Jennifer Snow - The Trouble with Mistletoe

Do you need help escaping through the kitchen window?

Tension seeped from her shoulders and a genuine smile formed on her lips for the first time that day. She glanced from the kitchen window to Luke.

Now do you understand why I stay away?

Luke smiled as he responded. You’re even prettier than I remember.

She blushed, caught off guard by the compliment. Her thumbs flew over the keypad.

Nice try, but flattery won’t work. Hitting Send she folded her arms across her chest. His smoldering, deep blue eyes were merely a speed bump on her way to another successful acquisition.

She fought to hide a smile as she read, Meaner, too.

Taking a sip of wine, he sat back in his chair.

Not mean, just determined to do my job.

Waiting for his reply, she turned and filled the sink with dirty dishes. Her parents still refused to install a dishwasher in the old home.

The phone vibrated on the counter and she reached for it.

No matter what it takes?

She hesitated. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for her career. After working from a junior associate to her current position, busting her butt with long hours, extended trips, living from a suitcase, never having time for anything else—including a real relationship—failing wasn’t an option.

No matter what. Don’t stand in my way, Luke.

She peered through the window watching as he read and replied.

Don’t think I’ll step aside quite so easily this time, Victoria.

Her heart pounded as she turned away. Were they still talking about the store?

Setting the phone aside, she scraped the dirty plates into the garbage can and stacked them in the sink. A moment later, out of the corner of her eye she noticed Luke pacing the back porch. He’d excused himself to take a call, and she tried to tamp down her curiosity.

Luke smiled, and she watched his moving lips, wishing she could read them.

Her mother hadn’t mentioned otherwise, so she’d assumed he was single. But then again apparently her mother couldn’t be trusted as a source of information about Luke anymore.

Of course he must have someone special in his life; he was gorgeous. She wondered who it could be. Every single woman in town would be vying for his attention. She bit her lip, watching as he picked up a shovel on the deck and, cradling his phone against his shoulder, cleared a path to the stairs leading to the yard. With his back to her, she took the opportunity to study him. In his faded jeans and leather jacket, he looked better than ever. She’d always been attracted to him, but she hadn’t remembered him looking quite so irresistible.

Luke set the shovel aside and turned toward the window. Seeing her watching him, he waved.

Victoria’s cheeks flushed, and the wet dinner plate slipped out of her hands. She caught it before it hit the floor. Quickly, she turned her attention back to the sink.

A moment later, the back door opened and Luke appeared beside her. “Brrr. It’s cold out there once the sun sets.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded as she scrubbed the plate with a sponge.

Luke peered into the sink over her shoulder, his warm breath on the back of her neck. “I think those little pink flowers are supposed to stay on the plates.” He picked up a dish towel.

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ve got this.” She laid the plate in the drying rack and motioned for him to give her the towel. “Go into the living room and relax with my parents.” Or leave. Either would work. She just wanted him as far away from her as possible. Spending time with him was proving difficult. Beyond the physical improvements, he was even kinder, funnier and more familiar than she could have imagined.

“No way. It’s the least I can do for supper.” He moved the towel out of her reach and picked up a handful of forks from the drying rack.

His cell phone rang in his shirt pocket and he checked the caller ID. He slid the phone, unanswered, back as it continued to ring.

“If you have to get that, I can finish up here.” She nodded toward his vibrating pocket.

Her BlackBerry had once again lost signal and she was eager to return to the bed-and-breakfast to catch up on missed calls and emails.

“No, that one can wait,” he said, placing the forks in the cutlery drawer and reaching for a plate. “My brother-in-law, Roy, is retiling their downstairs bathroom and he has a million questions.” He laughed. “I offered to just do it myself—it would be faster and easier.”

She hated that the sound of his laugh and the sight of his smile still had such a profound effect on her.

Luke sniffed the air. “Your mom is a fantastic cook.” Opening the oven door, he looked inside at the pumpkin pie.

“You better close that before she comes in here and catches you,” she warned, washing the last plate and setting it aside. She took the dish towel from Luke and dried her hands. “And I wouldn’t let your mother hear you say that.”

Luke closed the door and studied her intensely. “How about you? Have you acquired any new baking skills?”

“No.” Victoria had never been the culinary wonder her mother was; she’d never had the desire to learn, despite years of working at Mrs. Norris’s bakery in the summer. “I’m too busy to bake.” She shrugged and removed the apron from around her neck, hanging it on the hook near the pantry.

Luke’s gaze dropped to her waist. “Looks like you’ve been too busy to eat, too.”

She tugged her shirt lower and cleared her throat. “So, I heard about your dad’s heart attack last year. How is he?”

“Better,” Luke said with a nod. “After his bypass surgery, he’s feeling much better. It’s one of the reasons I try to spend more time here in Brookhollow now, working on local construction projects…to help out. Dad won’t admit he can’t do certain things’ I was sorry to hear about your grandma. I would have attended the funeral, but it happened so suddenly, and I was away.”

She dismissed that with a wave of her hand and said, “I barely made it myself. I flew in from an acquisitions trip to Minnesota, then took the red-eye back out.” Her maternal grandmother, her last remaining grandparent, had died from a stroke several years before. As a child, Victoria had spent a lot of time with her, chattering away as her grandma planted flowers in her garden or sitting on the porch, holding her wool as she knitted hats for the maternity ward at the hospital. After she moved to New York the two had remained close, talking at least once a week. She missed those conversations.

Her grandmother had always encouraged her to do what made her happy, regardless of what others might think.

Wiping pie crumbs off the counter onto her hand, she said, “Dad told me you helped him with the deck last summer’ That was nice of you.”

“Ah, your dad did most of the work. Even retired, he’s a fantastic contractor. Definitely knows his stuff,” Luke said. “He told me about your promotion and that you bought an apartment a few months ago. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Victoria’s gaze met his and she laughed.

“What’s funny?” Luke asked. But he was grinning, too.

“Just that we haven’t spoken in forever, yet we know enough about each other to write a book.”

Luke laughed. “Small towns.”

His cell phone rang again.

He took the phone out of his pocket, checked the call display and silenced the call.

“You’re quite the busy guy. Your phone rings almost as often as mine…when I have service.” She grabbed the oven mitts as the timer beeped on the stove. She took the pie out of the oven and set it to cool on the rack her mother had put out, as she made a fresh pot of coffee.

“Yeah, sorry…work.” He shrugged. “This is a busy time of year.”