Love at Christmas Inn Collection 1 Read online

  “Feel like taking a walk?”

  At his unexpected suggestion, she shook free of her thoughts. “Walk? Where?”

  He slipped his fingertips beneath the spot where her hand rested on the table and held tight, helping her to a stand. “Outside. Where else?”

  “Outside. In the snow.”

  “Yeah. You chicken?”

  “Not at all.” She tugged on the front of his button-down shirt, acting oh-so-tough when in reality being propped against the warmth of his body left her senses tingling. “I just thought the city boy might be a little put off by the white stuff.”

  “Not at all,” he mimicked in a tone ripe with cocky challenge. “In fact, I’m kind of growing to like it.”

  Lydia’s teasing glower softened into a grin. “You don’t say.”

  ****

  Silence enveloped Graham at once when they exited the inn. After the chaos of executing a ‘seat-of-your-pants’ dinner service—times two—the deepening carpet of snow provided a welcome peace. But that carpet of calm nearly crested his boots when he trekked with Lydia toward the rear courtyard. He linked his gloved hand with hers, half to offer companionship, half to share a steadying gate as they moved along. “Earlier tonight, you started to tell me about your job in IT.”

  “My former job, yeah.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m intrigued.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I admire that level of faith…and trust.” Squelching a rise of frustration, and wishful thinking, Graham released his hold on her hand. Was he even worthy of grasping such a beautiful, free-flowing spirit when his own life was so boxed, so set to a pre-ordained pattern? He battled the sigh that rose. “I’ve failed miserably on that count, so maybe I can learn a thing or two.”

  Oh, sure, he framed his words in a cloud of humor, but there was truth in humor.

  “I worked for a company called Greater Product Infrastructure, or GPI, and I loved the work. For the most part, the people were great, too, but—” She sucked in the cold air, blew it out in a plume of curling, waving white while she looked ahead, as though formulating her words and feelings. –“It’s like that moment when you get cut off in traffic by a jerk who’s in a hurry to get wherever it is he’s going, and he barely leaves enough room for air between his bumper and the paint on the front end of your car. From where I sat, the corporate world was all about maneuvers just like that. I figured my chosen field had to offer a whole lot more fulfillment and enjoyment than being part of a culture that negates people.”

  Quiet descended while Graham took in her words and felt them take swift root.

  She shoved down the hood of her parka, shooting him a sheepish look. “Guess that sounds a little high and mighty. Sorry to go off like that.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m impressed. What you say gives me a lot to think about. Lately my professional zeal is decreasing in direct correlation to a rise in frustration, and a sense that I’m not doing what I’m meant to do.”

  Conversation quieted once again while their booted footsteps created a melody of crunching snow. Flakes continued to sift and swirl, but more often than not, it was growing wind gusts that tossed snow to earth from nearby tree branches and skimmed a sea of white waves across the undulating surface of the ground.

  “Lydia, I think making a move like you did is incredibly brave.”

  She linked her arm through his, gave a short laugh. “Well, thank you, but my family takes a somewhat different view. Mom most especially.”

  “Let them. Let her. Making a change like that is bold. Confident. I wish—” Graham stopped there, stumbling over the pattern of his own life, the dreams and wishes that had carried him far…but not quite far enough. “You know how I told you earlier that I wanted something different? That I wanted a life built around creation? Tonight brought me back to that truth. Food is like a canvas to me. I love the process of mixing things together—the spices, the cheeses, the herbs and meats and veggies. It’s creative magic. I was convicted of that recently when a competitor was dismissed on a cook-off television show I helped host. In a very arrogant manner he gave me his opinion about what I do, and he did so in public, on TV. I’m sure he achieved the utmost satisfaction from shaming me that way after he was eliminated.”

  “I happened to watch that episode.”

  Of course she had. Why wasn’t Graham more surprised by that fact?

  Lydia’s breath sent puffy white curls into the nighttime air. “I wanted to see who claimed the big prize. Bottom line? That guy was nothing more than a sanctimonious heel. Truly. On top of that, everyone watching knew as much the instant he opened his big, bragging mouth.”

