Keep Me At Christmas (Romano Family Book 4)

by Lucinda Whitney

  The condition of the items varied by type and age, and some only needed a gentle wash and proper dry-blocking techniques. Others showed the passage of time, well-worn and well-loved as they were. Although the scope of the project was more manageable than what she thought it might be, the time-consuming tasks that each piece required wouldn’t leave Luciana with much extra time for herself. Unfortunately, this was, often, a consequence over which she didn’t have much control—traveling to exciting places and not being able to explore them.

  Before leaving for lunch, she sat down to plan her list of special materials, supplies, and tools needed. She’d sent on ahead her small trunk that traveled with her to all assignments, and contained most of what she needed as far as tools. She hoped the rest would not be too hard to come by. Within minutes, the list was printed, and she passed it to Oliver, who hopefully would give it to the right people. Maybe she should take a tour after lunch and find out how many people worked there.

  The museum was small, but Luciana had faith she’d have everything she asked for by the end of the day. The sooner she had it, the sooner she could start the work, and thenreturn home in time for Catarina’s wedding.

  As picturesque as Hudson Springs was, nothing would hold her interest once she was done with the restoration work.

  Chapter Two

  The bronze bell on the front door jingled, and Jack glanced up from the espresso machine.

  She was back. The woman with the red coat and knit scarf. Luciana.

  He looked away before she caught him watching her and filled the portafilter with coffee beans, distractedly putting it back. The familiar, strong scent filled the air. As she lined up to order, Jack brought his attention back to the ticket Mom had handed him a minute before. Two espressos, a latte, and a tall Americano.

  Luciana had caught his eye as soon as she’d entered the café this morning. He hadn’t seen her around before, and her smiling expression and bright eyes had grabbed his attention. The outside cold had brought a rosy hue to her cheeks, and the overall effect with her brown hair and dark eyes was lovely. She looked to be happy, confident, and at ease—everything he couldn’t remember being in a long time.

  After she ordered her panini, Mom had contrived to have him deliver it to her table. Not that Mom would admit to it, but Jack knew she’d done it somehow. He’d gone along with it, for no other reason than he lacked the will to protest. It was Monday morning, two weeks until Christmas, and he couldn’t see anything different in his future.

  His life was the perpetual hamster wheel—wake up and do the same thing as the day before, one day after the other, none of it according to his long-gone plans.

  But today was different, and the change had come in the form of a foreign brunette, one who’d known his name.

  His heart twitched in his chest like it had this morning when she’d said his name. The way she’d looked at him, with her smile and warm eyes, had jumpstarted something inside Jack—something he’d thought long dead. And he couldn’t shake the feeling. What was more—he didn’t want to shake it.

  With each step she took closer to the counter, his chest warmed and his body thrummed as if in recognition of her. He kept focused on his tasks at the espresso machine, willing his heartbeat to calm down and his eyes to stay on what he was doing. What was he going to say to her?

  Nonna beat him to it. “Ah, you come back. You liked breakfast?”

  “I liked it very much,” Luciana replied.

  Jack turned around to the counter where he placed the beverages, and Mom handed him another ticket. He looked at Luciana and the corner of her mouth rose. He nodded back at her. Did she remember how Mom and Nonna had offered him up to take her around? He should have said no right then.

  “So now you want to try lunch?” Nonna asked.

  “Yes, I do. Your menu looks delicious.” Luciana looked up to the chalkboard on the wall behind him.

  Her English was fluent, and he could only barely pick up her Portuguese accent. What had brought her to Hudson Springs? She didn’t look like one of the skiers that came to the Mount Hudson Ski Resort. At least, she wasn’t wearing any ski gear right now. His curiosity about her rose another notch.

  Nonna kept chatting with Luciana as she ordered her lunch—a cup of the soup of the day, a small garden salad, and a half-sandwich, with a bottled water and a latte to drink— and rang her up. Like this morning, Luciana took one of the tables by the window, from where she could see both the outside, the front of the store, and the counter.

