The Holiday Hideaway Read online

  Confused, Chloe cast a casual glance at her remote then peered at him.

  His next words came out with a bark. “Could you turn off that blinking?”

  His harsh tone alarmed her, and she quickly complied.

  Still shielding his eyes, he winced. “Any chance there’s a subtle green or red on that thing, with no blinking? Ever?”

  Chloe turned the lights to green and dimmed them. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry to spoil your fun, but the lights…” He shook his head. “I can’t. It’s… a health thing.”

  Chloe inwardly groaned. And you had to call him a name. Lukenezer Scrooge. Way to go, Chloe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  He cut her off. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He started to leave but paused long enough to mutter his thanks before going back into his house.

  Three

  The next morning, Chloe ventured down from her mountain and went into town for some groceries and assorted supplies. In addition to her decorating to-do list, she always made an effort to insert baking into the holidays whenever she found a spare hour or two. That day, she was motivated by more than just seasonal spirit. After the previous evening’s incident with her lighting, she wanted to offer Luke a neighborly gesture to smooth over the tension, or rather her guilt. It had never occurred to her that flashing holiday lights could trigger whatever health episode he seemed to be suffering from. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Adding insult to injury, she had called him a Scrooge.

  As she struggled to recapture her Christmas buzz, Chloe returned home from her shopping and popped a package of premixed cookie dough into the oven. An hour later, she stood at Luke’s door with a fresh batch of cookies in a seasonal tin.

  She rang the doorbell. Orchestral music swelled and blared through the thick wooden door. She rang the bell again and knocked on the door for good measure. He certainly wasn’t going to hear her over that music. She almost thought about going home and coming back later, but she decided to give it thirty seconds more before accepting defeat. She listened in hope of a quiet musical passage, but it was not forthcoming. In fact, the music just got louder. One last time, she rang the bell and knocked loudly. Just as she knocked, the music ended. Her knocking sounded more like pounding.

  The door swung open. With a look of alarm, Luke asked, “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes, I’m fine. It was really loud. The music.”

  He relaxed and said, “Prokofiev.” As if that explained it. “He gets that way sometimes.”

  Of course he does. She nodded despite having no idea what he was talking about. But none of that mattered because it was the first time she’d seen him up close in broad daylight. She wasn’t prepared for his effect upon her. In an unkempt T-shirt and jeans, he no longer looked like Paul Bunyan. He simply looked rugged—not handsome or pretty—but he had a presence, an unusual quiet virility that made her suddenly realize she’d forgotten to breathe. Other men may have been as tall and broad shouldered, but Luke’s aloof confidence was unnerving. She looked up, expecting to make ordinary eye contact, but the light caught his gray eyes, and it was like looking into a restless sea.

  The silence was approaching a level of awkwardness she was keenly aware of yet unable to remedy. Finally, she blurted out, “Cookies.” Then she grinned. “I made them. It’s a peace offering for last night.”

  Throughout her disjointed display on his doorstep, Luke had maintained a steady gaze framed by furrowed brows. Chloe thrust the cookie tin toward him. He took it and eyed it as though he’d never seen cookies.

  “They’re perfectly safe. Oh, you’re not a vegan, are you?” She sucked in air through clenched teeth. “I should have thought—”

  “No.” He chuckled at the suggestion.

  “Good. And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, they’re just chocolate chip. You could just think of the chips as Hanukkah gelt—unwrapped, obviously. Or—”

  “Christmas is fine.”

  She peered through doubtful eyes. “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Sure of what?”

  “Of whether you celebrate it.”

  “I do. I’m just pretty low-key about it.”

  Chloe nodded out of politeness.

  He lifted the cookie tin. “But this was nice of you. Thanks.”

  During the long pause that followed, Chloe glanced past Luke into the large, open great room behind him. “You’re so neat, just like my aunt.”

  “Yeah, we had that in common. A lot of things, actually. We got one another.”

  Chloe gave that some thought. Her seventy-something aunt and her manly thirtyish neighbor made an interesting pairing. “So, you two were close?”

  He studied her for a moment. “Not like you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking. I was just asking.” She sounded defensive.

  “We were there for each other when we needed to be, and we left each other alone when we didn’t.”

  Chloe nodded as if she understood, but in the few awkward minutes she’d known him, she found herself understanding him less and less. She had a fleeting impulse to turn and make a hasty escape.

  “You’re not like her at all,” he said.

  Well, I don’t “get you” like she did. Chloe wanted to smirk but suppressed it and dared to look into his direct gaze, something akin to looking into the sun. “I didn’t really know her that well.”

  With a nod, he said, “Right. The family rift.”

  Chloe was taken aback but recovered. “She told you?” That went a little too far beyond idle over-the-fence chitchat.

  Luke leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. “Just that there was one. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s not really prying if she told you about it. I just didn’t realize…”

  “She was alone. Sometimes talking helps.”

  Thank you, Doctor Phil. “Oh.”

  Luke’s eyes softened. “I don’t know the details, but I do know that whatever happened had nothing to do with her feelings for you or your family.”

