He pushed the thought away and breathed deeply to assuage the ache in his chest. His therapist had taught him to focus on the positive when the negative starting pushing its way in. His tragedy would always be a part of him, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t let it control him. There were plenty of good things in his life. His mother was alive and well. His sister was happily married, his brothers were healthy. He had a fantastic job. He was still young, he had time to find someone to love and to build a new family.
As he drifted into sleep, he wondered if that person could be Amaryllis.
The smell of coffee and the muted banging of pans woke him. He glanced at the clock. Five a.m. Who in the world? Amaryllis, of course. He slipped on a t-shirt and made his way through the apartment and into the inn’s kitchen, his bare feet silent on the heated floor.
He paused in the doorway to watch her. She placed bacon and sausages into pans on the stove as she danced around the kitchen to instrumental Christmas music on the inn’s sound system. She moved joyfully, clearly happy to be awake and cooking.
“What are you doing up so early?” he asked when she finally glanced to where he stood in the doorway. He hadn’t spoken for fear of startling her.
“Good morning to you, Owen.” She smiled broadly, sending a shard of desire through him. Not just physical longing, but an urge to get to know her better and spend more time in her cheerful presence. Her smile alone gave him a happy glow.
“Good morning. You’re up early.” He grinned back at her,
“I am. I woke up so refreshed. It’s so quiet here, I slept like a baby. I can’t believe how well I slept. Although it took me a while to drop off.” She nibbled her lower lip. “But once I did it was like time travel. One second, I’m awake, the next it was morning.”
Did that little lip nibble mean she was nervous? It seemed like a nervous thing. “I slept well, but clearly not as well as you. Is there coffee?” He remained in the doorway, knowing if he went closer, he’d want to embrace her.
“There sure is!” She laughed. “I’ve already finished most of a pot of Columbian medium roast. Help yourself. Or, there are pods for the machine over there.” She giggled. “Why am I telling you that? You know as much about the inn as I do.”
“Columbian sounds great.”
She bustled around pouring coffee into an enormous red and white, Sleigh Bells Inn coffee mug. “What do you take in your coffee, and don’t you just love these mugs?”
“Black, please.”
“When did we get the mugs?” She handed him the nearly overfull mug. Heat rushed up his arm when their fingers brushed.
She seemed ridiculously obsessed with the mugs. “Thanks. About six months ago. Ophelia was running out of decent mugs. A lot had been broken, and more were just plain worn out and uncleanable. You know how stained they can get. I suggested collectible mugs. She actually sells quite a few as souvenirs.”
“That’s brilliant. It’s always good to add another income stream to a small business. I learned that with the fashion company. We sell a ton of clothing, but even more of those plastic bracelets and hair scrunchies. It’s like people just want a piece of the brand or something.”
He sipped his coffee and watched her flip bacon. She was much more graceful than she had been as a youth. It was a pleasure to watch her. He didn’t even try to hide the smile forming on his lips.
“What can I do to help?” He’d rather just watch her, she intrigued him, but his chivalrous side had him offering assistance.
“Can you find some muffin pans and liners? I’m making pumpkin muffins from some pumpkin I found in the freezer. I guess Auntie O still recycles her Halloween pumpkins into pie filling.”
“Every year.” He set his mug on the table and scrounged in the walk-in pantry for the supplies she needed, including the new stand mixer he’d given Ophelia for her birthday earlier in the year. It was a big gift, but over the years, Ophelia had become almost a second mother to him. “I can start the muffins if you like.”
“I don’t have the recipe written down, it’s in my head. It was my mom’s. I memorized it as a kid. They were my favorite muffins. If you want to jot it down, I can recite it to you.”
He rattled off a list of ingredients and laughed at her startled expression.
“Your aunt taught me how to make them as well. They’re my favorite, and she only makes them in the fall and winter. She gave me the recipe so I can make them myself.” He was tickled that they shared a favorite recipe and had both memorized it. What else did they have in common?
They worked side by side without speaking until he had the muffins ready for the oven. “What’s the plan for the guests?” he asked, sliding the trays into the industrial oven.
“Breakfast first. I slipped notes under their doors that food was between seven and nine-thirty. I thought we could watch Christmas movies, play board games, maybe some charades.”
“If the snow lets up, we can go tobogganing.”
“The forecast says the heavy snow will continue for at least two days. Thank heaven Auntie O keeps a well-stocked pantry and freezer.”
“Good thing. Have you considered moving back to Snowy Hollow?” He blurted the question that had been banging around in his head since the previous evening.
She paused in the middle of putting the bacon into the warming drawer of the stove. “Not really. I love my job.” Her earlier happy expression morphed to a frown.
“You don’t sound certain.”
