never resist your gingerbread. Besides, it’s only a few weeks out of the year, so I’m entitled. I’ll hit the gym in January.”
“Sure you will.” Stephen smiled, knowing all too well that this was not true. Holly had only been saying this every Christmas season since the inn had officially opened for business four and a half years ago, and she still had every intention of following through—if she ever managed to find the time. Running the inn had become her life and she poured everything she had into doing her job well. There was little time for anything else. Or anyone else, as Stephen also liked to point out.
“Do you mind putting together a tray before you go? A turkey sandwich and a slice of pie would be perfect.”
“Are we sure this person is even going to make it in tonight?” Stephen pulled a loaf of sourdough from the basket on the counter and began slicing two thick pieces. “It’s getting bad out there.”
“Maybe not, but even if he’s already tired from a long drive, he might want a little something.” Holly perused the variety of cookies and plucked a dried-cranberry-and-nut variation off the platter. She took a quick bite, casting a furtive glance in Stephen’s direction. Delicious. “Besides, this particular gentleman is staying in the Green Room.”
“Ah,” Stephen said, laying a wedge of cheese on top of a round of heirloom tomato. Every room in the inn was named after the color of its walls, and the Green Room was the best suite in the house, right down to its king-size bed, steam shower and private balcony. Abby liked to joke that it was named the Green Room because it reeked of money, but Holly had chosen the color specifically because of the way the leaves from the trees grazed its third-floor windows in the spring.
“I should go and see if he’s arrived yet,” she said, dusting the cookie crumbs off her hands. “Thanks again for putting something together.”
“No problem,” Stephen said. “See you tomorrow afternoon.”
Holly retraced her steps to the front lobby, noting with a stir of childish glee the way the holiday lights, wrapped around garland framing each window, glowed like stars in the dimly lit room. Standing just to the left of the massive Christmas tree was a tall man hunched over the thick doormat, stomping the snow off his feet. His slightly wavy brown hair was wet and slick, and the shoulders of his black cashmere coat were dusted with fine white powder. At last!
“Welcome to The White Barn Inn,” Holly said cheerfully, watching in slight dismay as the melting snow spilled over onto the cherry wood floors. She darted to the small reception desk to grab a rag, and returning quickly to the scene of the crime, she sopped up as much of the icy water as the cloth would hold.
“I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a mess.”
“Oh, no...it’s fine,” Holly said easily, still fixated on her task. “Just a little water, no harm done. There.” Once satisfied that the damage was under control, she stood to formally introduce herself to the latecomer and found herself face to face with a shockingly handsome man.
“Sorry again.” The guest grinned sheepishly, gesturing to the snow melting off his weather-inappropriate shoes. His turquoise eyes flickered with boyish charm.
Holly struggled to compose herself, finally finding her voice. “Good to see you arrived safely. These roads can be treacherous if you aren’t used to them.”
“No, I’m fine,” the man said mildly. He swept a hand through his damp hair and followed her over to the reception desk. “Believe it or not, there’s a country boy hiding under this city slicker.” His grin widened.
“That makes us opposites, then. I was born and raised in Boston. I’ve been in Maple Woods for five years now and I’m still terrified of driving in the snow, especially at night.” Holly smiled.
“I’m Max, by the way. Max Hamilton. I’m booked for the next two nights. But then, you probably knew that.”
Holly accepted Max’s hand into her own, alarmed by the chill of his palm. The man must be freezing. “I had an inkling,” she said, noticing how his skin warmed slowly from the heat of her own. The subtle intimacy made her feel instantly connected to him. “I’m Holly. Holly Tate.”
“Pleased to meet you, Holly Tate.”
Sucking in a nervous breath, Holly fished through the drawer for the key to the Green Room, noting the slight quiver in her hands, but happy for a diversion. Finally locating the familiar green keychain, she handed it over to its temporary owner and went through some of the routine information about the inn. The sound of her voice, on auto-pilot, filled the room, but her attention was on anything but breakfast hours or turndown services.
It had been a long time since she’d had the pleasure of being in the company of a man as attractive as Max Hamilton, and her stomach fluttered as she looked him over. She estimated him to be in his early to mid-thirties—unmarried, she noted with a flip of her heart as he signed the registration book, left-handed, and devilishly handsome. Something about those electric blue eyes and that broad, kind smile made him instantly appealing.
“I’m past check-in, aren’t I?” Max looked slightly alarmed at the realization. “I hope they didn’t keep you at work on account of me.”
Holly took in the friendly twinkle of his eyes and genuine, lopsided grin and felt herself inwardly melt. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “And besides, they didn’t keep me at work. I own the place.”
Something in Max’s demeanor shifted and the glint of his eyes turned murky for one quick, telling second. Holly wasn’t surprised. No one expected a woman in her late twenties to be the proprietor of this establishment. She was often met with disbelief when she revealed this fact.
“Surprised you, didn’t I?” she smirked, coming around the desk.
Max curled his lips into an irresistible smile. “You definitely did,” he said.
* * *
Max Hamilton wasn’t sure what to make of this revelation. What a strange profession for a woman as young as Holly. An innkeeper? In this remote little town? He had assumed that the owner of this quaint establishment would be an elderly retired couple, not the sexy young thing that stood before him.
He’d have to rethink his strategy.
“So you own all this?” he asked, gesturing to the lobby and the rooms beyond. It was clear that a lot of attention had gone into the furnishings and decor. The house was built in the colonial style, traditional with white siding and black shutters, but large and substantial. Coming up the main drive, he’d noticed the wreaths hanging from each window by a thick crimson ribbon, the inviting lanterns the hugged the front steps, the pine garland that wrapped the awning posts. Sweeping his gaze over holiday decorations that seemed to fill every inch of the foyer in which they stood, he had to wonder if that red front door had been painted especially for the holiday. Probably, he decided.
“That’s right,” Holly nodded and then stopped herself suddenly. “Well, almost. My family’s been leasing the land for three generations, but I’ve been saving toward buying it when the lease is up.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty substantial investment.”
“You’d think so, but not in a small town like this. The Millers were the original owners of the land back in the early nineteen hundreds and the family has stayed in town for the most part. George Miller is the current owner now and he and his wife have no real use for the land, so luckily we’ve managed to come to an agreement.”
“So then you were right the first time you answered my question,” Max continued. “You really do own all this.”
“Not yet,” Holly corrected. “The lease was for ninety-nine years. It was a Christmas gift from my great-grandfather to my great-grandmother. It expires next week.”
“And then?”
“And then hopefully everything can be signed and sealed.” Holly smiled,