Читать книгу Her Mistletoe Magic - Kristine Rolofson, April Arrington - Страница 18

“MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE. Nice dress.” He held out a cup of coffee as she hobbled into the kitchen.

“I try to match the wedding colors. Merry Christmas Eve to you, too.” She sat down and leaned her crutch against her chair before taking the cup. “Thank you.”

It was early, not quite eight o’clock, but Grace had set the alarm on her phone. She knew that the earlier she was at work today the better. She’d showered and dressed in a burgundy lace dress that she could wear all day. The shoes were an issue. She needed flats—well, a left one—for her one uninjured foot. The garnet Manolos she’d planned on wearing were not going to work.

“Wedding day,” he said, taking a big gulp of coffee. “Got to get the caffeine working.” He was dressed casually, in a black sweater and jeans. His hair curled, damp from the shower, and he looked sleepy. “I’m looking forward to it, but I am not a morning person.”

“What should I bring to your parents’ house? I can’t arrive empty-handed.” She’d thought about that the moment she woke up: hostess gift!

“Not food,” he said, looking at his watch. “I can make breakfast here or at work. It’s up to you. Maria’s doing muffins today, for the Christmas buffet tomorrow.”

“Muffins. Well, half a muffin,” she amended, thinking about the feast that awaited later at the Vitellisʼ house. “Nico, give me an idea for today. I woke up at five o’clock worrying about it.”

“Women are strange creatures.”

“Yes, we are. Strange creatures with manners.”

“Get a bottle of scotch. My father loves single malts.”

“Single malt,” she repeated seriously. “Got it. And your mother?”

“Candle freak.”

“Seriously?”

“Like I could make that up?”

“Any special scent?”

“For what?”

“The candles.”

He frowned, stared absently into the distance. “Not that I know of.” He reached for his cell phone and punched out a text. “Cath will know.”

Sure enough, two minutes later he got an answer. Nico showed Grace the screen: Any. Bigger better.

So Grace would buy single-malt scotch and a humongous candle before one oʼclock, along with preparing the rooms for the wedding and getting the staff set up with their assigned chores.

Piece of cake, even on one foot.

“Drink up,” she said. “We have to get going. Do you mind stopping at my place to pick up some shoes? And drop off my things?” She thought about that for a second. Nico rummaging through her closet. It was clean and organized to the max, which would amuse him no end.

“No problem.” He fiddled with his phone. “There’s a storm coming. We’re going to get some snow.”

“A lot of snow?” She’d have to factor in more time for guests to arrive if that was the case. Snow slowed things down, wreaked havoc on tight schedules.

“‘A significant amount,’ according to Accuweather.”

She’d need to wear boots. Grace hobbled back to her room, grabbed her bag, iPad and phone, put her suede boot on her left foot and wrapped the soft azure scarf from her Secret Santa around her neck. She’d packed everything, but Nico would have to put her clothes and suitcase into the car. She looked around the room to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. She wondered if Al would miss her.

She wondered if Nico would.

“I’ll take those now,” Nico said, stepping into the room. “Unless I can talk you into staying longer.”

“I have tomorrow and the next day off,” she said. “I’ll stay home and rest. And then I think I’ll be as good as new.”

“All right. But Al is going to be devastated when he has to sleep on the floor tonight.”

He took her things and left, the dog following him down the hall and outside. They returned quickly, Al shaking a dusting of snow off his fur and moving immediately to his bed by the fireplace.

“He’ll sleep until Brian comes to take him to my parents’,” Nico said, chuckling. He helped Grace with her coat. “He knows it’s going to snow and he really hates this kind of weather. Why are you smiling?”

“I love weddings. I love big days like this when all of the planning and work pays off and everything is beautiful. And then something goes wrong but it doesn’t matter because I can fix it.” She grinned at him. “I live to organize.”

“Wow.” He took a step back. “The adrenaline’s pumping already?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said. “You love parties. Everyone knows that. You sing while you cook.”

Nico launched into a rendition of “Winter Wonderland” and ushered Grace out the door and into the cold.

SHE WAS ARMED with gifts. She’d called the gift-delivery company she worked with and had them send over a bottle of Highland Park scotch, a selection of fat candles from the Adirondack Company and a huge box of fudge for the children. She’d gathered gift certificates and lotions from the lodge’s spa for Nico’s sisters, then added an extra one for his mother. The brothers-in-law were a mystery until Lyndsie, her gift coordinator, suggested gift certificates to the new microbrewery.

