Christmas at the Graff
A Holiday at the Graff Romance
Kaylie Newell
Christmas at the Graff
Copyright© 2017 Kaylie Newell
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-947636-54-5
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Dear Reader,
I’m so excited to take you back to Marietta with Christmas at The Graff. This book was a joy to write, and at times, I actually felt like I was snuggled in at The Graff while snow swirled outside the lobby window. I hope you’ll fall in love with EJ and Jemma like I did, as their story is about forgiveness and the magic of the holiday season.
Happy reading!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Holiday at the Graff Series
About the Author
Chapter One
Jemma Banks hated Christmas. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She hated what Christmas symbolized—happiness. Joy. Forgiving and forgetting for the sake of peace and goodwill, and all that jazz.
Bah humbug.
She opened the door of her very sensible Honda Accord, and stepped out onto the icy parking lot of Marietta’s one and only hospital. She’d never actually been to Marietta before, even though her dad had called it home for the last eleven years. But she was a Montana girl, through and through. She was used to gorgeous, snowcapped mountains and charming little towns that looked like Hollywood movie sets.
As she eyed the big concrete building with a Christmas tree twinkling in the lobby window, she reminded herself that she wasn’t going to let that charm affect her in the least. She was here for one thing and one thing only. To help her dad after a particularly bad fall, which had resulted in a broken pelvis. She was the only one able to care for him. Her sister wouldn’t have anything to do with him—broken bones or not—and Jemma couldn’t really blame her, could she?
Pulling the collar of her beige raincoat up around her neck, she took a deep breath and surveyed her surroundings. The little town stretched out adorably behind her. White lights were strung along the rooftops of the historic, red brick buildings. Huge, frost-covered pines punctuated the horizon, and beyond that, Copper Mountain rose like a giant castle in the distance.
Straightening her shoulders, she turned back to the hospital. Her dad was right—it was a magical place. And just like anything magical, it had the ability to disappear before her very eyes and leave her heart shattered in a thousand tiny pieces.
She couldn’t wait to get out of here.
EJ Corpa looked down at the older man. He was clean shaven this morning and wore a red flannel shirt EJ had gotten him last Christmas. There were two bright spots of color on his cheeks, which just yesterday had begun to look sunken and pale. He looked happy. But most of all, he looked excited.
Joe Banks turned and grinned while leaning heavily on the walker. “She’s on her way. Should be here any minute.”
“That’s what you said.” EJ smiled and put his hands in his pockets. Inside, however, he was more than skeptical of this arrangement. Joe’s daughters had basically written him off years ago. It had taken a significant guilt trip over the phone by the discharge nurse to convince his youngest that Joe was refusing to go to a skilled nursing facility, and he’d need some help at home to recover. To Joe, this was a perfect opportunity to reconcile with his daughter. And he was pretty damn tenacious when he set his mind on something.
As Joe’s physical therapist, EJ knew he should be happy for the guy. He’d get to go home and learn how to walk again under the guidance of a family member. But as his friend, he was protective, and he didn’t want the man who’d grown into a father figure hurt or disappointed when it didn’t work out. Which he’d bet a brand-new snowboard it wouldn’t.
EJ rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the window toward the mountains. There was powder in the forecast. And powder always made EJ happy when other things didn’t.
“I know you’re looking forward to shredding the gnar,” Joe said. “When’s your next day off?”
EJ had to resist the urge to laugh. Joe was constantly trying to bridge their age gap with ridiculous tween lingo. “You can just say snowboarding, Joe. I’m not seventeen.”
“Might as well be, with all that crazy stuff you do.”
“Just living life to the fullest, bro.”
Joe laughed, and it was a warm, rich baritone that EJ had missed. Getting old was shit. So were broken bones and family riffs that time and distance only made deeper and more significant.
“Mr. Banks? Your daughter is here.”
They turned at the nurse’s voice behind them.
EJ didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe a wicked witch of the west with a bony bod to match. Somebody who looked like she could callously ignore her dad’s pleas for forgiveness, even in old age.
But she wasn’t anything like that. In fact, she looked exactly the opposite. Pretty, round face. Soft, curly brown hair pulled up in a neat bun. The most striking green eyes EJ had ever seen. The only indication she might not want to be here were her pursed lips. Pink and full, but sure as hell pursed. And those shoulders—so rigid she looked like she might blow over in the next stiff breeze.
He had the immediate urge to stand behind her and massage the stress out of that long, pale neck. But then again, he wasn’t her PT. Which was probably a good thing, judging by how his groin tightened at the sight of her. Jesus.
