Christmas in Good Hope (A Good Hope Novel Book 1)

by Kirk, Cindy

  Interesting.

  “I’m sorry. When I get tired, I get a little punchy. Let me start over.” This time she spoke slowly and deliberately, as if carefully plucking each word from a specially selected basket. “I’m not asking you to join or to participate in any fundraising for the club. Though if you would like to, we’d be happy to have you.”

  She looked so intense, so serious, Beck couldn’t help but smile. He’d only known one other woman with such passion . . . and he’d married her. The loss of her still haunted him. He felt his smile slip.

  The realization that Ami reminded him of Lisette had Beck’s next words coming out more abruptly than he intended. “What is it you want from me, Ami? Spit it out.”

  Her smile vanished for a second, then reappeared, though not as bright. With precise movements, she placed her cup on the table, then met his gaze. “I’d like to use one of the rooms in your house to store the gifts we purchase. It’ll only be for a few weeks. Whoever we find to play Santa will deliver the presents on Christmas Eve.”

  Had she really asked him to turn his home into a warehouse? “Absolutely not.”

  The smile remained on her lips. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table. “Tell me your reservations.”

  The request was offered in an easy, conversational tone, but Beck noticed the slight lifting of her chin. The determined look in her eyes, well, he didn’t like that one bit, either.

  He didn’t blurt out all the reasons he was opposed to the request. That would be pointless. She’d only attempt to allay his concerns, and he wasn’t interested in platitudes.

  Instead of pushing for an answer, Ami took a sip of tea and studied him in the curious way one might study a particularly interesting bug.

  “I don’t want strangers in and out of my house.” Beck sat back, pleased to have come up with the perfect response. A personal preference was difficult to argue against. Besides, with almost the entire main floor empty, he could hardly assert he didn’t have room.

  Ami dipped her head as if graciously accepting defeat.

  Beck relaxed, feeling as proud as the day he’d won his first case. There was nothing like—

  “I wouldn’t want that, either.” She offered him a smile filled with warmth and understanding.

  An appropriate response, to be sure. Yet something in those sea-green eyes put him on high alert.

  “I’ll make you a deal.”

  Deal? He wasn’t interested in any deal. His decision was final. “What kind of deal?”

  “I promise I’ll be the only one who’ll bring gifts to your home.” Her gaze locked on his and the pleading look in her eyes tugged at his heart. “Please, Beck. The guy who used to store the packages got married this year. His house is small and his wife doesn’t want the clutter.”

  Say no, Beck told himself. Stop the dialogue. Just say no.

  “Where are you keeping the gifts now?”

  “In my living room.” Ami sighed. “I barely have room to walk, let alone a spare foot or two for a tree.”

  Beck had never been inside Ami’s apartment. But he was familiar with the bakery and knew she lived directly above the small shop. No, there probably wasn’t extra space for storage.

  He considered all the empty rooms in his home.

  When she’d shown up at his door tonight, he assumed she’d stopped by to badger, er, persuade, him to open his house to the home tour. Compared to a request of that magnitude, this was a small thing to ask. The promise that she’d be the only one bringing over the gifts had him reconsidering. “Okay. You may store them here.”

  Her face lit up and Beck basked in the glow.

  He congratulated himself on picking his battles. Always better to agree to something small than to get roped into doing something huge like opening his house to the public.

  “I suppose I should be heading home.” Ami pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ve imposed on your generosity long enough.”

  Beck rose to his feet. This would be the time to mention that in the future he’d prefer she called before stopping over. But when Ami rounded the table and placed a hand on his sleeve, the words died in his throat.

  “Thanks for agreeing to help, Beck. And for sharing an Earl Grey moment with me.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Up to this point, my night had been a bit rocky.”

  Without further elaboration, she strode to where she’d hung her coat.

  “Why?”

  With one hand resting on her jacket, she turned. “Pardon me?”

  Though whatever had gone on earlier wasn’t any of his concern, Beck was curious. In all the months he’d known Ami, this was the first time Miss Holiday Cheer had mentioned any cloudy skies. He couldn’t help wondering what had brought her down and if there was something he could do to help.

  “Tell me what happened at the fundraiser,” he suggested, surprised by his willingness to extend her visit.

  “Memories.” She lifted one shoulder, let it drop. “They slam a fist into your heart at the most unexpected times.”

  Beck concurred with the sentiment. In the past two years he’d discovered that something quite innocuous could flatten him.

  Apparently mistaking his silence for confusion, she added, “Cory’s cancer is the same kind that took my mom’s life.”

  Several months ago, during one of their morning coffee breaks, Ami had confided that her mother had been diagnosed with leukemia during her senior year in high school and passed away three years ago.

  He saw no need to mention something Ami already knew: each person’s prognosis was different, and just because Cory had the same cancer didn’t mean he faced the same outcome. “What else?”

  Ami averted her gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “What else made the evening difficult for you?”

  “It’s stupid.” She made a dismissive sound. “Silly.”

  He gestured to the chair she’d just vacated. “I have time, a warm house, and Earl Grey.”

  That brought the smile back to her lips. Instead of taking a seat, Ami began to pace.

