Page 4 of Secret Santas and Holiday Dances

The men went quiet as Ryan applied a second coat of cement to the top of the patch fabric, glopping it on and rubbing it around until they’d covered the entire strip. Liam helped smooth it out.

“That should do it.” Ryan knelt back to examine their work. “Why aren’t you a couple?”

Liam looked down his nose at Ryan. “Does that question come from you or Helen?”

Ryan quirked a grin. “Both. You spend all your time with her. She’s smart and pretty, and you like her. So, what’s the problem?”

“We’re friends.” And that was enough for Liam. After his last relationship, he was in no hurry to start another. He was happy with his life the way it was. Calm. Peaceful. Drama free. He’d had enough drama in his time in Philly between his ex and his job to last him a lifetime. He looked at his watch. “Speaking of Grace, I’ve got to go.” He gathered what was left of their material.

“Don’t want to miss lunch with yourfriend?”

Liam ignored the mocking tone.

Ryan stood, bracing his stance against the incline of the roof. “I don’t know if you know this, but friends can dance together.”

That caught Liam’s attention. That was a good point Ryan was making. “All right, I’ll ask her.”

Ryan pumped a fist. “Yes, more pie for me.”

Chapter 3

Grace swiveled slowly in her desk chair at the back of Life on Canvas, staring at her boss, David, as he paced the floor for the umpteenth time, straightening a re-straightening the paintings. They had a show Friday night and artists from all over the state had their Christmas and winter scenes hanging on these walls. Beautiful pieces that deserved every inch of wall space and the grandiose price tags that accompanied them.

David switched out two paintings—two paintings he’d switched the day before. “Grace, what do you think of this arrangement?”

She pushed out of her chair and went to look. “I like it.” His nerves had little to do with the paintings and everything to do with who one artist was.

Davina Charles had been gracious enough to send five paintings, and if all went well, she’d sell her work here on the regular.

Having Davina’s art could only be good for the gallery, but Grace doubted Davina would care if her painting hung on an east-facing wall or a south-facing wall—especially given the show was at night and natural light would not play a factor. Grace had recruited her, and Davina was as down to earth as they came. That fact did nothing to calm her boss, who might be having a mini breakdown.

David grabbed her arm and took two large steps backward, forcing Grace to follow. He framed both paintings with his fingers in the air.

She clasped her hands in front of her.

He shrugged. “I liked it better the other way.”

The door chimed, and David spun on his heel. “Customer!” He leaned toward Grace. “Be a dear and move the painting back.”

She nodded, and he took off for the door. She put the paintings back, then went to her desk.

It was almost one, only ten minutes to lunch, and she still hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask David aboutherpainting. She glanced at her boss standing in front of a lovely snowy forest scene and promised herself she’d ask before she went to lunch or, worst-case scenario, as soon as she got back.

Grace opened her laptop and looked at her list of tasks for the week. She’d scheduled the social media marketing for the week, sent out postcards to a sample list of people in town, she’d put up a flier in city hall and several of the shops on main, and had posted about their event, and Davina’s paintings on their website. That was all fine and good, but she was more interested in their online marketing schemes outside of social media. She’d have a look at the markets where they were selling the best and see if they could move the budget around to better finance campaigns in those areas.

David left their customer to peruse as she would, and slowly headed toward Grace’s desk.

Grace reached into the pocket of her dress slacks, where she kept a white eraser and rolled it between her fingers, drawing courage. She could do this.

David peered quickly over his shoulder, then whispered, “I think she’s going to buy the Jacobs’ piece.”

It was now or never. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

He sat on the edge of her desk and picked up a stack of invoices. “What is it?”

“I was wondering . . .”

He flipped through the papers. “What?”

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