Page 5 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

So this was the woman he needed to charm. The woman he needed to wrangle into signing the papers. He would have to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and what better way than by charming her.

“And you are?”

“Rocco,” he said. “Moretti.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Moretti. Why don’t you have a complimentary cup of cider?”

She turned away from him and picked up a ladle from a slow cooker, dipping it into steaming liquid and pouring it into a paper cup.

His lip curled involuntarily, and he tried to turn it into a smile. It was wholly unhygienic. And yet, he had no choice but to graciously accept it. Charm. He was aiming for charm.

“Many thanks. I will not keep you.”

“Oh. You aren’t a bother at all.”

Abother. Imagine. Someone calling him a bother.

He took the cup, and got into his car, and then he drove down the road, following the signs that would lead him to Holiday House. When he pulled up to it, everything in him recoiled. It was an old Victorian, as gaudy as everything else.

He got out of his car, holding the cup of cider. He poured it out onto the ground, and watched the steam rise from the frozen earth.

Then he crushed the cup in his fist.

He walked toward the front porch, and cast the waste into a bin that was placed there.

He brushed his hands off, and walked into the building. There was a young girl standing there, looking at the guest registry.

“I have a request.”

CHAPTER TWO

BYTHEENDof the day, Noelle was exhausted, but she was still enervated by her encounter with him. Rocco ready. She was never going to see him again. He didn’t need a Christmas tree, and the bed-and-breakfast was full. So, there was no reason that she would ever encounter him again.

Not ever.

Looking at him had been like being struck by lightning.

She had never experienced anything like it.

Of course, she had never experienced a day quite like today, and that was what she should be focusing on. The triumphant, rampant success of her grand opening day.

She hummed as she walked up the steps and into Holiday House.

The staff was already gone for the day, and it was quiet and cozy inside. She peered into the library, half expecting to see one of the guests in there reading or playing checkers. But there was no one there.

She frowned.

She was suddenly feeling exceptionally tired, though, so while she would normally linger to try and see if the guests needed anything, she was feeling like she needed to lie down more than she needed anything else at the moment. So she decided to head straight to bed.

Her little bedroom was in the attic, with a bathroom added, and a kitchen area. So that there were times when she could be contained just to herself even when she had a house full of guests.

That was when she had taken over as innkeeper. When her parents had decided to spend more time away from Holiday House.

Before her dad had died.

That made her chest feel sore. She was already achy, and grumpy, and she didn’t want a sore chest on top of it, so she redirected her thoughts. Instead, she went over to her record player, and gingerly selected a Christmas album that her grandmother had left to her. She placed it onto the table, and put the needle on the cherished, antique item. The Andrews Sisters’ voices filtered into the room, and she saw to her bedtime routine. She brushed her teeth, washed her face and put on a long cotton nightgown.

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