Christmas Sanctuary

by Lauren Hawkeye

  “Definitely not.” Emma’s thoughts flashed to Nick, to their kisses, and her cheeks heated. “No, I…I recently discovered I have family in the area. I’m here to…to meet them.”

  She didn’t elaborate; Charlie didn’t ask. “The lotion comes to seven dollars and forty-seven cents. We don’t have pennies in Canada, so if you’re paying cash, seven-forty-five is fine.”

  “You don’t have pennies?” Emma stopped as she was reaching for her purse. “What?”

  “Costs more to make them than they’re worth, so we don’t have them anymore.” Charlie didn’t seem to think that this was at all strange. “We just round up or down, depending. You get used to it.”

  “I suppose so.” Since she worked in accounting, the notion of balancing books where every transaction was rounded up or down made her head hurt. Snow and ice, sexy welders, no pennies, and something called a toque—what on earth had she wandered into?

  The stack of books that Charlie had just unpacked caught her eye as she handed over a twenty-dollar bill. The cover was bright and glossy: 101 Ways to Use Beeswax: An Introductory Guide.

  She couldn’t fathom when she would ever do anything with beeswax, but something about the pretty cover pulled at her. Impulsively, she grabbed the copy on top of the pile and handed it over.

  “I’ll take this as well, please.”

  Charlie took her cash and gave her a handful of strange-looking coins in return. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay on our little island! If you have any questions while you’re here, feel free to poke your head back in!”

  “Thank you,” Emma said, lacing her fingers through the handles of the bag. Lifting her purchases from the counter, she paused. “I actually have one odd question. Do you know Nick…I don’t know his last name. He…welds.”

  She’d kissed someone and she didn’t know his last name. How unlike her. Or maybe…maybe this was like her, and she was just finding out. Maybe the real Emma, the one buried beneath being Rosemary’s daughter and Matthew’s fiancée, kissed whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

  The notion was strangely liberating.

  “Oh, you mean Nick Shepherd.” Charlie pulled out a pricing gun, whistling slowly through her teeth as she did. “I don’t think there’s a woman on this island under eighty who doesn’t know Nick, or at least of him.”

  “Oh?” Emma tried not to let the single syllable show just how deeply interested she was in what Charlie was saying.

  “Well, he’s not hard on the eyes, is he?” Charlie fanned herself with an exaggerated grin. “Of course, he does like to make sure every available lady gets a chance to appreciate him fully.”

  “Ah.” Emma’s heart sank like a stone.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Emma. You’ve only just met the man. You shouldn’t care.

  Fingers clutched tightly around the handles of her bag, she thanked Charlie and left the shop, exiting from the sweetly scented air into the cold outside. She sucked in a huge breath, trying to clear her mind of the cloud of the other woman’s words.

  She couldn’t, and she knew why. It was ridiculous, and it was impossible, but she couldn’t deny what she knew was true.

  She already did care. And she had no one to blame but herself.

  Chapter 12

  Emma had just reached the end of Main Street when her stomach growled. Pulling out her phone, she checked the time.

  Eleven o’clock. Not quite lunchtime, but then the gingerbread had been several hours ago. And again, she had nothing better to do right now—she was in a holding pattern until Michael returned from his camping trip.

  Turning, she made her way back to a tiny café tucked into the side of a building. When she’d passed the first time, the smell of grilled meat and garlic had tickled her nose; it seemed as good a place as any to eat. Food was a welcome distraction.

  At this rate, she’d have gained twenty pounds by the time Michael returned.

  “Table for one?”

  “Please.” The hostess, a young woman with a cherry-colored ponytail and a mile-wide smile, didn’t seem to think that Emma eating alone was at all strange. Emma, however, winced as she was seated at a tiny table at the very front of the restaurant, one right next to the window that reached from the floor all the way to the vaulted ceiling. Picking up her single menu as the woman cleared away the extra place setting, Emma shifted in her seat, self-conscious.

