Page 3 of Second Chances with St. Nick

Cissy wanted her wedding reception at our house. She’d picked a winter wonderland theme. The spaghetti of wires currently wound around my arms didn’t bode well. So far, my efforts made the deck look less like a winter wonderland and more like Frosty the Snowman went rogue with a staple gun.

Working alone outside turned out to be nice, though. Mom and I were already on hair-triggers around each other. I bit my tongue for the most part. I didn’t want any fights to upset my cousin’s special day. She was the nearest thing I had to a sibling.

I stretched toward the eaves of the deck, the sturdiest-looking part of the roof. Just within reach, the spot provided the perfect anchor for my decorations. Mariah Carey belted out her Christmas hits on my air pods and I hummed along. Not that I could even vaguely hold a tune, but it was Christmas. Singing with Ms. Carey was obligatory.

Taking a breath, I leaned into the void, totally overextending. The ladder wobbled under my feet. Perhaps my gingerbreadand M&M’s assault last night had already taken effect on my waistline.

“Crap!” I hissed, waiting for the ladder to still. Once it did, I turned into my shoulder to nudge up the cuff of my woolen hat. It’d already descended to my brows, creating a light veil of hair across my eyes.With every movement, it slipped down another half inch.

The A-frame stabilized beneath me, and I toyed with the idea of climbing down and moving it closer to the eaves. It’d be the sensible thing to do, but with limited time before dark and the prospect of a lecture from Mom on the correct way to drape tinsel, I decided against it.

Instead, I stretched out again. Mariah sang her last melodious note, leaving me in silence, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reach my target. With a grunt, I leaned as far as I dared, but according to gravity, I badly miscalculated my agility and my core strength.

As I overextended once more, the ladder wobbled anew. Only this time, far harder. Clamping my bottom lip between my teeth, I engaged whatever abs I had, just as a low, husky voice sounded from somewhere below.

“Be careful.”

I sucked in a breath and jerked my head around. When I did, my beanie slipped even further over my nose, completely blocking my vision. Yay! Great time to come down with a case of yarn-blindness.

I didn’t recognize the man’s voice, exactly, but something about it—something about the way the speaker held onto his vowels—sparked a memory, and my heart ticked up a beat.

I moved my feet on the rung of the ladder to get my footing. Without a secure handhold on the A-frame, my knit-one-purl-one mask disoriented me. I had no idea where I was in space. With every movement, the wooden frame creaked louder. Imust’ve looked like an idiot, playing a game of blind man’s buff for one, but even my flailing arms couldn’t save me.

The ladder wobbled wildly, and I shuffled on the top rung, letting out a whimper. “Oh, no…”

The millisecond those words left my mouth, the ladder gave one final lurch, and I pitched backward, leaving my heart and breath somewhere above me.

I sailed through the crisp air, sending a prayer to St. Joseph of Cupertino, patron saint of acrobats, for a soft landing. After what felt like forever, my body met a pair of arms, and I landed with an awkward thud against something solid and warm. An amazing aroma of cinnamon and pine tickled at my nose and the tiniest growl made my toes curl.

Whoever was down below had caught me, and as I lay cradled against hard muscles, a warm breath hit my cheek, and whispered words met my ear. “I’ve got you.”

The intonation and the accent sent another tingle of recognition across the back of my neck. I had to see who’d broken my fall. Meet the man who owned that voice. Unable to use my fairy light-clad arms, I jerked my head, trying to nudge my hat back to its proper place. Having no luck, I shook my head instead, but I only drove the wool even lower.

“Hold still,” the man said. After a heartbeat, the angle of my body shifted, and my feet kicked through thin air as my savior slowly lowered me to the deck. My boots met with solid wood, and I ran my hands over the chest I’d so soundly hit just seconds ago. Holy crap, it was hard. Big and hard and…

“You okay?” the man asked.

I nodded like a half-wit as his words dripped over me like warm honey. I was perfectly fine, but that didn’t mean I wanted to move. To break the spell his proximity cast over me.

A throaty chuckle resonated in the air, and I bit my bottom lip. Warm hands grasped my shoulders as the man turned me around to face him.

“Let me help.”

I shut my eyes tight. Light filtered through my closed eyelids and the touch of wool moved across my forehead.

“There,” he said. “Hey, Abbie.”

I sucked in a shuddering breath and steeled myself to open my lashes and meet my rescuer.

His face came into focus—high, sharp cheekbones and a thick beard hugging a square chin. A woolen hat sat low over his dark blond hair and his familiar hazel eyes, flecked with amber, raked over my face. They caught the light as the corner of his lips lifted a fraction.

“Nick?”

He didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Instead, he stared at me for the longest beat. Then a small furrow appeared between his brows and his hint of a smile disappeared. I steadied my breath and controlled the trembling of my fingers against his chest.

I blinked twice. My fingers against his chest?

Hold up. I was touching his chest!

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