Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine RolofsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
sped up the dating process this afternoon. Heck, he wasn’t even sure if he and Grace were officially “dating,” but in his mind they’d been a couple since she’d fallen into his arms four days ago. Four days. She’d lived at his house, slept with his dog, eaten meals in his kitchen and worked with him to plan a wedding and a shower. They’d also collaborated on events almost daily for months. He’d like to think that counted.
But what if he was wrong?
“IT’S PERFECT,” GRACE assured the bride as she posed in her wedding gown. “You’re perfect. Everything is going to go beautifully, but you absolutely must stop crying.” She handed Noelle another tissue. “Blot, don’t rub.”
“The storm—”
“Hasn’t changed one thing about your wedding.”
“Just the maid of honor. My sister—”
“Is stuck because of the storm, I know,” Grace said soothingly. “But it’s all going to work out.”
“And Ted—”
“Is with Josh, in the Wildwood Room. And they both look handsome and nervous.” Grace had checked the room ten minutes ago. And twenty minutes ago. And forty minutes ago. Lanterns were in place, flowers were where they were supposed to be and the guests were pouring in.
The fire in the fireplace looked picture-perfect.
The music was ready.
“Time to go,” she said, smiling at the recently substituted maid of honor. “She’s all yours.”
The next hour and a half was a blur, leaving Grace little time to run and hide, no spare moments to wonder what on earth she had been thinking, allowing herself to fall in love with Nico Vitelli. It wasn’t until dinner was served and the happy bride and groom were being toasted by the best man that Grace had a chance to retreat to her office and sit down in the dark.
Nico had been busy in the kitchen and hadn’t spoken to her since they returned to the lodge. They asked and answered each other’s event-related questions through Brian, the good-natured waiter who hoped to be promoted next year.
The truth was that Nico had been a good friend and a helpful coworker. He’d kissed her a few times, but she assumed that was his nature. Kissing him and being kissed by him felt natural at the time, but now it just seemed idiotic.
He’d taken care of her when she’d hurt herself in his kitchen. He’d carried her and fed her and even returned her things to her condo. He’d seen her closet and found her red flats with the rhinestone toes. He’d brought her home to his family on Christmas Eve.
Maybe he felt sorry for her because she had no family around.
He’d been quiet on the short ride back to the lodge. He hadn’t teased her about how much risotto she ate or asked her if she’d had a good time. He’d seemed thoughtful and a little tired. He probably wasn’t thrilled to work on Christmas Eve, either, though that was part of the job.
What if he felt pity for the lonely event planner? What if he didn’t like that his family thought he was serious about her? What if he was embarrassed by it? That thought made her stomach knot up. She took a deep breath.
Well, Christmas and its hoopla were almost over. She would return home, go to bed early, open her gifts in the morning and rest her foot. The doctor had asked her to return on Monday, after the holiday, so he could check it. But he said she’d know when she could put her weight on it again. He’d also told her to avoid high heels for the rest of the winter.
She’d have to avoid more than just dressy shoes. She’d need to hide her feelings and pretend to be friends with a man who made her heart ache.
But that wasn’t going to be simple. Nico had offered to drive her home as soon as they were no longer needed at the wedding. Once the food was served, the wedding cake was ready to be cut, the hot-chocolate bar was in place and the coffee and tea were ready, he and Grace could leave Michael and Jilly to oversee the cleanup.
Grace had other plans. She’d leave him a note.
Wish him a merry Christmas.
Wrap the lovely blue scarf around her neck and limp away.
HE’D SCREWED UP. He didn’t have to wonder any longer because now he knew. Too soon, Vitelli. You rushed it. And Grace wasn’t a woman to be rushed. He should have known better, but he’d thought fate had stepped in with that foolish set of jingle bells to toss Grace right into his arms.
Now what? He checked with the staff to find out who drove her home, but no one knew what he was talking about. He caught up to Jilly as she was replacing peppermint sticks in the hot-chocolate bar.
“Grace isn’t in her office,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Is she around here somewhere?”
Jilly shook her head. “She left. Her foot was really bothering her.”
“She was in pain?”
“One of the EMT guys had to leave early and Grace caught a ride with him.”
“One of the EMTs?”
“Friend of the groom. I guess some of them were in the military together. But she told me to call her if there were any problems.” She reached into her pants pocket. “And she asked me to give you this.”
“Thanks, Jilly.” So much for that mystery. He opened the folded paper and read what he already knew. Grace was holed up in her own little home. Alone at Christmas, which obviously was how she wanted it.
Nico went home to his dog.
GRACE CURLED UP in her blue-and-white bedroom, listened to voice messages from her father—“great weather, wish you were here”—her aunt—“great weather, the baby is gorgeous, wish you were here with us”—and Patsy, who’d attended the wedding ceremony but went home to her family afterward.
“Tell me everything,” her friend said. “Unless it’s after eleven. Then wait until tomorrow.”
Did Patsy want to talk about her afternoon with the Vitellis or the success of the wedding reception? She returned none of the calls.
There was nothing from Nico, not that she expected to hear from him. He wouldn’t be pleased that she’d left without telling him. He took his responsibilities seriously. She’d done him a favor, she told herself, reaching for a tissue. He wouldn’t have to take care of her anymore.
They would be friends.
Grace wept.
“IF YOU WEREN’T interested you should have told me. You didn’t have to run off with one of the bodybuilders.”
It was seven-thirty Christmas morning and a rumpled, pale Nico Vitelli stood at her door. “Nico, what are you—”
“Breakfast.” He handed her a plastic grocery bag. “I grabbed some things to make pancakes.”
“Pancakes?” She stepped back and let him enter her small living room. She’d been up for two hours and had opened her three Christmas presents while drinking three mugs of coffee. At least she wasn’t wearing a flannel nightgown, not that pink yoga pants and a white sweatshirt with the Mirror Lake Lodge logo was much better. She leaned on the crutch and waited for him to explain.
“Yeah. I need to apologize. And Vitellis apologize with food.”
“I