by Jenny Hale
Gramps looked over at the cat. He had climbed to the ledge of the window overlooking the backyard. His black fur was so shiny, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was just any other domesticated cat. “He needs me. Remember when I found him? He was skin and bones. When I started putting food out for him, he’d never let me get close, but I could hear his purr. It made me happy.”
Abbey could understand that. She’d felt the same way with Vince, wanting to give him a better life. She was a lot like Gramps. And now, given his health, caring for that cat was something he could still enjoy, and he was successful at it.
“He did just rub your leg,” she said, seeing the cat in a slightly different way now. “That’s the most affection I’ve ever seen from him.”
“How’s the decorating going?” Gramps asked, and Abbey could see the anticipation in his question. He’d clearly been waiting to ask. She dared not tell him that she’d dragged Max to work with her when he was sick, or that he’d made Nick do sock races, and to make things even more interesting, she’d decided to remind Nick of one of the saddest times of his life.
“Totally fine,” she said with an encouraging expression.
“Good, good,” he said, his face cheerful.
“Gramps, why do you get so happy whenever I mention this job?”
He grinned at her. “When I was younger, I was an airline pilot. I loved it. It was the thing that got me up in the mornings. There was nothing more exciting than feeling the lift of the plane at my hands. My flying time was that one time each day when I was in complete control of everything, and it made me the happiest. Later in life, I found that same joy in woodworking. It was my form of art, and I expressed myself through it. When I see you head off to Caroline Sinclair’s in your scrubs, your hair pulled back in that little curly ponytail of yours, and I watch you wave goodbye, you don’t have the fire in your eyes like I had at my jobs. I’ve only seen that fire in your eyes a few times.”
“When did you see it?” Abbey asked.
“The first time I saw it was when you got that pottery kit for Christmas that year. Remember that, Leanne?” he said to her mother who’d come in quietly for a cup of coffee. “She didn’t open the rest of her presents until the next day!” He looked at Abbey, and said, “You had mud up to your elbows, the kitchen sink full of clay—we worried you were going to clog the drain. You made me a bowl. Remember it?”
Abbey nodded. She knew the feeling he was talking about. Her mom had found that clay kit and wrapped it up as a surprise. When Abbey opened it, she remembered thinking how wonderful Christmas was because of surprises like that one.
“I enjoy taking care of Caroline.”
“I’m not doubting you do, but it’s out of concern for her well-being. It doesn’t inspire you like your art does.”
“Speaking of the Sinclairs,” Abbey said, looking at her watch, “I need to go take the eldest to the doctor.”
They all said their goodbyes and when she got near the front door to let herself out, Señor Freckles was sitting on the doormat, blocking her way, his little cat chin raised in her direction, his tail thumping slowly against the floor.
“Would you like to let me out?” Abbey asked the cat as he stared at her.
He didn’t move.
She took a step toward the creature, their eyes locked in some sort of weird, animal-human staring contest. “I will win this battle,” she teased, reaching for the doorknob. As she did, Señor Freckles darted away, rounding the corner to the hallway. Abbey shook her head and let herself out.
* * *
“Oh,” Abbey said, startled, as Nick answered the door of his house. “Is Richard sick?”
“No.” He opened the door wider to let her enter.
Snow was falling again. It was very early in the year to have snow, but there was a southern slow-moving system that just wouldn’t leave, hovering over Richmond. None of the snow had managed to stick, though, leaving a sloshy mess on the roads.
“I just wanted to catch you before you started work to see if you had any information about my grandmother.”
“I took her to the doctor this morning,” Abbey said. “They ran some tests. We should get a call in the next day or so, but my intuition tells me there may be some kind of arrhythmia.” She saw concern on his face, and, since she wasn’t a doctor, she couldn’t tell him for sure what was wrong. “That’s only my guess, though. And sometimes arrhythmias don’t cause a problem at all.”
“But.”
“But sometimes they can be life threatening, which is why I made her see a doctor. We just want to keep ahead of anything that may be changing as she ages.”
He nodded.
“I’m glad to see your concern for her,” she said. “She says she wishes you would visit more.”
“I visit her as much as I can with my workload.” He took in a breath and let it out. “But I’ll try to stop by more. The rest of the furniture arrived for the other rooms. I hope you’ll find it where it all belongs,” he said.
“Would you like to see it?” she asked, hoping he’d feel obligated.
“I can’t. I have work to do. I really should get back to it. I was just checking on my grandmother.”
“You can’t spare five minutes to walk upstairs and see what your seventy-five-thousand-dollar investment is getting you?” she said with her best persuasive smile.
He looked at her, with deliberation on his face, and took in another visible breath and let it out. She was pushing him; she knew that. But at the same time, there was a part of her who wanted him to be happy, to love where he lived. She wanted to ensure that happiness.
“I know what it’s getting me—peace of mind. When Sarah left, she took everything with her, and I allowed her to do that because it didn’t matter to me. But, what I found out was that living in an empty house makes other people uneasy. So, that seventy-five thousand dollars is giving me the peace of mind to know that my family will not flock in and pity me. I’m perfectly fine, and the last thing I need is people thinking that I’m not.”
