She’d called him Mr DDG, but really, Nick was Mr Christmas. The last person she’d tell why she didn’t like the holiday season.
If he wanted to be flippant, she could be too.
“All of the above. Call me Ms Scrooge. Bah, humbug!”
“That's a sad way of thinking. Christmas is wonderful.”
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Naturally, considering a Christmas film is what made you famous.”
Shrugging, he smiled. “Okay, there is that. But even if I hadn’t done ‘Joey Christmas’, I’d love it anyway. I'm a big kid who's never grown up. And like you said, Christmas is about Christ, God's gift to us. We have a lot to celebrate.”
A grimace twisted her face. Nick was wrong. So wrong. He might have a lot to celebrate, but she certainly didn’t.
“Some of us don't have anything to celebrate. Some of us don't want to celebrate.” Her voice was supposed to be strong and snarky. Instead, it cracked in the middle and dropped to a murmur. Unexpected tears stung her eyes.
Nick reached over and touched her hand, the merest brush of his fingers.
Warmth tingled through her, surprising her into snatching her hand away so fast she nearly spilled her coffee. She didn’t want his concern.
Steadying the coffee cup and hauling in a breath calmed her enough to muster a snappy answer.
“So sue me. It's not a crime to hate Christmas. Not yet, anyway. I hate the whole thing. And worst of all is the way we have to pretend to enjoy it.”
Nick studied her, an unreadable expression that had better not be pity gleaming in his eyes. “You're certainly not pretending. But you're missing out on a lot.”
Hunching her shoulders, she closed her eyes to avoid seeing him.
It didn’t help. Every inch of her ached with ridiculous awareness of him. “My choice,” she muttered.
“Sure it is. You've chosen to be Ms Scrooge. But God sent old Ebenezer the Christmas ghosts. I think He's landed you with me instead.”
Cara shook her head without opening her eyes.
God had nothing to do with it, and no matter what he did, Nick wouldn’t convince her to like Christmas again. Like a reformed smoker or a bitter ex, the deepest hatred a person could feel was for what they once loved.
“I think He has,” Nick repeated.
“You can think what you want, Nick. It won’t change how I feel.” Her voice sounded as weary as she felt. “If you plan to spend your whole time here trying to convert me to the joys of Christmas, it’s going to be a long three weeks.”
“Cara, look at me.”
Her eyes flew open.
Spreading his hands wide, Nick grinned. “Let's make a deal. Between now and Christmas, we'll work our way through the song.”
“What do you mean, work our way through the song?”
Nick leaned across the table, eyes alight. “I want to make the most of my London Christmas. You may try to look forbidding, but I’m guessing you still remember how to play. Forget the Twelve Days of Christmas, another Christmas song with no Christ in it. We’ll do the Twelve Dates of Christmas.”
“Dates?” Her voice rose in alarm and her cheeks heated. Nick couldn’t possibly want to date her. A dull grey accountant like her had to be as far from his type as it was possible to get.
If, impossibly, he did want to date her, that proved something she’d long suspected. God had a warped sense of humour. Why else would He offer her teenage dream to her, knowing she couldn’t possibly accept it?
No matter how much her heart had jumped at his words, or how much a small secret part of her longed to, she couldn’t do it. Nick just wanted amusement, a holiday diversion. He was wrong. She didn’t remember how to play.
She figured his smile was supposed to be reassuring, but it wouldn’t work on her, any more than a politician’s or used car salesman’s smile would. Her pulse definitely wasn’t accelerating as he turned the full wattage on her. Only surprise made her so suddenly breathless.
He waved his hands expansively. “It’s a game. I'll make the song come to life for you, with experiences based on it. If by Christmas Eve you still hate Christmas as much as you do now, you win. I'll do whatever you want in forfeit. If I win, you forfeit.” His smile grew a touch smug, and he waggled a finger at her. “If I win, you spend all Christmas Eve here at work dressed as Mrs Claus and give out presents.”
