Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

C HRISTMAS IN S NOWFLAKE F ALLS , W YOMING , was Noelle Holiday’s absolute favorite time of year. Not just because she was aptly named for the season—but being the daughter of two Christmas tree farm owners who also had a themed bed-and-breakfast might have contributed to it—but because it was just so...cheery.

The town was resplendent. There were lights strung on every available surface, the historic main street aglow with cheer. It was the calm before the storm for her, and like clockwork, she’d been craving her favorite Christmas drink this morning. So even though a trip to town hadn’t been mandatory, it had felt vital.

The tree in the town square was vibrant, with large colored lights and brilliant rainbow ornaments. The tree had of course come from her farm. The one she selected to occupy the center of town was always her very best.

Even though it was early, the streets were bustling as people emerged from their hotels and homes to get caffeine.

Noelle was also on the hunt for caffeine. She dipped into her favorite coffeehouse, a little brick building at the end of the lane, and stepped up to the counter.

“Can I have a gingerbread latte, please?”

“Is it opening day?” her friend Melody asked, smiling from her position behind the counter.

Sweet Melody really did have the best coffee in town, but the fact that it was owned by one of her best friends made it even better.

“Yes,” Noelle said. “How did you know?”

“The antlers.”

Noelle laughed. She had forgotten that she wasn’t wearing a regular headband, rather one designed as part of her reindeer costume. Her brown sweater dress and brown fuzzy tights, along with her brown boots, completed the look. She shook her head, and the bells on the ends of the antler tines jingled. “At least I don’t have my light-up nose on yet,” she said. “You can’t drink a latte easily with a lighted nose on.”

“You’ll probably attract a lot of attention, too,” said Melody.

“I probably already am.”

“True.”

Her friend turned and began to make her drink, adding flavoring to a brightly colored cup, steaming milk and making a shot. Noelle knew that she was attracting attention, but she also didn’t mind. He family had owned the Holiday House bed-and-breakfast and Christmas tree farm for generations. Her name was literally synonymous with the season. Anyway, it probably wasn’t even that notable that she was wandering around dressed as a reindeer. If she wasn’t a reindeer, then she was an elf, when the farm was open. And this being the day after Thanksgiving, that meant the season was well and truly in full swing.

Many other places in the US had a different kind of consumerism in full swing on days like today, but not Snowflake Falls. They didn’t boast any chain stores, no massive Black Friday sales. Their little Main Street did come alive during the winter ski season. It had become an incredibly trendy place for people to stay, rivaling Jackson as the hotspot for Californians looking for snow. Some of the boutiques of late had become more chic, and there had been a few swathes of land bought with an eye toward making them into luxury resorts.

She tried not to think about that. She tried not to let that distract her.

Her mom was amping to sell the Christmas tree farm, and the B and B. Quite a few parcels of land around them had been sold to Rockmore Inc.

Noelle was opposed. Absolutely and wholly opposed. She didn’t want her glorious, Victorian B and B turned into a soulless luxury resort made all of slate and glass. Need money. She didn’t need to escape her life.

She didn’t like that she had so much conflict with her mom now that her dad was gone.

Noelle’s mother liked to remind Noelle that her name wasn’t in this place. She wasn’t a Holiday by blood, but by marriage, and she didn’t want to stay in the little town forever. She wanted different things, and now that her husband was gone, she didn’t have to keep living in this small town. She didn’t have to confine her dreams to this mountaintop.

But Noelle’s name was in this home, in this land. She wanted it more than anything. At the very least, she wanted the opportunity to buy her mother out. Of course, she didn’t just have money. She would need time, a payment plan. She would need her mom to be patient. And to care, even a little bit about what mattered to Noelle.

It was just so frustrating. They had always had a somewhat contentious relationship, but with her mom bound and determined to sell the Christmas tree farm and Holiday House it had only gotten more strained.

Noelle didn’t want to leave. She wanted to cling to this life, to all the warm, glowing memories she had here.

Life without her dad, life realizing that her parents’ marriage hadn’t been perfect, that her childhood wasn’t quite so perfect, was just a little less cheerful than the life she’d grown up with. And if she wanted to cling to the past—with its warm glow of nostalgia and beautiful memories, who could blame her?

“You all right?” Melody asked as she handed her the latte.

“I’m fine,” Noelle said. She forced a smile.

“No charge. You are officially bringing Christmas cheer to town, and I feel that you should be fairly compensated.”

“Well, you don’t need to do that,” said Noelle.

But she would take it. Because she needed every penny that she could scrape up. She needed this year to be good.

That was the difficult thing. She needed the tourism. She realized that feeling grim and broody about advancements made in the town was... Ungrateful in a way. She needed people to want to come and stay at Holiday House. She needed an influx of travelers coming for Christmas. People who wanted Christmas trees, who wanted sleigh rides and to go through the elk preserve in wagons, she needed those people.

