Lock, Stock & Jingle Bells Page 5

  “What I was trying to say was, I want you, but not on the counter of your mother’s store. Trust me, another thirty seconds, and—” He broke off as his body surged with approval for that idea. He dipped his chin, took a steadying breath, then looked back at her. And suddenly, whatever he said next took on amazing levels of importance. Crazy as it sounded, crazier as it felt, it was like he was potentially making or breaking his entire future in that one, singular moment. “Holly, I want a chance. That’s what I came here to tell you. I can’t explain it, and maybe you think I’m crazy, but I—”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said, her voice quieter now, but the look in her eyes said a whole lot more was going on that her tone was not belying.

  “I just didn’t want to move so fast that we mistook one thing for another. I want you, but I want you deliberately, with very specific intent, and I want that first time to be in a place where we can both explore and figure out what…what this is. What it could be. Do you understand?”

  She looked at him for a long time, and he’d never felt so at a disadvantage, like there simply weren’t words available that would put the chaos and irrationality of all the things going on inside his head into some sort of sane, logical order. Because this wasn’t sane. He’d wanted a kiss, a chance, a conversation, perhaps. But one taste, one touch, one of those tiny little noises she’d made and it was like…wow, he couldn’t even describe it to himself.

  “Yes, I do. And I want to,” she said, at length. “But…I don’t know, Sean. I—the timing, it’s—”

  “It’s now,” he said, never more sure of anything. It was stunning, really, the certainty he felt. Stunning and crazy-town crazy. And then he was blurting it all out, which was probably the stupidest thing he could ever do. But this was his one shot, his one chance, and he wasn’t blowing it this time.

  “I know it sounds crazy, and it should because it is, but I’m banking that maybe, if you’re really just honest with yourself, you’ll agree it’s the same with you. That kiss…that was real and honest, and it wasn’t just a hello-get-to-know-you kiss, was it,” he stated, not even making it a question, because in his mind, it wasn’t. “It was something else, like a waited-a-lifetime-for-that-kiss kiss, you know? And maybe I’ve always known that it would be that way with us.” He was babbling now, and he didn’t care, couldn’t stop. “Maybe that’s why, as a teenager, I couldn’t approach you. I wasn’t even close to ready at that point in my life to tackle something so important, so potentially life altering. And on some level, maybe I knew that. Maybe I always knew it would be big. Extraordinary. Or maybe things really just do happen when they’re supposed to.”

  She wasn’t looking at him like he was crazy, so that was one good thing, but her expression was shuttering, and he panicked, a little.

  “No, no, don’t do that. Don’t shut me out. I know this is way over the top, but it’s like…you’ll run back to London if I don’t say something to make you stay and give me a chance, and so I’m just saying everything that’s popping into my head, and I know it’s too much and I know—”

  She shut him off with a kiss.

  He grabbed her face and kissed her back, but there wasn’t a promise there, in hers, not yet. And she pulled back before they could fall off that cliff again. “Sean…” She paused and took a moment to collect herself, and he wanted to see her eyes so he could gauge what she was thinking, but he let her have the time to compose herself, her thoughts, and waited, which was perhaps the longest few seconds of his life. She looked up again, and there wasn’t regret, so his heart stayed hopeful. “I’m interested, too. I am.”

  “But?” And his heart paused. Clutched, really. Because Holly Bennett wasn’t a second chance, change-her-mind kind of woman.

  “But…I don’t know. I don’t know you. I don’t know where my life is taking me. I think I might have a solution for the store, but it’s not one that will keep me here.”

  How did a man stand there and explain to a woman who was perfectly right when she said she didn’t really know him, that he was the only one in the universe she truly needed to know, because he was hers. Meant for, had to be, once in a lifetime hers.

  Because…that was crazy. And he wasn’t.

  “Do you believe in fate?” he asked, wanting logic, linear thought, and progression, but knowing there wasn’t any.

  “I don’t know what I believe in.”

