Page 1 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
1
HOLLY
The delivery truck never showed.
Holly Bennett stood in the back room of her shop, phone pressed to her ear, listening to the apologetic voice on the other end explain that the mahogany sideboard she'd been waiting on for three weeks wouldn't arrive until Friday. Something about a mix-up at the warehouse. She pinched the bridge of her nose and told them it was fine, even though it wasn't, and ended the call with more grace than she felt.
The afternoon stretched before her, suddenly empty.
It was barely past one o'clock, and the June heat had already turned Miami into a sauna. Through the shop's front windows, she could see the sidewalk shimmering, heat rising in waves that made the palm trees across the street look like they were dancing. The cicadas were singing their relentless summer song, a buzz that seemed to seep through the walls and settle into her bones.
Holly glanced around the quiet shop. No customers. No deliveries. No reason to stay.
She could go home early to surprise Simon, as he’d said he was working from home today.
The thought came with a flutter of something warm in her chest—excitement, maybe, or just the pleasure of doing something unexpected. They'd been ships passing in the night lately, both of them buried in work, their conversations reduced to quick morning coffees and tired goodnights. When was the last time they'd had an evening or a few hours together? Really together, not just sitting in the same room while he worked on briefs and she sketched restoration plans?
She couldn't remember.
But today, this afternoon, things could be different. She could pick up his favorite pastries from that little Cuban bakery near Coral Gables. The one with the guava pastelitos that made his eyes light up like a kid's. She could stop by the market, grab something fresh for a late lunch. They could eat on the back patio, watch the birds and the lake that was at the bottom of their property, and talk about something other than work for once.
The idea took root, growing into something she couldn't shake.
Twenty minutes later, she was locking the shop door behind her, the pastry box balanced carefully in one hand. The ribbon was mint-green and already beginning to wilt in the humidity, but the smell wafting from inside was divine. Butter and sugar and that hint of guava that always reminded her of summer nights and promises made under string lights.
She drove with the windows down, letting the hot wind tangle through her hair, and hummed along to the radio without really hearing the music. Her mind was already home, alreadyplanning. She'd marinate chicken in that lime marinade he loved. Slice mangoes. Open a bottle of the sparkling non-alcoholic wine and have some alone time before she had to fetch Trinity from ballet at four.
It would be perfect.
By the time she turned onto their street, she was smiling.
The smile faltered when she saw the car in the driveway.
A silver sedan, parked just behind Simon's SUV. It was sleek and polished, and she knew instantly whose car it was—Terry Brown's. Holly’s lifelong best friend.
Holly's foot eased off the gas, and she coasted to a stop beside the sedan, her mind already working to make sense of it. Terry was supposed to be in Tampa. She'd said so that morning when they'd talked on the phone. A client meeting was the reason they couldn’t meet for lunch. Something about staging a penthouse. She'd been running late, frazzled, apologizing for having to cancel their lunch date for the third time that month.
So why is her car here?
Holly cut the engine and sat for a moment, the pastry box resting on the passenger seat beside her. The cicadas were louder here, their song rising and falling in waves that seemed to press against her ears. The air was thick, electric, like the sky was holding its breath before a storm.
She told herself it was nothing. Maybe the meeting had been rescheduled. Maybe Terry had stopped by to drop something off. Maybe Simon had called her for advice on a case. They did that sometimes, didn't they? Especially now that Simon’s firm was representing Terry’s company.
But the flutter in her chest didn't settle.
She grabbed the pastry box and stepped out into the suffocating heat. The front path seemed longer than usual, each step weighted with something she couldn't name. The door was unlocked. She pushed it open and stepped inside, into the cool dimness of the entryway.
Music drifted from somewhere deeper in the house.
Something low and jazzy, the kind Simon liked when he was unwinding, making her realize they must be in his study. She stopped as she drew closer and tilted her head as she heard the unmistakable sound of laughter.
Holly froze.
The pastry box slipped from her hand and landed on the console table with a muted thud. She stared at it for a moment, at the ribbon slowly uncurling in the air conditioning, and then she moved forward.
Her feet carried her down the hallway even as her mind screamed at her to stop, to turn around, to leave. The corridor stretched before her like something out of a dream and suddenly felt too long, too narrow, the walls closing in with each step. The door to Simon's office was ahead, halfway open, a sliver of golden light spilling out into the dim.
The laughter came again. Warm. Intimate.
