Her face turned to stone. “Nick, you can’t possibly know what I need or don’t need. I have to go. You’ve had your ten minutes. I’m late for work already.”
Give her a red coat and a bearskin hat, and she could double for one of those guards outside Buckingham Palace. Back stiff, shoulders squared, so tense she almost vibrated.
Looked like he’d pushed her buttons good and hard. Maybe harder than he should have done, given that his aim was to help her enjoy life more.
And she still hadn’t accepted his dare.
He’d need to back off, give her time to get to know him. Then he’d try again. Now was obviously not the time.
Her hands clenched tight on the chair back, and she shoved it toward the table.
Swivelling on one heel, she marched towards the stairs. Her ferocious stomp looked hard enough to hurt her feet, if not the floor.
“Cara, you’ve forgotten something.” He called after her.
“What?” she asked, without turning her head.
“Me.”
~~+~~
Cara squeezed her eyes shut.
She didn't want to stop.
She wanted to run up the eight flights of stairs to her office, as fast as possible.
But she couldn't run away and leave him, thanks to Mrs Pettett's orders. She’d been childish to even try. That didn’t mean she’d give him the satisfaction of turning around and looking at him again.
She’d weakened once, and all it did was stir up painful memories. Remembering the last time she’d watched ‘Joey Christmas’ had slammed her like running into a brick wall, leaving her winded and unable to breathe. Because perhaps, if she’d stayed home that Christmas Eve instead of insisting on going to Belinda’s to watch the video, Mum would still be alive.
Nick’s dreams had come true. He was Santa.
Her life, number crunching at Pettett and Mayfield's, couldn't be further from her dreams. All she had were memories, and a guilt that never left her, no matter what she did.
Not that she’d say that to Nick. Her grief and guilt were her private burdens.
The best plan was to have as little to do with him as possible.
So he could take his dare and his determination to force her to enjoy Christmas and….
Footsteps approached across the lino floor.
Nick.
She knew it, even with her eyes closed. He had a presence, something indefinably Nick and only Nick. Now she’d met him, she'd sense him in the biggest crowd. The fresh tang of his aftershave cut through the stale odours of the cafeteria, making her want to take a deeper breath.
No matter how hard she tried to ignore him, she couldn't.
A warm touch on her arm forced her to turn toward him.
That didn't mean he could force her to accept the dare.
“Mrs Pettett may have ordered me to work with you during office hours, but that does not extend to my personal life. Dates, dare, call it what you want, I'm not doing it. And you won't convince me to like Christmas.”
It might have sounded good, if her voice hadn't quivered half way through, and if she hadn't silently added So there! at the end.
Nick laughed, a rich chuckle that made her itch to slap him.
Then he held his hands up in surrender. The guy was an actor, through and through. How would she ever tell when he was serious?
She didn’t even know if he was ever serious.
The corners of his mobile mouth turned down. “You win. No dare. Shame though. How about a new deal? Can you spare the time to give me a whistle stop tour of the store, if I promise to stay out of your way after that?”
Cara eyed him, not trusting this sudden back down.
He had to be plotting something. Still, a quick guided tour was a small price to pay if he would get him out of her hair for a while.
“It will need to be quick. I’ll call my office first to tell them I'll be late.” She peeked at her watch. “Even later than I already am, I should say.”
Nick's wide grin lit up his face. If she didn't know better, she'd almost believe he wanted to spend time with her.
That made no sense. It must be the thrill of the chase, though she gave no reason to lead him on. But she’d heard there were men like that, unable to accept that not every woman would fall at their feet. Nick didn't seem that type, but you never knew.
“I promise, I'll behave.” He tilted his head to one side, looking all adorable wide eyed innocence, just like Joey Christmas.
She fished her phone out of her bag and made a quick call. No mention of Nick. Being late would give the girls enough gossip fodder as it was.
“Is the store open yet?” he asked, as she slipped the phone back into its pocket.
“Yes, just.”
Now what? Why was he asking that?
He pulled a pair of tinted glasses from his coat pocket, and dragged his cap down, hiding his trademark mop of blond hair. Then he grinned.
That annoyingly stomach flipping grin of his.
“How famous am I in the UK, just out of curiosity?”
Cara couldn't resist smiling back, then straightened her face into a frown.
Nick was way too charming, and she was falling for his act. Every time she resolved to stay strong, all he needed to do was smile, and she weakened again. Her emotions bounced her round as if she sat on a see-saw. Her stomach certainly felt that way.
“Famous enough that the glasses and the cap are probably a good idea, not so famous that a non-TV watcher like me would recognise you straight away.” She delivered her snippy answer, and proceeded to walk away.
“I'm not sure if I should be upset about that or not.” Nick pretended to pout but hurried to catch up.
“Don't be. I'm so out of touch with pop culture, I wouldn't recognise ninety five percent of the names in the gossip columns.” She almost felt she should apologise.
“You’re not missing much.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know about that.” A sigh slipped past her lips. “No risk of you being mobbed, anyway, there won’t be enough customers in the store for that.”
