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A thought that shouldn’t even enter his head flashed by, practically electrocuting his brain. No. Just no.
She was gorgeous. She was quirky. She was definitely original.
But this was supposed to be her wedding day. And although he hadn’t really gotten to the bottom of it, things obviously hadn’t gone to plan.
For a second their gazes meshed. “Come to think of it, Mr. Holden, you seem a whole lot closer than seven steps.”
He froze. What? But then she blinked and that tiny second was lost.
Maybe he’d just imagined everything?
He gave his head a little shake. “Do you need a hand getting to the hotel?”
She gave a tired shake of her head. “No, it’s fine. You said it’s only two streets back. Even I can’t get lost in the space of two streets.”
She straightened up her shoulders and held out her hand towards him. “Thanks, Mitch.” She looked up and down the street. “I guess in a place as small as this I’ll be seeing you around.”
“I guess you will.”
It took a few seconds for her to pull her hand back. All of a sudden she looked really tired. She slammed the trunk closed and climbed back in the driver’s seat of her car, pulling the mounds of skirt in after her. In a few seconds she gave a wave of her hand and pulled away.
He stood for a second, watching her disappear and turn at the end of the street.
“Welcome to Marietta, Emma McGregor,” he said quietly as he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and sauntered towards Grey’s.
They wouldn’t believe a word of it.
Chapter Three
‡
She was smiling and she almost couldn’t believe she was smiling.
She’d spent the last six hours with tunnel vision, just getting on the highway and driving straight ahead, taking a different off ramp every now and then at random. She’d only driven through Marietta as she was starting to get tired and very uncomfortable in this dress.
In an ideal world she would have gotten changed before she started the drive. But today hadn’t been an ideal day, and she hadn’t been thinking that far ahead. Getting changed in a restroom at a gas station had just seemed too icky for words.
But Mitch Holden had been the one tiny light in a pretty dark day. Sure, he’d been curious. But he’d also been polite. And friendly. And good-looking.
Not that anything like that would enter her mind. But the gesture of a perfect stranger being nice and hospitable to her had made the tears well up at the back of her eyes. They’d been threatening to come out all day and really didn’t need an excuse.
She turned the car into the parking lot for The Graff and sat for a few seconds looking up at the imposing, grand building.
It was gorgeous, obviously restored in the last few years but keeping all of the glory of the Italianate architecture and original stone features.
She took a deep breath and got out of the car, grabbing her packed suitcase from the trunk. Marietta was a small town. Please let there be some room at the inn.
She smiled at her thoughts. It wasn’t even December first but Marietta was already showing signs of Christmas. Several of the stores she’d passed had Christmas lights in the windows and from the look of The Graff hotel, Christmas was alive and well.
She stepped into the lobby and held her breath. It was gorgeous. There was the biggest Christmas tree she’d ever seen standing at the foot of the curving stairs. The white lights reflected off the glowing rich panelled wood on the walls and marble floor. It was the grandest place she’d ever seen.
“Can I help you?” A woman emerged from behind the desk. She had a smart uniform and name badge—Andrea—with red tinsel wrapped around it.
Emma nodded nervously. “I was wondering if I could check in for the night?”
Andrea blinked back the obvious questions for a woman alone and wearing a bridal gown and nodded sweetly. “Of course you can, honey, hold on and I’ll get you a key to one of our finest rooms.”
The next few minutes passed in a blur. She handed over Bryce’s credit card and found herself swept up the stairs, with Andrea lifting her suitcase as if it weighed nothing.
Andrea opened the door. “Here we go. I think you’ll love this room. It’s one of my favorites.”
Emma blinked and looked around. “Wow.”
The room was enormous. It had an exquisitely carved wooden bed, with matching desk and chair, dresser, and bedside table. All the furnishings had hints of white and gold. It was quietly magnificent.
