Love at Christmas Inn Collection 1 Page 13

  When silence grew long, Paulina gently prodded. “And now?”

  “Now it’s been brought to my attention that maybe God sent me here for a purpose. To come to some important decisions and confront a crossroads in my life.” Graham spun from the window, grateful for Paulina’s patience as he talked things through and absorbed this new, strange reality of the soul. “I had more fun last night, making dinner for your guests, than I’ve had in years.” He returned to the chair in front of the desk and sank into its comfort. “Lydia’s the one who showed me that truth and took the time and care to explain it to me. I think she’s right. Trouble is, the professional answers I most wanted to receive are being answered in the affirmative.”

  “But you seem hesitant.”

  “I am.”

  “Because?”

  “Because while those answers appear to be affirmative and rewarding, I’m just not sure anymore. My heart is showing me a different and equally fulfilling path I might take.”

  Paulina’s smile mixed understanding and tenderness to perfection. “Since assuming my duties as manager of Christmas Inn, I’ve learned to go by my heart. What does your heart say?”

  “My heart sees the beauty of Hope Creek, the joy of being part of a close-knit community. My heart is telling me the answers I most wanted to receive might not be the ones that’ll lead to what’s best. I never expected this.” Graham squeezed the bridge of his nose, leaning heavily against the back of his chair. He had never expected to encounter someone as sweet and beguiling as Lydia, either. That fact remained unspoken, but Paulina would understand the implication—he had no doubts about her powers of perception. “May I have a couple of days to think this over? Obviously I’ll be leaving in the morning. I need a little time to make some decisions and put my professional life in order.”

  “Of course, and that’s nothing less than I’d expect.”

  “I can’t say yes, but I’m not rejecting your offer either. Not yet. I have to figure out a way to reconcile myself, know what I mean?”

  “I absolutely do, Graham, and no matter what, I’ll respect your answer, as well as your determination to do what’s right. Thank you for giving Christmas Inn your consideration.”

  They concluded the business meeting with a formal handshake and a warm farewell, but Graham’s stomach tilted and rolled.

  What was he supposed to do next?

  7

  Graham resumed his pre-storm holiday plan by paying a quick visit home, to his childhood home in Ashville. The pair of days he spent in North Carolina were punctuated by a whirlwind of welcomes, hugs, family reunions, gifts to wrap, then place beneath the already installed Christmas tree. Glittery, colorful packages piled into shimmering rainbows of love beneath a live evergreen tree that dominated a corner of the great room in his parent’s Tudor-style home. The tree was radiant with sparkle lights, with generous drapes of garland, bows and ornaments that spun, shimmering with every breath of air, every push of movement and vibration of laughter.

  On the professional side he had called Geoff and set up a meeting. While lounging by a crackling fire and fingering ornaments—his favorite being a small, woolen sheep with ‘Graham’ engraved on its collar and the scripted words, ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ he sounded out his sister, Becca, with regard to both the YouTube episode and the two professional offers that left his emotions embroiled and his stomach tied in knots.

  “My advice?” She slid her hand through the crook of his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder, her features cast in the glow of the multi-colored lights. “Meet with Geoff, hear what he has to say, then pray. Go still. Go with what your heart tells you.”

  So much like Paulina’s words from just days ago.

  On the personal side, Graham attended church at his childhood parish, Fallwood Christian, fortified by the strength of his family. He sang hymns of praise and God’s faithfulness that rang with particular power this year. He offered up prayers not just for himself but for the friends he had come to care for back in Hope Creek, at Christmas Inn. Although he had arrived there snowbound, inconvenienced and frustrated, with the exception of his childhood home in Ashville, no other place had ever felt so much like genuine welcome, like home.

  Regardless, the chance to own Jacques called to him as well. Graham couldn’t wait to see Geoff again to discuss details and the process that would come about should he take on the heady and challenging venture of making the time-honored restaurant his own.