  Jack set a glass and a bottle of water on a tray along with a napkin and flatware. Mom ladled the soup into a ceramic cup and placed it next to the bowl of salad. Instead of signaling his young cousin Liam, Mom picked up the tray and turned to Jack.

  He raised his eyebrow at her. She was doing it again. His nephew Grant had called in sick and Jack had taken over making the sandwiches for him for today. As the head baker, Jack didn’t spend too much time at the front of house anymore, and when he did, he preferred the espresso machine—not serving tables.

  Mom matched his expression and placed the tray in his hands. Between Mom and Nonna, sometimes he didn’t get a break from their matchmaking. He didn’t argue with her; not in public. He’d have to talk to them again, in private, reminding them how he wasn’t interested in dating, especially at Christmas time. Just because he’d exchanged a few words with Luciana didn’t mean he was ready to date her, even if they had offered him up to show her around.

  “I know what you’re up to,” he whispered when he passed his Mom. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  She brought her hand to her collarbone and silently feigned innocence, but she couldn’t fool him. Then she reached into the apron pocket and handed Jack a scrap of paper. “Before I forget, here’s Luciana’s phone number.”

  Jack stared dumbly for a moment. “Her what?”

  Mom pushed the paper into Jack’s apron pocket. “Her phone number. I got it this morning before she left. So you can show her around the festival.” Then she gave him a little push. “Go on. She’s waiting for her order.”

  Jack walked in Luciana’s direction, his mind racing with what to say to her.

  “Here you go.” He placed the items on Luciana’s table. “Your sandwich will be right out.”

  “Thank you, Jack.” Hers eyes were a soft brown, large and expressive. Smiling eyes.

  He found himself smiling in return, unable to hold it back. “What’s the verdict on the recommendation?”

  “Excellent. I’ll have to thank Frank if I meet him again.”

  Jack would too, and not just for recommending the café. He was obviously confused, wanting to get to know Luciana and knowing it wasn’t a good idea. And then Mom had somehow gotten Luciana’s phone number. “About the festival. When’s a good time for you?”

  Her expression softened. “Don’t feel obligated to. I have a grandmother who likes to find dates for me all the time, so I know how that goes.”

  “You have a grandmother who likes to set you up with strangers?”

  She chuckled, low and softly, and the sound of it tripped his heart again.

  “I actually do,” she said.

  Maybe she did, but he wouldn’t back out on it. Unless that was her way of letting him off. “If you don’t want to, I understand. But I don’t feel obligated.” He held her gaze.

  Something akin to curiosity and interest flashed in her eyes for a moment, and Jack found himself wishing she’d accept the invitation, despite all the warning bells in his head—loud and clear. It was his heart that urged him to jump in; apparently hearts didn’t learn lessons as well as brains did.

  He waited, but she didn’t say anything, and his mixture of disappointment and regret surprised him. He would have enjoyed getting to know her. “Enjoy your meal.” He turned to go.

  “Jack,” she called after him in a soft voice and he stopped. “I just arrived in town today and I don’t know how much free time I’ll have. Can I let you know once I
find out?” She grabbed her phone. “What’s your number?”

  Jack recited it to her and she entered it in her contacts.

  “I’ll text you when I know.”

  “Sounds good.” He added a small smile to his words, hoping he hadn’t come across as sounding too desperate.

  This was the main reason he hadn’t pursued dating anyone in the last two years. The uncertainty, the feeling he was playing a game he didn’t quite know the rules for—it all took more emotional energy than what he had. Jack walked straight to the back room where he could take a breath without the stares of curious customers.

  Luciana stayed for a little over half an hour, scribbling notes on a small pad. Not quite leisurely, but not rushing either. When Nonna approached to ask about the meal, Luciana put away the pen and paper, and they talked for a few minutes before she left.

  Would she return tomorrow?

  Jack pushed the curiosity away. It didn’t matter if she did or not. He was too busy to think about an intriguing woman with a foreign accent and large, soulful eyes, even if he had been offered to serve as her guide and she’d sort of accepted.

