Читать книгу Kissing Santa Claus - Jill Shalvis - Страница 8

Sean Gallagher loved Christmas. It brought back some of his very best memories. Leaving Willow Creek, Virginia, and going on holiday to his grandparents’ farm in Cork, Ireland, spending time with the tumble and chaos of his very large, very extended family, with more cousins than even he could keep track of. He loved the rich, centuries-old family traditions that had gone along with it, from the food, to the decorations, to the music, and to the storytelling. He always wanted to stay longer, had always left happier, eager for summer to come, when he got to go back again for school break. But even those long, languid summers couldn’t compete with the twelve days he got to spend each year during the Christmas season.

His grandparents were gone now. His parents were, too. But the rest of that very extended, chaotic family still existed and thrived, and had been in large part the reason why he’d regained his focus and perspective after such a devastating and sudden loss. The Gallagher clan thrived in both Willow Creek and County Cork, but as he’d taken over running the family restaurant after his parents’ death, it was a rare occasion now when he was able to go over and see the Ireland-based side of the clan. And definitely not at Christmas.

Sean unlocked the front door to the restaurant, then positioned the large, oak-framed chalkboard at an angle so his customers would see the day’s specials upon entering through the heavily carved doors with the stained glass, mullioned windows, both hand-crafted by some of his Corkborn cousins. He turned to head back to the kitchen, knowing the day was going to be a busy one, but paused when he saw a car pull up in front of Beverly Bennett’s store across the street. It was an airport taxi. He continued watching.

Everyone in Willow Creek had been stunned when Bev and Stan Bennett had up and retired. He still couldn’t quite believe it. When he’d gone over to give her and Stan his best wishes, and ask what she intended to do with the place, she’d stunned him again when she assured him that Holly was coming home from England to run it. However, in the ensuing weeks, Sean hadn’t seen any sign of that. The store had remained locked up and dark, through what was easily the busiest time of the winter season for their little Civil War town. In fact, it had gotten to the point where the only car he’d expected to see pulling up in front of the brightly painted row house shop was one with a Realtor inside.

But it wasn’t a Realtor who climbed out of the black and white cab.

It was Holly Bennett.

He’d known the Bennetts his entire life, but, for the past seven years as fellow business owners, they’d developed a true friendship based on mutual respect and support. Still…Sean couldn’t deny that hearing that their only daughter might come back to town had been welcome news.

He’d had a crush on little Holly Bennett for as long as he could remember. Not actively the past dozen or so years since she’d been gone. She only came home on Thanksgiving, and that was crunch time for him business-wise. So, other than a passing wave, he hadn’t really ever been given the opportunity to see if there might still be an ember or two left over from the flames he’d always wanted to fan back in their high school days, but had never worked up the nerve to try.

So, despite knowing the hubbub and controlled chaos that awaited him back in the kitchens, and his cluttered office as well, he took the time to indulge himself in watching her climb out of the cab. She really hadn’t changed much from high school. Sure she was more polished, presumably more mature, her features and her fashion sense a bit more refined. But her dark brown hair still swung around her shoulders like a shiny, silky curtain, and even in her smartly belted, British tweed coat, she was still a slight little thing who looked like she might blow over in a stiff wind. He knew better. She might be nothing like her gregarious, outgoing, fireplug of a mother, but he knew from growing up in the same small town as she that she not only had her father’s reed-thin frame, but his reserved, rock-steady strength as well.

It hadn’t surprised him a bit when, as a barely turned eighteen-year-old, she’d moved a continent away to continue her education. Or that she’d stayed to build a life for herself in such a metropolitan, worldly city as London. He had no doubt she could handle whatever life threw at her. She’d been preternaturally poised as far back as he could remember.

He watched as the cab pulled away, leaving her with a single piece of luggage and what looked like a computer bag slung over her shoulder. She didn’t immediately go inside. Instead she stood, curbside, and stared up at the store that had become part of her family decades before either Sean or Holly had come into the world. Sean knew the whole story by now. Bev had grown up in Willow Creek and had started dating Stan while completing her business degree at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville.