  The thought accompanied him while he dashed through the chaotic maze of Atlanta International at the height of the Christmas season. Soon after landing, he slid into the backseat of a yellow cab and settled in for the trip downtown. Geoff had sent him no paperwork to review. No formalities were in place, but he knew that’s what today’s meeting would uncover. Much like Paulina, Geoff had indicated he’d have official details in proper order today, all set for review. He’d hand over specifics during the noontime meal they were about to share at Jacques.

  The cab sped north along I-75 and Graham pulled a manila folder from the inside pouch of his computer bag. The tab was marked by Paulina’s neat script. A single staple kept a Christmas Inn business card securely attached to the front.

  Graham settled against the leather seat, ignoring the flashing motion of cars, the billboards and increasingly tight-packed buildings. He rubbed his lower lip, studying the legalese from Christmas Inn for what had to be the dozenth time since receipt.

  Two roads. Two options. Two life-changing avenues of equal worth just waiting to be explored.

  “Maybe the struggle you’re facing is the reason God landed you here as you sort things through. Maybe He’s using the inconvenience of car trouble and a snowstorm to slow you down and give you time to focus and plan without distractions or pressure.”

  The memory of Lydia’s words played through Graham’s soul. She was a smart woman, full of keen insight. However, in this instance, she was wrong on both counts. No distractions? No pressures? Her advent into his life was the very definition of an unexpected and thoroughly intriguing distraction. Graham was trapped between the ideas of taking custody of Jacques versus the opportunity to live a quieter, simpler life running the kitchen at Christmas Inn. Could he find happiness there? Near Lydia? As part of her life—forever?

  Pressures inched upward by the moment, because he was torn in half, drawn by the idea of two very different lives: the life he had dreamed of and imagined from the very start, and a life that was completely unexpected. He hadn’t been looking for love, yet God had sent his life straight into the path of a remarkable woman—a woman who had been gifted to him on a snow-covered odyssey that he never in a million years would have taken of his own free will. From the moment of that first midnight kiss, when supposedly inoperative church bells had tolled, everything had turned. Not just from one day to the next, but from one pathway to another. An entire shift of his universe, his ambitions.

  Grinding out a groan, Graham slapped the folder closed and rested his head against the back of the seat, taking in the funky aroma of the cab while around him the cityscape of Atlanta rose and crowded and jostled with activity. Skyscrapers filled space rather than rolling land, a hushed snow and a peaceful sense of quiet. Horns honked, engines revved and brakes squeaked. The shrill cadence of police sirens punctuated the air and people scurried, most of them blinded by their focus on techno devices, or urgent conversations and that mysteriously driving pulse that seemed to fuel the city.

  Returning felt familiar. In a way, it felt good, too. But being back in Atlanta didn’t feel quite like home. Not like…

  Christmas Inn.

  He slammed the mental door on that conclusion and perked when his driver swerved the cab neatly into place in front of a canopy that welcomed patrons to Jacques. His lips curved. The place looked great. Timeless. A brownstone façade lifted three stories high with the restaurant claiming the first two floors. The third housed a stylishly appointed loft-style living space for Geoff and hi
s wife Kathleen.

  Inside the restaurant, Graham moved past the hostess stand and through the main dining area. He followed the aroma of simmering vegetables, meats, and the drifting scent of fresh baked bread. In the kitchen proper, he found his friend jiggling a sauté pan that flamed and sizzled. Geoff focused on his task but barked directions to his staff as dinner preps swung into full gear.

  Geoff caught sight of Graham’s arrival through a pair of swinging doors and chortled. “Graham-tastic! Put on a jacket and help me.”

  Graham snickered and rolled his eyes at the ages-old nickname, enjoying every second of being pushed back into his role as sous chef. He swiped a white jacket from the wall peg to his left and snapped it into place, stationing himself across the stainless counter from his friend.

  “What is this? An induction by fire?” Graham teased the other man, even as he accepted a batch of arugula and a knife from Geoff. He went to work dicing.

