Page 8 of Baby It's Cold Outside

“No, I’m being oversensitive. Ignore me. What about you? What do you do?”

“I work in PR.”

“Oh, right. Holford PR. You know, when I first saw you I thought you were in media or finance. It’s your suit,” she explained when he raised an eyebrow. “It’s like the ones worn by the kind of people I used to cater for.”

“You catered functions?” he asked.

“Sometimes. But, actually, I meant the long business lunches and the red wine.”

He laughed. “That’s all in the past. Nowadays it’s a sandwich at your desk with a bottle of water, and you’ll be catching up on e-mails as you eat.”

“So that was your dream when you were a kid? To be a PR man?”

“Maybe.” Mitch couldn’t remember his dreams as a kid. Other than the need to get away as soon as he could. “Was that your dream—to be a pastry chef?”

“Yes. I always loved cooking, but especially cakes and desserts. I loved it when Betty came over to stay with us in the summer. She taught me how to make a proper gingerbread house.” Ellie smiled. “I made one for her to take into the hospital with her earlier this week.”

It didn’t surprise him. He’d already worked out that she was the sort who’d think of others.

He parked in the street as close to her place as he could. It looked as if it was one of the traditional Philadelphia row houses: three stories, with a flat roof and a bay window on the ground floor.

“I guess this is home, then,” he said.

“Yes. Well, my godmother’s.” She looked out of the window. “The snow’s getting worse. I didn’t see a snowplow all the way here, and I don’t like to think of you driving in this. Why don’t you come in for a while and wait it out? It’ll give the snowplows time to come and sort out the roads and make them safer for you to drive on later.”

What she said made perfect common sense—but it also gave Mitch an odd feeling. He wasn’t used to anyone being concerned about him. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“My family’s all in London and my godmother’s in hospital. I don’t have any plans other than visiting her tomorrow, so you’re no inconvenience to me.”

She wrinkled her nose. It was incredibly cute, and it made Mitch want to lean over and kiss her.

He stopped himself.

Just.

“Though I guess you need to get in touch with your family to let them know where you are and that you’re okay,” she said. “They’ll be worrying about you.”

No, they wouldn’t. He’d been gone too long. He shook his head. “There’s nobody to worry about me.”

“Nobody? But—won’t you be seeing your family or friends for Christmas?”

“Not everyone celebrates Christmas.”

She flushed deeply, looking mortified. “Oh, no. What with you being Santa, I made the wrong assumption. I’m sorry. Obviously you’re Jewish.”

“No, I’m not Jewish. I just don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Why not?”

“Just call me Ebenezer,” he said lightly.

“Ebenezer Scrooge wouldn’t help out at a kids’ party and donate the gifts,” she pointed out, frowning.

He couldn’t take credit that definitely wasn’t due. “I helped out because my boss asked me to, and he’s the one who paid for the gifts.”

“Even so. Scrooge still would’ve said no.”

“I just don’t like Christmas. I don’t have particularly good memories of it when I was growing up.” The words came out before could stop them.

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