The Darcy home is a wonder. I’ve never been inside a house that felt more meant to be. Decorated with grays, browns, and greens and giving off the vibe of a mossy old-growth forest, the house feels as elegant and timeless as nature itself. The flooring, the art, the rugs, the furniture all promise beauty, peace, and rest. It’s hard to pass the couch in the living room without the urge to relax on the sofa with what appears to be the world’s most comfortable cushions.
“Caroline, please help that son of mine.” Anne Darcy’s voice carries from a nearby room. I recognize her voice because we’ve spoken on the phone frequently and met in person twice. “He’s dressed too formal for this event. He only knows how to dress for bankers or hard labor. I’ve asked him to change, but I’m worried he’ll put on ratty jeans and work boots.”
“Happy to help; I’ll go to his room and find him something perfect for the party.”
“Thank you, dear.”
This Caroline picking out Liam’s clothes—odd. My parents have been married for 30 years, and my dad would never let my mom dress him. I wonder about Liam’s relationship with Caroline. Just how close are they? Not that I’m interested in him. I’m not. Not at all—especially after his violent reaction to the thought of kissing me under the mistletoe. No, I’m simply curious about any and all relationships because I write romance. I’m always on the hunt for story ideas.
Crossing through the kitchen, I bump into the vendor with the cookie decoration station.
“Lettie!” Gail waves me over to where she waits by the microwave. “Just the person I was looking for. I forgot to melt chocolate for dipping. But I need to be at my table.”
“I’ll take care of the chocolate.”
“You certain?” Her eyes are skeptical behind her thick purple-rimmed glasses. I get it; melting chocolate can be tricky. But I’m a decent baker, and I’ve got this.
“Yes, I’ve done it plenty.”
“Thank you! Lettie, you’re a lifesaver.” She scurries down the hall leading to the outside door.
“This is the year! I can feel it.” I recognize the female voice talking on a phone as Caroline—possibly Darcy’s girlfriend. I clear my throat so she knows someone is in the kitchen. But apparently, she’s too caught up in her conversation. “It has to happen. I have his mom’s blessing.” Okay, so she’s not a girlfriend but has plans to be. There’s a pause while the person on the other end says something.
“He’s not uptight! Liam’s just responsible.” I stifle a laugh. Liam Darcy not uptight? Has she ever met the guy?
Caroline enters the kitchen, still chatting away as though I’m not here. She’s shorter than I expected, with such a tall, commanding voice. And she is much prettier than I had imagined. She’s your typical Barbie, perfect figure, golden blonde hair, and big blue dreamy eyes. I’m guessing she’s Darcy’s type. Let’s face it, she’s every guy’s type. Looking at her, I find it hard to believe she’s not already his girlfriend. Maybe I misunderstood the conversation.
The microwave beeps.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, we’ll have to finish later. There’s staff here, so I can’t talk freely.” This comment bugs me. I’m not sure why. Technically, I’m being paid to be here, so I am the staff. With a rubber spatula, I stir the warm chocolate chips and watch them turn liquid. Caroline walks through the kitchen without acknowledging me. I hear her heels clacking down the hall. Going to Liam’s room, I assume. I return my attention to my work. Some chips are still solid, so I return the bowl to the microwave. I playConnectionson my phone while I wait. Liam and his mom walk in. Maybe I’m imagining it, but he appears irritated the moment he notices me.
“Lettie, this is my mother, Anne Darcy.” His formality cracks me up. I’m half tempted to curtsy.
“We’ve already met,” his mom answers warmly. She is a handsome woman with dark brown hair, cut in a flattering short cut. She’s wearing jeans, fur-lined snow boots, and a chunky red sweater. She certainly got the memo on proper party attire. “Lettie, could you tell my son that a suit is not the thing for a hygge holiday party?”
Mr. Uptight rolls his eyes. “I know, Mother. I had to meet with a bank today. I told you I would change.”
“Caroline is already picking an outfit for you.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mom, I’m 31, I can dress myself.”
“I just thought . . . you know . . . she’s not with that guy anymore.”
“Can I get through one evening without matchmaking?”
The microwave beeps. As I open it, they both give me accusing stares. It’s clear they forgot I was here. I take the bowl of melted chocolate, turning my back on them, intent on doing my job, trying my best to be invisible.
***
I spot Liam later in casual attire:jeans, an Icelandic sweater, and thick-soled leather boots. Judging from the dirt on them, I’d guess they are work boots. I am dying to know if he picked out his own outfit or if Caroline chose it for him. Poor Caroline, she hardly has a chance to talk to him. He’s so busy greeting guests. She trails him like a faithful dog as he circulates the winter wonderland, conjured by his money. People congregate at the tents of food as well as around various steel drum bonfires. Many partygoers work at his almond farms or the almond milk, almond flour, or almond butter plants. Talking to employees, he seems a little less stiff, a little more comfortable. He smiles some, and I think I even spy him laughing. While studying him (all in the name of research for my next book—obviously), he catches me staring. I look away immediately, but before I can hide in the crowd, he walks directly toward me across the slushy, snow-covered lawn.
“Awesome party,” he says in greeting.
“You paid for it.”
“True enough.” He stands beside me so that we’re both watching the festivities. A full minute passes without him saying a word. The silence feels awkward, but Liam Darcy doesn’t seem to mind. Still, being so close to him makes me nervous. Why did he walk over here just to stand and be silent? I’m used to lively conversation.
“So... ?” I begin. “I’m dying to know. Did Caroline pick out your outfit, or did you?”