  You’re just a tourist catching some lunch. Nobody cares except you.

  The truth was, she’d never spent this much time alone. She was always with her mother, with Matthew, at work, or with friends. In reality, she knew that no one was staring at her, and yet she still couldn’t help but feel like she was on display.

  It was the waiting, the not knowing. It was driving her crazy.

  That’s going to stop right now.

  “You’re going to open this menu and order the first thing you see,” Emma muttered to herself, fed up…well, at the moment, with everything.

  Raising her chin, she opened the menu and stabbed her finger onto the page at random.

  Bison burger on a charcoal sesame milk bun with sea kelp relish.

  Her stomach heaved. Not her first choice—she was not very adventurous with food.

  But when her server came back, she ordered it. She would eat it, too.

  Your life hasn’t been working very well for you so far, Emma. Time to try something new.

  As she waited for her food, she stared out the massive window at the busy street. In a park across the way, men dressed in coveralls stood in the basket of a fire truck to lace bright lights onto a very high pine tree, as if the area needed even more holiday cheer.

  Emma herself wasn’t feeling any. She’d always loved Christmas, and with her mother being who she was, there were countless traditions to be looked forward to—cooking with her mother Christmas Eve before Matthew and his family arrived to eat. Midnight mass, after which they would each open just one present. Waffles with peach preserves for brunch, followed by an afternoon spent in quiet, reading or playing cards.

  This year? Emma didn’t know if she’d be home for Christmas—and by home, she meant back in Georgia.

  The shiny perfection of what she’d understood to be her family was no more, and she didn’t quite know where to go from here.

  One day at a time.

  “Here you go!” Emma’s server returned, setting a plate down on the table. “Careful, it’s very hot!”

  “Thank you,” Emma said automatically, but the second the woman was gone, she reached for her napkin to cover her nose. It looked like a hamburger, she guessed, but the scent of the grilled meat was strange, very gamey, and she didn’t care for it at all.

  She wanted to return the plate and order something she was comfortable with—a nice Cobb salad, maybe, or something with chicken.

  She thought of the way she’d felt after she’d been brave and kissed Nick first. The rush of power that came from putting herself out there, even if she knew that he was a player.

  That was the Emma she wanted to be.

  Trying not to wrinkle her nose, she lifted the top of the bun and peeked at the burger. It looked normal, if she didn’t count the fact that the bun was black and garnished with what appeared to be seaweed.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she lifted the thing to her lips and took a big bite.

  Her stomach rolled again as she slowly started to chew. The bun itself was surprisingly tasty, light and sweet, even though it was black. The meat, though, tasted like smoke and oil on her tongue, and it was only heightened by the saltiness of the seaweed stuff. Raised to be polite, she chewed, and chewed, and chewed, but just couldn’t bring herself to swallow.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you show everything you’re thinking on your face?” The voice that had haunted her throughout the night and early morning hours wasn’t expected, and she sucked in air, choking on the gamey meat. Grabbing for her napkin, she spat out her food, then looked up, though she already knew who was
there.

  “Saw you through the window. Careful,” Nick warned as he swung into the seat across from her. The table was so tiny, and he was so long, that their legs tangled together beneath the tablecloth. “Anton’s very temperamental.”

  “Am I supposed to know who Anton is?” Emma’s voice was weary as she reached for her water glass, desperate to wash away the taste of the meat. Her pulse leapt as Nick leaned back in his chair, fixing her with that intense stare that she’d already come to love.

  Stupid girl. She’d heard what Charlie hadn’t said, exactly—Nick was a player. Someone was going to get hurt here, and it wasn’t going to be him.

  “Anton is the chef.” Lips curled into a smile, he leaned across the table, picked up Emma’s burger. “If he saw you spitting out his food, he’d ban you from the premises.”

  Emma wasn’t sure that would be bad, so she was shocked when Nick lifted the burger to his lips and bit in. The moan of pleasure he gave as he chewed the disgusting thing was nearly obscene.