Instead of escaping upstairs to her office, she led him to the door at the foot of the stairs. “We'll start here. Bargain Basement, Dining Room, Wedding Gifts, and Kitchenware.” She put on her best sing-song accent, mimicking the theme tune to the old comedy show, 'Are You Being Served'.
Nick smiled. “Ground floor perfumery, stationery and leather goods, going up.”
Cara stopped, halfway through pushing the door open.
It should have gone right over his head.
It wasn't fair. That was her private joke. This day was going from worse to worser. Bad to worse simply didn't describe it.
But not everything about him was false charm.
Nick moved nearer. “So tell me,” he whispered in her ear like a conspirator. “Our secret. Is Pettett and Mayfield's anything like the TV program?”
His closeness was doing all sorts of disconcerting things to Cara's tummy. Missing meals couldn't explain away her wobbly knees and strangely fluttery heart.
Distance from Nick was what she needed.
She pushed the door wide open and stepped as far away from him as she could.
“Of course not,” she said, aiming for a primly quelling tone but instead sounding annoyingly breathless. “Though you'll see that Pettett and Mayfield's prides itself on maintaining tradition, that doesn't make us anything like Grace Brothers.”
Nick turned down his mouth in a mock frown. “Pity. My family are all looking forward to visiting, they were sure it would be the same.”
Cara didn’t answer, just turned around and marched across the floor towards the escalators. She’d whiz him through the store so fast his head would spin.
Then escape.
It wasn’t Nick’s fault he stirred up these feelings in her, but the sooner she got away from him, the better.
Less than three weeks till Christmas, and he’d be gone. She’d start counting t
he days.
Chapter 5
Nick knew he shouldn’t, but he almost laughed as Cara rushed him through the store. Too obvious her intention was more than needing to get to her office.
The way she refused to meet his eyes. The way she pulled away from his slightest touch. The way she stepped back if he got within a few feet of her. It all suggested that he had her rattled.
He should feel bad about that.
Instead, the tell-tale signs filled him with an odd exhilarating fizz. He wanted her rattled. Because she certainly rattled him.
Like when she’d admitted to having a crush on him. The idea of a teenage Cara having his poster on the wall and his name written on her pencil case thrilled him more than it probably should.
She was the most infuriating, stubborn, contrary woman he'd ever met.
And the most intriguing.
More than ever, an inner certainty, a knowing in his guts, told him that God put him here in the store for a reason. To help the store. To prove both to Micki and to himself that he could stick around when the going got tough.
And maybe, to bring joy to Cara.
She didn’t give him the chance to see much as she hurried him through the basement and the first four floors. When she left him, he’d do some exploring on his own.
Once one of London's best department stores according to Grandma, Pettett and Mayfield's now looked every year of its age, and not in a good way. The Christmas decorations drooped, as did the stock and many of the staff. The place was practically deserted.
Maybe it got busier later. Somehow, he doubted it.
He tried to take a closer look at the old fashioned wooden escalators that clattered and clunked between floors, but Cara stomped up them with a determined keep-up-or-else air. She led him off the escalators, chattering all the while.
“This is the last floor. Customer Restaurant, Toys, Pets, Nursery, and Childrenswear. Above this are the offices. I'll introduce you to Frank, our regular Santa, then leave you to it.” She threw him a twisted half-smile. “I'm sure with your past work experience he won't need to give you Santa-ing lessons.”
He smiled at her brave little joke, but it faded as he examined what was on offer in the Toy Hall. Shiny cellophane wrapped boxes appealed to the big kid in him. But there were no working displays. Nothing out of its box.
No-one would buy here when they could go somewhere like Hamleys and play with all the toys first.
The lone customer in the department picked a box up, looked at it, then put it back down again.
The whole store needed a shake-up. Not what Cara would want to hear, but he’d say it, anyway. She seemed a person who’d want the truth straight, not sugar coated, no matter how bitter.
“This is where I expected you'd want to put me. Santa's traditional territory. But I'm warning you, I see myself as more of a free-range Santa.”
“What do you mean, free-range?” Cara’s forbidding expression suggested she wanted to keep him penned in where he couldn't get up to any mischief.
He grinned. “You already have a regular Santa. No point me sitting up here beside him. This store could do with some big changes.”
“Pettett and Mayfield is a very British store. Your American methods won't work here.”
She sounded so pompous and priggish and terribly, terribly English, he couldn’t resist the urge to laugh any longer.
That only made her purse her lips and glare harder.
“Maybe, maybe not. But I'm sure you'd like to see some American-style profits. I'm not noticing people falling over themselves to spend money.”
Her narrowed eyes told him she’d argue. She looked every inch the ice cold business woman.
Before she could say a word, he held up his hand to stop her.
He wouldn’t let her wriggle out of telling the truth this time. The store had to be losing money hand over fist. No wonder she'd made that crack about not having any staff to train in the New Year.
“Cara, look around. Three weeks before Christmas. The cash registers should be ringing so often they play Jingle Bells. I doubt I could make things worse. Do you want to keep the store open, or not?”