He glanced at Joe, who was grinning like a little kid who’d just been let loose inside Copper Mountain Chocolate Shop. EJ grit his teeth. The tension in the room was palpable.
“Jemma,” Joe said, his voice cracking a little. “You made it. You look...so different.”
“Hi, Dad.” Her face remained composed, emotionless.
The nurse nodded and left the room. The sounds from the bustling hallway seemed muted now and unimportant. The clock above Joe’s empty hospital bed dutifully ticked the seconds by, not caring that each and every one was more awkward than the last.
Jemma Banks looked from her father to EJ, her eyes settling on him in a matter-of-fact way.
“I hear you’re his physical therapist?”
“The one and only.”
“Mister...”
>
“Corpa. EJ Corpa. No mister.”
Joe shuffled forward a few feet, pushing the walker along with him.
“What’s wrong with me? Jemma, this is EJ. EJ, this is my daughter, Jemma.”
EJ stuck his hand out and she obliged, shaking it quickly. But not too quickly for him to miss how soft her skin was. A total contradiction to those hard eyes. Her coat was as colorless and drab as an unfinished painting. For a second, he let himself wonder if she always dressed like this, or if she was just trying to make a point. Serious business. Get in, get out. No fuss.
“I’m sure you already know I’ll be helping my dad out until he’s better,” she said evenly. “But I won’t be staying with him. The nurse said that won’t be necessary, so I got a room at the Graff. You can reach me there if you need to.”
He nodded and looked over at Joe, who seemed tired all of a sudden.
“You know you can stay with me, honey,” he said. “There’s plenty of room.”
Her gaze shifted, and she swallowed visibly. “I’m just here to help out. I owe you that much, but you know how I feel. That’s not going to change.”
EJ had never warmed up to this idea. He thought it had disaster written all over it. Now, standing here in Joe’s hospital room, he knew he’d been right. This woman had no intention of letting her father back into her life, no matter how much he wanted it. But Joe was an eternal optimist and was hoping for a Christmas miracle of some kind. And as cheesy as it was, EJ hadn’t been able to talk him out of it.
“The Graff is beautiful,” Joe said. “You’ll love it there.”
She nodded.
“Okay,” EJ said, taking a deep breath. “I guess I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be by tomorrow morning to show you a few things and get you familiar with his exercise program. He’s a star patient. I know he’ll be up and around in no time.”
“I have to be up and around or I won’t be able to help with the Christmas tree,” Joe interjected.
“I’m not doing it by myself,” EJ said.
“You can’t do it by yourself. You don’t have the eye.”
“Says who?”
Jemma crossed her arms and looked from one man to the other. “What tree?”
“You ever heard of Mistletoe and Montana?” EJ asked.
She frowned, a little wrinkle forming between her brows. “Sure. Didn’t that raise money for some new pediatric hospital equipment last year? I saw something on the news.”
“It did.”
“And it’s a Christmas tree thing?”
“Businesses all over southcentral Montana pick a theme and decorate trees to be auctioned off at the dance every year in Livingston.” EJ shrugged. “Banks Plumbing and Mountain Physical Therapy used to team up until your dad retired. Now he just bosses us around with our tree.”
“We came in second place last year.” Joe was beaming. “This year is special, though, because the auction will be right here in Marietta. The Depot got double booked, so they chose the Graff for the venue. It’s a pretty big deal because the proceeds will benefit our hospital.”
Joe loved this damn auction. Loved this time of year, period. He’d dressed up as Santa last Christmas and helped the fire department hand out toys to needy kids in Bozeman. The man was a kid inside a seventy-year-old’s body. EJ wondered sometimes if that was why they got along so well.
But Jemma, his aloof but very hot daughter, didn’t seem impressed.
She flicked some imaginary lint off her coat. “So, you’re friends,” she said.
“We are.”
Her eyes narrowed at that. Just slightly, but EJ caught it. Being a friend to Joe Banks wasn’t going to score him any points.
Chapter Two
Jemma had to force herself to keep from staring. What she really wanted to do was stop and gape at the hotel lobby with her mouth open. If she were a Christmas person, which she wasn’t, she’d be in heaven right now. Absolute glittery, tinselly heaven.
The entire hotel smelled like pine, thanks to the gorgeous tree next to the front desk. But that wasn’t the only one—there were at least three others she could see just from where she was standing, each decorated in a specific color. The blue was her favorite—draped in tiny, twinkling lights with a rich satin ribbon that wound its way all the way to the top where a silver star shone bright.