The memory of what happened last time she wore a Christmas outfit shuddered through her. Never again. Feeling sick, she pushed the cake and coffee away from her. He couldn’t have chosen anything worse.
“No way. I don’t do Christmas, especially dressing up.”
Hearing the panic in her voice, she stopped and closed her eyes. Slowly and deliberately, she drew in a breath then let it go. Nick mustn’t guess how much he’d rattled her.
She forced a smile. “Not that I’d lose. I know you can’t convince me. And you haven’t offered me anything tempting if I win.”
Nick’s eyebrows rose. “My forfeit is anything you ask for. As long as it isn’t illegal or immoral, I’ll do it. How can that not be tempting?” He grinned across the table at her. “C'mon, Cara. Something tells me you never refuse a dare. So, Cara Talbot, I dare you. Double dare you. Three weeks of Santa Baby, and a chance to rediscover the joy of Christmas.”
~~+~~
Nick waited for her reply.
He might have a long wait. The song on the PA system switched to Bing crooning White Christmas, but Cara didn’t seem to notice as she sat frowning at him.
You’d think he'd dared her to do something outrageous, like steal a London policeman’s helmet, or dance on the table. Surely dates with him wouldn’t be that bad.
Maybe they were. Her reaction seemed more than surprise. For a moment there, she’d seemed horrified, though she’d quickly covered it up.
“Nick, why?” she asked. “Why go to all the trouble?”
What his real motive was for the dare, he wasn’t sure.
She'd given the tramp her breakfast, for one thing.
Her contradictions intrigued him.
He'd been too used to superficial people, skating on the surface of life. Micki had forced him to realise, he was one of those superficial people. But Cara hid depth beneath the snarky exterior.
She might be prickly, but she felt things, strongly. Something he lacked, and why the big film roles he wanted eluded him.
If only for that reason, she intrigued him.
He'd seen the grief in her face, and wanted to know what put that look there. He'd never felt the sort of deep pain he'd seen in Cara.
He even wished he could be the one to offer her comfort. Kiss it better.
Now that was a crazy idea.
Especially since he was only in town for the rest of the month.
Nothing could happen between them.
But if ever a woman hid her light under a bushel, it was Cara. When she let her true self shine through, she was amazing. As they talked, he’d caught glimpses of the fire and passion she concealed. Maybe God could use him to help Cara find her joy again.
Like Joey Christmas, for real.
His conviction God bringing him here was no accident grew. He'd never felt as sure about anything.
But he needed to keep things light or he’d scare her off. He smiled and shrugged. “Hey, I'm Santa. It's my job to make people believe in Christmas.”
Her lip curled. Flattening her hands on the table, she pushed her chair back with a clatter, and grabbed her bag and coat. “That's the stupidest reason going. This isn’t a TV movie. Thanks for the coffee.”
He stood, and tried to defuse the situation by waggling his finger at her again.
“Running away from a dare. You disappoint me.”
She ignored him and kept going, headed for the exit door.
Please Lord, let her turn back.
Chapter 4
Barely two steps from the table, Nick’s statement halted Cara.
How had he guessed that at s
chool she’d been the girl who’d always chosen ‘Dare’?
She hadn’t been that girl for a long time now. Not since Mum died.
Turning back was exactly what Nick wanted, but some challenges couldn’t be refused. Hands on hips, lips pursed, she turned.
“New experience for you, hey? Someone is able to refuse Nick Gallagher.” She shook her head. “Get used to it. You’re not in Hollywood any longer.”
He grinned, that same impossibly appealing grin that made her eleven year old self flutter in ‘Joey Christmas’.
Her heart did not just flip over. Hearts didn’t do that, and certainly not hers.
“Sure is. I'm the big star, remember. No-one says no to me, ever.”
He waggled his eyebrows at her, with a smile that told her not to take his words too seriously.
Her compressed lips grudgingly relaxed a little at that, but she stopped short of a smile.