  Lifting his mug of lukewarm tea, Beck rested his back against the counter and followed her strides with his gaze.

  He knew she didn’t have any idea how beautiful she was with her golden-brown hair brushing her shoulders and her green eyes reminding him of stormy seas.

  “Anita Fishback was at the fundraiser.”

  An image of an attractive woman in her midfifties popped into his head. Beck had met the vivacious brunette at a business function when he first moved to Good Hope. Their paths had crossed several times since.

  The woman struck him as pleasant, if a bit intense. She reminded him of his mother’s Maltese, Brandie Sue. The fluffy puffball might appear innocuous, but those engaging brown eyes belied a will of steel.

  The last time he’d spoken with Anita, she’d steered the conversation around to what she needed to do to get the contract for desserts at his café. A contract currently held by Blooms Bake Shop. “She’s your competitor.”

  Ami made a face. “Crumb and Cake may be another bakery, but Anita is not my competitor.”

  By the dismissive tone, Beck surmised whatever trouble existed between the two women was personal.

  A frown furrowed her brow as she continued to pace. “I think she’s got the hots for my dad.”

  Beck tilted his head ever so slightly as he studied her. “Is that bad?”

  “Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know.” Ami blew out a breath and came to an abrupt halt. “Anita was once married to my dad’s best friend. Richard died of a heart attack back when I was in middle school. She dated around and finally married Bernie Fishback, the Bagel King. They divorced several years ago.”

  Ami pressed her lips together as if realizing she’d been rambling.

  “Your father and Anita are both single,” Beck pointed out, wondering what he was missing.

  “You don’t understand.” Exasperated, she flung her hands into the air. “She’s manipulativ
e and sneaky. When I run into her and my father is with her, she acts like we’re buddies. But if I see her on the street and she’s alone, she barely acknowledges me. I know I’m protective when it comes to my dad, and I suppose that could be influencing my impression of her, but the truth is, she doesn’t think highly of me, either.”

  Beck couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why not?”

  Ami’s voice dropped to a whisper, though they were the only ones in the room. “It’s complicated.”

  She looked so miserable he found himself moving close.

  “Your father is lucky to have you looking out for him.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to comfort, wanting to soothe. He felt the tension ease out of her.

  “I love him so much.” Her voice trembled with emotion.

  Beck thought of his own parents and how long it had been since they’d spoken. They worried about him but were determined to give him the space he needed. He needed to remember that building a new life in Good Hope didn’t mean cutting off contact with those he loved.

  She chewed on her lip. “I’m probably being silly.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  His quietly spoken words appeared to surprise her.

  “You—you don’t?”

  “You have good instincts.” Beck kept his tone matter-of-fact. “From what I’ve observed, you look for the best in everyone. If this woman sets off alarms, I’d trust my gut.”

  Beck met her gaze, willing her to see he meant every word. In the court system he’d seen many instances in which the outcome might have been different if the individuals had paid attention to red flags instead of dismissing them.

  “Thank you, Beck.”

  He wasn’t certain what she was thanking him for, but he was glad her smile was back and the frown that had worried her brow had vanished.

  Beck helped her on with her jacket, and with the subject of Anita Fishback apparently now off the table, they strolled to the parlor, leaning into one another like old friends. As they passed the front window, Beck saw snow had continued to fall. Though the street lamps were valiantly attempting to light the darkness, it appeared to be a losing battle.

  When they reached the foyer, Beck rested his hand on the newel post, suddenly conscious of how close she stood and how good she smelled. Like cinnamon and sugar and everything sweet. “Appears the snow is picking up steam.”

  “Welcome to Wisconsin.”

  The teasing words drew his attention back to her mouth. To the lips that reminded him of plump, red strawberries. When he’d moved in last summer, Beck had located a berry patch in the far end of the yard. He wondered if Ami’s lips would taste as sweet.

  A curious energy infused the silence. Her cheeks went a little pink, but she didn’t say a word. And neither did he . . .

  Though Beck and Ami had shared coffee and pastries almost every morning for months, only recently had Beck begun to see Ami as more than the shop owner next door.

  That didn’t mean he planned to act on the attraction. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. Nothing could replace what he’d had with Lisette. And Ami didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d be interested in a fling.

  Slowly, Beck drew air into his lungs.

  “Well, thanks again.” Ami paused, as if not sure what more to say. She lifted her hood, then began wrapping yards of a multicolored scarf around her neck as if preparing for the next ice age. “See you in the morning.”

  Finally able to focus, he stepped between her and the door. “Not so fast. I’m driving you home.”

  Surprise skittered across her face. “It’s only a few blocks.”

  “It’s a blizzard out there.”

  Ami laughed, a short, nervous burst of air. “Hardly a blizzard.”

  “I’m driving you home,” he repeated in a gruff rasp, his tone brooking no argument.

  “Okay, but on one condition.” Her eyes seemed to glitter. “Tomorrow morning we meet at my apartment instead of the café.”

  Her request made no sense. Then again, nothing about this evening had followed a scripted path. Beck dropped his gaze from her warm green eyes with their flecks of gold to those full, plump lips that tantalized, and grinned. “Shall I bring the coffee?”