  Jack let out a low sigh. He was so out of practice.

  After the lunch rush, the constant string of customers quieted down, and Jack helped cousin Ashley clean up. By the time they closed the doors at three in the afternoon, as they did every day, he was ready to sleep through the rest of the day until early the next morning. He climbed the back stairs to the second floor of the building, opened the door to his bedroom, removed his boots, and dropped into bed.

  But sleep wouldn’t come. Jack lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. When was the last time he’d given more than a quick thought to a woman he didn’t even know?

  He pushed her soft, brown eyes out of his mind and turned his thoughts to the product sheets awaiting him in the morning—the inventory of tasks and ingredients, the leftovers, the shipments, all the never-ending to-do lists. Christmas was one the busiest times of the year for them.

  His entire life was a series of lists, one after another. How had he come to this point? As if he had the time to mope. This week, added to the everyday routine, he had to set up for the festival on Wednesday and finish decorating one thousand cookies for Friday.

  Was he doing everything he ought to? Running the café, making sure Mom and Nonna didn’t work too much, being available to his neighbors and Dad’s friends, who were getting on in years. His sisters were busy with their own families and didn’t need him anymore, although he still thought about them.

  Jack rubbed his eyes and breathed out deeply.

  Life had been simpler when Dad was alive. Dad and Grandpa had run a good operation at the café, even though Jack didn’t remember his Nonno well anymore.

  He’d been only seven years old when Nonno passed away, and his memories weren’t clear. Dad had been gone for almost six years now. That, he remembered well. At times, Jack still expected to see Dad in the bakery in the early morning, rolling the dough on the marble slab.

  Somehow, the family had made the transition. Both times they’d survived the loss; both times they kept plugging along. At least, where the café was concerned, they had made it. If only the rest were as easy.

  Jack had been a few months away from graduating with his business degree when Dad died. It had been a shock to everyone—a massive heart attack. Jack had come home from the University of California for the funeral and then had gone back to finish the semester and graduate. But nothing was the same after that, and instead of following his plans to seek employment in San Francisco, he ended up returning to Hudson Springs to help Mom and Nonna run the café.

  Six years—gone like that.

  Jack gave himself a mental shake and rolled onto his side, closing his eyes. His priority was to rest, not wonder what could have been, and certainly not daydream about a beautiful woman who wouldn’t be in town for too long.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday, December 12th

  When Luciana arrived at the inn’s breakfast room the next morning, two young waiters were in the process of cleaning away all the tables in the room. The River View Inn wasn’t the only hotel in town, but it was the closest to the museum. It was small by most standards—a three-story building dating back to the late nineteenth century. Just like all the other buildings she’d seen since arriving in town, it was extensively decorated for the season: lighted garlands and wreaths; Christmas trees of various sizes in the public rooms; and fresh greenery, red bows, and gold ornaments filled the walls, banisters, mantels, and any corner of space available. The effect was both impressive and overwhelming.

  “Good morning, Miss Romano.”

  Luciana turned to the voice at her side. Mrs. Wells, the older lady who’d been at the check-in desk on Monday evening smiled at her. Luciana smiled back. “Good morning, Mrs. Wells.”

  “Come with me,” Mrs. Wells said. “I’ll set a table for you.”

  Luciana followed the lady to a table by the window. Mrs. Wells pulled a place setting from an open shelf on the sideboard and set the items on the table.

  “Excuse our slowness this morning. There’s a filming crew from the Wedding Belles Channel in town, and all of them have breakfast at the same time.” She filled one of the glasses with water.

  “The what channel?” Luciana asked.

  “It’s a TV channel all about weddings.” Mrs. Wells placed the butter and jams on the table, individual portions in small plates and jars. “They’re doing a spotlight about the Mount Hudson Ski Resort as a wedding destination and came to town to film the festival since everything is decorated for Christmas. It’s all very exciting, of course.” She added a small pitcher of water to the array. “What would you like to drink this morning? We have fruit juice, milk, tea, and coffee.”