  It made her think of that second kiss, alone in her cabin.

  She gulped at her ice water.

  “You’re crazy,” Nick said, holding the burger out for her to take back. When she shook her head vigorously he snatched it back. “This is amazing. Do you know that it takes weeks to get a dinner reservation here?”

  “People are that excited to eat that?” She shook her head. “I’ll take some fried chicken and grits any day, thank you very much.”

  “You’d rather have grits than grass-fed bison, wild-harvested sea kelp, and artisan bread baked by someone who trained as a pastry chef in France?” Laughing quietly, Nick shoved another bite in his mouth, speaking around it. “You’re more like Mike than you could imagine. He’d rather stay home with a box of Kraft mac and cheese than eat something like this.”

  “Good to hear I come from sound stock,” Emma retorted, butterflies taking flight in her stomach when Nick again fixed her with that stare. “I don’t suppose you’ve gotten an update on when he’ll be back yet?”

  “Haven’t heard from him.” Nick set the remains of the burger on the plate and gazed at her with speculation. “Are you sure it’s him you want to ask about?”

  “Yes.” Emma instantly sat up straight. Why was he even here? She’d all but thrown herself at him last night, and he’d left. After her conversation with Charlie, she just felt stupid when faced with him and his ridiculously gorgeous face.

  The man apparently collected women like some men collected baseball cards. And yet he still hadn’t wanted her. She wasn’t going to fall into that trap again.

  “I don’t believe you.” Stealing her water glass, he took a sip, leaving her gaping at his audacity. “I think you want to ask why I left last night. I think you want to ask when I’ll kiss you again.”

  “Shh!” She slammed her palms down on the table. “Must you be so loud?”

  “Aah…I’ll come back in a minute.” Emma looked up to find her server standing beside the table, trying to hold back a grin. Looking around the small restaurant, she saw signs that more than one person had overheard. One woman she recognized, her cab driver yesterday—was her name Meg?—winked and gave her a thumbs-up.

  It was mortifying.

  “That’s enough.” She wasn’t staying to wait for a check. Pulling a stack of bills from her purse, she flipped through them with confusion—they were all different colors here, like Monopoly money. Overcompensating, she slapped a reddish-orange fifty-dollar bill down on the table and pushed away from the table.

  “Hey, whoa.” He was right behind her. Of course he was—he was the most confusing man she’d ever met. He followed her right outside, where she dropped her bags of purchases into the snow and ground her teeth together. “What was that?” he asked. “You’re, what, embarrassed that people know you kissed me?”

  “Stop yelling!” Looking around, cheeks flushing red, she glared at him.

  He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

  “Yes, okay? I don’t regret kissing you, but I don’t want the whole cotton-pickin’ town to know about it!” The South in her voice thickened as her anger crackled, which just upset her more.

  “I see.” He uncrossed his arms, and Emma had just long enough to catch the wicked flicker in his eyes before he moved right in front of her, close enough that if she sighed, their chests would brush against each other. “You’ve been talking to people, haven’t you? Think I’ve been playing you. Playing my best friend’s daughter, just for the hell of it. That those kisses meant nothing to me.”

  Oh, God, he wasn’t getting quieter—if anything, he was louder. Emma closed her eyes for a long moment, but when she opened them again no giant hole had appeared to swallow her.

  “Oh, I see.” She looked up; the infuriating man was smirking down at her, his sinfully full lips twisted. “You’re trying to convince me that they meant nothing to you.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again. He seemed to be giving her an out here.

  The problem? The Emma she wanted to be might make mistakes, like kissing the biggest player in town, but she didn’t try to hide them. She didn’t regret.

  She stayed silent, and his wicked smile turned up a notch.

  “Well, there’s an easy way to prove that it meant nothing to either of us. You know, just so we don’t wonder anymore.”

  Oh, no. She knew what was coming—her heart started to thump against her rib cage.

