Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine Rolofson

said, setting Grace on the quilt-covered bed.

      “This is your room.” She frowned up at him. “I can’t take your bed.”

      “I don’t sleep here. My room and office are upstairs, along with two more bedrooms and two bathrooms.”

      “Really?” Those beautiful blue eyes held doubt.

      “Really.” He grabbed the neatly placed bed pillows and tucked them behind her. “Time for dinner and pain pills. And ice.”

      He handed her the remote control and pointed to the television set mounted on the wall across the room. “See? All the comforts of home.”

      “I just need my cell phone.”

      “I’ll get it,” he assured her, moving away from the bed. He hoped Patsy had handled any emergencies, though what could go wrong with pizza and raffles in the bar? He’d donated gift certificates to the restaurant and also to Vitelli’s, as his parents supported every charity in town.

      “Thank you.” Grace winced as she stretched out her foot. “You didn’t have to go to all of this trouble, but it feels really, really good to lie down.”

      “Good. I’ll come back with your things and then you can tell me what you want to eat.”

      “I get to boss around the famous Nico Vitelli?”

      “Not many people can say that,” he said, fleeing the room before he said something stupid, like, You can boss me around for the rest of my life if you want.

      “ARE YOU GOING to need any help getting your clothes off?”

      Grace looked up from her tray of food. He’d brought her ravioli stuffed with some kind of wonderful cheese filling and drizzled with a light pesto sauce. He’d offered salad and an apple tart, but she’d politely refused. He’d left her to eat while he took Al outside, but he’d been in and out of the room making sure she had everything she needed.

      “I think I can manage.” She eyed the crutches propped against the nightstand. “I’m pretty sure I can get my nightgown on without falling over.”

      “Well, if I hear a crash I’ll come racing in and pick your naked body up off the floor, so don’t lock the door.”

      “Okay.” She felt herself blush again and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Dinner was delicious,” she said, changing the subject from nude bodies to food.

      Al padded over and rested his chin on the mattress next to her hip, so she reached over and stroked his head. The dog closed his eyes and inched closer.

      “He’ll want to sleep with you,” Nico warned. “Don’t be too nice.”

      “I don’t mind. There’s plenty of room.” She’d had a dog after her mother passed away, a little spaniel mix that followed her everywhere. He had died during her junior year of high school, and stepmother number three had refused to consider adopting another, which had left a pretty big gap when it came to having someone to love.

      “Not a good idea. What if he rolled over on your foot?”

      “It’s my right foot. He can sleep on the left side. If he wants to.”

      “I usually carry him upstairs at night.”

      “You do?”

      “His hind legs are bad. He can’t do stairs.”

      That was a sweet picture, the fancy Hollywood chef carrying his old dog to bed. “Did he live with you in California?”

      “Yes. He loved the pool.”

      “I’ll bet.” Al leaned closer and whined. Nico leaned over and removed the tray. “What else can I get you? Tea? Coffee? Cookies? My mother sent over a platter two days ago. She’s obsessed with baking right now.”

      “I could eat a dozen cookies, so don’t tempt me.” She set her cell phone on the nightstand. The pain pill she’d taken before dinner was making her drowsy, and now that she’d checked her messages, all she wanted to do was crash. “I got interesting news from Julie Barrett.”

      “The runaway bride?”

      “Don’t call her that. She didn’t run away. She just...changed her mind. Better than marrying the wrong man.”

      Nico perched on the edge of the bed and looked at her foot, now devoid of the boot and covered with an ice pack. “There would be nothing worse than marrying the wrong person. Have you ever been married?” he asked.

      “No.”

      “Engaged?”

      She hesitated. “No. I thought we were heading in that direction, but I was wrong. What about you?”

      “No. My friends tell me I’m too fussy. My mother says I’m too old and set in my ways. And my father tells me not to worry, I’ll know when I meet the right woman.”

      “My father has been married three times and engaged twice. He has a new girlfriend every year.”

      “And your mother?”

      “She died when I was twelve. Cancer. They were divorced before that, though. But we all lived in the same small town north of Boston. She was a teacher.”

      “You must miss her. I’m sorry.”

      “Thanks,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I was lucky to have my aunt Ellen. That’s how I ended up working here, in upstate New York.” Those summers with her aunt and cousins had saved her from cranky stepmothers and emotional scenes between her father and the women he loved and left.

      “So, what was the message from Julie Barrett?”

      “She’s given her wedding to Noelle.”

      “Noelle? At the lodge?”

      “Yes. She’s engaged to Ted and they were planning a small, inexpensive wedding. I guess Julie and Noelle talked and Julie gave her the entire thing. Most of it had been paid for, and Noelle’s wedding won’t be as big, so it shouldn’t cost Ted and Noelle anything, unless they have an open bar.”

      “Dinner for eighty-five people,” Nico said. “Beef Wellington. The Barrett family wouldn’t get much of their deposit back anyway.”

      “Now it won’t go to waste. What do you think?”

      “The food was never going to go to waste,” he said. “Not in my kitchen.”

      “But the cake. And the decorations. And the flowers.” She sighed contentedly. “All the beautiful flowers.”

      “I think it’s a very kind and generous gesture.”

      Grace blinked back tears. “I think so, too. I mean, Noelle has that little boy, and Ted has to go back overseas, someplace dangerous—did you know he’s a Green Beret?—and they will just love the fairy lights in the jars and the pinecone place-card holders and the little jingle bells, don’t you think?” Her voice caught on a sob.

      “Grace?”

      “I love weddings,” she whispered. “I always wanted to get married on Christmas Eve. You know, to make it special?”

      He leaned forward and took her into his arms. “Oh, Grace. All weddings are special. Or should be. You make them that way.”

      She flopped against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. “This is so embarrassing.”

      “What? Crying? I grew up with three sisters. I am totally used to it.”

      “I should have watched where I was going.” She’d been concentrating on avoiding Nico’s smile instead of looking for dangerous, fallen Christmas decorations.

      “I’m