  “I get that, Lydia. All the same, those indictments hit home and left me at a crossroads. Even without the splash across YouTube and all the comments left at the television station’s webpage I’ve come to realize changes might be necessary.”

  “I sensed there was more to your distraction last night than the idea of being stranded.”

  “Perceptive.”

  Even in the mild, snow-cast light, Graham could have sworn he saw a rise of color in her cheeks. “Like I said, I’ve followed you on TV, and”—she chuckled—“I try to pass along what tips I can to Aunt, Bertie. She’s chipped in with a few kitchen duties since our chef, David Lewiston, quit. After seeing what you did tonight, I think ramping up food offerings and improving our kitchen should become a top priority as we consider ways to keep improving Christmas Inn.”

  Lydia used just a few short words, and offered no more than the promise of an idea. All the same, she’d laid out a tempting form of bait. Should he even pursue it, or was she speaking in general terms? Tough to judge, though she waited on him in a building silence. Should he ask her to elaborate? Nah. He’d let it drop. Tonight’s foray into the world of cooking left him itching to overreach, to push for something that might never come to be. Besides, it seemed Christmas Inn was just hitting stride again. Even if management considered hiring a head chef, management wouldn’t be able to afford him.

  Right?

  Disquiet attempted a bloody coup, so Graham extinguished, then side-stepped, the spark that had so briefly burst to life. “Tonight affirmed that what I do is basically meaningless. I’m not making use of the education I received, the joy I find in cooking. Sure, that contestant had an axe to grind, but I have to be honest. He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. He didn’t lampoon anything about me that I didn’t deserve. I’m plastic. I’m manufactured. Up until now, that’s been acceptable. Not anymore. What I tumbled into tonight—creating food with nothing more than bare essentials and my own technique—is a challenge that thrills me and makes me happy, but I’ve never stepped off the cliff and let that pathway, that passion, lead me away from the safe zone. I’ve never had that kind of guts. Not like you.”

  In a way, Graham answered Lydia’s questions about increased food offerings at Christmas Inn. Still, the deeper elements of that idea remained suspended between them, and for now, that was fine. They were just talking, throwing out thoughts and dreams with no true knowledge of what might happen next. All Graham knew for sure was that he wanted to operate a restaurant kitchen, and he wanted to keep seeing Lydia. He longed for their connection to somehow remain, despite differing lives.

  But being realistic, how could such a thing possibly happen?

  “So, all of that drama happened the day you left town to go home for Christmas?” She slanted a glance his way, interest like a bright flame in her eyes.

  “Timing is everything, isn’t it? I was on my way to Ashville, North Carolina for Christmas with my folks and my big sister, Becca.”

  “I’m so sorry, Graham. Right or wrong, whether it leads you to an epiphany or not, what happened on that show was wrong.”

  “Thanks. I’m determined to fulfill my purpose in life, but that requires risk, and a lot of thought. I don’t want to settle.” She tucked against his side as easy as a dream. “I love cooking. I’ve come face-to-f
ace with that fact all over again. The life I live right now? Being a face and a mouthpiece rather than creating great food? That’s not how I want to spend my life.”

  “And if you could have anything you wished?”

  Anything he wished. Graham closed his eyes and allowed that movie to play out, a movie full of scent, texture, taste and the clatter of cooking, serving, eating. “That’s easy. I’d be back in the kitchen. After what happened tonight, here, with you, I can say that loud and clear.”

  “Then do it, Graham. Do it.”

  She stopped, blocked his way until their gazes met, and held. Her prodding was so simple in theory, so perfect on paper, but breaking out of and exiting the cocoon of security and all of his life’s known quantifiers—both good and bad—wasn’t as easy as ‘Do it.’

  “I wish I hadn’t sold out, Lydia. I wish I hadn’t created such a superficial life.”

  “Your life isn’t superficial. You followed opportunity and embraced it for as long as it suited you. There’s no crime in that. No fault. You’ve lived your life as you saw fit. What I’m hearing now is that you want to change direction. There’s nothing to stop you from that change, Graham. If cooking is what you want, then do it.”