  “Your job, in London. Do you miss it? Is it something you could see yourself doing here?”

  She didn’t answer him right away. But no warmth had entered her eyes, no natural affection or fondness, when he’d mentioned it. Which he knew wasn’t the case when he thought of Gallagher’s. He loved his place in the world. But did he have the right to ask her to consider abdicating hers to give him a chance? And what did he really have to offer her? She didn’t want the shop, she wanted…he hadn’t a clue. Maybe she didn’t, either. But his life he did know, and it was a crazy one with crazy hours, filled with crazier people, most of them blood relations, so…what on earth made him think she’d willingly sign on to that? Even if London wasn’t calling her passionately…at least it was a known quantity, a safe, reasonable alternative. She hadn’t come back here because she wanted to be here…she’d come back because she was forced into it.

  So, it would seem, the very last thing he should be doing was forcing her to do that all over again, just to be with him.

  “I’m good at it,” she said at length. “I don’t know that I’d want to start all over again doing it here, though.”

  Good at it. Not that she loved it, or was passionate about it, but good at it. “Is that enough for you? Doing something because you’re good at it?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “It’s what it is. I don’t hate it. And…it’s always there while I figure things out. I don’t have another back up plan.”

  Me, he wanted to shout. Let me be your back up plan.

  “This other alternative solution for the store…how long do you think you’ll be here, sorting that out, if it works?”

  “I don’t know. I took my annual leave to come here. I have through the new year. Then I have to go back.”

  “Would you be willing to sort through this—us—while you’re here? See where it might go?”

  Had he not been looking closely, he might have missed that leap of want, that instinctive reaction of delight, at his suggestion. He latched on to that. Holly might not want to admit her secret desires, or that she could reach for a new star…even to herself. But she wanted to.

  “I don’t want to lead you on,” she said. “Or myself. Just because we’re both interested—”

  “Should be reason enough for any two people to explore what might be. It’s not something that happens every day, Holly. Or ever, for some people. Just give it a chance, me a chance. Speaking for me, I’d rather risk the hurt, the ultimate rejection, than never trying at all. At least then I’d know we’d made the effort…and that it wasn’t meant to be.”

  She didn’t say anything, and he wanted, badly, to press the advantage he knew he had. Their physical attraction, that chemistry, was natural and explosive, and one little kiss right now would probably be enough to tilt her decision in his favor.

  But so much of this was out-of-the-ordinary nutty, he really wanted any decision she made to come without the cloud of pheromones and desire, but with a clear mind and an open heart.

  “I think we’re asking for trouble, Sean.”

  “And I think we’re asking for the moon. But we might as well reach. You can’t get what you don’t go after.”

  She smiled briefly then and shook her head. “Are you always so certain about things?”

  “Sometimes. But when I am, I most definitely am.” He cocked his head. “I thought you were always certain about things.”

  “I thought so, too,” she said. “But nothing seems to be staying the same. And things I thought I knew, like with my parents, aren’t what I thought at all. So…maybe fo
r the first time, I’m feeling like I’m not certain of anything.” She looked at him. “And I don’t know if I can tackle another uncertainty right now.”

  He tipped up her chin and looked into her eyes. “But now is when I’m here. And you’re here. And we get the chance. Tackling uncertainties…that’s how you get the answers.”

  He kissed her, but this time it was slow and thoughtful, and with the absolute intent of letting her know it wasn’t the wild, out-of-control lust that had him saying these things. Or feeling these things.

  Her eyes were a little glassy and unfocused when he lifted his head. He covered her hand with his own and slid hers to cover her heart. “Feel that?” he said, quietly. “That’s what mine’s doing right now. I just want the chance to have more of that. With you.”

  He left her hand there, on her heart, and stepped back. Her feet slid down from where they’d been tucked around his legs, so her heels tapped the front of the counter. Where she sat, looking a bit lost, a bit dumbstruck, and a lot confused.