Because it was how she made money. It was how she continued to pay her employees. She might not be the owner of the B and B, but she managed it, taking a paycheck like everyone else with the rest of the earnings going to her mom.

Christmas was her stock in trade.

And the ski season was her best for obvious reasons.

But none of it mattered if everything she loved got leveled to make a new fancy hotel.

A strip mall.

The very idea. Strip malls in Snowflake Falls. What next?

The end of days.

She walked out of the coffee shop after bidding Melody a farewell, and looked down the festive main street again. And that was when she saw him.

He was taller than anyone else on the street, and he was dressed in black.

It felt like an aggressive block of darkness, right there in the middle of the well-lit street.

People bustled around him, in brightly colored knits, talking and laughing. In groups. He was singular, and there was nothing merry or bright about his expression.

But he was... He was the most beautiful man Noelle had ever seen. His hair was jet-black, as dark as midnight without stars. His eyes were the same sort of coal color, his jaw square, his mouth flat and severe. His shoulders were impossibly broad, and as he moved toward her, she felt her heart leap into her throat. Of course, he didn’t see her. She was tucked beneath the awning of the coffeehouse, and she was... Well, she was a reindeer.

A brown blob in the midst of the seasonal glory.

He cut through the people like a blade, his every move efficient. Black jacket, black tie, black gloves, black pants, black shoes. She took in each and every detail as he moved closer and closer. Her heart felt like it would burst when he walked past. He didn’t even flicker a glance.

She remained an unseen reindeer, standing there and sipping on her gingerbread latte.

Who was he?

She immediately started writing stories about him in her mind—how could she not. The town itself, and the citizens in it were always the same. Tourists were an endless source of fascination, but this man...even more so. Was he a man with a tragic backstory here to find his Christmas spirit. A widower? An investment banker from New York City who’d lost his way and needed a woman filled with the spirit of small-town Christmas to show him the right path?

Ha. Right.

He must be here with a wife, children. He was wearing gloves so she couldn’t see whether or not there was a gold band on one of his large hands.

In many ways, he should look like anyone of the innumerable important executives who came to Snowflake Falls to ski, to eat local cuisine like bison Wellington and elk tenderloin. And yet, he didn’t. There was something singular about him, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

You think he’s hot?

She shimmied. She didn’t think it was that. That would be very basic of her. Maybe she was basic.

She frowned into her latte. Then reached up and touched her antlers. She didn’t think she was basic.

She cleared her throat and moved away from the entrance to the coffeehouse. She had to get back to Holiday House. Because the madness would be starting soon. She was manning the Christmas trees today, as that’s where all the action would be. She did have new guests arriving, but the staff at the inn would be managing most of that.

Often, the running of the inn was her primary responsibility, as she lived in the house year-round. But when the festivities picked up around the rest of the property, she relied more heavily on her seasonal support staff.

Many of whom had been working at Holiday House for years.

The idea of them not having jobs anymore, the idea of them not being part of her life, it was absolutely unconscionable. Surreal.

She wouldn’t let that happen.

“Time to sell Christmas trees,” she said to herself as she marched down the street and back to her modest little car. She started to drive out of town, and up the winding, dirt road that led to Holiday House. Fat gray clouds loomed overhead, but they didn’t bother her. This was her favorite time of year. When fall turned into winter, when the leaves finally gave their last gasp and fluttered to the ground.

When the ground froze and was covered in snow. She loved the snow.

Of course, with her father gone, it was up to her to keep the road to Holiday House plowed. Her father had bought an old, giant snowplow fifteen years earlier, and had used it to make sure that their guests could always get in and out of their property. Her father had thought of every wonderful little detail needed to make it the most glorious place to be during the cold winter months.

She didn’t take the road that led to the B and B, rather she took the one that forked off and led to the little Christmas tree forest, which also boasted sleigh rides, hot chocolate, spiced cider, roasted chestnuts and various other forms of merriment.

The parking lot was already half full of people arriving from near and far to get their Christmas tree, and to have a festive experience.

She drove behind the parking lot to the employees-only access, and stopped in her small office, which was labeled: the North Pole.

She got out her card reader to help process transactions, and plugged it into her phone. Then she grabbed her light-up red nose and put it on, pressing the button so that it blinked merrily. She began to sing, a cheerful conglomeration of carols as she trundled about.

And that was when she saw a sleek black car winding its way into the parking lot. It was the strangest thing. She didn’t have to see who was driving to know. In her gut.

Because the car was exactly like its owner. Sleek and sharp. Unerring. Dangerous.

What a strange thing to think.

She thought that he must be with a wife and children, why else would he be up here? Why else would he be getting a Christmas tree?

But then, he parked the car, and got out.

He was quite alone.

And he turned and began to walk toward her.

