'Twas the Week Before Christmas

by Olivia Miles

  Max paused to think about this last statement. If the idea of building on the Miller site had never been possible, would that have been better? Then he could have just enjoyed his time with Holly for what it was. Because where he stood now, one thing was inevitable: in a matter of days—if not hours—Holly would learn his real reason for being in Maple Woods.

  And then she would hate him.

  The thought of her feeling betrayed by him was almost too much to bear. Especially when he himself wished it didn’t have to be this way. Tonight he would try and tell her the truth. Cooking dinner was the least he could do for her, in light of everything else.

  “I suppose I should get going,” the mayor said, starting to walk away. “But I have a feeling we’ll be in touch soon.”

  “It was good seeing you again, Mayor.”

  “Talk to you soon, Mr. Hamilton.” The mayor made his departure, and Max quietly watched him disappear down an aisle until the man was out of sight.

  A domino effect, he thought to himself once more. That’s exactly what it was. He had knocked the first chip yesterday morning, and now there was no chance of him halting the breaks without it all crashing down on him anyway. If he at least let the plan stay in motion, it had a chance of falling neatly into a pile.

  And why was he even questioning his actions anyway?

  This was what he had wanted. This was what he had worked for. This was what he had come to town to do. And then he had met Holly.

  And now...now he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. All he knew was that he had the sickening feeling he was going to come out of all of this with nothing.

  Max turned to pull some pears from a bushel against a wall and his heart pitched at what he saw.

  Standing only a few feet from him was Abby, staring at him intensely, her gaze steady and lethal. The friendly smile was gone from her small face, her eyes clouded with confusion. How much she had overheard, he didn’t know. She looked away hastily and was gone before he could say anything to stop her.

  Chapter Eight

  A loud clanging of pots and pans greeted Holly as she made her way into the warm, heavenly scented kitchen a few hours later. For a fleeting second she wondered if she should have allowed Max into her kitchen. If he damaged one of Stephen’s prized sauté pans, the wrath she would face from the chef would be fierce.

  Oh, well. A small price to pay for such an attractive invitation.

  Holly nervously ran her hands through her long, thick hair. After returning from the Christmas Market, she’d managed to duck inside through her personal entrance at the back of the house to shower and dress. She wanted to arrive in the kitchen as she would for any other intimate evening. Even if it wasn’t a date. Technically.

  She had no idea what Max had planned for the night or what his intentions even were. She had a feeling that tonight would be a turning point, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  Max stood at the stove, stirring a creamy sauce with one hand and adding handfuls of dried pasta to a boiling pot of water with the other. He set his culinary skills to the side when he saw her, greeting her with a hundred-watt smile.

  “Hello there,” he said and Holly felt her heart pool into something warm and thick that spread through her body like melted chocolate.

  “Hi,” she managed, unable to pull her eyes from him. She stood awkwardly in the doorway, never having felt so out of place in her own kitchen and resisting the urge to push up her sleeves and tie on an apron.

  “Wine?” he asked rhetorically, as he filled two glasses from a decanter. Holly accepted hers with a smile and clinked his glass before taking a sip. It was smooth and rich. Perfect. He flashed her a lazy grin and Holly’s pulse quickened with longing.

  “So, what’s for dinner?” she asked in a forced casual tone, settling herself onto a counter stool that lent an excellent vantage point to Max’s activities.

  “Penne with vodka sauce,” he said as he picked up a dish towel and bent down to pluck a loaf of steaming, crusty bread from the oven. His back was wide and strong. Holly indulged herself in a long stare at Max’s broad shoulders straining against the confines of his shirt, imagining what it would be like to stroke his bare skin with the tips of her fingers, and explore every inch of his raw, masculine physique...

  She immediately gave herself a silent scolding. If she kept up this type of thinking, there was no telling where the night would end.

  She’d left the Christmas Market with a new sense of hope. Talking with Lucy and Abby always made her feel better, and confiding her fears in them this morning had put her mind at ease. They were right; she was coming up with one excuse after another to keep herself from falling for Max and she was dangerously close to letting a chance for real love pass her by as a result. Practicalities aside, she had a connection with Max that she couldn’t deny any longer. She had come to a point where she had to risk her heart again; if she didn’t, how would she ever find that true love she so desperately wanted?

  She hadn’t been this attracted to a man in as long as she could remember, if ever. There was something about Max—his quiet strength mixed with a touch of vulnerability made her want to squeeze him close and never let him go. It was as if he had been brought here just for her. The realization that she could have gone through life never feeling this way, never knowing him, was fast becoming inconceivable.

  “Where’d you learn to cook?” she asked, taking another sip of her wine.

  “Oh, you learn a lot of things when you’ve been single as long as I have.” Max grinned. “Like how to make your bed. Do laundry. Do the dishes.”

  “Very funny,” Holly chided, but she smiled. “In all seriousness, you really seem to know your way around a kitchen.”

  “I have a weakness for cooking shows,” he said. “Makes for good background noise.”