  “Get used to it, there’s lots more of it to come in your future. There’s a mixing bowl on the lower shelf of that counter, right by your knees—”

  Graham cast his mentor a wink. “I remember the setup, Geoff.”

  “I’m counting on that. Guess I’m just in the zone right now. The spinach over there needs to have the stems removed then it can be added to the bowl of greens.”

  “On it.”

  For an hour, they simply prepped, speaking only when work demanded it. They established a familiar rhythm that sent beautifully plated dishes to guests in the dining room. Salmon, petite filets, ahi tuna—the aromas swirled and enticed and called to the deepest reach of Graham’s spirit. Lord, he prayed in silence, thank You. This feels so good…

  Once the main thrust of the dinner service began to subside, they claimed a window-side table adorned by crisp, white linen cloths, matching napkins, deep blue china, sterling place settings and shimmering glassware. The city bustled by, touched by the magic of colorful Christmas decorations that adorned nearby shopfronts.

  Kathleen joined them, tucking a chair next to Geoff’s. They shared seared ahi tuna over a bed of wild rice accompanied by a house salad. Following a few friendly updates, she extended a stack of documents for Graham’s review. Déjà vu, Graham thought. Déjà vu. An attorney would review the finer details of both offers later in the week, but it didn’t take long for him to absorb the big picture. Yes, the surrender of Jacques to his care would result in a big hit to his savings. Yes, he’d have to set up formal financing. Yes, the work would be grueling, but the financials were impressive. Laying claim to an established well-respected restaurant would mean an excellent, and instant, rate of return.

  Owning Jacques would be a smart investment—and a smart professional move. Why, then, did his heart feel empty?

  “This…this is overwhelming. Geoff, I know I’ve said it before but…I'm honored. Seeing the offer laid out in black and white makes everything real. What you’ve outlined, what we’ve talked about, is an answer to the questions, the prayers I've been sending out for months now.”

  “So why do you sound like you're trying to convince yourself?”

  “Because you know me well. Because, in a way, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. And I shouldn't need to convince myself. Not about something like this. Running my own place? Calling the shots? Being the one in control? Exploring food again, hands-on? That's all I've ever wanted.”

  Geoff eyed him cautiously in the pregnant pause that followed. “I'm waiting.”

  Graham wadded the crisp linen napkin spread across his lap, clenching the fabric in his fist, attempting to release what tension he could. “Now it feels like ego.”

  “Ego?”

  “Yeah. Ego. Part of why this opportunity appeals to me so much is that it would prove the jerk who shot me down on air and maligned my whole way of life was wrong. This opportunity would show the world I’m a chef, first and foremost.”

  “You’re talking about that guy from the cook-off.”

  “Yeah.”

  Geoff scoffed and muttered a mild curse. “Talk about ego. That guy had ego, and arrogance, unmeasurable by human standards. Seriously. What a pompous—”

  He laughed, appreciating the loyalty and support of his friend. “All of that is very true, but he got to me. His smack-down made me think about my life, and that’s not a bad thing. You said it yourself when we talked last week. It's time for me to break away from being a mouthpiece, a media presence, and earn my chops again.”

  As though in answer to that very statement, Geoff opened his arms wide. The gesture enveloped the filling tables, the chink of dinnerware, the constant rolling vibration and hum of conversations and laughter.

  Kathleen leaned forward, visibly encouraging Graham as well. “So do it!”

  “I know, it's all right here, but I found all of that, and more, in Hope Creek, at a resort that's on its way to being amazing. In ways both personal and professional, the time I spent stranded there changed me. What I experienced at Christmas Inn brought me back to who I truly want to be, and what I enjoy the most—not just as a chef, but as a man, as a person with life and a purpose beyond the kitchen.”

  Silence held sway. Geoff and Kathleen exchanged a long look before Geoff asked the million dollar question. “Are you saying I better start looking elsewhere for a new owner-operator?”

  All Graham could see in his mind’s eye and in his heart was Lydia. “Yes. I am. But I'm grateful to you both. More grateful than I can ever say.”

