Max tipped his head. “Festive activities?”
Holly felt her cheeks flush once more, but she bit back the wave of embarrassment she felt when she saw the twinkle in Max’s blue eyes. He was messing with her—looking for a reaction—just like the boys on the elementary school playground. Not that she wasn’t enjoying the game...too much.
“Everything’s detailed on the chalkboard in the lobby,” she said as she started to walk back to the kitchen to refill the carafe. Not quite ready to let him out of her sight just yet, she instinctively paused and tilted her head. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
Max grinned. “Maybe you will.”
* * *
What the hell was he doing? Max sampled a forkful of eggs and chewed thoughtfully. Maybe I’ll see you later. Maybe you will. What was he thinking, carrying on with Holly in this manner? It was completely inappropriate given the circumstances, and yet...he seemed incapable of restraining himself.
Max ripped off a chunk of scone and crammed it into his mouth hungrily. He sighed in defeat. Delicious. Of course. He took another greedy bite and washed it down with a swig of coffee so smooth and strong he was already hoping for a refill. He wanted to hate this place, and he was finding it downright impossible. From the goose down comforter to the Egyptian cotton sheets to the scented soaps to the gourmet food to the gorgeous proprietor...there was nothing to dislike about The White Barn Inn.
And that was just a shame.
Max swallowed another bite of his scone and sipped at his coffee. Allowing his scope to widen, he scanned the room, noticing an older woman near the window smiling at him. Unsure of what to do, he gave a tentative smile in return and to his surprise, the woman winked and gave a little flutter with her fingers.
Max fought back a smile as he tucked back into his scrambled eggs. Avoiding the gaze of the silver-haired woman in the corner, he focused on the other guests, feeling oddly cheered by the soft tinkle of Christmas music that lent a subtle backdrop to the buzz of the dining room.
What had gotten into him? He loathed Christmas. He couldn’t stand those twinkling lights or the smell of pine. And yet here he was feeling downright merry.
Something was very wrong here.
He was out of his element and he wasn’t thinking clearly, it was as simple as that. He hadn’t had a vacation in too long. He was getting swept away. Yes, that was it. It had to be. But he had a job to do, a purpose for being here, and he needed to focus. He wasn’t here to flirt with the locals or get caught up in...festive activities. The sooner he got out of this town and back to his regular life in New York, the better he’d feel.
But even as he processed this reassuring thought, his stomach rolled with uneasiness. He was struggling to convince himself. And that was a problem. A big one.
As he ate, he scanned the business section of the local newspaper. It was a far cry from the national news he was used to reading—the biggest story, it seemed, was the rebuilding of the town’s library, which had apparently been damaged in a fire several months ago. Max leaned into the paper and squinted with concentration as he reread the article more carefully for a second time, his pulse quickening as he realized the importance of the story and the implications it could have on his purpose in Maple Woods.
It was just the leverage he needed.
Sensing that Holly wasn’t going to be emerging from the kitchen any time soon—and that it was probably for the best that she didn’t—Max folded the paper under his arm and wandered through the lobby, up the stairs and back to his suite. It was early, but he wasn’t one to sit around waiting. He’d go into town, feel out the locals, and then make his pitch to the mayor.
But even with his new information, something told him this wasn’t going to be as easy as he had previously thought. And Holly was only part of the problem. There were several moving parts that needed to fall into place, and if one of the necessary parties couldn’t be swayed—or bought—then the plans for the shopping center would collapse. A year’s work down the drain. They’d be back at square one, trolling Connecticut and Massachusetts for a new plot of land for the project and Max already knew from his own research that no other location would do. The few other options he had considered were too small, too far from major highways, or too close to other competing shopping malls. The land that housed The White Barn Inn wasn’t just ideal, it was really the only choice. Anything else would be a far second—the profit wouldn’t be the same. The chance of securing tenants would be too risky. The sales projections were too shaky. It would cost them...too much to even think about. It was Maple Woods or nothing. He had to make it happen.
Shaking off his own misgivings, Max changed into a suit and tie, grabbed his blueprints and thick folder stuffed with financial papers and locked the suite door behind him. Back downstairs, he crossed to the front door and yanked it open. A strong, arctic wind slapped him in the face and he reflexively recoiled and pulled his collar up around his neck.
Only two hours north of Manhattan and he was pathetically ill-prepared. He made a mental note to buy a scarf when he got into town. And some gloves.
“The drive’s not clear yet,” a familiar voice behind him said. Max turned to face Holly standing in the open doorway, shivering at the cold.
His brow furrowed. “Oh.”
“Hank just got in,” she explained. “He’s going to plow it now.”
Max closed the door. So much for his plans. “How long will it take?”
Holly’s hazel eyes flickered in surprise. “Eager to get away, are you?”
Realizing he’d spoken too sharply, Max offered a smile. “Sorry, I just had some business to take care of in town.”
Holly narrowed her stare suspiciously. “We’ll have you in town shortly. Doubt anyone’s there yet at this hour anyway. Things move a little slower in Maple Woods than they do in the big city.”
Max glanced at his watch. She had a point.
“It will probably take about half an hour to clear the drive, so if you want to go sit by the fire, I can have someone bring you a cup of cocoa.”
Admitting defeat, Max realized it was hardly a compromise to relax for a bit in the warmth of the inn. A fresh waft of cinnamon filled his senses, bringing a resigned grin to his face. “How about another cup of that coffee instead?”
“Cream?”
“And sugar.”
Holly smiled and patted his arm in a reassuring manner. Feeling instantly foolish, Max stomped the snow off his loafers—boots were another purchase he’d need to make—and shrugged out of his coat. Sitting in one of the leather club chairs by the fire, he pulled out some financial projections and studied them.
“You weren’t lying when you said you were here on business,” Holly observed a few minutes later as she placed a steaming mug of coffee on an end table.
“Bad habit,” Max shrugged, quickly closing the folder. “I’ve got a lot going on back at the office. And I’ve never been good at sitting around and waiting.”
“Or relaxing?” Holly arched an eyebrow.
Max held up his hands and grinned. “I stand accused. Guilty as charged.”
Holly tipped her head thoughtfully. “Christmas is only five days away. I would think business would be slowing down.”
“Business never slows down. Not for me at least.” He stirred the cream in his coffee and noticed the steady stream of guests filing into the lobby. “But then, I guess the same goes for you.”
Holly smiled as she turned toward the gathering crowd. With a shrug, she said, “Yep. But I wouldn’t have it any other