She breathed deeply, and, despite herself, warmed at the scent. It was all coming back, whether she wanted it to or not. Holiday memories of her family that hadn’t stayed together long after her fifteenth birthday. She thought of her mom then, how she’d refused to celebrate Christmas after her dad left, and how that had left a hole in her little girl heart.
Swallowing hard, she put her head down and walked up to the front desk to check in. She’d only be here a few weeks, three at most. Then she’d head back to Missoula and her very quiet, predictable life as an accountant. She’d go back with a clean conscience and wouldn’t care in the least that she didn’t have a relationship with her father, or that another Christmas loomed. Something she still didn’t celebrate and didn’t plan to.
Jemma had learned at a relatively young age that there was no real magic. The world was what she made of it. People came in and out of her life through no fault of her own, and the only way to protect herself from abandonment was by staying shrewd and a little distant. So far, it had worked for the Banks sisters. And she wasn’t about to change anything now.
The man behind the counter grinned as she approached, his green sweater setting off his eyes. She smiled back, taken in by how flushed his cheeks were, and how his hair was strategically combed to cover a bald spot that was doing its best to peek through anyway.
“Well, good afternoon,” he said. “Welcome to the Graff. How may I help you today?”
Jemma set her bags at her feet and looked around. Even without the beautiful Christmas trees sparkling in the lobby, the place was magnificent. There was a stately staircase that spiraled toward the second floor, and huge, gleaming wood doors that led to a ballroom to her right. All of a sudden, she remembered what her dad’s physical therapist, who had a tingly resemblance to Chris Hemsworth, had said about the holiday auction and dance that would be held here. What a night that would be.
“Hello. I have a reservation for Banks? Jemma Banks?”
“Oh, yes.” His fingers flew over the computer keys with absolute efficiency.
She looked at his name tag, which read Bob. There was a tiny mistletoe sticker next to it. Jemma liked this place. She liked it a lot, even though she was trying not to. The Graff had a rich, fascinating narrative and she’d always wanted to stay here, albeit under different circumstances. She was a history nut and had read up on how a fire had destroyed the hotel in 1912, and how it had been rebuilt to its original splendor a few years later to be featured in The Great Wedding Giveaway, which ended up bringing tourism to Marietta. It had seen many ups and downs over the last century, but here it stood, as grand as ever.
“Here we are, Miss Banks. We have you down for an indefinite stay. Is that correct?”
“I’m hoping it’ll only be a few weeks, but it might be a little longer.”
“We’d certainly be honored to have you with us as long as possible.”
She smiled again. It felt good to be welcomed so warmly, even though Bob only had one job, and this was it.
“I’m new to town. Can you recommend a good place for dinner?”
“I certainly can. I love to eat.” He patted his belly and winked endearingly. “There’s The Java Café, a wonderful pizza parlor right across the street, The Main Street Diner, and then, of course, Rocco’s if you like Italian. That’s my personal favorite.”
She happened to love Italian.
“Good fettucine?”
“Good fettucine? Girl, it’s the best in three counties.”
She was really starting to love Bob. They spoke the same language. Carbs.
A few minutes later, she was settled in her room, a lovely little
space that overlooked a winter garden below and the streets of Marietta beyond. Plopping down on the four-poster bed, she stretched out on the white duvet and unwrapped one of the chocolates on the pillow. The bittersweet flavor unfurled blissfully on her tongue. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to walk over to Rocco’s, which Bob said opened at five for the dinner crowd.
But first, she needed to call Justine, something she’d promised to do as soon as she’d rolled into town. Fishing her phone from her purse, she unwrapped another chocolate and lounged back on the pillow like the Queen of Sheba.
“Hello?”
“I’m not supposed to like this place, right?”
“Absolutely not,” Justine said. “What are you eating?”
“Chocolate.”
She heard a soft humph on the other end of the line.
“You can’t blame me,” Jemma said. “It’s a coping mechanism.”
“So, are you going to tell me how it went, or are you just going to eat chocolate in my ear?”
“Let me think...”
“Jemma.”
“Okay, okay.” She sat up and took a deep breath. “He looks different.”
“I figured.”
“I maintained my composure. I didn’t cry.”
“I’d hope not.”
Justine was angrier than Jemma. She’d been eighteen when their dad left, so she’d understood more of his reasoning. Jemma just understood the abandonment, which was bad enough.
“What else?” her sister asked, the tone of her voice betraying her. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with Joe or this reunion, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think about him. And Jemma knew that.
“He was up and around in a walker. I guess I didn’t expect him to look so perky.”
“Well, that’s good. The better he is, the sooner you can leave. I still can’t believe you agreed to this.”
“What was I supposed to do? He doesn’t have anyone. We’re it. And you refused, so that leaves me.”
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