Page 14 of Christmas Promises

He held the door open for her, and she slipped past him. He caught a whiff of sandalwood and vanilla from her perfume. He helped her out of her coat, hanging it in his closet next to several of his spare tweed jackets—Christmas gifts from his mother over the years.

She handed him the bottle of wine. “It’s a Chianti. Since you’re making pasta, I thought it would pair well.”

“Do you know a lot about wines?” Nolan asked as he led her into the kitchen.

“I took a semester on wine at university, and my passion for it grew.”

“That’s an interesting class to take,” Nolan said.

“I thought for a time I might pursue a job in the hotel industry,” she said. “But I changed my mind. Or, rather, my parents changed my mind.”

“Really? I’m surprised you were interested in hospitality.”

“How so?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “Careful how you answer that.”

He shook his head, laughing. “No, not the hospitality part. From what I can tell, you’re very gracious.”

“I like to think so.”

“I assumed you’d pursue some sort of creative field. You were always such a good artist. I can remember you sketching everything that summer we hung out.”

She smiled, but her eyes dulled.

“My mother and father really didn’t want me to study art, so after a few semesters, they talked me out of it. Then I thought about culinary arts, but I ended up studying marketing instead. But cooking and baking are passionate hobbies.”

“Hmm, you might have mentioned that before I offered to make dinner.”

She laughed. “I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

He led her into the house through the living room, inviting her to sit at the island. While she got settled in, he opened the wine and poured them each a glass.

“The remodel turned out great,” she said, taking the glass from him. “I never imagined it looked like this when we stared at it from the road.”

He chuckled. “It didn’t look like this when I bought it. The place was a disaster.”

“Did you do it yourself?”

“No, I used a professional contractor for most of it. But my dad and brothers helped too. I’ll show you the window seat my dad made for me later.” He gestured toward the office. “It’s one of my favorite places to read.”

She leaned in that direction. “I love everything you’ve done, and it seems so you. Simple yet elegant.”

“Thank you,” he said, touched.

“Tell me more about your work,” she said.

“It might be boring.”

“Not to me.”

He smiled as he reached down to get a skillet and turned the knob on his cooktop, then poured some olive oil in the pan. As he sautéed garlic and the fresh tomatoes, he told her about his decision to specialize in the naturalists and what it was like to teach at the university. She listened as if rapt, hanging on his every word, with an occasional insightful question, all of which made him feel like the most interesting person in the world.

“What about you?” Nolan asked, as he dumped pasta into the boiling water. “What exactly does a marketing consultant for small businesses do?”

“I basically meet with the owners and get to know them. What’s important to them—their values or belief system. What do they think their product or service could do for their customers? And I use that to build a foundation for their branding. After we have that figured out, I design a marketing strategy for them.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“Not really. I have a knack for it, that’s all.” She brought her glass to her mouth, sipping the Chianti, looking pensive. “I’m not sure what I’ll do now.”

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