It was all just too easy.

“We’re set?” Nico poked his head into her office. “You can still get away?”

“I can,” she pronounced, grabbing her crutch. “I have so many people who want to help that everything was set up by ten. The florist came early because of the storm. Noelle will check into her suite at three o’clock. She’ll get dressed in the room and then she and Ted will stay there tonight. I need to be back here by five or five thirty. It’s a small wedding, but everything needs to be perfect. How’s the food coming along?”

“We’re all set. My team knows what they’re doing.” He held out her coat. “Even the interns are getting smarter. They’re overseeing the buffet in the dining room. How hard can it be to make sure everything is hot and plentiful and neatly displayed?”

“Christmas Eve,” she mused. “It feels like it.”

“That’s because they’re playing traditional carols in the lobby.”

“Patsy stole my iPod last night.”

“I heard it’s in a safe place until Monday.”

“That’s what the note said.” There would be no more bluesy holiday music in the lobby this season.

“Bundle up,” Nico said, handing her the blue scarf. “It’s snowing.”

She didn’t ask if he thought they’d have trouble getting back to the lodge later. He had a vehicle equipped for traveling in snow, plus the village of Lake Placid knew how to keep roads clear.

“I hope you’re hungry. And feeling domestic. My family will probably put you to work stirring or mincing.” His eyebrows rose at the shopping bags she handed him, but he didn’t comment.

“I can stir,” she assured him. “I can mince,” she fibbed. She hoped she could avoid cutting her fingers or dropping something on the floor. “Don’t they make you do that, being the fancy chef and all?”

“You forget I come from a long line of chefs, fancy and otherwise.”

Nico drove along the lake, passing his house and then continuing along the road for another half a mile. “When I was growing up we lived in town, near the restaurant, but my folks bought this place about fifteen years ago. They decided they wanted to be closer to the water.”

“This place” turned out to be a low-slung modern ranch-style house at the end of a long driveway. Nestled into the hillside, it had breathtaking views of the water and a massive deck.

“They downsized,” Nico explained. “Mom wanted a newer home on one floor, so they bought this and completely redid it.” He parked close to the door, in front of a detached three-car garage. “Stay put and I’ll help you in.”

The snow was coming down heavier now and it coated the circular driveway. Someone had shoveled a path to the house and cleared the three stone steps that fronted a large entry door. Nico helped her from the car. Leaning on him seemed natural now.

She had grown used to touching him, to leaning on him. They’d become friends, she realized. Friends who kissed.

The door opened before they reached the steps, revealing a short, handsome man with a head of curly gray hair. Dressed in a down vest, khaki pants and thick snow boots, he beamed at them and hurried down the steps to help.

Nico’s father, obviously.

“Hello, hello, Merry Christmas. You must be Nico’s friend. How is that ankle doing? Oh, watch out now. It’s slick. One of the boys shoveled a while ago, but the snow is coming down hard, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she agreed. She liked the man immediately and some of her nervousness dissipated. She gripped her crutch and prayed she wouldn’t fall over and embarrass herself in front of him.

“Dad, I’d like you to meet Grace,” Nico said once they were inside and stomping the snow off their feet on the rubber mat inside the door. “Grace Clarke, from Mirror Lake Lodge.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all about you, Gracie. The 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 about the birdseed?”

“Birdseed?” Cathy looked at her brother.

“Secret Santa,” he muttered, looking guilty. “Isn’t that the point?”

Grace wanted to hug him because he looked so uncharacteristically embarrassed. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him until they were both breathless because he’d given her a scarf that matched her eyes and kept it a secret. He’d built a ramp for his elderly, lame dog and kept that information to himself, too.

She was in love with him. Despite her best intentions she’d fallen for Nico Vitelli, who dated models and cooked for movie stars. And had just introduced her to his family as his friend from work.

This wasn’t good, she realized. Not good at all.

“Where are the guys?” Nico attempted to change the subject as he dangled a little girl from each arm. “Hiding from their snoopy wives again?”

“Jon and Mark are in the basement doing a project for Grandpa.” Cathy frowned at him. “Birdseed? What’s that about?”