  “You know where to find me.” He turned, unlocked the door, and walked out. He heard the ringing of sleigh bells as the door swung shut behind him. The walk back across the street was the longest one he’d ever taken. And he prayed like hell that wasn’t the last time he’d ever see her. Come and get me, Holly Bennett.

  He pushed the door open to Gallagher’s and walked into the burst of people chatting, silverware clanking on dishes, laughter, the sound of the coffee grinder going, and the general chaos that was the soundtrack to his life. And it was his life, and life-giving to him.

  He turned around then and looked back across the street. At the quiet, darkened little shop and its lone occupant, sitting in total silence. And he felt his heart squeeze, then drop. What on earth would ever compel a solitary, quiet woman such as Holly Bennett to step into his cacophonous world? Much less give him a chance?

  Nothing was the answer that came to mind. Absolutely nothing.

  Who was he kidding, anyway?

  But for the rest of that day, all that night, and for the endless two days that followed, every time the tinkling bell rang on the front of the door, signaling another customer entering, his pulse would spike, his heart would lift, and his spirit would find a sliver of hope…and each time that hope would be dashed when it wasn’t Holly crossing the threshold.

  So, on the dawn of the fourth day, he realized he had a decision to make. Sit back and take her silence as a final answer…or continue his quest?

  7

  Holly wiped the long sleeve of her tee across her forehead and blew the hair that had slid—again—out its ponytail off of her face. She looked at the clipboard containing a printed list of the entire inventory of the store, and back again at the little secretary desk crammed into the corner of the storage room she’d been using as her living quarters. It simply wasn’t on the list.

  She’d discovered that while her father had kept the books for the store in meticulous fashion, her mother had a bit more, let’s say, creative approach to cataloging the store’s contents. There was no doubt she had a good eye for product and good business sense, Santa’s Workshop was solidly in the black and had been for years, decades even, despite economic fluctuations. But when it came to cataloging every last figurine and antique cabinet, her mother’s idea of grouping and organizing the objects were entirely different from Holly’s, or, she was pretty certain, anyone else’s, either.

  She’d tried checking things off the list as she went through each area of the room, then, when she couldn’t figure which category certain things fell into, she’d played scavenger hunt and tried tracking down the listed pieces one category at a time…but when that still left pages of unmatched items, she’d been forced to call in reinforcements.

  Mrs. Gillespie had just left after coming back a second day to help her sort through it all, and this was what was left. A single, antique oak secretary desk. Mrs. Gillespie had assured her that her mother didn’t have any personal stock in the store, nor had she ever used it to store anything from home. If it was here, it was for sale. But there was no tag, no item number sticker, nothing.

  Still, if this was all that was left unsorted, fine by her. She’d been prepared for much worse. And Mrs. Gillespie’s help had brought the added benefit of giving her the opportunity to sticker every piece in the store that she wanted to discuss purchasing. She’d also given Holly information on several different methods she could use to off-load the rest of the inventory. They hadn’t discussed, as yet, leasing terms, as Holly hadn’t yet decided if she wanted to tackle the role of landlord. She had talked to an estate lawyer about her options there, as well, and was mulling over the surprising number there were to contemplate. Every time she thought she’d answered one question, five more popped up that required more discussion.

  At the moment, the lone piece of remaining unclassified inventory was the least of her worries. She tossed the clipboard on the red crushed-velvet divan she’d been using as a bed and turned her thoughts to the most nagging issue of the moment. And that was hunger.

  She looked through the second-floor dormer window across the street to Gallagher’s and tried, unsuccessfully for what felt like the millionth time, not to think about all those things Sean Gallagher had said to her. In some ways, it was like a surreal dream, a movie sequence that had happened to someone else, an actress playing the role of mousy ingénue faced with the surprising, unrealistic pursuit of the impossibly handsome leading man. An out of body experience, for certain, because things like that never happened to the body of Holly Bennett.

