A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,60

see the closed sign and realize the store wasn’t open despite there being lights on inside. However, on occasion, she’d been sighted, and was forced to wave, or make brief, mostly awkward conversation about when the shop would reopen. But she’d never left the door unlocked so they could just stroll in.

“Lovely,” she muttered, and grabbed the clipboard off the divan before heading out into the hall toward the stairs leading down to the shop floor…only to run smack into Sean, who was on his way up.

And he looked…determined.

“Holly, we need to talk.”

He was empty-handed this time—figured—but she was momentarily too discombobulated to put him off with the excuse that she was headed out for lunch, so she ended up blurting exactly what was on her mind, instead. “I—uh, was just thinking the same thing. In fact, I planned to come over to talk to you later.” Which wasn’t a lie, exactly, since she had been thinking about it but hadn’t pinned down exactly how much later that later would be.

His previously set expression lightened somewhat and his eyes crinkled a bit in that way she was already coming to like. A lot.

“You were?”

It was that hopeful note in his voice that did her in. “Yes, well,” she hurried to say, to explain, before anybody got their hopes up, especially her. “I just thought you should know, I’ll be leasing out the store. So…I’m not going to be staying. And I wanted—well, I didn’t want to leave things, you know…” She ran out of steam at that point, mostly because the twinkle blinked out and his shoulders fell a little, and both of those things not only made her feel horrible…but also a bit terrified, like a fool who was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

“Oh.” He stood there, looking a little sucker-punched and she realized he might have been storming the castle, all intent on making a speech or…or some last big gesture to get her to decide things in his favor, and she’d just robbed him of his big, planned-for moment.

“Is…that what you came over to talk about?” she stuttered, feeling badly for how this was going, but having no clue how to make it any better.

Well, other than to throw herself at him, drag him to the floor, and have several hours of wild, uncontrollable, lust-slaking sex with him.

But that would be wrong.

Wouldn’t it?

“Holly…I—” He just broke off, then raked his hand through his hair, and they stood there just past the top of the stairs staring at one another.

She had no idea what was going through his mind at the moment, but going through her mind was that it would all get better and a lot less awkward once he left. Then they’d either pretend they’d never had any interaction and wave or nod casually at each other if they, by chance, crossed paths between now and when she left…or studiously avoid making any kind of contact whatsoever. Even that would be less awkward than this.

So why was it that the thought of him walking away, of never, not once, seeing him again, not like this, not where anything was possible and she could say or do anything she wanted, if she just allowed herself the courage to…well, want. Something. Anything.

Anyone.

“You’re not selling the place?” he said, at very long length, apparently not ready to escape into their distant, casually waving future any more than she was.

“I—I don’t think so. I’ve had an offer, to lease it out, but it won’t be the same store. Antiques, but sans the Christmas part.”

He looked over his shoulder, down the stairs. “Aw, that’s a shame. I like the Christmas part.”

“You’re kidding.”

He looked back at her, and the smile was back, though the eyes were still not crinkling. In fact, he looked…well, hurt. “No, I’m not. I love Christmas. I love all that it represents.”

“Gross commercialization and an excuse for unrestrained instant gratification?”

“Says the advertising guru. No, I was speaking more metaphorically than commercially. I like that sense of wonder and hope, that miracles can and do happen. I mean, I don’t believe in pinning all your dreams on a single day of the year or having wild expectations that no one can fulfill. I’m just talking about…” He shrugged. “I used to go to Ireland every year for the holiday, to visit my family there, and so, for me, it was always a time of singing, laughter, great food, warmth and fun, and just…love. So, I