Rocco Moretti was not a man to suffer indignity. And this entire snow globe of a town was one indignity after another.

The roads were in a state of utter disrepair and the buildings were in a sorry state. And those sagging monstrosities were festooned from foundation to ridgeline with lights, ornaments and garlands. The entire thing was so sugary, it might as well be a gingerbread man’s frosted armpit.

He hated it.

He hated Christmas.

He hated cheer.

He hated this place.

And yet, he had been advised that this was the smartest investment he could make at the moment.

He had already bought up swathes of land, and there was this one holdout. This rickety little Christmas tree farm.

The owner of the property had been communicating with him regularly about her terms, but had made it clear that her daughter had to sign off on the sale, or it couldn’t occur.

Such were the terms of the property.

And right there, staring at him, was the tiniest little insult to injury he had ever seen.

A woman. With curly red hair, a blinking red nose, and antlers.

She might have been pretty, were she not ridiculous.

But then, he supposed that went for the entire town.

The glory and natural splendor surrounding it might have been awe-inspiring, but he could not overlook the adornment.

As was the same with the creature regarding him now.

He knew. Instinctively. That she must be the one. Of course she was. The one who was blocking his purchase of the last piece of land he needed in order to make the resort that he was bound and determined to have.

He knew all about the messy terms of wills. And he did not blame the woman desperate to offload this place left behind to her by her late husband.

Just as he had spent years cleaning out the mansion his mother had filled with her madness, he had also spent years trying to untangle the terms of her will.

Never a woman content with life, she had been quite like this whole town. Uselessly adorning each and every space with her influence. Collecting and collecting as if she would suddenly find the magic thing that brought fulfillment. Controlled chaos, she had called it, though he had never seen anything in it but chaos.

She had, though, proven that in her mind there was some form of control involved, by her utterly controlling last will and testament.

He must always keep building. You must always keep adding to the empire. New clutter onto the earth.

Or he must marry. Procreate. Before his thirty-second birthday. Worryingly close now.

A lovely parting gift from his mother, who had wanted to obsessively control everything for all time, and had succeeded in how she’d left the company to him, with a board of her own choosing there to make sure he complied.

But thankfully, he had it in hand. All of it.

He moved across the empty space, and approached the little indignity.

“Hello.”

She only stared at him, aptly, as a deer caught in headlights.

“I am hoping that I might be able to trouble you for a place to stay tonight? This is Holiday House, yes?”

Women found his accent charming. He had learned English quickly. And had decided that it was good enough. Partly because the accent was of use to him.

“Oh, Holiday House is full tonight I’m afraid.”

Well. He would solve that problem.

“A shame,” he said.

“Do you... Are you with your family?”

“No,” he said. “I’m only in town on business. Just myself.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I suppose then that you don’t need a Christmas tree.”

He never needed a Christmas tree. He could think of nothing more vile. A dust catcher, shedding detritus all over the place.

“No thank you. I have no need. I have heard though that Holiday House is very beautiful. Is it all right if I drive up the road to see it?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Thank you. I shouldn’t like to have come so far to not even catch a glimpse of it.”

“Where did you hear about it?”

“I’m quite certain it’s on a list. Of rustic inns.”

“Oh, yes. Home and Garden , Town & Country and Countryside Magazine all did features on it.”

“ Countryside. That must be it.” Did she really think that he read periodicals? Like a geriatric man sitting in a doctor’s waiting room?

Her nose blinked as she regarded him. Yes. She really might have been pretty, though it was very hard to say in what she was wearing. The knit brown dress clung to her curves, and her eyes were a russet gold. Her lips were pink and full, but the nose. And the antlers.

“My name is Noelle. Noelle Holiday.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

So this was the woman he needed to charm. The woman he needed to wrangle into signing the papers. He would have to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and what better way than by charming her.

“And you are?”

“Rocco,” he said. “Moretti.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Moretti. Why don’t you have a complimentary cup of cider?”

She turned away from him and picked up a ladle from a slow cooker, dipping it into steaming liquid and pouring it into a paper cup.

His lip curled involuntarily, and he tried to turn it into a smile. It was wholly unhygienic. And yet, he had no choice but to graciously accept it. Charm. He was aiming for charm.

“Many thanks. I will not keep you.”

“Oh. You aren’t a bother at all.”

A bother . Imagine. Someone calling him a bother.

He took the cup, and got into his car, and then he drove down the road, following the signs that would lead him to Holiday House. When he pulled up to it, everything in him recoiled. It was an old Victorian, as gaudy as everything else.

He got out of his car, holding the cup of cider. He poured it out onto the ground, and watched the steam rise from the frozen earth.

Then he crushed the cup in his fist.

He walked toward the front porch, and cast the waste into a bin that was placed there.

He brushed his hands off, and walked into the building. There was a young girl standing there, looking at the guest registry.

“I have a request.”