  And, oh, the effect he’d had on her body. There was still an automatic, instinctive swoon response each and every time she really allowed herself to relive those moments. Those incredible, intoxicating, possibly-if-she-dared-let-it life-changing moments. But…who did that? Who leaped like that? Well, besides someone like Sean Gallagher, for whom leaping really couldn’t be all that scary. After all, how many hard landings could he have had?

  Not that Holly had led some kind of sheltered or failure of a life. She was bright, smart, good at her job, and she’d dated. Plenty. There had even been men with dashing accents and fashionable wardrobes. She’d dumped and been dumped…but truth was, she’d never once really had her heart broken. So who was she to talk about hard landings?

  She sighed and leaned back against the little desk and fanned her face for an entirely different reason. And admitted that never once, in her entire dating life, had she ever been kissed like that. And that the real reason she hadn’t walked across that street, and straight through that restaurant and right into Sean Gallagher’s kitchen and kissed him back in that same devastatingly slow and marvelous way he’d so perfectly claimed her mouth the other day, at precisely twelve fifteen—she’d noticed the Santa’s belly clock over the door he’d walked out of—wasn’t because she was afraid of men, or of dating, or of taking chances.

  It was because, this time, she was afraid she could get her heart broken. Quite thoroughly shattered, in fact. All those things he’d said, each and every word had resonated inside of her, screaming one word: truth. She knew it, felt it, as surely as he did. Shocking and stunning as that was to even contemplate.

  But the odds weren’t in her favor. He didn’t travel in her world and she most definitely didn’t travel in his. She had no idea what to do with a huge, boisterous family full of people who would likely scrutinize, judge, and hold her up to who knew what kind of impossible standards when it came to their beloved and cherished Sean. Yes, clients did that with her on a routine basis, but she knew her worth in the world of advertising.

  She had no idea of her worth as it pertained to holding on to someone like Sean Gallagher.

  And so, chicken that she apparently was, she’d shamefully stayed hidden in her haven of an inheritance and focused on answering the questions that had finite, rock solid answers instead. That she could deal with, and had to deal with, anyway. Sean and all that he represented and potentially promised
was simply too huge, and seemed too…fantastical fairy-tale to seriously contemplate.

  Her stomach growled. Loudly. It was well into the afternoon and she hadn’t eaten since the bagel she’d gotten from Margie’s, the little coffee and pastry shop two blocks down, earlier this morning. She could call the deli again, get another cold cut sub. She looked out the window. Or she could cross the street and order something more filling. And muster up the courage to tell Sean that she’d decided to lease the shop space to Mrs. Gillespie and would be heading back to London. Which wasn’t exactly true. Yet. But still, she wasn’t staying, that much she knew. So, it was for the best to go over there, make peace, not leave things in limbo, remain friends. Surely they could be adults about this.

  Right. Who was she kidding? She wanted him so badly she could taste it. And it was ridiculous how badly she wanted to taste him. Again. And again. If she marched into his office, there was a far bigger chance she’d kick the door shut and beg him to take her right there, right then, right on his desk, than realistically discuss any rational thought of how to retain something as simple as a basic friends-only friendship. She’d certainly fantasized about the former. The begging part, the demanding part. Not so much with the rational let’s-be-friends part. In fact, she’d never realized how many places there could be to have spontaneous, erotic, hot as hell sex in a restaurant until she’d closed her eyes at night.

  Jimmy’s Deli it was, she decided, slipping off the secretary, then tripping over the end of a rolled-up rug she’d shoved there earlier while checking things off lists. This sent her wheeling back against the little rolltop desk, which rocked hard back against the wall and caused a heretofor unseen spring loaded hidden compartment door to pop open in the recesses of the rear of the nook-and-cranny desktop. She bent down and peered into the shadowed interior of a newly revealed hidey-hole. “Huh. Cool.”

  But, before she could investigate further, the sleigh bells rang over the door downstairs and she cursed under her breath. She’d forgotten to go down and lock up after Mrs. Gillespie had left. Customers, both old and new, had come by over the past few days and tried the door or pressed their noses against the glass. When she could, Holly just ducked them, leaving them to 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.