Page 3 of Suddenly Mine

“Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate it. Can I start over?”

She peeled a leaflet loose and handed it back to him.

“Free gingerbread cookie if you spend over ten bucks. A hot drink too. And if you buy a charity ticket you might even win the chance to come to the famous Carroll’s Christmas Ball.”

“They’re still doing that?” he asked, glancing at the leaflet.

“Every year,” she said. “This will be my first, but I hear they’re amazing. One of the best parties in the city. It’s in four days, so you’d better hurry!”

The man laughed, tucking the leaflet into the inside pocket of his faded lumberjack jacket, the soft flannel looking like it had seen better days. A woolly scarf, a little frayed at the ends, was looped loosely around his neck, and his dark jeans were well-worn, the kind that had moulded perfectly to his long, muscular legs.

Not exactly the image Carroll’s usually catered to, he looked like he should be chopping wood on a Christmas card, notbrowsing the luxury counters of Fifth Avenue. Still, there was something about him — an easy confidence, a kind of rugged warmth — that made Merry’s cheeks heat up all over again.

She looked up at his face to find that he was already watching her, his brown eyes crinkling with amusement and, unless she was imagining it, the faintest hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks too.

“Oh, um, sorry,” she said. This was by far the most awkward encounter she’d ever had at work, and part of her wished the man would walk away so that she could stop making a fool of herself. But part of her didn’t want him to leave because she was enjoying his company. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked, just to keep him talking.

“No,” he said. “Not as such. This isn’t really a shopping trip.”

“Oh.” She looked over her shoulder to the enormous tree that glittered in the middle of the atrium. “Just sightseeing? It’s well worth the trip. If you visit the restaurant on the eighth floor you can see all the Christmas lights of Fifth Avenue too.”

He nodded and his smile wavered, as if there was something heavy weighing on his mind, and he looked a little lost. She reached out automatically to touch his arm, but pulled back at the last second. Management frowned on any kind of contact between staff and customers. There was a sudden flurry of cold air and noise as the doors opened, and a family walked in from outside. Three kids charged into the store, screaming, and Merry leaned past the man to hand a leaflet to their exasperated mother.

“Free gingerbread cookies,” she said. “And Santa’s grotto is on the tenth floor.”

The woman thanked her and ran off after her kids. When Merry turned her attention back to the man he seemed to have recovered.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not you. It’s just all this.”

“Yeah, it’s a little much, right?” she replied. “It’s been like this since the day after Halloween.”

“Seriously?” he said. “It gets earlier every year.”

“I know!” said Merry. “Soon it’s going to be Christmas all year round. Christmas Valentine’s, Christmas Easter eggs, Christmas Independence Day. There will be no escape!”

He laughed, and it was such a warm, genuine sound that she laughed too. He nodded at her name tag, and she felt a sudden rush of embarrassment.

“I thought you’d be a fan of Christmas,” he said. “Is your name really Merry?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Short for Meredith?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Nope, it’s just Merry. Blame my parents, they called me that because they said I made them feel like every day was Christmas. You wouldn’t believe the stick I got for it at school.”

“I can guess,” he said. “Believe it or not I had the same problem.”

Before she could ask why, another large group of people walked through the door, forcing the man to take a step closer to her. He was tall, over six foot, and there was the most incredible scent drifting from him — part nutmeg, park citrus. Her body reacted before her brain did, with a stupid, instinctive flicker of heat that ran low and slow through her stomach.

She had to take a deliberate step back, pretending to adjust the stack of leaflets in her hands, because standing that close to him was starting to mess with her ability to form basic sentences.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I used to love Christmas. There’s just something about this time of year that’s so special, so much fun. But, you know, when you’re all on your own like I am, it’s . . .”

She put a hand to her mouth. Why did she always do this? No wonder men tended to give her a wide berth — she had a habit of throwing every little detail of her life at them within minutes of meeting.

“Sorry, way too much information.”

“It’s okay,” the man said. “I totally understand. If you’ve got family around you, it’s the happiest time of the year. But if you’re on your own, it can be the loneliest.”