Page 8 of Second Chances with St. Nick

With a shaky exhale, my gaze dropped to the instrument. A small yellow dot sat pressed on the wood. Butterflies stirred in my belly. It was the smiley face sticker I gave him when he passed his grade five exam. I stuck it on as we sat in his bedroom one afternoon, shoveling popcorn and listening to the radio.

I looked at Nick’s face and pulled the corners of my lips into a little smile. A sudden warmth filled his eyes. Just enough to take my breath away and give me courage. With my heart hammering out a military march, I stepped down onto the dance floor and walked toward the stage.

I got to within an arm-span before he turned away and put his violin in its case on the side. The bulk of his shoulder met me like a solid wall, but I’d come this far. There was no way I’d turn back now.

“When did you get so good?” I asked, my voice high and quiet. “You have talented fingers.”

Nick swung his head in my direction. One glorious, thick eyebrow lifted to the rafters. My cheeks heated. That sounded bad, right? “I mean, you’ve got skills.”

His eyebrow didn’t fall. Oh crap, did that sound even worse? I raked my eyes over his face. Even through his beard, I swear the corners of his lips trembled.

Nick huffed a breath and shrugged his glorious shoulders. “I had a lot of time to practice, Abbie.”

His words burned into my chest. The pithy remark could have dissuaded me, but I wasn't about to give up. What I’d seen of him on our deck, here on the stage, and that look of heat he’d given me only a few seconds ago, had me wanting a whole lot more of him. I’d settle for small talk, if that’s all he’d give me.

I cleared my throat and rolled one of my long curls through my fingers. “So, I wanted to apologize earlier. For my mom.”

Nick turned to me and pushed out a throaty laugh. “She hasn’t changed.”

I shook my head. “Nope. She still thinks unsolicited advice is a love language.”

Nick grinned—actually grinned—and the corners of his eyes crinkled. I fought the urge to run my fingers over the skin at his temple. I’d forgotten the power of his smile. With the scent of cinnamon and pine wrapping around me, I reached out and touched his arm through his flannel. The second I did, his eyes snapped down to my fingers and his shoulders lifted.

“And I know she can be nosey as all hell, but…”

That second, Cissy arrived with a tray of colorful drinks and a huge smile. “Two blue for you, and... oh! Nick!” She looked at the closed violin case on the side table. “That was you playing? Holy crap, you’re good.”

“Nick’s had a lot of time to practice,” I said, my voice far harsher than I expected. His eyes darted to mine, and a light shut off somewhere behind them. My belly thrummed and perspiration sprung to my top lip. Did he think I was laughing at him?

With an almost imperceptible growl, he turned away and picked up his case.

“Are you leaving?” Cissy asked. “The karaoke’s about to start. You two could sing a duet. For old time’s sake.”

Nick came around to face us. “Karaoke isn’t my style.”

Unperturbed, Cissy pressed her tray toward him. “Then at least help us out with these silly drinks. I’ve already had too many, and I don’t want to be drunk and in charge of my older and far hotter cousin.”

A muscle ticked in Nick’s jaw as he ran his gaze over the tray of drinks, then over at me. With the tiniest shake of his head, he picked up a shot glass filled with green liquid and slammed it down in one. After putting it back on the tray, he dragged the back of his hand over his lips, just like he’d done with the hot chocolate. Finally, he turned to face me. “Goodbye, Abbie.”

With wide eyes, both Cissy and I watched him walk away. Her brows knitted together, pupils darting from side to side, mirroring the twisting of my gut.

“Man, he’s changed,” Cissy murmured. “I don’t ever remember him being that grumpy.”

I didn’t either. And it hurt like hell. But I had a feeling the Nick I used to know was in there somewhere. I just hoped I got the chance to find him before I left town.

5

SLOW DANCES AND SWOON

Cissy and I stood at the bar. “Oh, my lord, I can’t believe you made me do karaoke,” I said.

She batted my arm with the back of her hand. “You weren’t too bad.”

I shook my head slowly. “I sounded like a cross between Ariana Grande and a chipmunk. Like I’d sucked in a balloon-full of helium before I took the stage.”

Cissy giggled and cast her eyes over the bar. “You didn’t shatter any glasses. That’s a win, in my opinion.”

Gripping the solid pine bar top, I tipped back yet another dubious-colored drink. I hadn’t had so much fun in ages. Sure, the lyrics on the karaoke screen looked like a foreign language, and I hit my notes with the precision of a toddler finger-painting, but no one threw anything or walked out. Like Cissy said—it was a win.

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