  Chapter Four

  The snow continued through the night and into the early morning hours. Beck was covered in the white stuff by the time he reached the bakery.

  He dusted the snow from his coat while he waited for Ami to unlock the door. After years of wearing a suit and tie every day, it felt strange to be dressed so casually on a workday. But casual was de rigueur in Good Hope.

  Like him, Ami wore jeans. While he’d chosen a navy ski sweater he’d purchased on a trip to Aspen several years earlier for this snowy December morning, she’d gone ultracasual and donned a red-and-white-striped hoodie with a scowling badger on the front. He recognized the strutting animal with the arrogant attitude as the University of Wisconsin’s mascot, Bucky.

  Though the oversize sweatshirt gave no clue to the womanly figure beneath, the jeans clung to her toned legs like a glove. She opened the door with a broad, welcoming smile. He noticed the tips of her hair were still wet. Instead of smelling like cakes and cookies today, the faint floral scent from her shampoo teased his nostrils.

  He must have been staring, because she laughed and grabbed his hand. “You’ll freeze if you stand out there much longer.”

  She ushered him inside and quickly shut the door behind him.

  After hanging his jacket on the downstairs coat tree, he followed her to the stairwell at the back of the shop. The journey up the steep steps to her second-floor apartment was made more pleasant by the enticing view of her backside.

  “This morning I have an extra-special treat for you,” she promised, her voice a husky caress.

  His gaze returned to the sway of her hips as she took another step. His mouth went dry. Was there something more than pastries on the menu this morning?

  For a second he let himself fantasize what it would be like to hold her, taste her, touch her. When the urge to do just that threatened to overwhelm Beck, he shifted his gaze to the lavender walls of the stairwell.

  “Aren’t you curious?” she asked, sounding perturbed.

  Beck struggled to remember the conversation. “As to what pastry you’re serving?”

  “What else?”

  His gaze returned briefly to her derriere. What else indeed?

  “It’s called kouign amann,” she continued. “It’s a traditional French pastry.”

  “I’ve never met a French pastry I didn’t like.” A lifetime ago, Paris had been a favorite destination when he and Lisette had needed to relax and recharge.

  “Just wait until you taste this one.” Ami chuckled as they reached the landing. “It’s sinfully delicious. It resembles a puff pastry with its layers of buttery, sugary dough. But, in my opinion, it’s the caramelized crust that makes it très magnifique.”

  Beck’s mouth began to water in anticipation. He had no doubt the pastry would be every bit as good as she promised. He’d never been around a woman with such an aptitude for baking.

  Ami flung open the door to her apartment and stepped inside, glancing back at him over her shoulder. “Watch where you put your feet.”

  The warning came in the nick of time. Beck’s boot missed an iPad box encased in bubble wrap by a centimeter. Deciding to play it safe, he paused to survey the apartment from where he stood.

  An unusual wall clock with framed photos instead of numbers drew his gaze. If the floor hadn’t been so cluttered, he might have moved closer to see if Ami was in any of the pictures.

  He shifted his focus straight ahead to the galley kitchen with a small dinette table. Off to the right was a hallway that he assumed would lead to a bathroom and bedroom.

  Though the living room was small, because of the relatively open floor plan, it looked more spacious. Or, Beck qualified, it would have appeared larger if almost every available surface, including
the floor, weren’t covered with gifts. Some of the items were already wrapped and tagged, while others were still in original packaging.

  Beck had expected the toys and electronics, but not the household items, blankets, and clothing. He even spotted a power saw in one corner.

  “As you can see, there’s still a lot of wrapping to be done.” Ami smiled at him from across the room. “If you don’t have a spare table, I’ll bring one. That way I can finish wrapping these and the new gifts as they arrive.”

  Beck cocked his head. Had she mentioned she’d also be stopping over to wrap? No, she’d definitely left that part off of her “I need your spare room” spiel.

  Before he could mention the oversight, Beck caught a whiff of fresh coffee. Unless his nose was mistaken, she’d brewed the dark chicory blend they both preferred.

  Beck carefully picked his way through the chaos of the living room to the kitchen. The wall behind Ami was a bright, cheery yellow. The white lacquered dinette table had multicolored flowers painted across the top.

  It was the curtains that had him looking twice. His first impulse was to label the holdbacks as ridiculous. He went with his second. “I like the forks.”

  Ami grinned. “I think of them as both clever and unique.”

  The white curtains with their border of sewn-on flowers were held back on each side of the window by an oversize bent fork.

  “Very unique hardware.” Beck couldn’t recall ever seeing anything remotely like it. His parents’ home in Fairview, Tennessee, as well as his prior home in Bogart, Georgia, had been professionally decorated. Not a single bent fork in sight. Still, he liked the novelty. The bright colors suited the small space. The vibrancy of it fit Ami’s personality.

  “Have a seat.” She gestured to the table, where two bright purple plates each boasted a pastry so perfectly formed it could qualify as a work of art.

  Turning from him, Ami moved to the counter and poured coffee into two red mugs from a vintage silver percolator.

  “Where did you get the coffeepot?” The last time Beck had seen one like it had been years ago at his grandmother’s house.