Love at Christmas Inn Collection 1

by Tanya Stowe et al

  “Excuse me, you are?”

  Lydia jumped when her mother pushed her way back into the conversation.

  “He’s a guest of Christmas Inn, Bea.” Bertie gave her friend a warning nudge. “Graham Forrester. You might recognize him from TV. He’s a chef, and a food critic. A good one at that.”

  Graham shot Bertie an adoring look. “You’re a sweetheart.”

  “I’m Beatrice Cutler. Lydia’s mother.”

  A handshake ensued and Graham focused a charming smile on Lydia’s mom. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “You, too.” Mom made a humming sound, worry lines easing into speculation and open interest.

  Lydia stifled a groan. Mom, don’t even consider playing matchmaker. Not for one single second.

  “Give me the tour and put me to work.” Graham clapped his hands together.

  Lydia gaped at him. “Cooking. You’re considering a food service. Graham, you’re not even halfway serious.”

  “You’re right. I’m not. I’m all the way serious.”

  Just like that, she made the connection to a God-sent solution for the inn’s present food issue. Christmas Inn had been gifted by the presence of a world-class chef, trained in French cooking. He was offering his help and expertise.

  Had they hit the jackpot or what?

  Ignoring her mom, ignoring Bertie and everything else but crisis containment, Lydia grabbed his hand and swept him across the threshold of the small but spotless and well-established commercial kitchen.

  Gratitude spurred her on, but all the same, fear of taking on this challenge beat like a drum through her chest. Soon enough, excitement crowded out fear. “I know it’s not anything like you’d find in the kind of gourmet kitchen you’re probably used to, but it serves its purpose.”

  “It has an oven. A refrigerator. A sink. I see some pots and pans.”

  “Smart aleck.”

  “Dimples? Trust me, we’re in business.”

  ****

  The cooking gears in Graham’s head went to work, seamless and smooth. His culinary instincts kicked into high gear the minute Lydia yanked him through the swinging doors that divided the kitchen from the dining area.

  First, he rooted through the freezer. There was a big bag of frozen lobster, unopened and featuring a name-brand logo. Not great, since it wasn’t fresh, but not bad, either. In the fridge he discovered a healthy stash of butter and cheeses. They had some sharp cheddar. Perfect. Puzzle pieces started to form into a whole, because in the pantry he came upon bags of bowtie pasta, some nutmeg, some flour and breadcrumbs.

  Oh, yeah. He could work with this.

  “How do you feel about lobster mac and cheese?” Not waiting on her reply, already cooking in his mind, Graham added black pepper and kosher salt to his lineup of seasonings. “I’m not keen on using frozen lobster. I’m a snob, so I prefer fresh, but this’ll work.”

  He muttered and paced and eyed some large pots, a sauté pan that hung from a nearby peg wall.

  “You’re not even here right now, are you?” Lydia’s voice penetrated his fog of cooking euphoria.

  “Huh? What?” He looked her way and found she stood nearby, hip braced against the long, stainless prep counter. She tracked his movements, brow arched, lips quirked…what a great grin. And those eyes…

  She definitely had his full attention now.

  “You’re in a zone of your own. Kind of cool to see, actually. It’s the real you, and I can already see you’re going to be my knight in shining armor.”

  “Well, if feeding the hungry masses qualifies me for the position, you bet. Can I? Will you let me?”

  He was sure his anticipation, his eagerness to take the helm, transferred from voice to eyes to body language.

  “Let you? Graham, this kitchen is all yours. Think you can you pull it off?”

  “I refuse to dignify that with an answer.” By design, the reply reeked of cheeky fun and mock hauteur. Seconds later, he panicked. “Uh-oh…milk. Do you have milk?” He darted to the fridge in a hurry. Plenty—thank goodness. “I’ll need some vegetable oil, too.”

  Lydia pulled down an industrial sized container from a metal storage unit in the corner. “Voila! Anything else?”

  Graham shifted into full-on chef mode. “Here’s what we need to do next. Let’s get a schedule set up and any hands on deck that you think can help prep and serve. We’ll split the guests into two meal shifts. Group one will eat at five o’clock. Group two will eat at six thirty. That’ll give us time to prep things appropriately and get it served fast. I need to know head-count as well so we know what kind of quantities we’re dealing with.”

