Never Sleigh Never (Man of the Month Club: Christmas Novella)

9. Cara

Cara

T he crisp December morning air nips at my cheeks as I hurry up the steps of Magnolia Manor, the quaint bed-and-breakfast that Gabby, who comes from a luxury hotel family in New York City, tried to buy from Phillip even though it wasn’t for sale. But rather than sell, Phillip fell in love with the strawberry blonde spitfire—and she with him—and the rest, as they say, is history.

But on this Monday morning, my mind is as jumbled as a box of broken ornaments, sparked by memories of last night with Thomas I can’t seem to shake. Especially after he slipped away as if something was wrong after we banged it out.

I need to talk to Gabby. Now. Because I’m more confused than ever about my feelings for the rugged hardware store owner who may have rocked my world last night, but who took off faster than a sprinter when the gun sounds. The way his calloused hands felt sliding over my skin, how he kissed me like a starving man at a feast, the sounds he made when he—

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the vivid memories. Focus, Cara. He may have delivered the orgasms of your dreams, but you’re sworn off men. You told yourself it was just one night, not the first of forever.

The warm scent of cinnamon and freshly baked scones envelops me as I push the enormous front door of the inn open. Garlands of fragrant pine and twinkling white lights adorn the banister of the grand staircase. It’s picture-perfect, and for a moment, I pause to enjoy the beauty. And promptly forget why I’m here.

“Cara?” Phillip calls out from the parlor where he’s perched on a ladder, screwdriver in hand as he fiddles with a ceiling fan.

Oh, right. Gabby.

“Hi, Phillip,” I reply, glancing around for my best friend.

“Gabby had to run some items from the holiday tea into town, but she should be back any minute.”

“How was the tea? Everything go well?”

“It was a tea,” he replies, in typical Phillip fashion.

“You don’t mind if I wait for Gabby, do you?”

“Help yourself to coffee.” He dips his chin toward the breakfast spread. “Should still be hot.”

“Thanks,” I say, never one to turn down caffeine. I make my way to the coffee bar and fix myself a cup from the insulated pot labeled Christmas Morning Blend . I shoot another glance at Phillip, the single dad who, not so long ago, I thought was the man for me. Sure, it stung when I realized he’d fallen for the city girl, and yeah, I may have jumped feet first into that fling with the smooth-talking billionaire Gabby’s father was trying to set her up with, but watching Phillip with his now wife, it’s clear things worked out exactly as they should have. Even though I’m still single.

“How’s Mia?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe and cupping the warm, fragrant mug in my palms. “I haven’t seen her lately.”

Phillip’s face softens at the mention of his daughter even as he grunts, trying to loosen a stubborn screw. “Just earned her green belt last week. You’d think she could take on a grizzly bear the way she struts around here like she’s ten feet tall.”

I can’t help but smile. “Good for her. I’m sure she worked hard.”

“She did, but from what I hear, you’ve been working hard, too,” Phillip says, wiping his hands on a rag, “resurrecting the holiday festival. Gabby mentioned you’ve assigned us to man the photo booth on Saturday.”

“Yes, and thank you for volunteering. We’ll need all hands on deck, and I’m sure the booth will be a popular stop on Main Street.”

An elderly couple makes their way down the stairs, and they pause to ask Phillip how long the walking path through the pecan grove out back is. While he chats with them, I decide it wouldn’t hurt to casually mention Thomas, just to see what Phillip might have to say. I mean, the two men are friends, after all. Former high school baseball players together, to be exact. Maybe, they still have some of that locker room style talk when they’re alone.

As the guests tug the door closed behind them, I pick a piece of imaginary lint off the sleeve of my sweater. “Have you talked to Thomas lately? About the festival preparations, I mean.”

Phillip’s eyebrows rise as he glances down at me. “I ran into him the other day.”

And?

It’s as if this man knows holding out on me is pure torture.

After a beat, he continues, “He mentioned he’s been busy with the festival, but that he didn’t mind the extra work.”

That’s it? That’s all he’s got?

I lift a shoulder as if the information isn’t something I’ll examine from all angles the second I leave here. “Good to hear, considering he’s been putting in a ton of hours.”

Phillip steps down from the ladder and digs in his tool bag. “Thomas’s got a good heart. He always rises to the occasion.”

Thomas sure “rose to the occasion” last night. My cheeks flush at the memory.

“I got the impression he didn’t mind the long hours because of your company,” Phillip adds, glancing up from the tool bag as if to gauge my reaction.

I nearly drop my mug but cover my surprise with a cough. “That so?” I choke out.

“He didn’t say as much, but I’ve known the guy a long time,” Phillip continues, still eyeing me. “Which is why I was surprised to hear that from him, considering Gabby mentioned that boyfriend of yours broke up with you and you’ve sworn off men for the holidays.”

I choke on a sip of coffee, this time coughing so hard my eyes water. I’m not surprised Gabby filled her husband in on my dating life, but I am surprised he brought it up.

“You alright there?” Phillip asks, inching toward me as if he’s prepared to pound my back if I need it.

“Yeah,” I say, waving off his concern. “Fine. And I have sworn off men,” I confirm. Dating them, at least. Sleeping with them? Apparently, that’s still fair game.

“Plus,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “the picture in the paper this morning made it seem as if the two of you are getting along just fine.”

Picture? In the paper?

“What picture?”

He sets down the wrench and steps over to the coffee table, flipping open today’s newspaper to reveal a photo of Thomas and me at the city council meeting taken from the back of the room. The article is titled, “City Council Green Lights Funding for Return of Main Street Holiday Festival.”

My breath catches, and I study the image as if I’m a private investigator looking for clues. Thomas is standing protectively close, his hand on my lower back as he glances down at me. And yeah, I can remember exactly what that touch felt like, even now.

The chemistry between us is palpable, despite being in black and white. And the tender gesture captured is so at odds with the passionate, almost primal encounter we shared last night. It’s as if I’ve met two different men—the gruff, practical hardware store owner and the attentive, passionate lover who made me feel things I’ve never felt before him. Both physically and emotionally.

But before I can scan the article to see what it says, my phone chimes with a text. I pull it from my purse, my heart doing a little flip when I see Thomas’s name on the notification screen.

“Mornin,” the message reads, making me smile despite myself. But then another text comes through, and my blood runs cold.

“Expecting a visitor?”

And there, below the message, pops a picture of Wayne’s sleek BMW parked outside my boutique, taken through the blinds behind the register at the hardware store.

“Oh, sugar plum fairy.”

“Everything okay?” Phillip asks, pausing in his attempt to return to the ceiling fan.

I nod distractedly, my mind racing. “I need to go,” I say, already spinning on my heels. “Tell Gabby I stopped by, will you?”