“Never mind.” He turned to Grace. “I put your bags in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” Nico certainly didn’t want to talk about the scarf.

“Where’s Marie and her gang?” Nico released the girls, whispering something in their ears that sent them running out of the room. Cathy chased after them.

“Running late.” Everyone laughed at that, leaving Grace to assume that Marie was usually running behind schedule. Terry shook a finger at her youngest daughter. “You wait until you have three children to get out of the house on Christmas Eve. It’s not so easy.”

Beth patted her stomach. “I feel like I have three of them in here right now. Besides, little Elvis in here might be an only child.”

“Elvis?”

“His due date is January eighth. Same day Elvis was born.” Beth grinned. “Mom hates it when I call him Elvis.”

“I keep wondering if you’re serious,” Terry sputtered.

Nico held out a hand to Grace. “Come on, Grace. I’ll take you into the kitchen where the real action is.” He turned to his mother. “We haven’t had lunch. Or breakfast.”

Terry’s face lit up. “Good. I’ll fix you something nice. Grace, do you like eggplant parmigiana? Or would you rather have lasagna? With a nice salad and some lovely Tuscan wine we ordered last month and fell in love with.”

“That sounds lovely, but don’t go to any—”

“Save your breath,” Nico said, holding her tightly. “She will feed you no matter what you say, and it will make her happy. After all, we’re here to eat, aren’t we?”

“You are, you are,” Johnny Vitelli said. “We are all here together and what could be better than that?”

Nothing, Grace decided two hours later. Nothing could be better than spending the afternoon with the large and noisy Vitelli family. Maria, her husband, Danny, and their three children arrived while Grace was seated at the large farm table, sipping her first glass of wine and sampling rosemary focaccia with a peppery olive oil. They brought Al with them, since he’d been at their house again that morning. The dog greeted her like a long-lost friend and she sneaked him a piece of her bread. Brian gave Grace a shy smile, then let his grandmother hug and kiss him. His older sister, Anna, got the same treatment from both grandparents before hurrying over to say hello to Grace. She was eleven, she confided while eating a thick slice of bread, and the oldest grandchild.

“I remember you,” Anna said. “You helped me when I was sad, remember?”

It took Grace a moment to realize what the girl meant. Last fall at the lodge Anna had been crying. Her parents were late and she was worried because her little sister had had to go to the hospital with a fever.

“The Girl Scout dinner,” she said. She remembered dispensing hugs and tissues before returning the child to one of the Scout leaders, who’d informed her that Anna’s parents were on their way. The little sister had an ear infection and would be fine.

Another child, a fragile little angel with the sweetest expression Grace had ever seen, pranced into the kitchen and declared she was “dying for risotto.”

“That’s Emily,” Anna explained. “She wants to be an actress.”

“I think she’s a natural.”

They sat around the huge dining table and ate more food than Grace would have ever thought possible. Johnny Vitelli continued to laugh and hug and beam at everyone. Terry organized the cooking and the presentation of the food. The brothers-in-law greeted Grace with great enthusiasm and teased Nico for being the last single Vitelli.

“Someday,” Ben O’Rourke declared, “you, too, will be changing diapers and coaching soccer.”

“Hopefully not at the same time,” said Jon Nally, little Delia sprawled asleep in his arms, said.

“Though it can be done.” Ben winked at Grace.

She blushed. Nico frowned and didn’t look at all amused. He left her side shortly after that and went over to the stove to oversee the pasta.

Her hostess gifts had been a big hit. Terry gave her a warm hug along with her thanks for the spa time and the candles. Johnny immediately opened his scotch and took a “wee sip,” pronouncing it the best he’d ever tasted. Nico’s sisters were fun and welcoming, the children excited and friendly. Al hid under the table at her feet and Terry urged her to try every dish that was placed on the table. It was chaos and noise and laughter and love.

But the more comfortable she felt, the more she enjoyed his family, the more distant Nico grew. She’d overstepped, she realized. She’d read more into this week than was there.

He felt sorry for the lonely woman he worked with. He was kind and caring—he’d built a ramp for his dog, for heaven’s sake—and that was it.

Here at the Vitellis’ she felt as if she’d come home.

And that was the very worst thing that could have happened this Christmas.