Page 27 of Vixen's Guide to Christmas
Why she’s here.
ThatKatis short forKatherineand not spelled like a fucking cat.
And what I think is true is confirmed when a husky voice breaks the sudden tension.
“Look at that! Grayson Ross and Katherine Smith, the Timberline’s two guests of honor, dining together. What a small world!”
What a small world indeed…
guide to christmas (and love) rule #27
Make your list. Check it twice. Because Santa knows how naughty you’ve been. (Even when you don’t).
8
kat
I’m very,very confused.
In front of me, I have my date, who in the matter of a split-second went from charming and warm to stiff and silent. To my right there’s a man who could win the New York City Santa Claus contest and apparently knows my name. Behind him is a waitress who just wants to take our orders.
I wish she could. My stomach is growling, and I have a feeling I’m about to lose my appetite.
“Grayson, Katherine, I’m glad you both could make it.” Santa extends his hand as Grayson stands to shake it.
“Absolutely,” Grayson says. “But I thought you were out of town all weekend. We’re still meeting Monday, correct?”
Meeting Monday? I have a meeting on Monday. There seem to be a lot of meetings on Monday…
“Thatwasthe plan,” Santa says. “But have you seen the weather report?”
Grayson shakes his head. I definitely have no clue what Santa is talking about.
“Oh, we’re about to get a whopper of a snow storm,” Santa says. “And right at Christmas. How poetic! It looks like Rudolph will be coming out of retirement this year!”
And he makes Christmas jokes? I’m so fucking confused, which is what I’m guessing Santa sees when he turns to talk to me.
“Katherine, so good to meet you,” Santa says. “I’ve heard nothing but amazing things about you and your work from my son.”
I stand up and smooth down my dress—a fitted one Katherine would never be seen in. Rarely do Kat and Katherine have to actually coexist, but here we go. “Hello. I’m sorry for my about-to-be rudeness, but I seem to be missing a few pages…”
Santa laughs. And I’m talking full on, stomach-like-a-bowl-full-of-cherries, laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m the rude one. Howard Williams, owner of the Timberline Inn.”
“Oh,” I know I sound surprised, and it’s because I am. “I was told by Logan that Declan Williams was the owner.”
“That would be my son, the soon-to-be owner,” Howard says. “I’ve run this place for forty-five years. Took it over from my father, who built it with his bare hands in 1960. Though, I’ve always doubted that story.”
I laugh. “I’m sure his blood, sweat, and tears were poured into this no matter how it happened. And I must tell you, the entire property is beautiful.”
“There seems to be a lot of beauty here tonight.”
Anything else I was about to say leaves my brain as a younger, and quite good-looking, man walks up next to Howard. He might not be Santa, but I can see the resemblance by their sparkling blue eyes. And if this is what Howard looked like when he was younger, then hot damn…Santa used toget it.
“You’re too kind,” I say as I extend my hand. “Katherine Smith.”
“Declan Williams. A pleasure to meet you.”
We exchange a handshake—it’s firm, which is always a good sign. I hate when men don’t grasp my hand simply because I’ma woman. I’m also ignoring the “beauty” comment he made. I don’t want to make any assumptions about him either way, and even though he might be very handsome, he’s not my kind of handsome.
