Page 65 of Take Me Home for Christmas

She shook her head. “They are both on different paths. Hayden enjoys the comfort and stability of this small town. He’s had enough excitement to last a lifetime. Elle is still chasing her dream.” She shrugged. “Maybe she’ll find her way back. Maybe she won’t.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Why can’t her dream be a cozy place to live with a man who obviously adores her? Why risk everything just to feel like she’s done something important?” he snapped.

Kitty eyed him curiously. “Are we still talking about Elle and Hayden here? Or you and your late wife?”

He slammed his eyes shut and practiced the breathing his shrink had taught him two years ago. It never worked before, but he needed to master it now. The last thing he wanted to do was snipe at Kitty.

Especially when she was right.

She tentatively placed her hand on his back and began rubbing in circles. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“No. I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Your words were spot-on.” Sucking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes. “I just hate to see little Gidget make a similar mistake.”

“Mm. Well, you are her Ghost of Christmas Future.”

“What do you mean?”

“You really don’t know?”

Everett could feel the little devil on his shoulder waking up. “No.”

Kitty sighed. “Hayden told me that Elle’s been promised a big promotion atVantagewhen she gets back to New York.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. She’s a fabulous writer.” He shot her a guilty grin. “Bernice hinted that Donald McAlister kept a file with his daughter’s freelance work. I was curious, so I took a look. The kid wrote some terrific pieces when she was first out of college. She’ll be an asset to the magazine.”

“If she gets the chance. The promotion hinges on you turning your book in on time.”

Kitty’s revelation had him swaying on his feet. It all made sense to him now. This little sojourn to the Tide Me Over Inn with Gidget as his taskmaster. No wonder she’d been so dogmatic about him finishing his memoir.

“That bitch,” he grumbled.

Kitty’s eyes went wide before her expression grew defensive.

“Helen Keneally. Our mutual publisher,” he explained. “She can’t help pretending she’s an omnipotent chess master toying with her minions’ livelihoods. Helen was always pulling Keeley’s strings. She’s the one who lured Keeley back to Afghanistan to rescue the interpreters. Helen is all about selling magazines no matter what the risk.”

“Wow. Maybe you shouldn’t finish your book. I’m not sure I like the idea of Elle being in that woman’s clutches.”

Everett swallowed around the sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t like it, either. Not one bit.

ChapterSeventeen

The lineat Kringle’s photobooth stretched around the corner. Addison Lockheart, the owner of the Bed and Biscuit dog hotel and groomers, wore a pair of fur antlers over her blonde hair and necklace of flashing Christmas bulbs. Joking with the crowd, she worked the line selling the organic dog biscuits she made in her shop. She’d also created a cutout Instagram slide for customers to stand behind while taking photos with the dog.

Kringle let out a bark of recognition when Elle walked up. His entire body shook with excitement, dislodging the little green elf’s hat tied to his head. Ryan posed for a few selfies with fans while Jane readjusted the dog’s hat.

“Wow. This is sick.” Elle lowered her voice so only Jane would hear. “At this rate you’ll be able to afford braces not just for Henry, but all your future kids.”

Jane blushed as she pointed at a sign near the booth. “The profits are being donated to the local SPCA.”

Elle pulled out her phone. “Aww. That makes the story even more uplifting. I’m going to interview some of the people in line. I can use it for the town’s website.”

She recorded her conversation with a family from Myrtle Beach and a couple from Wilmington. It was their first time in Chances Inlet.

“We are so glad you’re here,” Elle told them. “I hope you’ll check out the Christmas Bazaar while you’re in town. And don’t forget to grab a bite at one of our unique eateries.”

“My grandson says the afternoon tea at the Tide Me Over Inn is to die for,” a familiar voice said behind her.

Elle spun around to find Helen Keneally standing there. The woman looked ridiculously out of place. Her oversized Chanel sunglasses and Burberry coat were more suited for the Hamptons than a balmy December afternoon in coastal Carolina.

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