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Angelina Weiss peeked at the image on her cell phone screen, confirming that the tall, dark-haired man in dress slacks and a wool coat was Sean W. Pierce. Age thirty-three, a graduate of Washington University’s Graduate School of Architecture & Urban Design, two-time winner of the Hellman Student Architect Design Competition, and a junior partner at Drake and Lowell Design Group in Manhattan. Nephew and heir of Coy Pierce, the old curmudgeon who’d let North Pole Camping & Cabins slide into ruin.
Gosh, she missed the old guy. It had been almost a year since he passed away, and she still looked for him in the corner booth every time she entered Kris Kringle Diner.
Sean Pierce strode down North Pole Lane, the small town’s main street, like a man on a mission. Face forward, steps sure. He didn’t stop to admire any of the displays in the shop windows or accept a fudge sample offered by the perky teen dressed in Blitzen Candies familiar red-and-white striped uniform.
He was all business, which was perfectly fine with Angelina. She had a proposal for Mr. Sean W. Pierce. She just needed to get him alone for fifteen minutes.
He came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk and looked over his shoulder. Angelina ducked into the doorway of Prancer’s Gift & Souvenir shop, back pressed against the wall, embarrassment heating her cheeks.
Had he seen her?
She waited a minute, then slowly peeked around the corner of the building, coming face to face with the man she’d been following.
He leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed, eyes crinkled in puzzlement. Or was that amusement? It was hard to tell because his irises were almost as dark as the pupils.
“Are you stalking me?” he asked in a low seductive voice that made her shiver.
“No,” she said slowly, surprised at being caught and stunned by the charismatic vibes rolling off him. From a distance, he looked like any big city executive—attractive in a generic sort of way, thanks to expensive clothing, trendy grooming, and the arrogance that came with success. Up close? The supreme creator ladled out a double dose ofooh-la-lawhen she put this package together.
A lean, muscled physique that came with diligence and self-control, the polar opposite of her own curvy build. Dark eyes that glimmered like polished ebony. Thick hair so perfectly styled it fairly demanded a woman muss it up. An angular face softened by a tidy beard that would feel sooo good against the tender skin behind her knees. An expressive mouth that revealed exactly what Sean W. Pierce was thinking with just the twitch of the corner or thinning of his lips.
Right now, he thought she was lying. And maybe a little bit dangerous.
“It’s more like I’m trailing you,” she explained, willing her body to calm the heck down. Her nipples tightened into peaks beneath her red sweater as if reaching out to him. The crotch of her blue jeans felt damp. She was puffing like a freight train going uphill.
“What’s the difference between trailing and stalking?” His voice remained conversational but quiet, as if they were speaking in a library.
“Intent.” She stepped out from her hiding spot and extended a hand. “Angelina Weiss. North Pole Director of Tourism.”
His fingers grasped hers firmly, pumping up and down twice. “Do I need to introduce myself?”
“No.” She smiled wryly. “I know who you are.”
“Care to explain your fascination with a stranger?”
“I’d love to.” She brightened at his invitation. “The Kris Kringle Diner is at the end of the next block. Coffee and pie? They have a black-bottom pecan pie that is off the charts, although my favorite is the chocolate silk topped with peppermint sprinkles.” When he hesitated, she added, “My treat.”
“I don’t have much time,” he said. “I was hoping to catch Ed Gallagher before he closed up for the day.”
Her scalp prickled. What did he want with his uncle’s attorney? Everyone in town knew he’d arrived late last night and then headed out to the campground after lunch. Sarah, Angelina’s best friend’s younger sister who worked as a waitress in the resort’s restaurant, had passed on that observation after serving Sean W. Pierce a patty melt with extra grilled onions, hold the fries.
Was he ready to forfeit the campground and walk away already?
She crossed her fingers, hoping that wasn’t the case. If he gave up the campground, the town council had plans to accept an offer from a developer who wanted to put in a discount outlet mall. The retail center would bring jobs to the area and attract visitors, but it would also ruin the small-town ambiance North Pole was known for.
Santa’s Workshop, one of the country’s first theme parks, opened in 1949. The surrounding area has built a tourism industry based on the year-round Christmas theme. A commercial enterprise like the outlet mall would be the downfall of North Pole. First it would be miles of cement parking lot and strip malls. That would lead to chain restaurants and hotels, the influx of which would put the mom-and-pop purveyors out of business in no time.
She’d seen it happen to the small town where she attended college before returning to North Pole. She would do everything in her power to stop it from happening to her hometown.
“Ed Gallagher doesn’t keep regular hours,” she warned Sean. “We can swing by his office if you want, but he’s usually gone after lunch.”
“Not a very professional way to run a law firm,” Sean said, frowning.
“It’s a small town.” She smiled and shrugged. “Ed works part-time as an attorney and part-time as St. Nick at Santa’s Workshop. He’s by far the most popular Santa Claus.”
“Huh.” The corner of his mouth turned down, conveying skepticism and disapproval.
Her sales pitch better be good, she thought, worry causing her stomach to pitch. She not only had to convince Sean W. Pierce of the merits of converting North Pole Camping & Cabins to a high-end glamping destination but persuade him that the North Pole small-town lifestyle was worth preserving.
