A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,43

why did he care?

“Sean! There you are. You’ve got O’Hara on the phone, barking mad about the fish order, and the damn grinder is acting up again. What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Sean waved a hand back at his cousin Mickey. “You know how to fix the grinder, and tell O’Hara that if he hadn’t tried to pawn off that load of crap scallops on me, I wouldn’t have canceled my order and gone to Halloran’s instead. His loss.”

“Sean—”

“Handle it, Mick.” And, without really giving it any actual thought, he strolled straight across the street.

3

“Hey, let me help you with that.” At the sound of the deep voice, Holly spun around. Sean Gallagher. The living, breathing embodiment of every single one of her high school fantasies. Feverish fantasies, they’d been, too. Of course, popular Sean, football and basketball star Sean, cheerleader-of-the-week girlfriend Sean, had never once paid her the slightest bit of attention. When they were in school, anyway. Of course she’d seen him almost every day of her life outside of school, given their parents ran businesses across the street from one another.

He’d nod on occasion, even wave to her when he was alone. But most often he was surrounded by a half dozen teammates and friends, or two to three times that in Gallagher’s, and Holly hadn’t the first clue what to do with a person like that. Especially when that person featured very prominently in every daydream and night fantasy she’d ever had. So, like the awkward geek that she’d been back then, she’d stare back at him, likely with a deer in headlights look, then duck into the shop and hide. All the while bitterly chastising herself for not being more forward and confident in herself when given such perfect openings.

Thankfully, her mother had never had a clue. One of the few times Bev Bennett’s total absorption in running the shop had worked in Holly’s favor. The instant Holly had popped into the store after school, or debate team practice, or art club, her mother would sigh in relief at the extra pair of hands and put her straight to work. On those days where Sean had privately favored her with that big smile of his, she was thankful for both the haven and the distraction. Today, neither were readily available. The store was locked up and there was no bustle of customers to demand attention.

Just big, broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, dark-haired, brightly smiling Sean Gallagher.

Who, at thirty-two, was only about a million times hotter than he’d been at eighteen. She was afraid the same could and would never be said of her. No amount of London polish would turn the small town mouse into a big city swan. She clutched the handle of her suitcase like it was her only lifeline to safety. “I—that’s okay,” she stuttered as he drew closer. “I’ve got it.”

Her less-than-commanding self-confidence didn’t exactly stop him in his tracks.

“Those boots look great, but I’m guessing they’re not much on traction,” he said quite genially, as if they were longtime friends who’d simply bumped into each other. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting to come home to slush and ice. Here.” He reached her side and gently, but quite decidedly, took hold of her suitcase handle. He propped his elbow out in an offer of personal support as well.

Clearly he had no clue whatsoever that he was a far greater threat to her equilibrium than any ice storm or three-inch boot heels could ever hope to be. The thought that, after all these years, he was not only standing right in front of her, talking to her, and smiling that devastatingly gorgeous smile at her, but wanted her to put her hands on him? Okay, just one hand. But still. It made her feel utterly ridiculous to still be so affected by him this many years later, when, obviously, the reverse had always been, and forever would be, true. Which…duh.

So, with everything else she was struggling to deal with at that moment, including a maelstrom of emotions ranging from confusing, heart-tugging homesickness to abject terror that she wouldn’t be able to run away from it ever again, the additional hormonal surge of seeing Sean Gallagher up close and personal was simply one too many things to tackle.

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine,” she said, striving to sound a little more in charge of herself, made harder by the fact that, even in heels, she still had to look up what felt like a mile