Page 13 of A Prince for Christmas

“You’re welcome, Em,” Nick said with a gentle smile. “You’ve had a rough night. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bent forward, and I closed my eyes, my heart exploding into a million butterflies as I froze, certain what came next. But his lips ended up on my forehead in a gentle, comforting kiss.

I relaxed and enjoyed the warm, comforting sensation, but a tiny part of me wilted wiht disappointment.

*

The next few weeks with Nick were a pleasant if confusing. We saw each other at least five days a week at the Wayward Wings, as McGregor continued putting us on almost the same schedule.

We worked beautifully together; lots of light banter, and what seemed like an almost telepathic connection that somehow made us aware of which customer needed something. Not that I believed in telepathy, but wasn’t it odd that Nick might be tied up at the bar with a drunken patron, and I would suddenly feel the need to check on his martini girl at the other end of the bar? After the first few times, I wasn’t even surprised when I followed a feeling and found a customer ready for a drink, some food, or their check.

Although he never mentioned it, the connection seemed to be two-way. If I was behind the bar, or waiting tables but occupied, somehow Nick managed to notice one of my neglected customers, and take care of them.

On the nights we weren’t working together, Nick found reasons for us to spend some part of the day together.

One week it was the tree lighting Bozeman did each year, another it was a Christmas concert at the School of Music. Since Polly’s boyfriend Adam was part of the show, it was only right that we be there to support him.

The concert was actually great, and sitting there with Polly on one side and Nick on the other, his arm casually around my shoulder, felt so right. Not sexy, not awkward, just right.

It was on that night, as we walked home through a light, feathery snow, that I mentioned the upcoming Christmas break, which was only two weeks away.

“I have to admit this has been a pretty rough semester. I’ll be glad when it’s over,” I said, enjoying Nick’s strong arm around my shoulders.

“It has been rough for you,” Nick agreed. “What are you doing over the holiday?”

“Going home to the ranch. My sisters would kill me if I didn’t show up,” I said with a laugh.

“So it’s a big occasion?” Nick asked.

“You have no idea. My mother is a little nuts where the holidays are concerned. Caroling with the neighbors a few days before Christmas, everything decorated to the point that it looks like Christmas threw up on the house, and all of the traditional foods.”

“Just what are traditional American Christmas foods, anyway?”

I had to laugh. “I’m not sure if they are American traditional, but Mom’s Christmas requires a Christmas goose, with some kind of odd stuffing no one touches but she insists on making every year, wild rice, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, and whatever the girls and I cook up. Usually a pecan or mince pie. Jenny always insists on making macaroni and cheese, too, even though Mom has fits because it ‘doesn’t go’ with the rest of the meal.”

Nick burst into laughter and paused on the sidewalk. “That sounds delightful.”

“Thank you for putting it so nicely,” I said with a little laugh. “Basically, it’s chaos with all of us in the house at once.”

He nodded. “So what’s in this stuffing you hate so much?”

“Some kind of dried fruit, bread, onions and celery, and a really weird tasting nut,” I closed my eyes, trying to remember what else, since I never ate it.

“Let me guess. It has dried prunes and chestnuts.”

“That sounds about right. Wait, don’t tell me your mom makes the same abomination.”

He sobered, turned me to face him, and somberly said, “I do believe your grandmother must have been English.”

“She was, at least in part.” I looked at him in confusion. “So what?”

“You just described half of a typical English Christmas menu. Just add some steamed pudding and perhaps Brussel sprouts…”

I turned and started walking toward my apartment. “Well, that explains why I didn’t get ham or turkey like my friends,” I said. “By the way, are you going home for Christmas?”

A shadow flitted across Nick’s features. “Not this year. Mum and I are having a bit of a disagreement, and I’ve decided to be stubborn.”

I was surprised. I’d done the usual sneaking around behind my mother’s back when I was younger, even made up a few things over the years, but I’d never challenged her directly. Same with my dad, although he and I usually agreed, so it wasn’t an issue. In fact, I suspected that he handled Mom very much like I did.

I would have loved to know what the conflict was, but he clearly valued his privacy. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me.