His Christmas Miracle

by Dani Collins

  Atlas came flying up at that moment, skidding to a stop when he recognized Petra. “Is Wucy he-ah?”

  Petra bit her lips and slid a glance at Flynn that said, See? “I’m sorry, she’s not. I’m skating with my boyfriend, Flynn.”

  Atlas’s brows lowered and his bottom lip came out.

  “You skate pretty fast,” Flynn said. “Do you want to race me?”

  Atlas shook his head. His hand blindly reached for Quincy’s, his dark mitt closing over Quincy’s finger. Tipping back his head, he said, “Can we go again?”

  “Sure. Let’s go.” Quincy sent a quick nod to Petra and took up his easy gait alongside his son.

  “Oh, he’s adorable,” Petra said with a little sigh. “We really need to get him and Lucy toget—Oh, hey. This weekend! I’m babysitting my little sister and all my baby cousins. We are.” She pointed between herself and Flynn. “My other cousins will be there, too. I have older ones from my dad’s side and babies on my mom’s. Anyway, all the parents are going to that fancy ball. We’re going to have a little-kid party at my Uncle Sea Bass’s house. You know Piper, right? Maybe Atlas could come, see Lucy, and play with the other kids for a while?”

  “Oh, that’s a really sweet idea. I’ll mention it to Quincy. I think he was planning to leave Atlas with his father for the evening. We’re going to the ball, too.” Saying it aloud made it real. Her insides quivered with nervous anxiety. “But we can ask him what he thinks. I’m sure Atlas would love it.”

  “Mom has your number, right? I’ll text you.”

  Nicki nodded, and Petra promised to be in touch. They talked a little more, then broke up as Quincy and Atlas came around again. Atlas was ready for some cocoa.

  They sat on the bench to sip it, watching the skaters. Petra and Flynn were goofing around, hugging and spinning together, laughing and nearly falling, very obviously in love.

  Would that have been her if she had stayed in Glacier Creek? She hadn’t loved Corbin like that. That was the problem. He’d been sweet and kind, but she had believed herself destined for something greater. Not just fame, but something more epic on the love scale. She had known, way deep down, that what she had with him wasn’t the kind of bond that would withstand everything her idealistic self had thought she could achieve.

  “Momma skated good,” Atlas said, gaze on the crowd.

  “Did she?” Her arm went around him before she thought about it, sliding him tight into her side. “You must have skated with her a lot, since you’re so good at it.”

  He looked up. His big brown eyes began to swim. The corners of his mouth trembled.

  Her heart lurched.

  “You know what I think, Atlas?” Her throat filled with sand. “I think you had a really good mom. It’s okay that you miss her.”

  He nodded, chin crinkling, and turned his face into her jacket.

  Nicki swallowed and set aside her cup, taking his to set it away, too. Then she wrapped both her arms around the boy and held him tight.

  Quincy sat on the other side of the bench, leaning his elbows on his thighs, his cardboard cup dangling loosely between his hands. His profile was drawn and tight, anguished.

  You have a really good dad, too, Atlas. She rubbed the boy’s back, tilting her head over his woolen hat, not saying it aloud because it wasn’t the time, but she wished on the miracle waters below them for Atlas to see the potential in his relationship with his father.

  She wished for Quincy to find it easier to show his son how he felt.

  “Oh, Atlas,” Petra said, skating up and crouching before the boy. “What happened? Did you fall?”

  Atlas hiccupped and peeked at her, shaking his head.

  “He’s just sad,” Nicki said, still running a soothing hand up and down the boy’s back. “That happens sometimes.”

  Petra made a sympathetic noise. “Do you want to skate with me? Would that cheer you up?” She offered her hand, trying to coax him off the bench.

  Atlas shook his head, rubbing his hat askew against Nicki’s jacket. “I wanna skate wiff my dad.” He pushed his hat out of the way and looked over at Quincy.

  Surprise blanked Quincy’s face. He quickly recovered and said, “Sure. Now?”

