Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine Rolofson

wedding planner! I think I’ve seen you at the lodge, though we’ve never officially met. I’m so glad you came. Here, let me help you.”

      Nico touched Grace’s shoulder. “I’ll go back for the bags. You’ve guessed that this happy man is my father.”

      “It’s nice to meet—”

      He enveloped her in a big hug. “We’re glad you’re here at last. Now, let’s get that coat off and let you sit down. Oh, you have one of Cathy’s scarves! You should always wear blue.”

      Cathy’s scarf? Did he mean Nico’s sister had made it? She didn’t have a chance to ask.

      “I’ll be right back,” Nico said, fleeing the foyer as his mother rounded the corner.

      Mrs. Vitelli was tall and lean, much like her son, and at least eight inches taller than her husband. She wore black pencil-thin slacks and a gold turtleneck sweater. Her hair was a rich dark brown highlighted with auburn streaks. It was cut in a classic bob that framed a beautiful face with high cheekbones and lovely gray eyes. Grace guessed she was in her early sixties. She looked nervous, but her smile was genuine.

      “You must be Grace. I’m Terry, Nico’s mother,” she said, holding out her hand. Noticing that Grace was trying to get her coat off while negotiating the crutch, she stopped. “What can I do?”

      “We’ve got it, honey,” her husband assured her. “Nico went out to unload the car.”

      “My boot,” Grace stammered. “I don’t want to track snow—”

      “Never mind that,” Terry Vitelli said. “Come straight through and sit down. It’s only snow.”

      Grace bit her tongue before she could say, “Yes, ma’am.”

      The foyer opened up into a large room that faced the lake. Floor-to-ceiling windows and sliding glass doors revealed the snowstorm whirling beyond them, while inside, a large chestnut sofa faced a gas fireplace whose flickering flames warmed the room. A huge Christmas tree sat in one corner, presents spilling out from underneath into the room. No one else was there.

      “We’re early,” Grace said, letting Nico’s mother lead her to a leather recliner placed strategically across from a large television. “I hope that’s okay. I have a wedding tonight—”

      “Everyone’s in the kitchen,” Mr. Vitelli announced. “Terry won’t let them out until we meet you.”

      Nico’s mother flushed. “I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed when you first walked in. We’re a big family. Besides, they’re baking cookies and I don’t want them to burn.”

      Mr. Vitelli winked. “We’re a noisy bunch. Couldn’t have Nico’s girl running back to the car, you know.”

      “I’m not—” She started to explain that she wasn’t Nico’s girlfriend, but stopped. Maybe, just for this afternoon, she’d pretend to be exactly that. “I’m not easily scared,” she said, bending over to remove her suede boot. She’d leave the support boot on, with one of Nico’s wool hiking socks covering her toes.

      “Of course you’re not,” Terry said. “I don’t know how my husband comes up with these things.”

      “Nona!” A little girl tiptoed into the room. She eyed Grace before turning to her grandmother. “Mommy said I can have two cookies.”

      “Grace, this is Greta, my middle daughter’s older child. Greta, say hello to Grace.”

      “Hi.” She was tiny and round, with red curls and fair skin.

      “Hi, Greta.”

      Nico joined them, scooping the little girl into his arms and tipping her upside down, releasing delighted squeals. Another little one ran into the room. She looked about two, with the same red curls and heart-shaped face.

      “Me, too!” She held up her arms to her uncle. “Me, too!”

      He gave the other little girl a turn hanging by his arm and she giggled wildly.

      “This is the youngest. Delia. Their father is Irish.” He winked at Grace. “Can you tell?”

      A very pregnant young woman waddled into the living room. “She’s only the youngest for two more weeks, Nico.” She turned to Grace. “Hi. I’m Beth. The pregnant sister.”

      Terry laughed. “I think Grace figured that out for herself.”

      “Hi. I’m Grace Clarke. I work with your—”

      “Oh, I’ve heard,” she said, her eyes twinkling with good humor. She resembled her father, petite and with black curls tumbling down to her shoulders. She looked as if she could give birth any moment, especially in the giant red tent dress and black tights she was wearing. “You’re Nico’s friend from the lodge. We couldn’t wait to meet you. You met Marie a few days ago, but Nico wouldn’t let Cath bother you yesterday. Our brother has a woman living with him! It’s all we’ve been talking about.”

      “I stayed in the guest room for a few nights,” Grace said, laughing. “Your brother rescued me from having to go up and down the stairs to my condo.”

      Nico groaned. “Ignore her, Grace. She’s been hallucinating since her fifth month. Where is everybody? I thought I’d have to rescue Grace from the hordes.”

      “Your mother locked everyone in the kitchen.”

      “Johnny, really.” Terry shot him an indulgent look. “You tease too much. Grace will think you’re serious.”

      Grace thought he was wonderful. She watched his daughter wrap her arm around his waist and give him a little side hug. Cute.

      “I raised Nico with good manners,” Terry said, patting Grace’s arm. “I’m sure he’s taken good care of you and behaved like a perfect gentleman. How did you hurt yourself?”

      “I slipped on a set of jingle bells in the kitchen.”

      “My kitchen,” Nico said. “At the lodge. They fell off a cookie tray. And I’ve been stuck with Grace ever since.”

      “He caught me before I hit the floor,” Grace assured his mother. “And he went with me to the clinic, then took me home because I couldn’t do the stairs and he had a ramp.”

      Beth’s eyebrows rose and she and her father exchanged amused looks.

      “Well,” Johnny Vitelli said. “Thank goodness for Al’s ramp.”

      “Al’s ramp?”

      Beth answered. “Al can’t do steps, either, so Nico had it built when he bought the house.”

      “He did?” Grace gave him a questioning look, which he ignored.

      His mother shook her head. “I’m still confused about the jingle bells.”

      “Grace was coming into the kitchen to boss me around,” he confided to another sister who’d recently entered the room. Tall, built like Nico and his mother, she had big blue eyes and wore her brown hair in a long braid that was draped over her shoulder. Faded jeans and a stained long-sleeved T-shirt added to the image of a woman who preferred comfort to fashion. Her smile was friendly when she turned to Grace.

      “Hi,” she said, sticking out her hand to shake Grace’s. “I’m Cathy, mother of the two female hellions.” She looked at her mother. “I didn’t tell them they could eat cookies. They lied to you.”

      Terry chuckled. “Fibbed,” she corrected. “Those sweet little girls would never lie.”

      Cathy rolled her eyes at Grace. “Yeah, right. Did you like the scarf? Nico picked out the yarn.”

      “He did?”

      “Yep. Secret Santa, right?”

      Grace looked at Nico, who avoided her gaze. “What