  So honest. So fearless. “I used to have that kind of unquestioned belief and determination.”

  “What happened?”

  “Life. Affirmation. A quest for security. None of them bad things, but combined together, choices are made and pathways are taken that leave you wandering away from your dreams and plans before you even know what hit. That’s why I give you so much credit for taking custody of your life.”

  “It’s not easy.”

  “Nope. But necessary.” Necessary, just like that cozy layer of security that had wrapped itself around him in a needed, but at times confining hold. All at once he wanted to leave the bleak, the restlessness, behind. He took Lydia’s arms in a gentle grip and turned her until they were face-to-face. “You’re awfully easy on me.”

  “Not easy. Just honest.”

  There she was again, tender and sweet, soft as a caress and equally as tempting. Graham lost his breath, and stared into her eyes, captured. Lost, yet found. “Do you know what I want to do? I want to freeze frame this moment. This feeling. I want to put my life on hold just long enough to drink this in and actually start to believe again.”

  “Believe in what again?” Her voice trembled with a telling, emotional vibration. Need. A need he tasted and felt as surely as she did.

  “I want to believe in miracles again. I want to believe in beauty and love and life lining up with proper focus and feeling good again. That hasn’t been the case for me in a long time.”

  He cupped her face between his hands and drew her gently, inexorably closer…closer still…until lips brushed, wispy as the touch of falling snow. A kiss began, built and swirled like the dance of silent white all around them. The warmth of his skin melted flakes into pinpoints of dewy moisture.

  Suddenly the pealing of church bells cut through towering pines, through the ink black of night. The kiss they shared moved in slow and gentle exploration, in time to the twelve strikes of the nearby church bells that heralded the hour.

  Midnight. The turning of one day to the next. A fresh start. A clean slate.

  All at once, Lydia broke free of the spell they had created and gasped. “Graham…the chapel…the bells…they… No!"

  "No, what?"

  “Those bells only ring for special occasions, for…weddings, for funerals, for celebratory gatherings. For love. Mysteriously, whenever love is found, no matter what the time of day, the bells resound.”

  Her voice trailed off and Graham’s skin prickled like a live wire. Love? Mysterious bell chimes? What was going on here. His alarm rose. “Should we check it out?”

  “No…Graham, trust me, there’s nobody there.”

  “But what if it’s an intruder, or…”

  Though still trembling and functioning on high-alert, Lydia shook her head. “I…I’m sure it’s just a…a fluke. Anyone who means harm would hardly trouble themselves by sounding the bells.”

  Still, he noticed the way Lydia stared at the distant silhouette of the cross-tipped church spire just barely visible through the trees. Graham continued to absorb her shivers, which stemmed not from the cold, or any kind of physical threat, but from something deeper and infinitely more mysterious…

  Love.

  And he wondered—what kind of message was God trying to send tonight? To both of them?

  5

  The following morning, Graham’s phone came to life. He lunged for the device and pulled it from the charger, hoping the auto repair shop was calling with an update about parts delivery. Instead, caller ID revealed a name from his contact list that hadn’t seen much use over the past few months. Geoff Cortland.

  “Shame on me,” Graham muttered, “for negligence.”

  He engaged the call at once and was treated without preamble to the booming voice he knew and loved so well, despite logistical distance.

  “Graham! Happy holidays, my friend! How are you?”

  Geoff wasn’t a believer like Graham, and he relegated Christmas salutations to the generic. Still, Graham loved the man, and longed for a day when that fact just might change.

  “Hey, Geoff! I’m good. Stranded for now, but I’m good.”

  “Stranded? Where? What happened?”

  Graham caught him up and they shared some updates before his culinary mentor got around to the point of his call.

  “I wanted you to be one of the first to know. I’m retiring.”

  “What? Retiring?” Graham strolled the length of the fireplace in his suite, glossed a hand absently against swags of faux evergreen. Mini-ornaments and tiny lights glimmered and danced at his touch. “You can’t be serious. You’re way too young to retire.”