  “That’s right,” he said, cocking his head in the most infuriatingly sexy way as she glared up at him, pulse thundering, cheeks stained scarlet.

  “Kiss me again.”

  Chapter 13

  Excuses bubbled up inside her chest like she’d shaken a bottle of soda—that she didn’t want to kiss a man she now knew to be a player, that what she felt had been caused by the influx of emotions from finding out about her father, that their first kiss hadn’t been that great.

  Lies. They were all lies, and Emma was tired of wading through fiction and deceit. She wanted to kiss this man, right here and right now, so before she could stop herself, she rose up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

  The sound that spilled from his throat was smug, as if he was saying I told you so. If anything, the sound was also full of need.

  He held still just long enough to give her some uncertainty—had she read that groan wrong? Did he not want this? Then his hands were in the length of her glossy ponytail, fingers tugging gently at the pale strands. She tried to gasp as he tilted his head, pulling her deep into the thick, sweet honey of his kiss, but found she didn’t have enough breath even for that.

  Tiny lights exploded within her body, electric sparks that ignited her skin. She reached up, searching for something to anchor her; finding his shoulders, her fingers dug in.

  Nick released another quiet growl, and Emma soaked it in. Savored it. Yes, Charlie had hinted that Nick was a ladies’ man, but with his mouth on hers, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  She wanted more—more of whatever he could give her.

  Loud clapping startled her, and she jerked away, releasing her firm grip on Nick’s shoulders. Breathing hard, blood fizzing through her veins, she stared up at him with wide eyes as embarrassment collided with need.

  Breaking eye contact, she took a quick glance back at the restaurant. People were clapping. They were clapping for her and Nick, because they’d been so lost in their kiss. When Meg gave her another thumbs-up, Emma wanted to sink through the ground.

  Looking back at Nick, she braced herself, expecting a smirk and a cocky comment that would only make her mad. Instead he seemed to be studying her, his face etched with unreadable lines.

  Potent emotion welled inside her until her hands started to shake. With a choked cry, she pushed away from Nick, grabbing her purse and bolting down the street, her movements slow and clumsy because of her sore ankle.

  Once she’d rounded a corner, she doubled over, dropping her purse to the sidewalk as sh
e sucked in great mouthfuls of arctic air. The shock of it after the warmth of the kiss jolted her back to reality, and she straightened, hugging her elbows to her chest as Nick approached, having followed her.

  “Just don’t.” She held up a hand as she spoke, shaking her head. “I don’t know why you keep coming around. Please, just leave me alone until Michael gets back.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nick stuffed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching up around his neck, but he looked her squarely in the eyes. For a moment she got lost, focusing on the little coppery striations around his pupils until he cleared his throat and brought her out of her trance. “I know I’ve put you through the wringer since you’ve gotten here. We can both agree that I’m an asshole. Just…just let me make it up to you.”

  The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile that she couldn’t help but find charming. She started to warm to it, but then she remembered the applause they’d received for their kiss from inside the café. Because of his brashness, everyone in this town likely already thought she’d been seduced by the captivating artist who likely wouldn’t stick around, and even though she knew better, that had shame burning in her gut.

  Matthew and her mother had already pulled the rug out from under her with their deception. She’d be an absolute idiot to knowingly walk into another situation that could hurt her.

  “I’m not going to sleep with you.” She blurted the words out before she’d decided to say them out loud, and wanted to grab them back the second they’d left her mouth. Instead, when he arched an eyebrow at her in response, she forced herself to hold her chin high. “Well, I’m not. Which I suspect takes the let me make it up to you out of the equation.”

  That infuriating eyebrow edged just a bit higher, and then he smiled the sexy little smirk that she was already too familiar with.

  “You’re fascinating, you know that?” He tilted his head to one side, then to the other, as if trying to take her measure. “So sweet you drip honey on the outside. Nobody looking at you would guess that you’ve got such a dirty little mind.”