Stan had been a few years older, born in Charlottesville, but had inherited a family home in Willow Creek and was establishing his own accounting business there. They’d been planning their wedding by the time she graduated and took over the dusty little antique book shop in town from Old Lady Haversham. Both Bev and Stan had poured everything into their respective businesses, and took the same kind of pride and joy in watching them grow and flourish as most folks did with their children. Holly had come along much later. In fact, though Sean was a few years older than Holly, his parents had been several decades younger than hers.

Like Holly, Sean had gone away for college, too, only he’d just gone as far as the Culinary Institute in New York. He loved his family dearly, but while his mother and father had built the family restaurant in Willow Creek using cooking skills they’d learned at the elbows of Sean’s grandparents, great-aunts and -uncles, on both sides of the ocean, he’d wanted classical training. He’d envisioned opening his own place in the nation’s capital, attracting the locals, the politicians, and the out-of-towners. There were Michelin stars in his future, he’d been sure of it. And though he’d missed being in the middle of the boisterous Gallagher clan, he’d only been a train ride away, and the visits back and forth had been frequent in both directions. His parents and the rest of the family had supported his dreams and he loved them all the more for that.

And then, in one night, everything changed. His life, his dreams, his foundation, his strength. Instead of moving to D.C. and beginning the climb toward opening his own place, his parents’ death had brought the brand-new culinary graduate back to Willow Creek instead. But while he still missed them both, every day, he’d never regretted the new path fate had set him on. As it turned out, he loved running Gallagher’s, loved having family and lifelong friends surrounding him. He wondered if he’d ever have been so truly fulfilled with his old dreams, but was too busy, too content and focused on the here and now to really give it much thought.

Staring at Holly, he remembered what it had been like, coming back. Only he’d come back into the warm embrace of extended family, sharing their grief over a devastating loss. She was coming home to an early inheritance, her parents happily alive and kicking up their heels in the Mediterranean right about now. So…no grief, no tragedy to overcome. But, perhaps, a similar weight of sudden obligation on her slender shoulders. Did she resent it? Was she happy to be back?

He couldn’t fathom what it would be like to come home to, well, no home, actually—he knew the house was newly occupied by a young couple with toddlers—and no family waiting with open arms. Only a darkened shop welcomed her back. She’d always been quiet, smart, focused. He remembered how he’d catch her watching his boisterous, crazy family with a combination of terror and wonder in her oh-so-serious deep brown eyes, and wonder what she was thinking. Her family was the opposite of his: small, neat, tidy. But friendly. He’d always found Mrs. Bennett’s holiday world somewhat amazing and the woman herself nothing short of a wonder. He enjoyed the friendship they’d developed, and had often spent time chatting with her at her shop when he’d bring her dinner on the nights she checked in this late shipment or that. He’d enjoyed Mr. Bennett, too, and could see where Holly got her seriousness and quiet demeanor from. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he was dedicated to his wife and their business, and Sean respected both. He still couldn’t really process that they were off playing golf and cruising the high seas. It was almost impossible to picture it.

He watched Holly and thought maybe there was a grieving of an entirely different sort taking place there. The fact that she’d had the taxi drop her off at the shop with a single suitcase indicated a certain level of ambivalence. But what did he know? And why did he care?

“Sean! There you are. You’ve got O’Hara on the phone, barking mad about the fish order, and the damn grinder is acting up again. What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Sean waved a hand back at his cousin Mickey. “You know how to fix the grinder, and tell O’Hara that if he hadn’t tried to pawn off that load of crap scallops on me, I wouldn’t have canceled my order and gone to Halloran’s instead. His loss.”

“Sean—”

“Handle it, Mick.” And, without really giving it any actual thought, he strolled straight across the street.