  Atlas nodded and accepted Quincy’s hand to help him slide off the bench, then let go, determined to be independent while his blades were on the ice. Before he took off, though, he looked way up at Quincy and said, “You skate good, too.”

  Nicki had to clutch her heart back into her chest and blink back tears.

  “Everything okay?” Petra asked, concern wrinkling her brow as she looked from the departing Atlas and Quincy to what must be a very emotive expression on Nicki’s face.

  “It will be, I think.” Pretty sure. Thank you Miracle Lake.

  December 17th

  Her hands were clammy as she waited at the window of her apartment to see lights cut into the driveway. She had already checked her hair and lipstick a million times. She had scrutinized her velvet skirt, removing non-existent lint. She had inventoried the contents of her clutch to the point the clasp was going to break if she did it one more time.

  She thought again about changing her top. It wasn’t just Quincy. There was a prince involved, so that meant showing some decorum, didn’t it? Not that she was showing a lot of cleavage. In the end, she had chosen her black top. It had a mock turtleneck collar with a small cutout revealing her collarbone and a bit of upper chest. The sleeves had little diamonds cut into them from shoulders to wrist. The knit hugged her figure, though, which had seemed totally acceptable for filling empty seats at an award ceremony, but it suddenly seemed too provocative tonight.

  It wasn’t. Was it?

  Oh, she was too nervous to think straight.

  Why was she nervous? She didn’t want to be nervous. Dinner with her boss. That’s all this was. They were only going so they could someday tell their grandchildren they had met a prince a long time ago.

  Would she ever have grandchildren? Children? Would she ever marry?

  Argh! Shut up, brain.

  She started to turn away, to change into the white top that looked like something a librarian wore to a christening, but the flash of light down in the driveway stopped her.

  He was here.

  *

  A slender silhouette picked her way down the stairs that led to the door of her flat over the garage. She had told him not to get out, that she would watch for him and come down, so he wouldn’t have to take Atlas out of the car to come up and get her, but it felt wrong to wait like this. As she disappeared behind the fence, Quincy opened his door and set a foot on the ground. Before he could get around to open the gate, it swung inward and there she was, caught in the spotlight against the wall of the fence.

  Quincy caught his breath.

  From the backseat, he heard Atlas ask, “What’s wong?”

  “Nothing.” His voice had fallen into the base of his throat where thick emotion tightened to hold back any other words he might have said, if his brain had been able to conjure any.

  It was cold enough out here to make his ears sting and his breath fog, but he didn’t feel it. He was warm. Paralyzed. Spellbound.

  She was beautiful, dressed all in black, one hand clutching a silver shawl around her. The outfit was pretty, not too fancy, and all the more elegant for its simplicity. It wasn’t the cut of cloth or the way it hugged her very feminine figure that made her so captivating, though. Her beauty was in her warm complexion and the way her rich brown hair fell in waves around her face. It was in the way she looked at him.

  It was the, Do I look all right? message in her eyes. The anticipation. The pleasure.

  She looked fantastic for him. She wanted to be with him tonight. On his arm, at his side. She was as excited for this date as he was.

  In that second of eye contact, they were not boss and employee. She was not his father’s nurse or his son’s nanny or even his Christmas elf.

  She was his date. The woman he wanted beside hi
m all evening. He wanted her all to himself, without his son and father. Hell, he wished they were going someplace quiet where they could lean toward each other over candlelight and not have another soul intrude.

  She gave the gate a little rattle, ensuring it was secure, shaking him out of his introspection.

  He hurried around to open the passenger door.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  He thought she might be blushing.

  If things were different, he would have kissed her in that moment, and told her that was why he had come around. Not to be chivalrous, but to steal a taste of her lips with his own. He thought he would die if he didn’t get to do that.

