Page 10 of Nicky

The blush that had faded from Nicholas’s neck came roaring back, and he spun toward the cart, fumbling to place the box in its proper spot. “I’m not a tour guide.”

“You’re better than a tour guide,” Beverly said, her grin widening. “You’ve got such a way of making people feel at home. Haven’t you noticed that, Dr. Webber?”

Her words caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly, nodding. “I’ve definitely noticed. It’s not every day someone takes the time to make a newcomer feel welcome the way Nicholas does.”

Nicholas groaned softly, pressing the box of bandages onto the cart with a little more force than necessary. “You’re all terrible.”

Beverly chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. “You’ll thank me later, Nicky.”

Nicholas whipped around, his eyes narrowing at her. “Beverly, it’s Nicholas.”

The warning in his tone might’ve worked if he didn’t look so much like a disgruntled kitten with his fur standing on end.

I cleared my throat, trying to smother a laugh. “I think I’m managing fine. But I appreciate the thought.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Beverly continued, ignoring Nicholas entirely. “He spends all his time working or running after that brother of his. Now that Aiden’s off to college, I bet he doesn’t know what to do with himself. A little holiday cheer would do him good, don’t you think?”

Nicholas’s hands planted firmly on his hips, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I do just fine, thank you.”

Mrs. Thompson chuckled, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “Don’t be such a Grinch, Nicholas. It’s Christmas.”

Nicholas’s shoulders rose as he let out a long, measured breath. “I’m not being a Grinch. I just?—”

The rest of his words were swallowed as I took a step closer, my presence seeming to startle him into silence. His eyes darted to mine, and for a moment, the tension in his stance faltered. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“I’ll keep the suggestion in mind,” I said, offering Beverly and Mrs. Thompson a polite nod. “But I think we’ll leave the decision to Nicholas.”

Beverly looked positively triumphant, and Nicholas looked like he might implode on the spot.

His hand gripped the cart a little tighter, his knuckles blanching. “I’m not exactly the best person for that kind of thing,” he mumbled, his words directed more toward the cart than anyone. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

The cart squeaked as he pushed it toward the hallway, his movements hurried, as if he couldn’t leave the room fast enough.

I watched him go, the corners of my mouth twitching. Even in his grumpiest moments, Nicholas had a way of making it impossible not to smile. And, God help me, I was starting to like that about him.

Beverly leaned closer, her voice low enough that only I could hear. “He’s a tough nut to crack, but he’ll come around. A little patience and a lot of charm—that’s all it’ll take.”

My chest tightened as I straightened, adjusting the clipboard under my arm. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Beverly.”

“Just call it experience, dear.” She tapped her pencil against the crossword book resting on the small table in front of her. “You’ll see.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, but as I headed toward the hallway, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t entirely wrong.

CHAPTER 7

Nicholas

When I pulled up in front of Markus’s rental, he was already on the porch, leaning against one of the posts like something out of a magazine. He had that easy, put-together vibe that made my mouth go dry and my brain scramble for excuses to look anywhere else. His dark hair was slightly mussed, the kind of messy that took effort to get just right, and his blue eyes were sharp, like they caught every detail without trying. He wore a navy wool coat, the collar turned up against the December chill, and a gray scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. Even in jeans and sturdy boots, he looked like he didn’t belong in Juniper Hollow—more like he’d been dropped here by mistake on his way to someplace bigger. Classier.

I rolled down the window. "You waiting for an invitation, or are you getting in?"

Markus’s grin spread slow and warm, like he had all the time in the world. He pushed off the post and sauntered to the passenger side. When he slid into the seat, the faint scent of cedar and something clean—soap or maybe his aftershave—wafted into the car.

"Thanks for doing this." He fastened his seatbelt and gave me that look, the one that made me feel like he could see past every defense I’d ever built.

“No problem,” I muttered, my grip tightening on the wheel.

His smile didn’t waver, but something in his expression shifted, like he was cataloging every awkward twitch and making a mental note to revisit them later.

---