A Cinderella Story: Maid Under the Mistletoe / My Fair Billionaire / Second Chance with the CEO. Maureen Child
little girl was blossoming, having a man like Sam pay attention to her. Spend time with her.
Okay, her mind warned sternly, dial it back now, Joy. No point in setting yourself up for that crush.
“You say no, but your eyes are saying yum.” Deb filled a tray with apple pies no bigger than silver dollars, laying them all out on paper doilies that made them look like loosely wrapped presents.
“Yum is easy—it’s what comes after that’s hard.”
“Since when are you afraid of hard work?”
“I’m not, but—” Not the same thing, she told herself, as working to make a living, to build a life. This was bringing a man out of the shadows, and what if once he was out he didn’t want her anyway? No, that way lay pain and misery, and why should she set herself up for that?
“You’re alone, he’s alone, match made in heaven.”
“Alone isn’t a good enough reason for anyone, Deb.” She stopped, snatched another brownie and asked, “When did this get to be about me instead of you?”
“Since I hate seeing my best friend—a completely wonderful human being—all by herself.”
“I’m not alone. I have Holly.”
“And I love her, too, but it’s not the same and you know it.”
Slumping, Joy leaned one hip against the counter and nibbled at her second brownie. “No, it’s not. And okay, fine—I’m...intrigued by Sam.”
“Intrigued is good. Sex is better.”
Sadly, she admitted, “I wouldn’t know.”
“Yeah, that would be my point.”
“It’s not that easy,” Joy said wistfully. Then she glanced out the window at the house across the yard where Holly and Lizzie were probably driving Sean Casey insane about now. “I mean, he’s—and I’m—”
“Something happened.”
Her gaze snapped to Deb’s. “Just a kiss.”
“Yay. And?”
“And,” Joy admitted, “then he got a little more involved and completely melted my underwear.”
“Wow.” Deb gave a sigh and fluttered one hand over her heart.
“Yeah. We were arguing and we were both furious and he kissed me and—” she slapped her hands together “—boom.”
“Oh, boom is good.”
“It’s great, but it doesn’t solve anything.”
“Honey,” Deb asked with a shake of her head, “who cares?”
Joy laughed. Honestly, Deb was really good for her. “Okay, I’m heading back to the house. Even when it’s this cold outside, I shouldn’t be leaving the groceries in the car this long.”
“Fine, but I’m going to want to hear more about this ‘boom.’”
“Yeah,” Joy said, “me, too. So are the girls still on for the sleepover?”
“Are you kidding? Lizzie’s been planning this for days. Popcorn, princess movies and s’mores cooked over the fireplace.”
Ordinarily, Holly would be too young for a sleepover, but Joy knew Deb was as crazy protective as she was. “Okay, then I’ll bring her to your house Saturday afternoon.”
“Don’t forget to pray for me,” Deb said with a smile. “Two five-year-olds for a night filled with squeals...”
“You bet.”
“And take that box of brownies with you. Sweeten up your hermit and maybe there’ll be more ‘boom.’”
“I don’t know about that, but I will definitely take the brownies.” When she left the warm kitchen, she paused on the back porch and tipped her face up to the gray sky. As she stood there, snow drifted lazily down and kissed her heated cheeks with ice.
Maybe it would be enough to cool her off, she told herself, crossing the yard to Deb’s house to collect Holly and head home. But even as she thought it, Joy realized that nothing was going to cool her off as long as her mind was filled with thoughts of Sam.
Once it started snowing, it just kept coming. As if an invisible hand had pulled a zipper on the gray, threatening clouds, they spilled down heavy white flakes for days. The woods looked magical, and every day, Holly insisted on checking the fairy houses—there were now two—to see if she could catch a glimpse of the tiny people living in them. Every day there was disappointment, but her faith never wavered.
Sam had to admire that even as his once-cold heart warmed with affection for the girl. She was getting to him every bit as much as her mother was. In different ways, of course, but the result was the same. He was opening up, and damned if it wasn’t painful as all hell. Every time that ice around his heart cracked a little more, and with it came the pain that reminded him why the ice had been there in the first place.
He was on dangerous ground, and there didn’t seem to be a way to back off. Coming out of the shadows could blind a man if he wasn’t careful. And that was one thing Sam definitely was.
Once upon a time, things had been different. He had been different. He’d gone through life thinking nothing could go wrong. Though at the time, everywhere he turned, things went his way so he couldn’t really be blamed for figuring it would always be like that.
His talent had pushed him higher in the art world than he’d ever believed possible, but it was his own ego that had convinced him to believe every accolade given. He’d thought of himself as blessed. As chosen for greatness. And looking back now, he could almost laugh at the deluded man he’d been.
Almost. Because when he’d finally had his ass handed to him, it had knocked the world out from under his feet. Feeling bulletproof only made recovering from a crash that much harder. And he couldn’t even really say he’d recovered. He’d just marched on, getting by, getting through. What happened to his family wasn’t something you ever got over. The most you could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other and hope that eventually you got somewhere.
Of course, he’d gotten here. To this mountain with the beautiful home he shared with a housekeeper he paid to be there. To solitude that sometimes felt like a noose around his neck. To cutting ties to his family because he couldn’t bear their grief as well as his own.
He gulped down a swallow of hot coffee and relished the burn. He stared out the shop window at the relentless snow and listened to the otherworldly quiet that those millions of falling flakes brought. In the quiet, his mind turned to the last few days. To Joy. The tension between them was strung as tight as barbed wire and felt just as lethal. Every night at dinner, he sat at the table with her and her daughter and pretended his insides weren’t churning. Every night, he avoided meeting up with Joy in the great room by locking himself in the shop to work on what was under that tarp. And finally, he lay awake in his bed wishing to hell she was lying next to him.
He was a man torn by too many things. Too twisted around on the road he’d been walking for so long to know which way to head next. So he stayed put. In the shop. Alone.
Across the yard the kitchen light sliced into the dimness of the gray morning when Holly jerked the door open and stepped outside. He watched her and wasn’t disappointed by her shriek of excitement. The little girl turned back to the house, shouted something to her mother and waited, bouncing on her toes until Joy joined her at the door. Holly pointed across the yard toward the trees and, with a wide grin on her face, raced down the steps and across the snow-covered ground.
Her pink jacket and pink boots were like hope in the gray, and Sam smiled to himself, wondering