  Holly squinted with interest. “I take it you live alone then?”

  “Always have,” Max said mildly.

  Deciding to go for it, Holly took a deep breath. “Do you prefer it that way?” she ventured.

  Max threw her a noncommittal shrug. “Never really thought about it,” he said, but something in his tone was unconvincing.

  Unsatisfied, Holly toyed with the stem of her glass. Not willing to relinquish the topic just yet, she blurted, “I hate living alone,” and then lowered her eyes, instantly realizing how reckless her declaration had been.

  If Max was put off, he didn’t show it. “I figured that was the case,” he said as he stirred the sauce.

  “Why?”

  “You run an inn,” he said. “It would be a bit inconvenient for you to have all these people in your house everyday if you preferred them not to be there.”

  Holly laughed at his logic. “Good point.”

  “So you like what you do then? Running the inn? Taking care of people day after day?”

  “I love it!” she exclaimed.

  “It never gets tiring?” He was watching her carefully, leaning back against the counter and clutching his wineglass.

  Holly shook her head slowly. “No...I guess some days can be long, but I’m sure that’s the case with any job.”

  Max’s hooded stare held hers until she squirmed under the scrutiny. “Guess so,” he said, finally releasing his hold on her to return to the pots on the stove.

  What was that all about? Holly wondered. But while the topic remained on work, she decided to use it to her advantage.

  “How about you?” she asked. “Do you like your job?”

  “I do,” he said.

  She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “What do you do exactly?”

  His strong, wide shoulders heaved slightly. He stopped stirring the sauce for a fraction of a second before resuming. “Real estate,” he said.

  Holly wasn’t sure what she ha
d been expecting to hear, but she felt inexplicable relief. He had been so cryptic about the business that was keeping him in town that her mind had started to needlessly reel with sinister possibilities.

  Real estate. It probably was something to do with the library. Or maybe—a sudden thought caused Holly’s hopes to soar—maybe he was planning to purchase something in Maple Woods? Her heart began to thump with the implications. Any kind of real estate investment that he was making would surely bring him back to Maple Woods often. If not permanently. She didn’t know much about real estate, but she had reason to hope, at least.

  Barely managing to hide her bursting smile, Holly took another sip of wine and watched as Max continued his cooking efforts. “It smells delicious,” she observed.

  Max turned and flashed her a grin over his shoulder. “Thanks. Hopefully it tastes good, too.” He plated the pasta and turned to face her. “Dinner is served.”

  The fire was roaring in the lobby and the tree twinkled invitingly as she followed Max into the dimly lit room. He set the tray down on the coffee table and without a word, sunk into the sofa next to her. A stir of excitement ran down her spine.

  This was cozy.

  Max held up his wine glass. “To...chance meetings.”

  Holly stomach tightened as she clinked his glass with hers and took a long, delicious sip. She knew by sitting here like this, it would be harder than ever to back out of...whatever this was.

  Her mind began to race with possibilities.

  Watching him over the rim of her glass, Holly wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold back. In the few days she had been with him, her heart had felt something foreign and wonderful. Something seemed to click and tell her this was right despite how much she had desperately tried to convince herself otherwise. It was only a doubtful corner of her mind that told her to fight what her heart so desperately wanted.

  Didn’t any real love involve a risk or sacrifice?

  “This is delicious,” Holly commented, taking a bite of the warm, creamy pasta.

  “I’m a man of many talents, believe it or not,” Max joked and that adorable grin came over his mouth.

  “Oh, yeah? What other tricks do you have under your belt? I’d like to see what you’re keeping down there.” As soon as the words were out, Holly felt the color drain from her face. Max’s eyes burst open in surprise, and his expression froze until his lips began to twitch.

  Holly tittered nervously but Max’s sudden roar of laughter muffled her own feeble sounds. She slid her pasta around her plate, unable to eat from humiliation and wondering what exactly Max would say when he had finally settled down. She furiously scrambled for a delicate way to change the subject.

  “Sorry,” she settled on. “That didn’t come out right.”

  Max’s eyes were sharp in their hold on hers. “Darn, I was hoping it came out exactly right.”

  Holly’s cheeks burned with heat and she knew this time the flush didn’t go unnoticed. She forced a bit of food into her mouth and chewed slowly, barely able to swallow due to the knot that had formed in her throat.

  Needing physical distance, she set her plate on the table and crossed the room without a word. With the press of a button, soft music poured through the speakers and broke up the silence.

  From afar, Holly could see Max’s brow furrow. She immediately knew why.

  “Christmas carols,” she said. “What can I say? ’Tis the season.”

  Taking in the large lobby—from the stockings over the crackling fire to the enormous tree, to the garland wrapped around the banister in the adjacent foyer—Holly thought back on her conversation with Max the day before. “I hope all this doesn’t offend you,” she said, hoping she wasn’t being insensitive.

  “It doesn’t offend me. It’s just—”

  “Not your thing,” Holly finished, managing a wry smile.

