Kristine Rolofson - Her Mistletoe Magic

He took a sip of wine, put a lid on the pan of chicken and walked over to the table, where he pulled out a chair and glanced at his watch. “We’ll eat in just a few minutes, I promise.”

“Sorry, it’s none of my business,” Grace said. “Tell me about your nieces and nephew.”

“I came home,” he said, fiddling with the stem of his wineglass, “because I missed them.”

“You were homesick?” She tried to hide her surprise.

He winced. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s the truth.” Then he looked at her, the expression in his dark eyes unreadable. “What’s your definition of success, Grace?”

“A successful life or a successful job?”

“Life.”

She thought about that for a long moment. “To be financially secure, I suppose. And I’d like to have a family.” To love the same man until the day she died. To be a good mother. To surround herself with love.

“Are you happy with your work?”

“I love it. Don’t you love yours?”

He nodded. “I do, sweetheart. But California was not where I wanted to be.” Nico looked embarrassed. He reached over and caressed her hand but didn’t seem to realize he’d done it. “I had it all. A little fame, a lot of money, people catering to my every need. Most people’s definition of success, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “And then my show was canceled. That should have devastated me.”

“And it didn’t?”

He grinned. “I was thrilled. I bought a very expensive bottle of champagne and drank it with Al at my feet wagging his tail. I told him we were going home and I swear he knew what I was saying.”

He looked at the dog, who whined and wagged his tail.

“He wants dinner, too,” Grace said.

“He cries and whines like that no matter what I’m cooking. He loves pasta.” Nico shook his head. “He loves anything I put on a plate.”

“So you left Hollywood?” she prompted. She’d always thought he’d come home in disgrace, having lost his shot at the big time.

“I realized I no longer wanted to be in LA. I wanted to be around my family. I wanted to cook in my own restaurant. I wanted to train kids to work in the kitchen. And I missed skiing.” He hopped up and returned to the stove to lift the lid on the pan. “Ah,” he said with satisfaction. “You’re gonna love this. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” She watched entranced as he arranged the food on two plates, then chopped food for Al’s bowl. She waited for him to return to the table before asking the obvious question.

“So,” she said, inhaling the delicious aroma of lemon. He’d sprinkled freshly grated Parmesan on the buttered penne and arranged steamed asparagus to accent the chicken medallions. “This looks fantastic.”

“Thank you. More wine?” He lifted the bottle.

“No, thank you.” She placed the white cloth napkin in her lap, picked up her fork and knife and waited for him to finish topping off his glass. “Are you glad you came back? Do you miss LA?”

“In some ways, yes. I miss the weather. And a few friends. But I’m glad I came back. It was the right thing for me at the time.”

At the time . What did that mean? And why was it suddenly so important for her to hear that he was staying?

“You’re frowning again,” Nico said. “You haven’t tasted anything yet.”

His cell rang, saving her from having to answer. He got up and retrieved it from the counter and, with an apologetic shrug to Grace, turned it on. “Hi. What’s going on?” He listened for a moment while Grace cut a bite of chicken and tasted it. “Of course. No problem.” Pause. “No, not yet, but they look good.” Pause. “Mama,” he said, chuckling. “I will, if possible.” Pause. “Of course. I will ask. And I will call you tomorrow.” Pause. “Yes, yes, good night.”

Still laughing, Nico returned to the table. “My mother has heard that I have a new woman in my life.”

“Uh-oh. Your sister told her about this morning?” She took another bite of chicken. Heaven, she decided. The man was a genius in the kitchen.

“Marie couldn’t wait to share the good news, believe me.” He picked up his fork and stabbed at the pasta.

“I’m good news?” For some reason that struck her as funny. “Doesn’t she know you’re just helping me out for a couple of days?”

“My mother is hoping I’ll fall in love with you and she won’t have to worry about my being alone when I’m an old man.”

Didn’t his mother realize this man could have any woman he wanted? He’d charmed everyone on the staff and most customers. All he had to do was smile and women melted. Grace pushed her thoughts aside. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall in love with him, and she couldn’t risk that. She’d learned her lesson: stay away from men with charisma and commitment issues.

“That’s what she worries about? You being alone?”

“That’s one of many things.” He made a face. “I love them all—my mother, my sisters—but they worry too much.”

They sounded nice, Grace thought. “They care about you and they want you to be happy.”

“This is true.” He grinned. “You could make them—and me—ecstatic, you know, if you would do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” She looked down at her empty plate. How had she eaten all of that?

His eyebrows rose. “You do owe me, sweetheart. For room and board.”

Grace choked back a laugh. “Nice try, Chef Hollywood.”

Nico groaned. “Cheap shot.”

“That’s what they called you in the tabloids. Hot Hollywood Chef, Chef Hollywood, Naughty Nico.”

“I’m not the man the media made me out to be. I never was,” he insisted, taking a sip of wine. He waved his arm toward his vintage kitchen. “Does this look like Hot Hollywood Chef style to you? The stove is green, for heaven’s sake.”

She wasn’t sure what the color of the stove had to do with Naughty Nico, but she remembered his mention of remodeling. “You’re going to modernize the kitchen, aren’t you?”

“Not exactly. I like its charm,” Nico declared. “I’ve found a designer who understands what I want.”

“A kitchen that looks like it belongs with the house but with high-end appliances and all the amenities.”

“Exactly. How did you know?”

“I watch a lot of those house-remodeling shows on HGTV,” she informed him. “I have the lingo down.”

He looked at her empty plate. “You like my food.”

“Of course.”

Nico beamed at her, stood and quickly cleared the table. “You look happy. And relaxed. And you are not in pain.”

“I took another ibuprofen.” She’d removed the boot and Nico had draped her foot with one of those refreezable ice packs from the drugstore. “It doesn’t hurt as much as it did a couple of hours ago.”

“Then let’s talk about this favor you owe me.” He returned to the table and refilled her wineglass. Grace didn’t protest. She was warm and content and even though Chef Hollywood was flirting with her again, she knew that was just part of his personality. For a Tuesday night, this was pretty darn good, as long as she kept reminding herself not to take him seriously.

“It’s Tuesday night,” she said. “I usually watch Hell’s Kitchen . Or the show with the little kids cooking. Master Chef Junior .”

“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re changing the subject,” Nico warned. “But I like the show with the children, too. We could do something like that at the lodge, you know. Just for a day. Or maybe a weekend. With some local kids.”

“Really?”

“For charity,” Nico added. “This summer?”

“I like it.” She took a sip of wine. The idea had all sorts of possibilities, so many her head swirled. Or maybe that was the wine.