  Really? Something sputtered in the kitchen. She breathed in the scent, confirming the source of the sound. “I’m keeping you from your coffee.”

  He glanced toward the kitchen. “No.” Turning back, he awkwardly asked, “Do you want some?” Without waiting for an answer, he stepped aside and started heading toward the kitchen. “You really should try this. It’s from the deli in town. They roast it on-site.”

  Since he’d already disappeared around the corner, Chloe felt she had no choice but to follow. She took in the vaulted ceiling and beams of the great room, almost like hers. One sizable acrylic painting with a heavy Jackson Pollock influence nearly filled the largest wall, and the other wall without windows had a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace with a built-in niche for a TV. The few pieces of furniture were substantial and comfortable looking, but each had a purpose. There was nothing extraneous. The guy was a minimalist. There was no word to describe the overall look except manly, as if a person might grow a full beard just from sitting on that massive leather sofa. She made a mental note to avoid it. Despite that, he managed to keep his facial hair to a well-trimmed stubble, dark brown with a bit of red at the chin.

  Chloe sat on a stool at the island counter as Luke filled two mugs with coffee and set one before her. She blew on the top then took a sip. “Oh my gosh!”

  With a knowing smile, he nodded and sat down across from her. “Right?” He opened the cookie tin and held it out to her.

  “Oh. No thanks. I might have had one or two while I packed them.” Four. Please don’t count them.

  He ate one and gave her an approving nod. Pleased, Chloe studied him for a moment. She was too curious not to ask. “So, last night…”

  His expression changed in an instant, and sharp eyes flicked toward her. “It’s a TBI.” When she failed to register a reaction, he added, “Traumatic brain injury.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry! What happened?” />
  After a brief, blank stare, he said, “I injured my brain. Traumatically.”

  Chloe looked away. Wow, and I thought I made things awkward. “Sorry. It’s none of my business. I just—”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry. I won’t collapse in a full-blown seizure. But if I do, just flip me onto my side and call an ambulance.”

  “Okay?” That didn’t sound at all funny, yet he was smiling. The guy had a weird sense of humor.

  He gave his head a dismissive shake. “It’s more of a severe headache and dizziness situation. Oh, and occasional vomiting.

  “Uh, yeah. Sounds like fun.” She started to smile, but her frown won the fight.

  “So if you look out the window and see me staggering blindly, you shouldn’t assume it’s from drinking.” An unexpected grin lit his eyes. “Necessarily.”

  Chloe lifted her chin and nearly chuckled, but her concern silenced it. “I’ve disabled the blinking, and I’ll keep the Christmas lights dimmed for the duration. Let me know if they need any adjustments.”

  He nodded, clearly grateful, then stared into his coffee.

  The ensuing silence made Chloe uncomfortable. “So, what do you do?”

  “Not much.”

  Chloe inwardly groaned. He did not make it easy. “I mean for a living.”

  “The head injury knocked me out of commission, at least for the time being. But I’m an analyst.”

  “An analyst of what?”

  “Data.”

  “Whose data?”

  He looked into her eyes with thinly veiled annoyance. “The State Department. Before you ask what state, the US government.” His mouth turned up at one corner.

  “What made you think I was going to ask that?”

  “Just a hunch,” he said with what looked like genuine warmth.

  “So… an analyst for the State Department.” She mulled it over. “That’s pretty broad.”

  “Is it? What do you do?”

  “I’m an artist.”

  “That’s pretty broad too.” He looked at her differently, more appreciatively. “Are you a painter like Eleanor?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m hoping to find a way to monetize my art so I can actually support myself with what I do best. I don’t really do anything else all that well, so that’s my plan so far. Crazy, huh?”

  “No, not crazy at all.” He seemed to take her art aspirations seriously, which was refreshing.

  She never felt comfortable talking about herself, so she changed the subject. “So what part of the State Department do you work for?”

  He stared blankly. “Digital Innovation.”

  Chloe thought for a moment. “Like software development?”

  His face brightened. “Exactly.”

  Moments passed while they each sipped their coffee. Luke set down his mug and broke the silence. “Well, if you need anything, you know where you can find me.”

  Chloe followed his lead and got up to leave. “Thanks.”

  “Eleanor would have wanted me to look out for you.”

  “Would she?” Chloe hoped that were true. Her aunt certainly had looked out for her already.

  “Well, I’d better get going. That house isn’t going to decorate itself.” She got up, and he followed her to the door. Chloe paused. “I suppose syncing the lighting with Christmas carols is out of the question?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

  She wasn’t sure how to take his emphatic response. Was he angry? When he broke into a smile, she relaxed.

  “There’s no health reason for it,” he said. “It would just be annoying.”

  Chloe stopped at the door. She didn’t mean to squint and move closer. “Christmas carols? Annoying?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes!”

  She frowned, tried to fathom his comment, then frowned some more and leaned back. “Christmas carols.” She shook her head. “Well, I was actually joking about adding music.”

  “I know. I wasn’t.” He looked at her with a wry expression she could not quite decipher.

  “Oh. Okay.” She tried to unwrinkle her forehead.

  He opened the door then gazed down at her. “Sorry, Chloe. I’m just not the Christmassy type.”