Her tough facade cracked. Gaze dropping, shoulders slumping, she loosed a huge painful-sounding sigh.
He wanted to take her in his arms and hug her, take that sigh away. Though no doubt, if he tried, he'd get more prickles than if he hugged a porcupine.
“There's no point me trying to pretend. We need help,” she muttered, though whether she was talking to him or those shiny black boots of hers wasn't clear. “Jobs are at risk. That’s how bad things are.”
“I’m here to help, Cara. I’ll do my best to make sure no-one needs to be laid off.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face and lifted anxious eyes to meet his. “I hope you can help. But for you, this is just a game, a few weeks’ fun in London. For me and the rest of the staff, it's serious. Mrs P schemes don’t exactly have a high success rate. We can’t risk a free range Santa on top of that. I can’t bear thinking of anyone losing their jobs.”
Something in Nick’s chest tweaked at that, though he covered it with a smile.
“I'll remember.” He winked at her. “Don't worry, I usually win the games I play.”
She didn't smile back. Her face was intense and serious. “Mrs Pettett will need to approve whatever you do. She's well past retirement age, but she owns the store. Her final say-so is required on everything.” She shook her head and her lips twisted. “Every month she comes up with a new scheme to help sales. Every month, her scheme flops. You’re this month’s.”
Determination to prove himself to Cara steeled him. Time to prove he could do more than play. If he could take the worry that made her sigh away from her, he would.
“So maybe that's part of your problem right there. No-one's taking any initiative. I’m guessing you try.” He looked around, at the faded Christmas decorations and the dull displays. “This whole place is like the pastry you had for breakfast. Stale and past it’s best-before date.”
Cara folded in on herself like he'd slapped her.
The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He reached out and laid a hand on her arm, intended to comfort. But what he felt at their touch was far more than comforting. Cara woke something in him, deep inside.
And this time, she didn't pull back.
“Cara, I want to help. Please let me.” He kept his voice low and soft. “I know nothing about running a store, but actors do know about publicity and putting on a show. Will you work with me on this one?”
She nodded, and lifted her head. Their eyes met and held.
Even through layers of clothing, the warmth heating his hand where it rested on her arm spread, settling in his chest and glowing bright as a Christmas candle. His breath stopped as wonder lit in him. Everything around them seemed to pause and still.
Then a sudden noisy uproar shattered their connection. Cara pulled away and hurried toward the crying child.
A sobbing little boy of maybe three or four sat on the floor of the Pets department. The only hint of other staff in the area was a pair of black clad legs sticking out from under the cages.
The kid looked up tearfully as they approached. “I only wanted to pat him. I didn't know he'd run away,” he heaved out between sobs.
His distress squeezed Nick's heart, though he'd never thought of himself as a “kid” person. Too much of a big kid himself. He knelt down beside the boy while Cara rushed to the staffer on the floor.
How was he supposed to talk to a kid this upset? He took a deep breath.
“It's okay, little guy. We'll find him.”
Whatever ‘him’ was.
That only started a fresh round of wails.
“Don't worry, it'll be okay.” He patted the boy's arm, feeling as useful as a chocolate teapot.
At least the wailing stopped.
A young shop assistant, red faced and out of breath, emerged from under the display. “Here,” he pan
ted, handing a palm sized golden furred creature up to Cara.
Cara cradled the animal carefully in her hand and ran her fingertips over its body and limbs. “A hamster. I don’t think he’s injured. Just scared.”
She squatted next to Nick and the boy and held her cupped hands out to the child with a smile. Two dark button eyes above a twitching whiskered nose peeped over her fingers. Adorable.
Cara and the hamster.
Something hard in her seemed to have softened again, at least for a moment. She’d dropped her defences, like when she talked about watching ‘Joey Christmas’ as a girl.
He dipped his head toward her, and breathed in the fresh natural scent of her hair. Though she’d scraped it back into a tight bun, tendrils escaped. They curled on her forehead and her temples and the nape of her neck. Somehow, those few wisps of hair made her seem far more vulnerable, more open.
“See, he's all right,” she said to the kid. “You can pat him, but I'll keep hold of him so he can't run away again.”
The boy stopped sniffling and reached out a tentative finger to stroke the little creature’s head. He smiled up at Cara, tears forgotten.
“I didn't hurt him?” the boy asked.
Cara shook her head, her expression solemn. “You didn't hurt him. But you mustn't ever open a cage here again. Peter would have lifted him out and held him for you just like I’m doing, if you'd asked.”
The shop assistant nodded.
“I'm going to put him back in his house now, poor little guy needs rest after his adventure,” Cara said as she stood up.
Nick stood too. “May I?” he asked, his fingers hovering over the creature nestled in Cara's hands.
“Of course.”
He smoothed a wondering fingertip over the hamster's paw. “I never realised they had such perfect tiny hands.”
His finger accidentally brushed Cara's palm, skin to skin. Sensation flooded him. Something warm and wholesome and homey. Something meant to be. Something that chimed in him like Christmas bells and smelled like cinnamon cookies fresh from the oven.
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 17