  Luciana gestured to the sideboard. “I can help myself to whatever is out.” She motioned to stand, but Mrs. Wells pushed gently on her shoulder.

  “Nonsense. I’ll bring your breakfast out.” Without waiting for Luciana’s reply, Mrs. Wells brought orange juice and milk. “The filming crew had the buffet—there’s so many of them, I can’t serve them all at once.”

  The lady went on for the next fifteen minutes. She laid a full breakfast spread for Luciana, all the while chatting about the upcoming Christmas festival and how many people came to attend it from the neighboring towns, and what a grand event it was—telling Luciana several times she needed to go.

  As nice as it all was, maybe tomorrow Luciana would come down earlier for breakfast and join the filming crew for the buffet. She couldn’t very well afford the time for a lavish breakfast every morning. For the moment, she kept quiet, not wanting to hurt the old lady’s feelings.

  Luciana arrived at the museum twenty minutes behind what she’d planned. She hung up her coat behind the door and unwound her scarf. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The lady at the inn—”

  Oliver chuckled. “Mrs. Wells. She loves feeding her guests.” He set a disposable coffee cup on Luciana’s desk.

  “You know her?”

  He nodded. “Everybody does. She’s a sweetheart but can chat up a storm, if you let her.”

  Luciana eyed the cup. “What’s this?”

  “Coffee from DiLorenzo’s.”

  “Oh, bless you.” She picked it up and took a sip. “That place has the best coffee.”

  “If you let me know what you like, I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

  “Good manners say I shouldn’t let you, but the coffee at the inn…” She shook her head. “The food was awesome though.”

  This time Oliver laughed. “That’s about right. Bad coffee and good food.” He walked to the small desk in the corner and grabbed a binder. “I printed the notes from yesterday and made a checklist of the materials and tools you requested.” He set the folder on Luciana’s desk, then opened it to the first page. “The ones that have arrived have a check beside them.”

  Luciana glanced at the page and
then at the young man in front of her. “I’m really glad I agreed to having an assistant. You’re going to spoil me for my next job. I usually work alone.” She’d had an assistant once in Berlin, and the experience had not been a completely positive one.

  Red spots colored Oliver’s cheeks. He looked young, at least five years younger than her own twenty-eight years.

  “What got you interested in this project?” Luciana asked.

  Oliver followed her to the workstation in the center of the room. “I’m familiar with your work, Miss Romano. I volunteered to be your assistant.”

  Luciana smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. I’m glad you enjoy textiles as much as I do.” The assistant in Berlin had not volunteered. She’d been assigned to work with Luciana, and it had shown. By the end of the project, the woman’s dislike of textiles had been too obvious to ignore. That had been one experience Luciana didn’t want to see repeated.

  She leafed through the rest of the pages in the binder. Each knitted piece had a section. “Let’s start the in-depth assessment. We need a complete list of texture and color samples finished today.”

  From the little she knew, the first specialist the museum had hired had fallen ill before showing up for the job. Luciana was starting from scratch. Some yarns would be easier to procure than others, and with only two weeks to complete the project, Luciana worried for the hard-to-match pieces.

  They worked steadily through the rest of the morning. Oliver and Luciana appraised and catalogued fifty assorted socks and nineteen matched pairs, baby rompers and bonnets, and fingerless gloves in a variety of sizes and styles—from men’s work gloves to lady’s Sunday best.

  Some of the pieces had ribbon tags, usually of grosgrain or muslin, and Luciana photographed them so she could later type the captions to be displayed beside their corresponding pieces. It made the showing more interesting when the provenance, signature, and dedication printed or embroidered on each tag, accompanied the knitted piece it belonged to, but usually the handwriting was hard to make out, and the printed tags made more sense. The majority of sweaters and shawls would require more time and attention, so she and Oliver concentrated on the smaller, simpler pieces first.