Some people had no choice but to take things seriously. She’d lived a life of privilege too, up until the year she’d turned seventeen. She hoped Nick never found out like she did just how easily it could all go wrong.
Or she tried to hope it.
A nasty little part of her resented the unfairness of it all. Why did God bless some of us and not others? Nick seemed to skate through life, turning everything he touched to gold, while she….
Shaking her head, she shook off those self-pitying thoughts. Between the old man on the street and Nick, she’d turned into an emotional disaster area, dwelling on things from the past she’d sooner not remember.
Instead, she looked across to him, still sitting at the table, looking relaxed and at ease. His smug smile and folded arms suggested he knew as well as she did that he’d completely won this round.
But no need to make it easy for him by backing down too easily.
“You haven't answered my question. Why do you want the dare? Really?”
She flung the words at him as a challenge.
He frowned for a moment, as if he weighed up what to tell her. Then he shrugged. “Give me one good reason not to. Another good turn for a lonely man, like feeding the tramp?”
That couldn’t be the real reason. A guy like Nick would be far from lonely, for one thing. He had some other reason for the dare, some agenda he wasn’t telling her.
And she wished he hadn’t seen her giving away her breakfast. Dad might have always made a big deal when he donated to charity, but she believed in doing her good deeds in secret the way the Bible said. No-one at work knew about her volunteering, and that was the way she liked it.
Nick was the last person she wanted finding out.
Maybe she could act, too.
“Sorry, giving away my breakfast used up my compassion quota for the month. You'll be back in Hollywood by the time my next good deed is due.”
Nick laughed, and persisted. “I doubt Mrs P wants me all on my own in London.”
She snorted derision. Anything to cover up the uncontrollable twitch her lips gave at his little boy pout.
“You're far from lonely. I’m sure you could pull out your little black book and keep your calendar busy 24/7 if you wanted.”
His hands flattened on the table between them as he leaned toward her with a smile. “Maybe. But things would be more interesting if I see London with you.”
It was his smile that did it. Her resolve melted into a warm gooey puddle that settled in her chest. It was all she could manage to shake her head.
“If you have a boyfriend who wouldn't like it, of course you mustn't. But we're talking strictly platonic here. So tell me, is there a Mr Scrooge? A significant other?”
She shook her head again, ignoring the twinge in the vicinity of her heart his questions caused. Just indigestion from that terrible coffee. “Work keeps me too busy.”
“That’s sad.” The grin on his face contradicted the words.
“It's how I want things,” she replied.
It had to be.
Dating and a social life weren’t for her. Working hard to pay back the money Dad stole, trying to make amends for the way she’d failed Mum. That was her focus.
A little part of her, the not-quite-dead part that used to find everything around her joyful the same way Nick seemed to, whispered that it didn’t have to be like that. There could be more to life than guilt.
Maybe for some. But not for her. Not after what she’d done. Not with what she had to atone for.
“Life is supposed to be fun,” Nick said.
Her lips tightened, and she shook her head.
Dad’s motto had been ‘Have fun while you can’, and look where that had gotten him. Deep in debt, a fraudster and a thief. The good times had been wonderful, but they were all a lie. Tears she refused to cry prickled at her eyes.
Why she even stood here bandying words with Nick, she didn’t know.
Irrepressible as a toddler, he refused to give up. “You could think of the dare as work. Mrs Pettett’s orders. Just like my character in ‘Joey Christmas’ had to enjoy himself, on Santa’s orders, whether he wanted to or not. Part of his job.”
A memory flared, so real she could almost taste the sticky sweetness of the homemade caramel popcorn and see the flashing Christmas tree lights. She’d been watching the movie with Mum. Nick played a kid who wanted to be Santa to make his divorcing parents happy again. Mum had laughed and joked with her about what she might do when she grew up. Dad had come in and twirled her round the room and told her his little princess could do whatever she wanted.
Such a happy time. No matter what happened after, at least she had those memories of when things were good. Thinking of it dissolved something hard and resistant in her.
