Page 8 of A Taste of Christmas Magic

Damn. I’m not ready!

Chloe’s mouth dropped open like a cartoon character.

“Rustin,” she whispered, her creamy complexion with the starburst of freckles on her nose and cheeks paled to milk. “What do you mean?”

Now he’d done it. He’d wanted to wait until everything was finished. Until January’s opening night when he’d rip the paper off like it was a birthday present and shout out a big F-ingta-daaaah!

He mocked his need for secrecy and glared at her stonily.

“Rustin.” Her delicate fingers grazed his forearm, and he felt singed.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the appeal in hers.

“Rustin, tell me what’s going on.”

He owed her nothing. He didn’t want her here.

“Please.”

A lot of people had thought he was selfish. Arrogant. Uncompromising. Critical. Harsh. True. But he was no liar, unlike many of the Mayes and the men in his family.

“Millie’s made no announcement?” Tension threaded his voice. She’d promised not to. They’d each had their reasons.

“No. Just that she was closing to renovate. We respected her privacy, and there’s been a lot of buzz but no flies.”

This town. The people. The sayings. He felt bone weary. Why had he wanted to come back here? He’d intended to stay in Charlotte. Rebekah, his manager and assistant, had wanted to stay in the city. So had his brother, Lucas. But the startup costs in Belmont were less than half of Charlotte’s. And he owned the building here. He never could have swung that in Charlotte.

“Why was everything kept secret?” Chloe asked, puzzled. “No surprise Mr. and Mrs. Maye were not pleased with the secrets or Grandma Millie remodeling. But it’s her business. Still, I’m sure they would have scowled if wrinkles weren’t a concern.”

“Doubt she can with the pounds of Botox she’s been darted with over the past decades.”

“Be nice,” Chloe chided, but she giggled, and the sound shot clean through him.

Maybe Chloe hadn’t entirely bought into the Maye mythology. Not like the others. Not like Jessica.

“I’m not nice, Clo Beau,” he warned, shutting down all thoughts of the past.

“I don’t believe you,” she stated simply. “Since I’m here, show me around and tell me what you and Grandma Millie have been up to,” she invited.

So, she really didn’t know everything yet. Rustin weighed the risk. He knew Chloe was the odd Maye out. Everyone knew that. She didn’t even have the Maye last name, but she’d definitely been raised and cared for by Miss Millie. Whenever she took the Maye sisters out for a treat or excursion or volunteer work party, Chloe had been there following in Jessica’s beautiful, elegant, regal wake.

“No.”

“Are you the chef?”

“No. Yes.”

“Glad that’s cleared up.” She looked around the kitchen—gleaming, commercial-grade appliances, vintage pendant light bulbs dangling over a metal island that he’d spent hours washing in an acid bath, polishing, and sealing. He was particularly proud of the reclaimed wood that formed the support tresses so that the second floor could be a loft bar and separate dining space.

“The lights are gorgeous.” Chloe walked over so that the light cast a golden glow around her, making her, too, look vintage, ethereal. “The color highlights the rust inherent in the metal, making the island or bar or whatever you call it look like a work of art.

Rustin was proud of the lights. They were custom. Too spendy and the first non-kitchen items Rustin had chosen. The bar had taken weeks to get right.

For a moment, pride pushed forward. Basking in her approval and awe was far more appealing than being cursed out by his team and the construction crew for his exacting perfection.

Idiot.

He’d worked too hard and come too far to let Chloe mouth off to her sisters so that they’d all descend before The Wild Side was ready to open.

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