“I’m glad you’re fine. But I want you to be happy.”
“Why do you care if I’m happy?” he asked, that curiosity lurking in his face.
Maybe it was his generosity or the fact that he’d been so good with Max. She couldn’t stop the feeling. “I just like making people happy,” she said, heat burning her cheeks. “Pretty please, will you see what I’ve done?” If it came to it, she’d start batting her eyelashes. She was being silly, and she didn’t know if he was in that kind of mood at the moment. He was always so serious. He needed to lighten up.
Nick looked down at the floor as if the answer were there, his eyes not focused, his head shaking so subtly that she’d almost missed it. Then he looked at her, a smile lurking beneath his serious expression. “Five minutes,” he said. “Then I have to get back to work.”
Without prompting him for acceptance, she grabbed his arm and pulled him forward to walk with her. He clamped his eyes on her hand, but she noticed the tiny hint of a smile still there, so she didn’t let go.
Chapter Ten
“How can you not love this four-poster bed, custom made in…” Abbey looked at the paperwork attached to one of the posts. “Tennessee…?”
“Ha!” Nick laughed at the insignificance of her statement, the mood considerably lightened from before.
“You know you like this vase,” she said, playfully caressing a silver goblet-style vase monogrammed with an engraved S. Monograms were the theme of this particular room. She hopped onto the bed, picked up a deep red, shiny velvet pillow and traced her finger along the curly S sewn in cream that matched the beaded lampshade on the bedside table. She’d arranged a bouquet of roses under the lamp, and she caught Nick looking at them before his gaze settled on her. She’d been teasing him, and the more she did, the more she saw affection in his eyes. And she loved to see him laugh. The sight of it filled her stomach with flutters.
“How can you look at it
all and not love it?”
Nick’s face sobered, but his grin remained. “It really doesn’t matter to me at all what is in this room. That’s why all the rooms were empty.” He said the words, but this time, there was less force behind them, and she wondered if he still believed what he was saying.
“Is your bedroom decorated? I only ask because you didn’t show it to me. I’ll decorate it as part of the original salary you quoted me, if you’d like.”
“My bedroom is fine.” His statement was matter of fact, but his gaze was swallowing her up. What was he trying to tell her? Was she getting through to him, showing him what living in a real home was like as opposed to just rooms with four blank walls?
She cut her eyes at him playfully. “I’ll bet there’s nothing in it.”
He shot her a challenging look—she was learning that he showed all his emotion through his eyes—but he didn’t say anything.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“No one will be staying in my bedroom.”
“Don’t you want a little Christmas cheer in there? I could put a small tree or some winter floral arrangements.”
“The only time I’m in there is when I’m sleeping, so I won’t see it anyway. There’s no need.”
Nick was debating the idea with her, and he’d said he’d stay for five minutes but they’d been talking about decorating for at least twenty. He’d patiently walked through all the rooms she’d decorated and listened as she explained her reasoning for her choices. He’d nodded at all the right times, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced around the rooms. He’d laughed with her. He seemed relaxed and content. And now, when she’d asked him about his own private bedroom, he didn’t flinch.
“What if one of your family members is looking for you and they stumble into your room?”
“In the middle of the night?”
“You never know,” she teased.
She was really pushing now, but he was allowing it, so she continued. “I actually just want to end my curiosity. Where does Nick Sinclair lay his head at night?”
“You’re curious about my bedroom?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m willing to bet that there’s nothing but a mattress in your bedroom,” Abbey said, ignoring his statement purposely.
“And what are you willing to bet?”
He was playing along and it sent a shot of excitement through her chest. She hadn’t thought about what she was willing to bet—again, she’d been impulsive.
“If you win the bet, I’ll cook your dinner. If you lose, you have to cook mine.” She waited for his answer, hoping he’d take her up on it. Either outcome would get him to have dinner with her, and she’d love to have more time to talk to him.
“So, if my room is decorated, you have to cook me dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
As they walked down the hallway, Abbey noticed the authority in his walk, the gentle swing of his arms, the masculinity of his stride. He had broad shoulders and a thin waist. His hairline was perfectly trimmed, his neck smooth, and she wondered if he had someone come in to touch up his neckline every morning.
When they got to the end of the hallway, they stood, facing a closed door. Before he opened it, she stopped him.
“Why do you keep all the doors in your house closed?” she asked.
He looked down at her, the skin between his eyes wrinkling in an adorable way. “I’m not sure. I suppose that it’s a way of finishing off the job. When the staff has tidied the room, and it’s clean, they shut the door then move on to the next room.”
“Like closing the cereal box before you put it in the cabinet?”
The confusion returned on his face. “Something like that.”
She wondered if he’d ever put a cereal box back in a cupboard in his life. Did he even eat cereal? Probably not.
He reached for the doorknob.
