Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine Rolofson

we use Wildwood for a couples shower?” Grace saw Noelle and her son near the Christmas tree. Josh found a present with his name on it—Grace had made sure there would be something for him—and held it up to his mother. “If Noelle and her fiancé agree.”

      “Or we could surprise them,” Nico suggested.

      Patsy nodded. “I think her friends would like that idea.”

      “Well,” Nico drawled, looking at Grace. “The romance continues.”

       CHAPTER SIX

      “YOU MISSED THE MOVIE,” Nico said, stepping into Grace’s office. He stopped, taking in the rows of red ornaments covering her desk and the folding table opened to its six-foot length. Grace sat with her leg propped up on a metal folding chair. She was attaching something to a jar lid with white duct tape.

      “The snowboarding preview? Was it good?”

      “I looked in a few times. The crowd was certainly into it.” He came closer. “What are you doing?”

      “Putting batteries in two dozen sets of lights.” She held up a plastic box. “This holds the batteries. Then I tape one to the underside of the canning jar lid and put the lights in the jar. When they’re turned on they make a pretty decoration.”

      “These are for the wedding, I assume?” She looked tired. And she had silver glitter on her chin and her right cheek. He suspected she was hurting, too. He wanted nothing more than to scoop her into his arms, haul her out of the office and put her to bed, where he would tuck pillows around her and feed her. Chicken medallions sautéed in white wine, with capers. A little pasta, perhaps.

      “Yes. I spent the afternoon fixing the ornaments.”

      “I see that.” He eyed the rows of glittered balls. “Don’t you have any help? I thought you had an assistant.” He was sure he’d seen a tall young woman following Grace around, assembling floral arrangements and guiding guests to various events.

      “Just part-time. She’s in college and she went to Mexico for the holidays.”

      “Not good timing.”

      “I didn’t mind. After the wedding, the rest of the holidays will be fairly quiet until New Year’s Eve. Then I have a wedding in the afternoon and one in the evening, remember? Both are fairly small. I’d offer you a seat, but—”

      “You can have one of my interns,” Nico said, frowning at the pain in those beautiful eyes of hers. “Jilly is never going to be a chef. She cried twice today, so I think she’d jump at the chance to, uh, light up jars.”

      “You made her cry?”

      “Of course not.” He was taken aback. “Not all television chefs scream at their employees. I may have lost it a few times with idiot guests, but never with the people who work for me. Jilly is just overwhelmed, I think. She’ll do fine in her own kitchen at home. Or maybe with a small catering business. She’d jump at the chance to get off the line.”

      “Really?”

      “Really,” he assured her. “And the kitchen will be a better place without her. She’s yours, but only if you will quit this madness and come home. It’s after eight, dinner service has wound down and I’m free to get out of here.”

      She hesitated, just as he knew she would, but he was prepared.

      “We’re both tired, Grace. And all your stuff is still at my house. Patsy brought over your Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday outfits.” He didn’t need to add that she was in pain, because he could see from her face that she was tempted to return to his house, where there were no stairs and that big guest bedroom awaited. He’d already put on his jacket—he was ready to get out of there for the night.

      “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.” She sighed. “Patsy shouldn’t have assumed I’d be staying with you for more than one night.”

      He wanted to laugh, but he managed to control himself. “It’s my fault you hurt yourself.”

      “I blame the shoes.”

      He shrugged. “Come on, sweetheart.” He retrieved her crutches from where they leaned against the wall by the door. “Gather your things together and I’ll bring you to the car.”

      “I guess it really is easier this way.” She winced as she moved her foot from the chair.

      “It is,” he agreed, carefully avoiding the ornaments as she stepped around the desk. “We can plan the shower tonight over dinner.”

      She groaned.

      “What?” he asked. “You don’t want to do the shower? Or is dinner a bad thing?”

      “Dinner is a very bad thing.” She sighed again. “I love your cooking.”

      “I’m glad. So what’s the problem?” He lifted the blue scarf from its bag and placed it around her neck.

      “Calories,” she said. “Lots and lots of calories.”

      “Olive oil is good for you.” He smiled down into her blue eyes. “And you don’t have to worry about calories.”

      “You only think that because I do worry about calories,” she pointed out. “Don’t look at me like that.”

      “Like what?” She had the most gorgeous skin. The occasional dot of red glitter made her look like a Christmas ornament.

      “Never mind.” The pink in her cheeks deepened.

      “Like I want to kiss you?”

      She gave him that little frown, the one that he found so intriguing. She thought it hid her feelings, but he had learned to see through it. He couldn’t resist leaning closer to touch his lips to hers for just a moment. A brief, satisfying moment.

      His intentions were honorable, the kiss declared.

      She was his, the kiss said.

      Everything was right in the world, the kiss proclaimed.

      Nico backed away as if nothing had happened.

      “Is any of this stuff going back to the house with us?” He was pleased that he sounded so casual and normal when all he wanted to do was take her into his arms and kiss her for a week. Or a month. Maybe a year would be long enough.

      “No.” She cleared her throat and stared up at him for a long moment. “I’m done. For now.”

      “Great.” He lifted her coat from its hook behind the door. “I had one of the kids bring my car around to the front.”

      “You really think ahead.” She stood and held on to her desk.

      “I do,” he confessed. “Sometimes too much.”

      “Well,” she said, putting her arms in the sleeves of the coat as he held it. “I would think that was a good thing. As a chef.”

      “I like to be prepared,” he said. “To know I have everything I need when I want to cook. And then sometimes there’s the challenge of having only a few items and needing to make a meal out of them. Do you cook, Grace?”

      “I’m the queen of casseroles,” she said, surprising him. “I learned early on that if I didn’t make dinner I wouldn’t eat anything but takeout or frozen fish sticks.”

      “Your father wasn’t home?”

      “He was dating. At first I thought he was just lonely. I moved in with him after my mother died, but I was in sixth grade and I wasn’t the best company.”

      Nico thought of his niece, a sensitive child around the same age. He couldn’t imagine her father leaving her alone