Page 4 of Second Chances with St. Nick

Not just that. I was gripping onto him like someone had glued my hands to his flannel shirt. Like he was my last hope as I succumbed to quicksand.

With a sharp intake of breath, I dropped my arms to my sides and stepped away. My bunch of lights fell to the floor and heat fired on my cheeks. “What are you doing here?” And why did my voice sound so squeaky?

He moved his head back, nodding toward an old, gray truck parked in the driveway. An enormous bundle of holly lay tethered to the flatbed. Damn Mariah. Nick must have driven up while she noisily decided what she wanted for Christmas in my ears.

“Cissy ordered greenery.”

I stared hard at him. Was that it? Three words? I didn’t expect a big hug and a, “Welcome back. All is forgiven,” but I didn’t remember Nick being so quiet. So gruff. As I ran my gaze over his massive shoulders, my breath thinned. There was nothing familiar about the giant of a man standing before me.

Sure, Nick had been tall. But he’d also been on the skinny side. He played the violin growing up, preferring to practice than play sports. He hadn’t grown the muscles that some boys had in school. But man, he’d made up for lost time.

“But why areyoubringing holly?” I asked.

He shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “It grows on the mountain. That’s where I live now.”

My gaze moved to the gray and green range that formed the backdrop to the town of Pine Springs. Today, thick white clouds blanketed their peaks. “You live up there?”

I’m not sure why I was so surprised. From what Cissy said last night, no one had seen much of Nick lately. She said he kept himself to himself. I’d been out of town for so long, for all I knew, he could live in a cave with Yogi Bear.

Nick turned his head toward the mountains. Bronzed skin stretched over his corded neck, just above the collar of his shirt. I had the strangest urge to touch him. Feel his warmth under my fingertips.

A shiver ran over me, and I hugged my arms around my body.

“You’re cold,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Did he mean metaphorically or literally? Either would be accurate, I guess. But the status of my body temperature didn’t matter. This was my first opportunity to speak to Nick in forever.

I brought my eyes to meet his, sending him a half smile. He didn’t smile back, and my gut pulled. “Nick,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm.

He drew back and opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut through the chilly air.

“Nicholas!”

My shoulders sagged. Mom. I’d never have a chance to speak in private with him now. My mother had a reputation for lacking tact or the ability to read an awkward social situation. Couldn’t she see I was trying to apologize?

“It’s lovely to see you after so long. And you brought the holly. I’m sure Abbie can give you a hand unloading it.”

Nick shuffled on his feet, his boots scuffing the wood beneath us. “No need. I wouldn’t want her to get prickly. Those leaves can sting.”

I tightened my eyes, running them over his face.

“Well, no matter,” Mom said. “I’ve just made some hot chocolate. Come in and have a cup. You look half frozen.”

I smiled at Mom, but she didn’t reciprocate. Apparently, she wasn’t concerned withmybody temperature. Just Nick’s. I couldn’t blame her. He had a fine body.

The wooden boards creaked under her feet, and Nick glanced at her before looking back at me. His face remained impassive. What was running through his head? I counted five breaths before he lowered his eyes.

“That’d be nice, Mrs. Cooper. Thank you,” he said, his voice soft and lilting.

The apples of Mom’s cheeks lifted high. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he just proposed to her. Or she found out she won a lifetime supply of laundry detergent.

“Then come on in,” she said, beckoning Nick to follow her.

He turned and walked toward the front door. As he moved, he left the scent of cinnamon and pine lingering in the air. I breathed him in, my gaze following the wall of his back as he dipped inside the house.

Nick was really here. In my family home. This could be the first time he’d visited in years, and we were about to sit down for a civil cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen.

Butterflies danced in my tummy. Deep down, hadn’t I wanted to see him? Have the opportunity to say sorry. To find out what he’d been up to and if he’d missed me as much as I’d missed him?

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