Page 12 of Wrapped with a Beau

It’s just a short jaunt away, so he takes a bracing walk. It’s not quite as windy as the city he left behind, but he still hikes his red scarf up to his ears. Less than ten minutes later, as the world tips into twilight, he’s welcomed to the beating heart of the town.

Twinkling lights and huge red-velvet bows are strung between black lampposts, lining the street with magic. A quick peek into a side street reveals a winding labyrinth of narrow cobbled lanes leading to bookshops crammed with shelves and glowing with light; store windows draped with tinsel and garlands of ivy; and packed restaurants with outdoor seating, charming red-checked tablecloths, and space heaters leaping with orange flame. Even Ves feels the chill momentarily chased away.

In the town square, everything shimmers silver and gold. Everywhere he looks is lit in snowy brilliance, from the lofty height of icing-sugar eaves to the blanket of snow beneath his feet. Trees sparkle and tiny Christmas-market stalls are squeezed around the steepled church, from where he can hear the sweet strains of choir music. In front of a store called the Chocolate Mouse, a sandwich board announces dates for an upcoming cookie-decorating workshop, a holiday party, and a gingerbread-house competition.

The online pictures didn’t do this place justice; the town is completely photogenic and inviting. The kind of place someone could want to stay forever.

Not him, obviously. But someone.

Ves inhales Piney Peaks into his lungs. Even the air is more refreshing, like pine needles and burning wood and walking into a memory that has always hovered just this much out of reach.

He’s instantly suspicious. Nowhere is this perfect without a catch.

At the Old Stoat, he’s seated at a corner booth underneath a loudspeaker playing Christmas oldies and handed a sticky plastic menu. “Haven’t seen you in town before,” the waitress, Becca, comments brightly, whipping out a stubby pencil and a dazzling smile. “Here for the holidays?”

“Death in the family.”

Her pencil freezes over the pad of paper. “I’m so sorry.”

In hindsight, he should have just agreed with her. He studies the menu. “What do you recommend?”

“Time is a great heal—” she begins to stammer.

“I meant from the specials,” Ves interrupts, a hot flush crawling up his neck.

She rattles through their offerings with the same speed in which she rushes away a moment later. It’s almost comforting to know he isn’t the only one who finds the small talk painfully awkward.

A raucous cheer breaks out, drowning out the music and drawing Ves’s attention. Overlapping voices chatter excitedly and in the hubbub of it all, his heart jolts when he hears a familiar name: Elisha.

He doesn’t appreciate it; this is the second time today she’s given him a shock. Admittedly, in her candy-red sleeveless cropped turtleneck and high-waisted skirt, she makes a better first impression than she did in pajamas. His lips twitch at the memory.

As he watches, a retinue of townspeople continue vigorously shaking her hand like she’s some kind of hometown hero and saying things that make her blush redder than the cocktails that keep on coming.

The last thing Ves needs is for her to catch him staring, so he glances away. “Excuse me,” he says politely when Becca returns with his maple chai latte and ice water. He nods toward the bar. “What’s going on over there?”

“Oh, that’s Elisha. I went to high school with her. She’s barely been back home for a year, and she’s already got Hollywood interested in us again, so everyone’s plying her with drinks tonight.” Becca grins. “Piney Peaks used to be really famous. Not for skiing or anything, we’re not high up enough for that. But because of this old movie that was filmed here in the seventies.” Her voice drops to a stage whisper. “And if you’re a fan of Sleighbells, you’ll freak out when I tell you that starting this January, they’re filming the sequel at the Christmas House!”

She ends the sentence with a squeal the equivalent of a dozen exclamation points. It pierces the air at the exact moment the song changes and Elisha looks over. Her mouth parts in a silent O of surprise.

Ves’s lips thin as he locks eyes with her from across the room. No wonder she was so proprietary when she barged over this morning. Still, he’d spent the day sorting through Maeve’s papers, and he hadn’t come across any legally binding document that backed up what he’s hearing now.

“Is that so,” he says coolly. “What an unbelievable stroke of luck.”

After that, it takes ten minutes for his food to arrive, and another fifteen of avoiding eye contact with Elisha before she finally comes over, armed with two drinks.

“Do you mind if I...?” She juts her chin at the unoccupied side of the booth.

He spears his last piece of maple-glazed ham onto a roasted carrot. “Go for it.”

“Thanks.” Elisha offers him a tentative smile. “Glad to see I didn’t scare you off.”

“Ha! Not for lack of trying.”

She winces and slides one of the glasses over. “I am so sorry. Again. But I promise that I come in peace! And with an apology cocktail that isn’t even half-off for happy hour!”

Ves finishes chewing before saying, “Well, seeing as it’s full price, of course I forgive you for almost taking my head off.” She looks relieved, so he worries he’s letting her off too easy. “Thanks for not bearing any weapons of merry destruction this time,” he adds, taking a sip of the red liquid.

He promptly sputters and coughs. “I spoke too soon. What’s in this?”

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