  “I’ll pull up the registry and poll guests. Most of them are lingering around the grounds anyway, so that should be easy.”

  “Good.” Graham drummed his fingers against the prep counter. “What can we serve with it? Do you have any kind of salad fixings? Vegetables?”

  “Yep, we always keep veggies on hand, and I can I help with that if you want me to.”

  “I want you right here with me, my sous chef.”

  “Sous chef. I think I like the sound of that.”

  And there came the dimples, right on cue and precisely positioned at the crest of her smile. Graham was half-tempted to ditch dinner plans and just stare at her, or place a light kiss to each upturned corner… Instead, he tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. “I think I do, too. Let’s apron up and do this thing.”

  From a series of pegs drilled into the far wall, Lydia retrieved a couple aprons and handed one to Graham. “I’ll be back. Let me get that schedule in place and get you a head count.”

  “Perfect.”

  Light of foot, Lydia fled the kitchen and Graham kicked matters off by washing his hands, familiarizing himself with available cooking tools, organizing spices and pans. Out of habit, he snapped the hand towel over his shoulder so it’d be ready to use later, then put himself to work.

  He was so engrossed in food prep, he barely registered Lydia’s return until she joined him at the counter and tied an apron at her waist. Carrying two heads of iceberg lettuce she went to work chopping with admirable finesse.

  Graham looked away from heating a pre-seasoned sauté pan to give her an approving look. “Nice technique.”

  “Thank you, chef.”

  He smirked at her officious, over-done response and gave her shoulder a playful nudge when she paused for a second. He added the lobster to his pan and heated it through, barely crisping the edges. To salted, boiling water, he added the pasta then wiped steam-moistened hands on the towel at his shoulder.

  “So, tell me about your mom. She’s a powerful character.”

  “And you’re a diplomatist. She means well, one hundred percent, but yeah, she’s not the type to withhold her opinion, or her heart.”

  “I admire that.”

  “Me, too.”

  “My mom is Beatrice, but everyone calls her Bea. She’s the older sister to my Aunt Roberta. Everyone calls her Bertie. They’re both fixtures here at Christmas Inn. Paulina you’ve met. Lizzie Franklin used to manage the inn, until her health went downhill. She’s mending, but having Paulina on our staff makes things a lot easier for her. Paulina, along with Lizzie’s niece, Ariana, pretty much run the show, but Bertie and my mom help out in any way they can because they adore Lizzie. Mom’s authoritative attitudes are a blessing and a curse.”

  Graham jiggled the sauté pan to keep the food in motion while he watched Lydia. “Why do I get the feeling that statement runs deeper than just the doings here at Christmas Inn?”

  “She’s after me.”

  “For?”

  “For the purposes of finding Mr. Right, settling down in a beautiful house in the burbs, and presenting her with numerous pitter pattering grandbabies.”

  “Oh. Well. If that’s all…”

  Shared laughter mingled with the rich aroma of nutmeg—Graham’s secret ingredient in this particular recipe—which he mixed into the melted butt
er and sizzling lobster. He retrieved a large metal mixing bowl from a high shelf above the stove and set it in front of Lydia so she could start filling it with her chopped greens.

  “So that’s why I felt the weight of her regard.” When Lydia cringed at his conclusion, Graham squeezed her shoulder in a gesture meant to be both affectionate and understanding.

  “Pretty much. You’re a guy, a great looking, successful guy, similar in age to me, and trust me, the first thing she looked at was your ring finger—”

  “Empty, since I’m single.”

  “And, oh, how I’m certain her heart rejoices. In her mind we’re already married.”

  Lydia sighed, but Graham whistled through his teeth, blood thrumming for reasons both personal and professional. So, interest. Romantic interest. In Lydia. Hey, it could happen, easily, and that truth provided for a most unexpected turn of events—on top of this already unexpected exercise in culinary rescue.

  Mastering a kitchen, he thought. With a beautiful woman as his helper and guide. What a rush. He waltzed from spot to spot, prepping his dish, watching the clock as the day inched closer to service number one.

