The Men Who Make Christmas

“Something wrong?”

Turning his head—barely—he saw her frowning at him and realized he’d snorted out loud at his joke. “Do you really need to ask?”

He was being an ass, he knew that, but with stitches in his scalp, surely he was entitled to a little churlishness?

The frown deepened. “Watch your head,” she replied.

James did as he was told, and as his reward, the orange blossoms—as well as her grip—disappeared. In their absence, his headache intensified. He found himself slumped against a leather armrest with his fingers pressed against his temple to hold his head up.

“Fortunately, we don’t have to drive too far,” he heard Belinda say. “Noelle only lives a short distance from town.”

“Great.” What he really wanted to say was that two feet was too far what with the lights outside dipping and rocking as they passed by. Thankfully the sun had set. If those were buildings bobbing, he’d be lurching the contents of his stomach all over his Bostonians. He closed his eyes, and did his best to imagine orange blossoms.

“The nurse seemed to think the worst of the dizziness would pass by tomorrow,” Noelle said from behind him.

“Thank God,” he whispered. If true, then maybe he could snag a ride to the airport and fly home, doctor’s orders be damned. He bet the elf would drive him. After all, she didn’t want him at her house any more than he wanted to be there. He’d caught the look on the woman’s face when Belinda foisted him on her.

Foisted. What a perfect word for the situation. Stuck where he didn’t want to be, dependent on people who didn’t want him around.

Story of his life.

Great. He’d moved from churlish to pity party. Why not round out the trifecta and start whining too?

How he hated this. Hated having no choice. Hated being weak and needy. He hadn’t needed anyone since he was twelve years old. Needing and foisting were incompatible concepts.

“It’s too bad you can’t look out the window,” Belinda said. “The town looks beautiful all lit up.”

James pried open one eye to see building after building decorated with Christmas lights. Ugh. One in particular had a giant evergreen dripping with red and green.

“That’s the Nutcracker Inn. The Bavarian market is next door. It’ll be packed on Friday for the festival.”

“I doubt Mr. Hammond is very interested in a tour, Belinda.”

“I’m merely pointing out a few of the landmarks since he’s going to be here all weekend.”

Not if he could help it, thought James.

“The man can’t remember what kind of soup they serve—I doubt he’ll remember what the place looks like.”

“There’s no need to be harsh, Noelle Fryberg.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Actually, James rather liked the harshness. Beat being treated like a patient. “Pumpkin,” he replied.

“Excuse me?” Belinda asked.

“The soup. It’s pumpkin.”

“You mean gingerbread,” Noelle replied.

“Oh. Right.” He knew it was some kind of seasonal flavor. His cheeks grew warm.

Belinda patted him on the knee. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hammond. I’m sure you’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”

“Let’s hope so,” he heard the elf mutter.

James couldn’t have agreed with her more.

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