  Max matched her expression. “Does that bother you?”

  Holly fell back onto her cushion next to Max and studied his face. “No,” she said honestly. “It just makes me curious. And a little sad,” she added softly.

  * * *

  Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was the warmth from the flames flickering in hearth, perhaps it was the damn music...or perhaps it was just Holly. Sweet, beautiful Holly. Max didn’t know the reason, but for the first time in years, he felt at peace.

  “I think I told you the first night we met that I grew up in a small town like this.” His voice was low and husky, his eyes firmly on the fire.

  “I remember,” Holly said softly. She waited, patient for him to continue.

  Max took another forkful of pasta and chewed, his mind in two places at once. Here in the safety of this homey room, and back in his childhood home. Which was hardly a home at all.

  “It was awful,” he blurted.

  Holly raised a questioning brow. “Small-town life?”

  “All of it.” He grimaced at the memories. A series of images he had pushed aside. A life he had put behind him.

  Holly’s brow furrowed in concern. “What was so terrible?”

  “My mom got pregnant with me out of wedlock when she was...very young. It was a scandal, especially back in those days, and the small-town lifestyle didn’t help matters.”

  Holly frowned. “That would be hard.”

  Max nodded and watched the flames grow in the fireplace. “She had so many things she wanted to do with her life,” he mused. Turning to Holly he said, “She was a musician. A singer, actually. And a very good one. She had a music scholarship to college.”

  “Impressive,” Holly said but Max shook his head to show she had misunderstood.

  “She couldn’t go.”

  He met Holly’s gaze. Her eyes flickered in realization. Her lids drooped slightly until she lowered her eyes, her long black lashes skimming her cheeks.

  “Because—”

  “Because of me.” Max nodded.

  “That must have been hard,” Holly said quietly.

  “More than you know,” Max said as a swell of resentment built inside him and turned his heart heavy. “It was as if, all my life, I could sense this unhappiness in her. This longing to be somewhere else. Doing something else. And there was nothing I could do to make her happy.”

  “But couldn’t she pursue her music in another way?” Holly asked. “Could she teach at school or give private lessons?”

  Max shook his head. It wasn’t just about the music, which represented everything she wanted and didn’t have—couldn’t have. His gut twisted when he thought how different his mother’s life might have been if he had never been born. But when he grew older—and, after everything happened—he knew that she had made her choice. She had done the best she could. She had thought she could make it work. She just...couldn’t.

  “For a long time, when I was very little, she would walk around the house singing.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the memory of his mother, so young then, in a housedress and apron, standing over a sink of dirty dishes crooning Sinatra and old show tunes like there was an audience in the living room just waiting to throw roses at her bare feet. “I remember sitting on that old linoleum in our kitchen playing with my toy cars and just listening to that voice...no sweeter sound.”

  Holly smiled and locked her eyes with him, encouraging him to continue.

  “Sometimes, when I was about two or three, she’d turn on the record player and just dance around the house, singing, holding my hands, twirling me around...and the next thing I knew, she’d stop and just burst into tears. And I never understood it.”

  “That’s so sad,” Holly murmured, her voice cracking.

  Max forced a smile. The last thing he needed was Holly thinking he was feeling sorry for himself. Once he might have, but not anymore. Time had a way of fading the rawne
ss of pain, even if it didn’t always heal the wounds.

  “And your father? Was he around?” Holly said the words hesitantly, as if not sure she should be asking.

  Max emitted a deep sigh. “They got married when my mother was pregnant,” he said and before Holly’s expression could shift any further in the direction of hope he added, “It was the worst decision my mother could have made.”

  Holly’s hazel eyes shot open in surprise and then crinkled as her brows met in the center. “How so?”

  “He was the town drunk,” Max said simply. He clenched his jaw, all sadness evaporating at the thought of his father. There was no place in his heart for that man. Any time he happened to think of him, ice filled his chest. “I just remember that night after night, he would come home late, sometimes when I was already in bed, reeking of booze, stumbling around, crashing into lamps, and he and my mother would just scream at each other. For hours.” Max chuckled. “I tried putting cotton in my ears, and one time it got stuck. My mother had to take me to the doctor to fish it out.”

  He slid a glance at Holly. She gave a watery smile. “You didn’t have any brothers and sisters?”

  “No.”

  “Me, neither.”

  He wasn’t sure why, but something about this shared bond made him feel closer to her. Even if—judging from this place—her circumstances had been quite different than his own.

  “Money was always tight,” he continued. “Especially around the holidays. My dad spent all the money he made at the mill on booze at the town bar after work. More than a few times a week my mom would get a phone call from the owner of the tavern, telling her to come collect him, that he was too drunk to drive home. She’d have to ask the lady next door to come sit with me. I’ll never forget the shame in her face. Or the fear in her eyes.”

  “She was afraid of him?” Holly asked gently.

  “My father was a mean drunk,” Max said. “A mean, mean drunk. When he got like that...my mother didn’t know what she was about to step into. She walked on glass. As did I.