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How on earth was this massive tree going to fit in her store? And more importantly how was this tree going to be decorated in time for the party tonight?
They didn’t leave the tree farm until Atticus had filled the back seats with two wreaths, a half-dozen boxes of miniature white lights, and another half-dozen boxes of ornaments. She gasped at the total when Sawyer rang up the purchase, but Atticus didn’t blink when he handed over his credit card. He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed that he’d just spent hundreds of dollars when Rachel knew they could have purchased used ornaments for a lot less elsewhere.
“Stop making that face,” Atticus said, as he shifted into drive. “I didn’t rob a bank, and I committed no crime.”
“I’m just uncomfortable with you spending that kind of money on a tree for my bookstore.”
“If you’re going to be throwing a party tonight, you might as well have the store decked out for the holidays. It’s good for business and it’s good for morale and I have no regrets.”
“And who is going to do all the work of decorating the tree?”
“You and me.”
“I have work to do.”
He gave her an amused look. “What?”
“Well, I need to make the punch.”
His lips twitched. “And what else?”
“I have to set up a card table and arrange the food.”
He glanced at the clock on the dash. “It’s only noon now. We have all afternoon.”
“And I’m starving.”
“I can pick up some sandwiches from the diner, and we can eat as we work.”
“You have an answer for everything.”
The corner of his mouth tilted. “I do.”
*
It stopped snowing midafternoon and Marietta’s snowplows were out in full force, scraping streets clean. By dusk the Christmas lights were coming on, and Paradise Books glimmered with light from its magnificent Christmas tree.
Atticus had helped her move some of the furniture around and he’d managed to borrow a chafing dish and a silver tiered stand from the Graff for her meatballs and cookies. He returned to the hotel to shower and dress and she took the fastest shower ever, before dressing in trousers she’d paired with a red blouse and sparkly earrings. She hadn’t brought anything too fancy with her but she felt pretty and festive as she descended the stairs and unlocked the door, ready for her guests.
She knew that people tended to be late, so she didn’t worry when she was alone for the first twenty minutes. Rachel poured herself a glass of red wine and made small adjustments to her refreshment table before doing a walk around the towering Christmas tree, which they decorated with white lights and clear glass balls mixed in with some colored ornaments. It had struck Rachel as a little simplistic at the time of purchase, but now with the lights slightly dimmed, the tree looked so pretty.
She returned to the counter where she’d arranged the wine bottles and her fruit punch, a recipe her mom used to make. Rachel wasn’t sure she’d gotten all the juice to soda ratio quite right but it tasted good and looked pretty with the orange slices and cranberries bobbing on top.
When it was quarter to six and still no one had yet come, she began to worry.
But then the door opened and it was Zane Nash, followed by Atticus and Troy and Taylor Sheenan. Zane’s wife couldn’t come as one of the kids were sick and she’d stayed home with the children, but Zane had brought wine, and Troy and Taylor had brought a large cinnamon scented candle wrapped in tissue. Rachel lit the candle and placed it on the counter next to the wine bottles and Atticus poured wine for everyone. After a bit Rachel invited Taylor to come up and see her little apartment on the third floor while the guys manned the door and greeted the other guests. Only no one else came.
She’d made food for fifty. Drinks for twice that, including her massive bowl of punch.
It was nearing seven and she eyed the chafing dish filled with meatballs and tried not to dwell on the fact that only a few had been eaten.
“Excellent punch,” Atticus said, ladling some of the bright red liquid into his cup.
“Good to hear,” she answered, smiling tightly, not wanting him to know just how disappointed she was.
“Your meatballs are very good, too.”
“My grandmother Gerber’s recipe. That was my mom’s mom.”
“The grandmother who loved Jessica Fletcher?”
Rachel’s eyes stung and she blinked as she smiled hard. “The very one.” Her voice had deepened and her heart felt banged up and she hated that she was getting so emotional. She’d been so sure people would come.
Atticus stabbed a meatball with a toothpick, and popped it into his mouth and she turned away, unable to watch because he was the only one eating her food, and even with his most valiant efforts, there was no way Atticus could eat four dozen tangy meatballs.
She suddenly wished he wasn’t here.
She wished he hadn’t come tonight.
It would have been more bearable if he hadn’t witnessed her humiliation.
Troy and Taylor approached with their coats, and Rachel’s stomach fell. They were already leaving.
“I’m so glad you invited us,” Taylor said.
“I’m so glad you came,” Rachel answered.
“The bookstore looks fantastic,” Troy said. “Lesley would be really pleased.”
“She would,” Taylor echoed. “And she’d be so happy to know you have the store open for the holidays. It was always her favorite time of the year.”
Rachel was not going to cry. She was not even going to allow a single tear to well up. “I hope she’d be proud.”
“We should take some pictures and send them to her,” Taylor said, glanci
ng at Troy. “She’d like that, wouldn’t she?”
“Maybe another night during the holidays,” Rachel said, not at all in the mood for photos right now.
“But the bookstore looks so pretty right now,” Taylor said.
Rachel’s gaze went to Atticus where he was leaning against one of the upholstered chairs talking to Zane. “I’ll have Atticus take some before I dismantle the buffet.”
Troy followed her gaze. “He’s not being pushy, is he?”
“He’s been amazing,” Rachel answered honestly. “He’s been”—her voice cracked and she broke off, and bit hard into her lower lip to keep control—“supportive,” she finished, when she could.
“I’m glad. He can be… intense,” Taylor said, looking up at her husband.
Rachel didn’t miss the exchanged glances. “I know he’s interested in the bookstore. He’s made an offer. But he’s giving me time to figure out what I want to do, and I appreciate that.”
“He’s smart,” Troy said. “And honest.”
“You can trust him,” Taylor added.
“And I do.”
Troy and Taylor said their goodbyes then and left. Zane was next to go, and Atticus walked out with him, and she watched him go, feeling her heart tumble. Atticus was too handsome, as well as too smart. He was also too charismatic, and far too appealing.
She didn’t date brilliant men with sexy smiles that resembled movie stars.
She didn’t like larger than life personalities.
She didn’t enjoy challenges that weren’t spreadsheet or tax related. She didn’t enjoy challenges that involved emotions. And she certainly avoided challenges that came in the form of a devastatingly handsome male with endless options.
Rachel understood why she was attracted to Atticus—he was rather magnificent—but to be so impractical as to actually fall for him? To have real feelings for him? It was beyond foolish. It was desperate. Immature. Atticus treated her like a kid sister or a good friend, which would be fine if her own feelings were platonic. But they weren’t and she didn’t know how she’d even fallen for him. She’d thought she’d kept her guard up pretty well until the day she realized… there was no guard, and she did care for him, a great deal.