  “That’s okay.” She tried to appear pleasant as she said goodbye, but she went back to her house feeling baffled.

  All the lights and decorations weren’t so much about Christmas. People had different faiths and different traditions. They were about celebrating. They made people happy. Most people. Not Luke, evidently.

  Chloe went inside, turned on her holiday-decorating playlist, and got to work setting up her Christmas village.

  Four

  Chloe opened the pantry. Built into the door was a spice rack. “Alphabetical, of course.” Chloe shook her head. “I’m not worthy.” On the inside wall of the pantry was a row of a half dozen cup hooks with key rings hanging from two of them. They were labeled, naturally. One was marked “ED” for her aunt, Eleanor Dowd, and the other “LA.” Luke Abbot. They looked like house keys. There was no other house within a half-mile radius, not to mention one owned by someone with the initials LA. She set the keys on the counter as a reminder to ask him about them, then she returned to the pantry to clean out cans of beets, sardines, and other items she wouldn’t be using. When she finished, she loaded two boxes into the back of her car and headed to town to donate them.

  While there, she stopped by the deli for some coffee and nearly walked past Luke as he waited in line to check out.

  “Chloe?” He laughed. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

  She felt a little embarrassed. “I love coffee.”

  “That’s why I’m here. You drank the last of mine.” He winked, and her heart went weightless for a fleeting moment.

  With a quick look at the one bag of coffee in her basket, he asked, “Is that all you’ve got?”

  “I went shopping yesterday, so I’m pretty well stocked.”

  With a conspiratorial look, he cast a look at his basket. “Put it in here. We’ll settle up after.”

  She was going to decline the offer but then looked at the dozen people waiting behind him. He lifted his eyebrows knowingly, and she dropped the coffee into his basket. When he’d finished paying, he said, “Let’s grab a cup. It’s always better here than at home. You buy, and we’ll call it even.”

  “You’re not much of a negotiator, are you? I’ll buy, but I’ll pay for my pound of coffee.”

  He shook his head and frowned as though she were being silly, but he didn’t make an issue of it.

  They took their coffees from the counter and sat by the window amid the muted clatter and hum of the crowded shop. Chloe looked outside, where a light snow was falling. “I love the snow in December.”

  Luke watched the snow with her, looking as if he was remembering something. Chloe glanced over, saw his wistful expression, and chose not to interrupt his thoughts.

  A tap on the window pulled her from her reverie. A man in his twenties waved and headed inside to stand at her table. “Chloe, how are you?”

  She smiled politely. “Justin, hi. I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Good.” He nodded and glanced at Luke.

  “This is Luke. Luke, Justin.”

  Luke reached out, and the two men shook hands.

  A sharp glint flickered in Justin’s eyes, but a cordial look took its place. “Are you two enjoying the holidays?”

  Luke glanced at Chloe, looking uneasy about having been lumped together, but before he could say anything, she said, “Yes, we are.”

  “Good. Well, happy holidays.” He cast a glance at Luke, then his gaze lingered on Chloe. “Goodbye, Chloe. Nice meeting you, Luke.” Then he left.

  Chloe looked down at her coffee.

  “He thought you and I were together,” Luke said.

  With a flippant shrug, Chloe said, “Well, we are. We’re sitting here together, having coffee.”

  “You know what I mean.”


  “I know. Sorry. It was easier than going through a long explanation.”

  “A long explanation like, ‘Oh, he’s just my neighbor.’”

  Chloe frowned and exhaled. “Okay, so I didn’t want him to think I was… available.”

  “Glad I could be of service,” he said dryly.

  “I’m sorry.” She really was because she felt low and deceitful.

  Luke shook his head. “I feel so used.”

  Chloe looked up from her coffee with guilt and concern, only to see his eyes glimmer. He was joking. He always managed to catch her off guard. Feeling like he was making fun of her, she shifted from regretful to defensive. “It’s just that Justin…” She looked up, searching for the best way to frame it.

  Luke held up his palms. “It’s okay. No need to explain.”

  “I just don’t want you to think I treat people that way.”

  A smug glint came to his eyes. “Except Justin.”

  He was making assumptions that made her look bad, and it frustrated her. “You’re right. I should have been honest and just told him our first date was so boring that I’d rather spend an evening reading actuarial tables than spend another night with him.”

  Clearly amused, Luke leaned back and folded his arms.

  Chloe’s jaw dropped. “Not that we spent the night. That came out wrong. I wouldn’t spend the night with him if…”

  Luke chuckled. “If he were an actuarial table?”

  Chloe looked upward and grimaced. “God, I hate dating.”

  “Are you talking to God or to me?”

  Chloe laughed. “To whoever will listen.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Not entirely, ’cause there’s a good-looking face between them. She shook her head. “There’s not much more to it. I mean, how much can you tell from an app photo and profile? You take your chances and meet in real life. But five minutes into a date, you pretty much know if you’d rather be anywhere else than sitting and talking to that particular person. The rest of the evening is an exercise in patience and forced conversation. And sometimes defensive maneuvers.”

  “Then why do you do it?”