  8

  Snow returned to Hope Creek. Not to the extremes of ‘The Great Storm’ from a couple weeks ago, of course. All the same, the new fall of crystal flakes transported Lydia to that moment in time when she and Graham shared a mystical kiss beneath a snow-ridden sky. Today’s Christmas Eve snow was more like a soft, sporadic sifting accompanied by stillness—then sudden gusts of wind.

  One such jolt sent wet snow pinging and tinging against the stained glass windows as she entered what she thought of now as ‘the chapel of the midnight bells.’ She had always loved the cross-tipped, white clapboard structure, but now it held even richer significance. Floorboards sang and creaked beneath her feet, giving voice to the history, the lives this chapel had touched and nurtured.

  Inn guests and Hope Creek locals filed in for the Christmas family’s traditional prayer service. Family, friends and inn employees filled the aged, wooden pews. Lydia peeled off her coat and chose a spot toward the front. She extended a padded kneeler and sank into prayers so deep, so encompassing and filling the session transported her far from the prayers and praise just a few minutes from beginning.

  Just as she finished and lifted her head, a gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder. “May I join you?”

  Graham? Her eyes went wide and she froze, staring ahead at the small but ornate altar, unable to turn toward him right away, to allow herself to believe or to hope. But suddenly the freeze thawed and a tremble set in. She looked up, into the eyes that haunted her every dream. “Of course. Please.”

  He claimed the spot next to her. In his eyes lived such love, such reciprocal hope, and something even deeper, even more intriguing. Peace-filled contentment.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. He slid close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and rested his forehead against hers.

  Lydia’s heart pounded, accelerating into a rocket pace. “I’ve missed you, too. So very much.”

  Only a handful of days had passed since Graham’s leaving, but his absence had hit her hard. During that time, she had buried herself in work, trying to distance herself from the idea of being struck by love’s lightning flash. What a dangerous and foolhardy idea. But the force of her conviction to leave Graham behind only left her sullen, uncharacteristically quiet and introverted. Lydia realized all these facts, so did her family and friends, yet she couldn’t seem to budge. Thoughts of him, empty longings and wishes, spun through her head, leaving her mind in a fog.

  Lydia’s mom claimed the pew behind them. Lydia�
�s attention fell on her for an instant as her mother’s brows lifted high and a spark of hopeful interest lit her eyes. Lydia squelched an affectionate, tolerant laugh. Evidently mom’s optimism with regard to Lydia and romance sprang eternal. Bless her heart.

  “Can I speak with you outside for a moment, before service starts?”

  Graham’s request preempted all the distractions, all the comings and goings of the building crowd. Lydia nodded and they stood in unison. She grabbed her coat and slipped it on. Graham captured her hand in an easy swing as he escorted her down the main aisle of the chapel and led the way past double wood doors flung open to welcome the evening’s worshipers.

  Like a stroke of the Spirit, a curving brush of wind-song moved through the trees and curled around them as they stepped outside. Snowfall had ceased for the moment, but sparkling white powder danced through the air. A few of the sprinkles landed on Lydia’s cheeks. When her hair tossed, Graham stroked back the curls and smiled into her eyes.

  “You came back,” she murmured, at a loss for further elaboration.

  “Unfortunately, only for today. I’m headed back to Ashville first thing in the morning for Christmas with my family. I’m leaving at stupid-o’clock in the morning to be with them, but I had to see you first.”

  Lydia nodded, trying to understand, her throat tight. “Why’s that?”

  “Because…well, for one thing, I wanted you to be the first to see this.”

  From an inside chest pocket of his down jacket, Graham removed a folded sheaf of papers stapled neatly in the upper left corner. He handed the pages to Lydia so she could examine the offering.

  Her breath caught when she read the top lines of the Christmas Inn employment offer. “Graham?” She flipped to the back, afraid to even dream that she’d find his signature, but sure enough, the contract was executed on his side, emblazoned by strong, bold brushstrokes toward the future.