  “You look beautiful.” He gave in to temptation enough to use the back of his hand to ensure her skirt wouldn’t be caught in the door. Cool velvet caressed his knuckles, insanely erotic because it was so innocuous. He became one of those Victorian gentlemen who got turned on by the glimpse of an ankle.

  “Thank you. You look nice, too.” She kept her chin tucked. Her? Shy?

  “Thanks.” He used a finger and thumb to smooth his bowtie. He’d put on his black suit over a white shirt and borrowed his father’s black bowtie. It wasn’t a proper tuxedo, but it was the best he could do. He had even polished his shoes.

  Not for some nameless prince. For her.

  He was in so much trouble.

  *

  They doubled up in vehicles from Piper and Bastian’s house to save on parking. Petra hadn’t been kidding when she said she was having a party. Her aunt Meg had twin boys, Piper and Sebastian were leaving Isabelle, then there was Lucy along with Flynn’s nephew, Caleb, Chase and Skye Goodwin’s son. The older children were also keeping an eye on a couple of young neighbor children who were closer to Atlas’s age. They had snacks, karaoke, and a dance party lined up along with a handful of Christmas movies.

  “I’m nervous. Are you nervous?” Piper whispered as they approached the entrance to the Graff Hotel.

  “A little.” Nicki was terrified. It had nothing to do with the exalted personality they might meet. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Piper paused and let Bastian come even with her, then looped her hand through her husband’s arm. “You have the tickets?”

  “I left them at home,” Bastian said, deadpan.

  “You did not.”

  “I did not.” He kissed her cheek, then nuzzled her ear, saying something that had to be a sweet nothing because it made his wife give him an intimate look and snuggle in close beside him, head tilted against his shoulder as they entered ahead of them.

  Boss, Nicki reminded, dragging her gaze off the pair to the man who was not her husband. Not her anything. She had to remember that.

  Quincy offered his arm.

  Her pulse did a big dip and roll. She told herself not to act like a Regency miss about it and found a shaky smile as she looped her hand into the crook of his elbow, trying not to take too much note of his strong, steady, decidedly masculine arm.

  “Thank you for this.” She was trembling with excitement as they shuffled with the crowd into the noisy room. “I expect it’s something I’ll remember forever.”

  She was trying to make excuses, so he wouldn’t guess these jitters were for him. But when their gaze collided, she suddenly felt really, really obvious. His eyes were such a rich, dark brown, and, for once, warm. So warm she began to feel hot.

  Someone behind them cleared their throat.

  It was their turn to show their tickets.

  The Daughters of Montana were putting on this ball to raise funds for the courthouse. The ballroom was as elegantly decorated as anything Nicki had seen in Hollywood. In the corners, decorated Christmas trees stretched toward the ceiling, interspersed between bare-branched white trees shimmering with white lights.

  The tables were set with sparkling crystal and white napkins folded like swans. Red and white poinsettias splashed color from the centerpieces where candle flames glowed. Silver and red helium balloons trailed swirling ribbons from the ceiling, so it looked like silent fireworks had been caught mid-explosion above them.

  This wasn’t the false magic of Hollywood, though. People didn’t air kiss and smile with polite distance. They hugged out their greetings, not caring if they creased their best clothes. They spoke with animation, mingling like family.

  She and Quincy sidestepped from the entrance to get their bearings. A friendly woman welcomed them and pointed out the general direction of their table.

  Quincy thanked her and set his broad hand on Nicki’s waist. The warmth of his arm seared a line across her back. Her stomach jumped and she started to lose her grip on her shawl.

  He caught the edge with his free hand and brought it up, securing it against her upper arm with a light squeeze, like this physical contact was perfectly natural. Then he nudged her toward where their table number stood on a little flagstaff.

  She blindly let him steer her, overcome by a sensation of walking underwater, but the way it might happen in a dream, where she continued to breathe and wasn’t scared. It was exciting and weightless and made her feel graceful as she moved in slow motion.

  They didn’t know anyone at their table, but they were all locals and eager to welcome them. After shaking hands all around, Quincy held her chair, then ensured she had a drink.

