Page 12 of Terms and Traditions

“It’s like dealing with toddlers,” Maisie muttered, giving me a wave before disappearing back into the storeroom.

“One peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream and an Americano. Both for here. And a cinnamon bun and a chocolate croissant.” Pulling out my wallet, I paid the bill, then slid a twenty into the tip jar when Jazz turned away to make the drinks. I’d been raised by a single mother and knew a thing or two about going without because money was tight. And while I knew Maisie’s paid well, generosity never hurt anyone.

As I walked back to our table with our drinks, I could see Stephanie had discarded her burgundy wool coat over the back of her chair, exposing a cream-and-forest-green Fair Isle sweater. She was focused, hunched over a black leather journal complete with colour-coded tabs I recognized as her notebook. She never tackled a meeting without it, but her expression was decidedly less frazzled than when she’d walked in. Work-mode Stephanie had entered the building, and, attractive as she was, it cooled my ardor when I remembered this wasn’t really a date but a business meeting. As desperately as I wished it could be a date.

Stephanie smiled up at me as I set the peppermint mocha in front of her. Taking a sip, she hummed with pleasure. “Thank you. How did you know what drink I wanted?”

Because I paid way too much attention to her. Not willing to admit that out loud and sound creepy, I cleared my throat and twisted my cup on the table. “I’ve never known you not to get a peppermint mocha at Christmastime. The taste of Christmas in a cup, you said.”

She bit her bottom lip, distracting me, but I forced myself not to focus on it. “Guess that’s one thing we can mark off the list of things we need to know about each other. Our coffee orders.” She slashed a line through one of the columns on her spreadsheet with a flourish. “You always go for the Americano.”

“Always prepared, aren’t you?”

Her smile froze like glass. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? We haven’t even discussed what this is. You could hate—”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” When she didn’t relax, I continued. “Tell you what. Lay it all on me. The good, the bad, the hideous secrets. Then when you’ve given me every ugly detail, I’ll tell you I’m still in. Sound good?”

Her shoulders dropped from their battle-ready position, and she fiddled with her pen. Always black. Always a ballpoint. Classy.

Just like her.

“Here ya go.” Jazz slid the two plates of pastries onto the table. Sans bubble blowing.

“Thank you.” I nodded to her, and she offered a lazy salute before sauntering back to the counter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Stephanie said, eyeing the frosted bun.

“It was purely selfish,” I admitted, picking up the croissant. “I didn’t want to eat alone, and I’ve been dying for one of Maisie’s pastries.”

“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth for a man who drinks his coffee like an ashtray.”

“You got experience with drinking ashtrays, Steph?”

“Forget it. Thank you for this.” She gestured to the bun, then fiddled with her pen again. Contemplating. “All right.” She sipped her drink and glanced out the broad front windows overlooking the bustle of holiday shoppers milling around W 1st Avenue, seeming to gather courage.

“Hey,” I said quietly, trying to set her at ease. “I already know who your dad is. Everything else should be uphill from there, right?”

She snorted, which was hilariously adorable. “You have no idea.”

Chapter five

Stephanie

I blew out a breath. Nash was being entirely too accommodating about this, but also SO. NICE. I wasn’t used to that from guys. Or rather, I wasn’t used to niceness without strings attached. Particularly when it came to possessing a last name like mine. My one and only boyfriend thought I was his ticket to a job at Nova. He had no idea my father and I weren’t on good terms. Involving Nash like this might blow up in my face and maybe I’d lose my job and have to figure out another way to pay rent—no big deal—but I was going to risk it all. Wow, I sounded like a bad TV host.

I fiddled with the handle of the snowflake-etched pottery mug and admired the Christmas tree in the corner. Here went nothing. “My family’s a mess. I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip about Hiram Addams’s latest woman. I have five older half siblings, all from different mothers. We’re all scattered across the US, but Christmas is the one thing that brings us together every two or three years. How much of that is familial love and how much is placating our father in hopes of not being written out of his will is anyone’s guess.”

Nash raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he took a bite of his croissant. He knew my dad in a business capacity, so this couldn’t be a huge surprise to him.

“I’m talking a five-day family vacation at a cabin in Jackson, Wyoming. Skiing, Christmas, family reunion, the whole nine yards wrapped into one holiday event.”

Nash nodded and sipped his Americano, looking completely unfazed. “I can ski.”

Of course he can. “Well, I can’t but… that’s beside the point. My family is insane at Christmas. There will be screaming children, no less than six arguments about, well, anything, ridiculously spiked eggnog you need to avoid at all costs. Oh, and assume every adult on the premise—well, except for Nana, my cousin Hailey, my brother Gabe, and his wife Ivy—will hate your guts on sight. Because, you know, I work for the enemy.”

Nash blinked before a smile curved his lips, exposing that southwest dimple through his five o’clock shadow. Like he forgot to shave this morning. “Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off, Miss Addams.”

Nervous laughter bubbled through me. “More like giving you a chance to gracefully bow out of this insanity. There’s no shame in running for the hills. Seriously, I have no illusion of this going well, and I wish I didn’t have to go. But family is family.”