The minute the door opened, she was completely surprised. His room was perfectly organized, a large bed in the center, its headboard—patterned, dark leather—nearly spreading across the entire wall. The linens were tan with navy accents, a mass of throw pillows covering the top. Two sleek dark wood bedside tables flanked each side, their lines perfectly straight and angular, but coupled with the lamps and the softness of the bed, they looked quite comfortable. The walls were painted a dark tan, but the thick, white crown molding, paired with the vaulted ceiling, made the room look light and airy. Across from the bed was a flat-screen television bigger than her kitchen table. She wondered if he ever sat in bed and watched it.
“I prefer vegetables to fruit,” he said. “Otherwise, I’m not difficult to please.”
It took her a minute to realize that he was making a joke. She had to cook him dinner!
“There are a lot of pillows on that bed,” she said, ignoring his joke, but not hiding her grin. He followed her gaze.
“Yes.”
“Do you sleep with all those pillows?”
“No.”
“Then why do you have them?” Until now he’d always said he didn’t care about décor. So why did he have all those throw pillows for decoration if he didn’t care about what the room looked like?
He grinned at her. “I have them because they came with the bedding. And it is customary to have blankets when one sleeps.”
“Who decorated this room?” she asked in a playfully interrogating way.
Nick was chewing on a grin, and she could feel the affection for him rising even though she tried to push it back down.
“I did.”
Her mouth hung open in an exaggerated gasp. “You’re holding out on me!”
Nick laughed, the corners of his mouth turning down the way only his did. It made Abbey smile and, no matter how hard she tried to look serious, her smile pushed through her expression.
“It was the only room where Sarah let me choose what I wanted. I told her the house was too frilly. I hate frilly.”
“I’m not a frilly decorator.”
“I know. Well, apart from the flowers in every room. But the decorating itself is not frilly at all. It’s very classic.”
“So, you’re saying you might like my decorating?”
He smiled again, and she had to remind herself to breathe.
“You can admit it. I won’t tell anyone that you’re happy.”
He shook his head, still grinning. “How long will you be staying tonight? Do I need to have dinner prepared or will you be cooking?”
“Oh!” Her memory jolted her back to reality. “I planned to leave at four o’clock today. I’m taking Max to see Santa.”
“Okay.” He walked her out of the bedroom. “Now, if you will excuse me. I have a lot of work to do. You are the only person who can somehow pull me away from my work.”
He’d stayed far longer she’d ever expected. He left her with her bag, her sketchpad, and a fizzle of excitement.
* * *
Abbey pushed her hands through her hair in frustration and tried the ignition again. It rolled over and didn’t catch. The snow was starting to come down once more, and this time, it was actually sticking to the ground. Helplessly, she looked through her windshield at the mansion—the windows all twinkly and Christmassy as they reflected the decorations inside. She did not want to have to go in and find Richard and tell him that her car wouldn’t start, but she had to leave in the next few minutes to get Max. She tried again.
There was a knock at her window, and she jumped with a start. Nick was standing outside her car, wearing a ski coat and gloves, his breath coming out in billowy puffs. She rolled down the window.
“Is there a problem with your car?”
“It doesn’t want to start.” Mortification crawled over her skin like spiders.
“Try it again,” he said.
The car spit and sputtered but didn’t start. Abbey got out of the car and shut the door, frustrated.
Nick paced back and forth for a moment, eyeing her car. Then
, he pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and punched a few numbers. “I texted Richard. I know just what to do.” There was an odd smile on his face.
She and Nick were both shivering as a bright red Ferrari came around the side of the house from the drive leading to the garage. It cut through the snow and slush like a knife and Abbey was trying not to wince at the muddy water splashing along the perfectly clean sides of it as it came to a stop in front of them. Richard got out, tossed the keys to Nick, and then went back inside.
Nick held out the keys, that weird smile still on his lips.
“What is this?” she asked.
“For you.”
“You want me to drive that?” She couldn’t even get the words out without laughing. She wouldn’t even know how to drive a car like that, and there was no way she was taking something that expensive on the main roads. She’d be a nervous wreck.
“No. I want you to have it.”
“What?” Abbey was at a loss for words. Surely he was joking. It was so ludicrous that she started laughing again.
Confusion crawled across his face. “It’s yours. I’m giving it to you.”
“You’re giving me a car?” There was no way he could be serious.
“I was going to donate it anyway.”
“I can’t accept this,” she said, looking at the keys as they dangled from his finger.
“Why not? I said I was donating it. To charity. What’s the difference?”
Her heart plunged into her stomach. She let her gaze settle on the hood of her old Toyota. Did he think she was a charity case? “Well, I really can’t accept it.” She could hardly say the words without them catching in her throat.
“Look, your car broke down. I offered you a way home. I like you enough to give you the car. And if you don’t have the money to buy it, that’s one thing, but I do. And I’m choosing to put that money to good use.”
“I have a few friends who are mechanics. For the cost of a burger and a few beers, I can get my car fixed. You’re giving away an extraordinary amount of money and I just don’t feel right taking it.”