  “She’s confused about me.” Lydia hiked her shoulder, dicing an assortment of veggies, piling them into the mixing bowl. “I resigned from my IT position at Greater Product Infrastructure—GPI, Inc. for short.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I was needed here, by my family—noble enough, to her mind, but she’s made it clear she wonders why I’d abandon my security blanket and brave a few steps on my own without the promise of long-term stability.”

  “Lydia!” Bertie burst through the swinging doors, papers in hand, face flushed, steps quick as she interrupted the conversation. “Lizzie separated the guests into two shifts, like you asked, and here’s the head count. Looks like we’ll end up feeding about thirty people total.”

  Lydia glanced at their temporary head chef. “Does that sound OK? Do we have enough food?”

  “I think we’re about to multiply the loaves and make a miracle happen. Yeah. I’m comfortable with that number. Two shifts of fifteen is doable.”

  Bertie charged to Graham’s side and lifted to tip-toe so she could peck his cheek quick without getting in the way. “Your stay is on the house. Seriously. This is incredible of you. Thank you!”

  “No problem. It’s a pleasure, so no worries.”

  “Then I’ll get out of your way. You guys keep cooking. Paulina is on board to help in any way she can, plus Ari is on her way in, trading her designer shoes for sneakers so she can serve, too, and so will Bea and I.”

  Lydia grinned, heaping some shredded cheese on top of the salad fixings. “I’m sure Ari will charm away every negative vibe our guests might have.”

  “Absolutely—and with her on the team, I think we’re all set. I have to tell you, the guests have been so appreciative. I think you’re right, Graham, this is a miracle just waiting to happen.”

  Graham glanced Lydia’s way. “So, refresh my memory. Who’s Ariana again?”

  “Ariana Christmas. Future owner and operator of Christmas Inn, once the dust settles and our revitalized standing in the world of resort lodging is complete. Her father is a hotel tycoon, and Christmas Inn is a big part of his family’s legacy. She’s taking some of the weight off Lizzie’s shoulders and has come through like a champ.”

  “And Ariana and Lizzie are related, right?”

  “You catch on quick. Yep, Ariana is Lizzie’s niece.” Lydia grinned as she sliced and diced some celery and onion. “And when you meet her, don’t let Ari’s super model style fool you. She’s a debutant with a heart of gold.”

  So, he was staffed up, food preps were coming together, and the influx of positivity pushed him on. Busy as he was, though, Graham kept watching Lydia—and he couldn’t imagine a more beautiful way to spend his time.

  4

  Exaggerated female interest spilling over, Ariana Christmas stood next to Lydia, peeking through a slivered opening of the doorway and into the kitchen where Graham worked on dinner. “Who is he?”

  “Graham Forrester,” Lydia whispered. Hissed, actually. Last thing she wanted was to have their volunteer chef overhear two women gushing about him. “He’s our temporary head chef.”

  Ari’s perfectly shaped brow inched upward. Her lips curved. She even added an approving hum to the mix. “Nice. I want one.”

  Lydia giggled at her friend’s harmless antics. Nothing stopped Ari in her tracks like the sight of a handsome man, but nowadays she was all look, and no touch. With good reason.

  “Hey, step off already and leave some for the rest of us. After all, you already have your very own construction contractor to love and admire.”

  In an instant, at the mention of Taylor Knox, Ari went from sassy and edgy to soft as cashmere. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?”

  It did Lydia’s heart good to know Ari had become happily involved with Taylor, whose construction company had performed the physical restorations at Christmas Inn. Lydia was shorter than Ari by a handful of inches, but that didn’t stop her from slipping an arm around Ari’s waist to deliver a tender squeeze. “You lucky thing.”

  “He’s the greatest. Ever.” Stepping away from the doors, Ari perched her hands on her hips. In a blink she went from dreamy to all business. “So, we’ve got dishes, glassware and utensils. We’ve got pitchers for water and we’ll be able to offer coffee—regular and decaf—but Aunt Lizzie tells me we’re short on pop selections, so we’ll have to be careful about what we offer in the way of beverages.”