Andrea bustled over to switch on some lights and show her the large en suite bathroom. Then she set down the case and paused, unhooking a pristine, soft-looking, white dressing gown from behind the door. “Honey, can I help you out of that dress?”
That was all it took. Those kind, thoughtful words finished her. The tears started to roll down her cheeks and she nodded in reply and turned around to let Andrea unfasten the complicated lace-up back.
As the gown loosened, she breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realised quite how tight it had been.
Andrea touched her shoulder. “Would you like to come downstairs and having something to eat?”
“Can I just order room service?”
Andrea bit her bottom lip. “You could. But how about a little quiet company? I can promise you I’ll find you a corner to hide in if you need it. Our chef Elliot will make you whatever you need.”
It was almost motherly and definitely reassuring. She glanced at the king-sized bed with mounds of pillows and a to-die-for white duvet. All she really wanted to do was dive in. But, yet again, someone was being kind to her. A complete and utter stranger who’d just seen her in her wedding trousseau and not asked a single question.
She nodded. “Give me ten minutes to wash up and change.”
Andrea gave her a careful smile and disappeared out the door.
Emma let her dress fall to the floor. She never wanted to see it again. As she stepped out, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and let out a wry laugh. Wedding underwear, garters, and clunky big boots. A great look for an almost-bride.
She glanced at the bed again. She really just wanted to crawl under the covers, pull them over her head, and pretend this whole day hadn’t happened. The whole last six weeks hadn’t happened.
She pressed her hand against the bare, flat skin on her stomach. The incision had completely healed. In a few years the scar would probably fade completely. But the effects wouldn’t. They were permanent. There would be no babies in Emma McGregor’s future.
She squeezed her eyes closed and kicked the dress away from her feet. She couldn’t let her thoughts go there. Not right now.
Tonight she would eat and sleep. Tomorrow she would worry about finding a job and the rest of her life.
It only took five minutes to wash and change. As she entered the bar area, Andrea was talking to the barman. She nodded to a mahogany table in an alcove and Emma sat down in relief.
Two minutes later a huge plate of food appeared in front of her, along with a large glass of wine. The roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and vegetables had never felt so welcome.
The barman gave her a nod. “Andrea took a bit of a liberty. She said you needed some comfort food. If there’s anything you don’t like just say the word, I can change it all completely.”
She shook her head. “Actually this is perfect. I just want to eat and sleep. I couldn’t have picked better myself.”
He smiled at her accent. “Shouldn’t I really get you some whiskey?”
She shuddered. “Forget it. I hate the stuff.” She held up the wine glass. “But this, I like. Thank you.”
He gave a quick nod and disappeared behind the bar to serve another customer. Halfway through her meal, a basket of hot crusty rolls and some butter appeared at the table. She looked up, surprised.
An older man with a white beard was standing above her. He was wearing a tweed jacket and had a friendly kind of face. He look
ed kind of like…
No. She was overtired. It had been a bad day.
He held out his hand towards her. “Chris Krinkles. Sorry to interrupt. You looked as if you were enjoying it. I thought I’d bring over a little extra.”
She was dreaming, right? Otherwise she was meeting Santa Claus.
She couldn’t help but smile. “Chris Krinkles?”
He nodded as if the irony was completely lost on him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma. I’m here to work as Santa at The Graff, and of course for the Marietta Christmas Stroll.”
She swallowed another piece of chicken. Whoever the chef was here, he was a genius.
Every part of her was smiling now – even her voice. She had a quick look around the room for any hidden cameras. This was just too much.
“You’re working as Santa?”
He gave a little frown as if he thought she were a bit slow. “Why yes.” He lifted his hand to his chin. “I grew the beard, specially.”
“You don’t have it all year around?”
He looked surprised. “No, not at all.”
She broke open some of the bread and gestured to the seat opposite her. “So what brings you to Marietta? And what’s the Marietta Christmas Stroll?”
He smiled and pulled out a chair. Wait a minute. She hadn’t told him her name. How could he possibly know?
