“In some ways,” Nate mused. He hesitated. “But the janitor's kid is treated worse than the scholarship kids.”

Kara frowned. “You were bullied?”

“Bullied is a strong word,” Nate said, but it was probably the accurate one. Did getting your lunch stolen four out of five days a week count as bullying? And that wasn't even the worst of it. “Kids can be cruel, especially to ones they perceive as different or weaker.”

“That's terrible,” Kara scoffed, shaking her head. “Well, you've shown them. Look at you now!”

Yes, look at him now. He was financially secure, self-made, living in the tony neighborhood his former classmates had taken for granted. But what else did he have to show? He'd buried himself in his work, clung to it, afraid of what would happen if he ever stepped back.

“Can I ask… Is this why you wanted to help with the toy drive? To give back?”

Giving back was something he should have done a long time ago. Oh, he gave to charity, in the form of a check, but he'd never dared to take it to another—more personal—level, to purchase individual gifts for a family that could live just a few miles down the road, a family whose Christmas might depend on the donation. It hit too close.

But being here, seeing Kara's spirit of giving, the lack of shame she attached to those in need… It made him want to do more.

“My parents didn't have a lot of extra money. Holidays were tight. There were some years we didn't even have a tree. My gifts came from secondhand stores, and they were rarely the ones I asked for. I was too young to know not to show my disappointment.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I'll never forget the look in my father's eyes.”

“You didn't know better,” Kara said, reaching out to hold his hand. It was small and a bit cool to the touch, and light on his skin, feminine.

“The year before I started at the private school, we were selected as the sponsor family for our local church. They brought us a Christmas dinner and some coats and boots. New. Nice. But my father wouldn't wear any of them. He stopped going to church after that. When I started at the school the next fall, one of the girls I'd become friendly with recognized my coat, knew we were the needy family. She turned on me faster than you could snap your fingers. The teasing got pretty bad.” He frowned.

“What did your parents say?” Kara asked, holding his hand a little tighter.

He shrugged and reached for his wine. “Nothing. They never knew. It would have killed my father. For the first time he was able to give me something really wonderful—an education. A chance for a better life. I couldn't ruin that for him.”

“Oh, Nate.” Kara shook her head sadly. “I guess you're entitled to be a bit of a Scrooge then.”

He grinned. “Hey, you're the one without a Christmas tree.” He hesitated, thinking of how much she loved the holiday. It didn't sit right that she shouldn't fully experience it. “What do you say we change that, after dinner tonight?”

“Tonight?” Kara blinked. “Well, I don't even know if there are any trees left.”

“We'll find one,” he said firmly as the waitress approached with their food.

Kara wagged a finger at him. “Why, Nate, I believe this town is having an effect on you.”

Nate picked up his wineglass and let his gaze drift out the window, onto the snow-covered town, lit for the holidays. This was the most relaxed he'd been in years, and the most at peace, too.

He glanced at Kara, her pretty face, the full rosiness of her lips, and felt something in his pulse flicker. “I think you may be right.”

Buying a tree from Bob's Christmas Tree Lot was a Hastings family tradition, which had sadly lapsed in recent years. Rosemary went for artificial, claiming it was friendlier on the environment, and Luke opted to cut one from his own sprawling acreage this year. Mark and Anna did the same, and Brett let Ivy pick a small one from the flower market and make it her own.

It just didn't feel the same anymore coming to the lot by herself, and there was something sort of sad about decorating a tree all on her own. It was a reminder of the fact that she didn't have someone special in her life to share such a festive event.

But that was all about to change… thanks to Nate.

Despite the chill in the air, Kara felt warm and snug as they crossed the street to the lot, which was a little sparse but still showed some promising options, at least from a distance. The lot was illuminated by strands of lights, and Bob conducted all of his business out of a trailer he'd decorated to look like Santa's shed—something that had just thrilled Kara and her brother and sister as kids.

“What we wouldn't have done for a glimpse inside that thing growing up,” Kara said to Nate as he took in the red-painted trailer with the gift-wrapped front door.

Nate's brown eyes flashed with boyish delight. “Did you ever get a peek?”

Kara gave him a wry smile. “Sadly, we did. Luckily, we were old enough to have stopped believing in Santa, or the entire illusion would have gone bust. A bottle of rum and a carton of cigarettes just never quite fit my mental picture of the jolly old man…”

Nate laughed as they walked through the rows of trees, sizing each one up. It felt intimate to share such a personal experience with him. Made them feel almost like a couple.

She pushed that thought away. She was getting swept up… in Christmas, in fond memories, and in those deep hazel eyes.

“What about this one?” she said, walking over to a smallish Douglas fir tree.

“Seriously?” Nate stood still on the gravel path. He didn't look impressed. “That's a shrub, not a tree. I was thinking something more along the lines of this one.” He gestured to the twelve-foot spruce beside him.