Nick, without knowing it, had been part of those memories, and she owed him thanks for that.
~~+~~
Cara’s lips lost their tightness, softening into a rueful curve. Nick smiled to see it. Maybe her resistance was thawing, after all. He could only hope.
She stepped nearer, though she kept the hard plastic chair she'd been sitting on between them.
“You know, I watched your movie a dozen times. All the girls in my class had crushes on you. Your name was written on everyone’s pencil case and doodled on the front of our notebooks. I would've leapt at the dare back then.”
He spread his arms wide. “Here's your chance.” He gave her his best little boy grin.
She shook her head, but her smile widened. “I'm not eleven now. You missed your opportunity.”
He heaved a mock sigh and clapped one hand to his chest, like a bad Shakespearian. “You wound me. Tell me I'm not too late.”
“You're too late. Sixteen years too late.” Her tone held finality, but her eyes sparkled and her lips wore a pretty smile that lit a mellow glow in him and tripped his pulses.
“We can watch the movie together?”
His hopeful puppy expression should have made her agree.
Instead, the softness that delighted him vanished. Her face became closed and shuttered again. This must be what the British meant by stiff upper lip, though she couldn’t hide the sorrow in her eyes.
The craziest urge to wipe away her pain swept over him, but she held up a hand before he could say anything.
“Please, you're wasting your time. I don’t want anything to do with Christmas. And I don't see why you'd want to spend any time with me, let alone go to the trouble of finding the things in the song.”
His shrug didn’t answer her question, or his own.
He didn’t know why he wanted this so much, either. He only knew he did.
“Why not?” he said. “Christmas has been good to me. It made me millions before I turned fifteen. Maybe I want to play Joey again, spread the joy of Christmas, but in real life.”
“Life isn't a movie.” She shook her head, hard. “There is no joy in Christmas. It’s a cruel trick to make people believe happy families exist, and con them into spending money they don't have. Just because my job and everyone else's here depends
on selling stuff, don't think I enjoy it.”
Vehemence vibrated her voice like a plucked guitar string. Then she all too obviously forced a smile, and softened her voice.
“Besides, you're not really Santa. You dressing up as an old fat man is ridiculous.”
“You're right, it's ridiculous. But I do love Christmas. Jesus’s birthday party, and we get the presents.” He grinned. “The song is fun, but I don't agree with it, either. Life’s for living, not accumulating stuff. God gave us the world to enjoy and share.”
Her expression hardened again. “Is that all you believe in?” she demanded. “Christmas, and having fun?”
“More or less. Believe in Jesus, trust God, be kind, and enjoy life in the process. Why not? How about you? If you don't believe in Christmas, what do you believe in?”
“Working hard. Paying my debts. Earning things for myself, not expecting Santa or God or anyone else to give them to me. Fun doesn’t come into it.”
Her words sounded tough, but tears glistened in her eyes.
She couldn't possibly be more opposite to him. Micki called him Mr Superficial. But Cara was like one of those Russian dolls, layers inside layers inside layers.
Sometimes, he wondered if the outside layer was all there was to him.
“Did you ever believe in Santa? How about God?” He kept his tone soft, not wanting to upset her more.
The grief in her eyes deepened and she slumped over the chair. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I did.” Rubbing at her eyes impatiently, she straightened. “Obviously, I don’t any more, and you can forget trying to convince me otherwise.”
“How old were you when you stopped believing?”
“Seventeen. I had to leave school and get a job. Not all of us were multi-millionaires at fifteen.”
Her scornful tone and frown warned him not to say another word.
He chose to live dangerously. Something made him persist, though he needed to spend time with a prickly, over-emotional woman like Cara about as much as he needed a hole in his head.
“Cara, you’re as materialistic as the woman in the song, though you call it a work ethic.” Shaking his head, he stood, and spread his hands wide. “Maybe now’s the time to have the fun you’ve missed out on. You don’t need to be so driven.”
Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride Page 16