  Geoff laughed, hearty and strong. “Life is short, Graham. I’m going to travel, sample cuisine from all over the world, maybe even publish some books before I’m nothing but a memory. There’s a lot more to food than just the restaurant, and I want to explore that truth.” Stunned speechless, Graham went stock still. He stood eye-to-eye with a Father Christmas statue stationed at the center of the mantle. Garbed in swaths of burgundy velvet and white fur, the figure possessed the strangest, most piercing blue eyes…

  He blinked and snapped to in a hurry to rejoin the conversation. “You’re happy? You’re sure about this?”

  “I certainly am. It’s all good.” Rich layers of enthusiasm imbued the words. “Kathleen and I are headed to Paris just after the first of the year.”

  “Wow—that soon? What about Jacques? What will happen to the bistro?”

  It was Geoff’s turn to hold silence for a beat or two. “I have temporary measures in place, you know, like when I take any other vacation. Long term though? Well, that’s why I’m calling. I want to give you the right of first refusal. Jacques can be yours if you’re interested. Actually, I’d love to see you as owner-operator, Graham. No one mixed passion and skill for both the food and the business like you. It’s time. Give up the reviews and the TV stints and get back in the trenches, my friend. You’re a no-brainer to succeed me. You’d be incredible.”

  Graham squeezed his cell phone in a death grip, considering the ramifications of Geoff’s offer. “I…I’m…” Wow, what a great time for words to fail. He cleared his throat, forced himself to breathe. “I’m flattered, first and foremost. I’m honored you’d even consider handing the reins over to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Jacques is part of who you are as a chef. Part of your history, and your coming of age in the food world. Your taking over here makes perfect sense to me.”

  “And I want to jump at the chance. Every instinct I have is burning to say ‘yes’ right here, and right now. I’d love to have my own place, as you know.”

  “And as you’ve earned. Make it happen, Graham. Let’s talk it over and see what comes next. You have too much skill to leave yo
ur passion, and your drive, to reviews and food analysis. Both are great tools—they’ll enhance you as an owner and as a head chef, but they’ll never provide the whole picture. There’s nothing like the hands-on process of creating great food. You can do it. I have no doubt or I’d never be able to make this call. I’m letting you know now so you can think it over. Let’s get together at some point the week before Christmas at Jacques. Can you make it to Atlanta by then?”

  “Ah…sure. Of course.” For an opportunity like this? No question. The call to arms that came from someone he cared for and trusted as much as Geoff was like answered prayer. He closed his eyes, tried to center, and was instantly haunted by a wide, easy smile, by brown eyes full of sweet innocence and a pair of kissable dimples that kept his mind bouncing with one complex and contradictory complication to that grand plan.

  Lydia.

  ****

  Lydia looked away from her computer monitor when Paulina’s purposeful stride caught her attention. Tablet in hand, Paulina moved past the easy chairs positioned near a wide mantle adorned with elves and lavish piles of sparkly cotton snow. She gave Lydia a nod of greeting.

  Preparing to join the inn’s manager, Lydia completed a script update that would enable the website to accept and process on-line reservations. She clicked enter one last time then allowed herself a satisfied grin. “With that, Christmas Inn, I welcome you to the age of technology.”

  Lydia tapped a few more keys to close out programs so she could focus on what was to come, a debriefing of last night’s events. The inn’s management team began to assemble in a conference room that adjoined the offices situated behind the resort’s reception area. At the appointed hour of ten, chair spaces filled along a large, oval table. Once everyone was accounted for, Paulina began the weekly meeting with a recap of latest business statistics along with projected timelines and costs for on-going improvement plans.

  “In conclusion, I wanted to touch on the extraordinary events of last night.” Seated at the head of the time-worn but sturdy oak table, Paulina continued. “From start to finish, we were amazing. Our emergency dinner service was a textbook example of how to effectively work together, with everyone pitching in, to create a great outcome. Our guests are still talking about that wonderful, fly-by-the-seat –of-your-pants meal Graham Forrester delivered.”