  She was going to fall off her chair if he didn’t quit treating her like such a lady.

  The dinner was excellent, the conversation lively. Even the requisite speeches were an interesting distraction as she learned more about the town and its history. She was having a fabulous time.

  When the music started and Quincy said, “Shall we dance?” she was kind of stunned.

  “You don’t mind?” The couple across from them rose.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I did.” He stood to draw back her chair.

  He was wearing what she considered his ‘visor’. His thoughts were well contained and his demeanor all evening had been nowhere near as outgoing as hers. But she was learning he preferred to observe the world from behind an inscrutable mask. He was polite, but he let her carry the conversation around them.

  As his gaze connected with hers now, however, there was a flash of something that made exhilaration zip down her nerve endings. If she didn’t know better, she would think he’d been waiting for the music to start, so he could ask her to dance.

  “You see me as a real grouch if you think I’d bring you here, then refuse to take you out on the floor.”

  “I don’t know how to waltz. I don’t expect many men do either. Not these days.”

  She’d taken a few hip-hop and jazz classes over the years, trying to boost her skills to get a few more auditions, but unless she planned to go whole hog for a dance career, it had been too expensive to pursue seriously.

  “My parents loved dancing. They were fun to watch,” he said fondly as they maneuvered into the crowd on the floor. “They taught me. Dad calls it an essential life skill. It’s been my experience that we hate doing something if we feel incompetent at it.”

  “Like taxes?” She turned to face him, chest tight as she admired the cut of his suit across his shoulders, the crisp shape of his bowtie, his clean-shaven throat. “I should have asked your father for some pointers. I hope those shiny shoes of yours are steel toe.”

  “I’ll survive.” Quincy drew her into the traditional stance.

  She was trying to keep this light, but setting her hand on his shoulder was the furthest thing from casual. It felt profound. His hand was warm where he closed his fingers over hers, making her insides tremble.

  He swallowed, waited a beat, then they both took a step. Her front came up against his.

  “I’m sorry!” Heat flooded through her, not all of it embarrassment. Awareness.

  His mouth twitched. “Let me lead.”

  “Okay.” She forced herself to pay attention to the subtle cues he gave her as he kept his arms strong, gliding her into the wal
tz as smoothly as he’d skated on the ice the other day.

  Once she let go and trusted him, they fell into a surprisingly easy synchronicity. He did know how to dance. She swooned a little over how confidently he moved, taking control of her in the most delightful way.

  This is how Cinderella felt. Each step was a stone on a path that led through a magical forest of swirling people, drawing her toward a castle in the sky. She felt graceful and giddy, so happy her heart lifted into a soar.

  The song ended way too soon.

  “You guys are really good,” Piper said, touching Nicki’s arm. “I kept smashing into Bastian because I was watching you two.”

  “Quincy gets all the credit,” Nicki said, blushing.

  “It’s not me,” Quincy argued as they twirled away on the intro to a new song. “You’re light on your feet.”

  She brushed off the compliment. “I’m having a good time.”

  “Are you?” He sounded like it mattered.

  “I have to keep reminding myself I’m not on a movie set, it’s so perfect.”

  He didn’t say anything, but they danced through three more songs. She suspected she was grinning like an idiot.

  They took a break and wound up standing with Liz and Blake.

  “You two dance like you’ve been doing it for years,” Liz said.

  “You’re making some of us look bad,” Blake admonished Quincy with a disgruntled scowl. He was tall, dark, and rangy, the epitome of a Montana rancher, comfortable in his own skin and plainly bound to his wife in the deepest possible way. They were the kind of couple who seemed to communicate with a glance, their relationship as much friendship as romance. Lucy was a very lucky little girl to have parents so deeply in love.

  Liz laughed and hugged Blake’s arm, saying something about preferring a lively two-step, while Quincy shrugged off the backhanded compliment, saying, “That and a dollar will get me a cup of coffee.”