  “Yep, Graham noticed that, too, but we’ve got a hungry, and very grateful group of folks about to descend on us, so I’m not too worried. They understand we’re working with minimal supplies.”

  Ari slipped a hair band from around her wrist and tucked waves of long brown hair into a neat ponytail. “And they’re happy to be fed.”

  “Fed by a really great chef,” Lydia murmured. She couldn’t keep her lips from curving into a smile, which probably came across every bit as dreamy as Ari’s a moment ago.

  “Well, aren’t you sweet? Let me help you make him proud,” Ariana snickered. She fluttered her lashes and pressed a hand to her chest, picking up on Lydia’s interest as if tuned in by radar. The tease.

  Lydia groaned. “Oh, get over yourself.”

  ****

  “Hey, Lydia, taste this!"

  Lydia turned from dishing salad onto small white plates as Graham’s words enticed. First round dinner service drew closer and closer and enthusiasm danced through his eyes in sparkles and flashes. He extended a tasting fork, presenting a small heap of his lobster mac creation for her to sample.

  A droplet of cheese slid away from the middle tine, a temptation of its own. From the opposite side of the counter, she stretched forward to blow on the steaming morsel, then accepted his offering. Their eyes met and held. An involuntary sigh bloomed from her chest as warm, gooey cheese, flavorful pasta and spicy bits of lobster melted against her tongue.

  “Oh, my goodness—that’s heavenly,” she whispered.

  Graham’s smile hit her like a ray of sunlight. “Let’s hope our guests agree.”

  “If they don’t then just make me a really huge leftovers bag.”

  A frenzied bout of plating took place as guests filed into the dining room. Lydia helped, loading large round platters for their impromptu service staff. During a break in the action, while weaving through the dining room, Lydia spied Graham leaning against the frame of the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Lips curved, gaze moving across the inn’s dinner patrons, he absorbed the proceedings and Lydia sensed his satisfaction, the contentment that pushed outward from his soul. She caught his eye and gave him a celebratory wink.

  Not a lot of time existed for introspection, though—service one neared conclusion, with service two coming at them momentarily. Judging by the satisfied comments she received, Lydia knew they had hit a homerun. Thanks to Graham. Thanks to his generous offering of time
, talent and heart.

  Hours later, Graham snagged Lydia’s hands and pulled her into the now empty dining room. He angled toward one of the ladder-back chairs that surrounded a cleared and re-staged table.

  “This was so much fun. I mean, I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in years. Literally. Years.” He helped her to sit.

  “I could tell you enjoyed yourself.”

  “That was just about the best adrenaline rush ever.”

  Lydia laughed, smoothing a subtle ripple from the stretch of white linen that crossed the tabletop. “Even during that change over from the first service to the second?”

  Graham brushed that off with a relaxed smile and the swipe of his hand. “Even then. Yeah, things got a little dicey, and the orders stacked up for a minute or two, but all things considered I can’t believe how well it went.”

  He left their spot to pour them each a glass of iced water from a pitcher still resting on a service tray. His proximity to the kitchen door resurrected a memory Lydia longed to share from the evening. “I like that you took the time to watch.”

  “Watch? What do you mean?”

  She sipped, watched him do the same, and then fell into his deep dark gaze. “You stood in the doorway and you watched. You took it all in during the dinner shifts tonight.”

  “Yeah, guilty. I love watching people enjoy the food I've created. Makes all the hard work worthwhile.”

  “Spoken like a true chef. I’m a relative outsider, and I don’t know you well, but you came to life in the kitchen. You miss being a chef, don’t you? The actual process of creating, and cooking, and serving.”

  Graham didn’t acknowledge her with a look or instant response. Rather, he gathered a deep breath and nodded, almost reluctantly it seemed. “With every breath. Lately, I’m becoming more and more aware of that fact.”

  “Then you should return to the kitchen.” Lydia leaned forward in earnest. “Take it from a person watching from the outside, who isn’t emotionally invested in the choices you’ve had to make. You’re amazing.”

  Graham looked at her long and hard and Lydia’s bones dissolved into a heated yearning that took her completely by surprise in its power and impact.