Anna Stewart - Holiday Kisses

It was all Calliope could do not to say more, but this wasn’t her moment—it wasn’t her information to share. But she could make certain that Holly—and Luke—were able to put their minds at ease sooner than later.

“What about my pies?” Holly sniffled and wiped her face.

“Paige is here and I’m happy to stay until Ursula gets back. Now get your coat and purse. Enjoy the fresh air, take your time and get your thoughts in order. I’ll call Cheyenne and let her know you’re coming.”

“Hey, everything okay?” Paige poked her head in the room and looked around as if waiting to get smacked with a rolling pin. “You need me to cover for the afternoon?”

“The kitchen’s yours.” Holly stiffened her shoulders and gave a shaky nod to Calliope. “I have an appointment to keep.”

“Okay.” Paige held open the door as Holly walked out. “Your dad’s here, Holly, so he can take Simon if you need him to.”

“Dad’s here?” Holly stopped and peered around the doorframe. “Oh, he’s meeting with Selena.” She frowned. “That’s strange. He doesn’t have any pets.”

“I’m not sure it’s pet-related.” Paige waggled her eyebrows. “They’ve been meeting for coffee and pie a couple of times a week for the last month. You didn’t know?”

“Ah, no, I didn’t.” But the light that had been missing from Holly’s gaze glimmered to life. “That’s kinda nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s very nice,” Calliope assured her. “Now go find Luke. We’ll see you when you get back.” She pressed a hand against the small of Holly’s back and sent a burst of positive energy directly from her heart.

And then felt the response—a gentle pulse of joy—from not one baby.

But two.

CHAPTER THREE

XANDER CLICKED AND tapped his pen, a nervous habit he’d never kicked from his college days. What did he have to be nervous about? Aside from the fact that the quiet and leisurely pace of Butterfly Harbor made him feel as if he was suddenly moving in slow motion. Sitting in the Butterfly Diner—an eatery that had clearly taken its monarch moniker to heart—should have given him exactly what he needed, a place to sit and revel in the fact he was about to get the family firm back on track.

Instead, doubt had crept in.

He was being ridiculous. He hadn’t taken a wrong turn; he’d done exactly what was expected of him and created a practical, if not boring, blueprint that would be serviceable for whatever plans the town—and its mayor—had made.

What did it matter what one person—Calliope Jones—thought? She hadn’t even seen his ideas. Although, yes, maybe she did have a point. He probably should have at least taken a walk around the property, but the mayor knew he’d done the design sight unseen. And since the mayor’s opinion was really the only one that mattered...

The doubt continued to gnaw at him, eating away at the constant reminder knocking on the back of his head: he couldn’t afford to mess this up. One job. That was all they needed to prove Costas Architecture was still alive and kicking.

His seat beside the plate glass window did indeed afford him a lovely view of the ocean. He could hear the gentle roar and lapping of the waves onto the shoreline across the street and beyond the short stone wall. Every breath he inhaled offered the promise of fresh-baked pastries, grilled onions and hot-out-of-the-oil fries, but right behind was the ever-present scent of sea and air.

The orange-and-black upholstered booths and stools were a nice contrast to the typical red-and-white color scheme of most diners. So far nothing had been predictable where this little town was concerned, and while it might take him longer than expected to get used to the less hurried pace, he decided to make the most of it. If he didn’t die of boredom first.

He sipped his surprisingly delicious coffee and scanned the laminated menu. There was something kitschy about the artistic butterfly renderings scattered around the diner. They dotted the walls and lined the doorframes. There was even a trio of them hanging from fishing line over the cash register, each wearing teeny tiny Santa hats. The holiday season was well represented with the tinsel-and-garland-draped doorways and potted miniature Christmas cacti on each table.

A few more customers arrived as he drank his coffee, filling up booths as their conversations filled the space.

Christmas to him meant snow, hot spiked cider and skiing at his family’s vacation house near Alpine Valley. He supposed there was plenty of holiday spirit to be found sans snow, especially if the not-so-hushed conversation behind him was any indication. The three kids—Stella, whom he had met at the inn, and Charlie and Simon from the beach—sounded inordinately serious as they made plans for some upcoming holiday event by the ocean.

“We have to use all-natural elements,” Simon said in a tone just shy of frustrated. “The only tools we can use are buckets and shovels.”

“But the rules don’t say what kind,” Charlie announced. “And we have to find an adult to be on our team. It’s in the rules.”

“My dad can’t do it,” Simon grumbled. “He has to help with the Santa parade for after the competition.”

“Darn it,” Charlie said. “That probably means mine can’t, either.”

“I don’t have a dad to ask,” Stella said in a way that kicked at Xander’s heart.

“What about Calliope? Would she do it?” Simon asked.

“Maybe?”

Xander heard the doubt in Stella’s voice.

“Sorry for the wait.” Paige set her notepad on his table and tied an apron around her hips. “Crazy day. Hope you weren’t in a rush.”

“Not at all,” Xander assured her. “Sounds like there’s a lot going on in the next few weeks. Holidays a big deal here?”

“From what I hear, they’re a huge deal.” Paige’s eyes sparked like someone had plugged her in. “It’ll be the first Christmas Charlie and I spend here. Have you, um, heard something from over there?” She cast a side-eyed glance at the kids and looked back at him. “Calliope and I were trying to figure out what they were talking about. But if it’s world domination, I don’t want to know.”

“Something about a competition, shovels and buckets.” He shook his head. “I’m stumped.”

“Oh, it’s the gingerbread-sandcastle contest. Now that explains why Charlie’s computer time has been spent looking up images of gingerbread houses.” She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was afraid she wanted to make a real one.”

“Not good with gingerbread?”

“I’m great with it. Up here.” She tapped the side of her head. “Funny how it never turns out the way you imagine it will. Can definitely be an ego-crusher.”

“The trick is doing all the decorations and frosting before you put it together.” Xander grinned at Paige’s wide-eyed stare. “Family tradition. We have a gingerbread-house contest every Christmas.” Usually after a morning of sledding and cider or hot chocolate. An odd longing pulled at his core. His mother made the best hot chocolate.

“Careful or you’ll get sucked in,” Paige warned. “Right, Calliope?” She caught her friend’s arm as the lithe redhead attempted to glide unseen behind her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The sandcastle competition. That’s what they’re up to.” Paige jerked her chin toward the kids. “We can rest easy. The world is safe for a while longer at least.”

Xander was tempted to ask for clarification, but all thoughts of conversation shot straight out of his head as Calliope turned toward him. For an instant, it was as if he was trapped in a movie or hokey TV show, where one of the characters begins to move in slow motion. All that was missing was a fan and an 80s rock ballad blasting out of car speakers.