A Christmas Miracle

“Now you sound like a commercial,” she said, with a smile that made him feel less insulted, more as if they were back on the shaky footing of their unacknowledged attraction.

“That burns a lot more than being called heartless.”

“You’re imagining things.” Briskly, she handed him the last of the lights, and he put them up, secured them with the heavy-duty tape, and then stepped off the chair.

“Want to turn them on?”

Nodding, she went inside and threw a switch. The lights began to twinkle just as a snowflake landed on his cheek. He looked up and saw blue-gray sky, but when he turned his head to look at the courthouse behind him, he saw more flakes, thickening in the air.

“Snow,” he said, as the shop bells jangled and Fleming rejoined him.

“About time. That should help everyone in business up here.”

He searched her face, impressed that he’d never heard panic in her voice, even the day she’d agreed to sign the loan.

“I swear you’re going to be okay,” he said, taking her hand. “I took into account the slow times. You’re in this for the long haul. If you were only looking to make a quick profit and turn the place over to a new owner, we would have discussed different terms.”

She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes. Her throat moved as she tried to swallow, and he pulled her closer still, wrapping one arm around her.

“Until you close on the loan, nothing is permanent.”

“I need to close. My life here is permanent.” She pressed her cheek to his chest. She was warm and alive and unguarded on this cold day, and she needed his comfort.

It was a potent combination, but when she said the word permanent, it reminded him who she was. He couldn’t tip up her face and kiss the generous mouth that haunted him when he should have been busy with his own plans. He couldn’t put his other arm around her and pretend they could be more than friends.

He did hit-and-run relationships with a mastery he’d learned at his father’s knee. Fleming was not a temporary kind of woman.

“Let me take your chair inside before it gets wet,” he said.

“I hope the snow now is a good sign for more to come.” She held the door, and he carried the chair past her.

Fleming followed him inside, but the bells on the door didn’t sound as cheery as now.

“You know, I don’t think you’re heartless.” She went to the front window of the store as if looking for customers to drag inside. “No one here thinks you’re heartless.”

“Have you been gossiping?” He went to the tall, silver coffeepot she kept behind the counter and poured two cups. He passed one to her, making no effort to avoid contact.

She put one finger through the handle and wrapped her other hand around the cup’s rim. He couldn’t help noticing every little thing she did.

“Maybe it’s gossip,” she said. “Maybe people are grateful, and we’ve talked about it over the doughnut case in the bakery and the egg fridge in the grocery store. When you first arrived, you were all rules and regulations, even when you were sorry you had to do the right thing for the bank.”

“I may still have to do that.” But he wasn’t sanguine as he thought of the number of loans he still had to study.

“You’re accidentally getting to know us, and business as usual isn’t as easy as it’s been in the past.”

“You’re right about that. I didn’t expect to be treated as if I belonged here. People take me at face value.” He moved away from her, fingering the thick batting that nestled the miniature village in faux snow in the window. “But I am still the bank’s representative.”

“I haven’t forgotten you’ll put the bank ahead of us.”

“If I have to, but I didn’t with your loan.”

“That’s what I don’t understand about you. You obviously cared about Fred, and I know you’ve been considerate of me, but if the bottom line creeps up, that’s where your attention will go.”

“It’s my job.”

“Your job,” she said. “That’s your first priority, isn’t it?”

He met her measured gaze, knowing she wouldn’t let him put his arm around her now if he tried. “The job is why I’m here.”

“I won’t let myself forget again.” She took her cup to the counter. “But aren’t you ever tempted to find out if you could belong somewhere?”

“Fleming—”

“I know,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”

“You’re content here in these mountains. I’m not asking you why you aren’t tempted by everything you’d find outside this world.”

“Because I belong. My life here is a suit of clothes that fits. You haven’t found that outfit for yourself.” She opened her laptop. “And I don’t think you’ll allow yourself to look.”

“Just like I don’t believe you’re capable of opening your eyes to anywhere else.”

“And now we’re getting personal. That’s a mistake.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “I’m asking the attorney for a closing date.”

And shutting him out. Making sure he knew she wasn’t open to any relationship that might take her away from her beloved mountain home.

“Good,” he said. “The sooner you commit to your business, the better.” He looked at his watch, not even seeing it. “I should get back to work, too. Good night, Fleming.”

“Night.”

Her cheery voice irritated him. He set his cup on her counter and looked at her, not hiding his awareness of what they were truly saying to each other. She belonged here. He was leaving.

Neither spoke again as he exited the store and walked away.

* * *

FLEMING FELT THE silence in the shop as if it were a pillow smothering her. She sent her email to the bank’s loan attorney and closed the laptop, not even tempted to open her story file for a change.

Her heart felt a little broken. She and Jason had talked a lot since she’d first met him in his office that day. They’d never been as personal or as honest as in these last few moments.

She’d met other men, been interested in other men, but laughed to herself now, recognizing that she’d never felt like this before. Attracted, afraid, grateful for the sound of his voice, at a loss when he left her.

But she’d always been clear about where she stood, where she’d stand forever. In Bliss, her home.

Her phone rang, startling her as it vibrated in her pocket. She reached for it and tears burned in her eyes. “Mom,” she said, answering.

“Am I too late? Why haven’t you called me?”

Fleming picked up her coffee cup and carried it to the back room, where she put it in the sink. “The grapevine got hold of you?”