Page 18 of Wrapped with a Beau

“Well, right now it kind of seems like you’re only giving it your some,” she says, her tone a little off.

“Are you offering to help?”

She gauges his offhanded reply for signs of snark. Finding none, she considers the question.

Who knows Maeve better than her? Who would give as much time and care to Maeve’s most priceless treasures? The more she thinks about it, the answer is obvious: she’s the best person for the job.

Even though she already has one. Well, for now, anyway. With a demanding boss who already doesn’t like her, and is about to like her even less when he finds out the paperwork on Sleighbells under Starlight 2 isn’t tied up with a bow like she promised. Which means it’s really going to suck when she sees him at work on Monday.

Elisha tugs her lower lip into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. In the back of her mind, an idea is flickering to life like a spotty string light. What if she offers Ves some clearly much-needed help in exchange for the filming permission?

A slightly different scenario than the one Solana suggested, but the same concept applies: two turtledoves, one stone. Elisha can be nice and get what she wants, which is a present for both her and Ves.

But putting the trade-off into words... It would be wrong to take advantage of Maeve’s great-nephew. It wouldn’t be neighborly. And to her surprise, Elisha wants to be nice to this prickly boy who likes her mom’s bebinca and, in his way, makes her laugh. There’s no grace or gumption in making him give in—not like this.

“I apologize,” Ves grinds out. “I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot. I don’t truly need any help.” At her dubious look, he defensively adds, “It always looks worse before it gets better.” He shoves his hand through his straight hair, disheveling it rather marvelously. “The house isn’t your concern.”

At this, she frowns. “What if I want it to be?”

His frown is equally doubtful. “Why? Ah, this is about the permission again, isn’t it?”

Elisha stamps her foot. “No.”

“My charming personality, then?”

She huffs a short laugh. “Your attitude, personality, and ability to clean house are all atrocious. But I’m going to help you, anyway. For Maeve. For how much she meant to this town and to me. Call it your Christmas gift, if you want. No strings attached?”

Ves hums agreement under his breath, making Elisha wonder what other throaty noises he’s capable of. And promptly wants to perish, because he’s looking at her like he knows where her thoughts have wandered, and nope. Hard nope. Not happening.

She is not going to notice things about him. And even if she does, she is going to sweep them from her mind and into her mental trash bin. Swoosh, gone.

Because of all the insufferable things about him, the way he makes her feel isn’t one of them.

Chapter Nine

Elisha

It’s a Monday morning and it’s snowing.

Ordinarily, both things that Elisha loves. Today, however, the gray clouds have completely blotted out the sun outside her minuscule office at the Chamber of Commerce. Inside is just as bleak: her boss, Greg Pierce, bitched at her to make coffee even though it isn’t her job, and the office administrator was ambushed with the news that their holiday office party had to be canceled due to going a measly twenty dollars over budget last year.

It’s already a shitty eleven a.m. And it’s about to get worse.

The wheel on her ancient computer mouse bumps and creaks as she scrolls through a long email thread going back five months, all the way to the introductory email from JJ, the personal assistant of the famous director Damian Rhys.

That sticky summer day, shuttered away in her sweltering office with a fan that didn’t work and the thermostat set a solid ten degrees higher than it should have been in July, Elisha had no idea that her life was about to change. Not even the faintest inkling that the ping of a new email would drop such an exhilarating opportunity into her lap. Hair plastered to her scalp, blouse clinging to every nook and dip of skin, she’d checked her inbox with one hand while using the other to fan herself with a pad of paper. And there was JJ’s email, laid out in neat rows of text.

All those months ago, when she read that a big-time Hollywood director wanted to use the Christmas House to film the Sleighbells sequel, she had to muffle her scream into her fist. Then reread the email twice to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. Then type her reply—and then delete it because it had too many exclamation points and a certain stench of desperation.

Now, after a morning spent clacking away at the keys, Elisha reads her latest message one last time, nutcracker nails resting lightly on the mouse, a familiar anxiety pinching her stomach.

To: June, Jessica

From: Rowe, Elisha

Hi JJ,

Thanks for your last email! We are incredibly excited to move forward, too!

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