Holiday Kisses

“I’m so sorry.” Calliope rested her head on his shoulder. “Your father must have been devastated. All of you must have been.”

“Have you ever seen anyone look completely defeated, Calliope? There’s this emptiness in their eyes, a hollowness in their face as if they’ve become a ghost of their former selves. My father didn’t try to deny anything. He didn’t fight the lawsuit and told the insurance company to pay out. He insisted we pay for all the funeral expenses, set up college funds for the men’s children. I found out a few months ago he’d paid off both families’ mortgages out of his own pocket. None of it helped him, though. He gave up. Turned in on himself. Turned on himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he brought the stroke on himself. Now all Antony and I can do is try to salvage what we can of the business. Rebuild the faith so many companies had put in us. And take on any project, big or small.”

“Which is what brought you to Butterfly Harbor.” She could feel the pain rolling inside of him as acutely as if it was her own. “You’re hoping it’ll get the business back on its feet. And maybe show your father there’s a way back too.”

Xander nodded. “He’s a good man, Calliope. A proud one, but a good one. No matter how busy he was, he found time for us, for each of us, even if it was a few minutes before we went to bed at night. Or he’d wake each of us up early in the morning so we could have breakfast together before he went to work. But I couldn’t do the same for him. I couldn’t find or make the time. Now Antony and I just want to do something for him. As if we can agree on what that is.”

“You want to rebuild what your grandfather began.”

“Antony thinks we should sell, not that the company is worth very much at the moment. But if we could manage one or two projects that would put us on the map again...”

Calliope tried yet again to reconcile the man beside her with the cold, detached drawings of the sanctuary he’d shared in the diner. There was such passion in Xander. Controlled, yes. But simmering beneath that surface of calm. She hadn’t seen it as clearly as she did now, no doubt because her preconceived notions about the man had been clouding her vision. Her intuition. “You didn’t draw them, did you?” She spoke without meaning to. He glanced at her, his brow furrowed.

“What?”

“The sanctuary plans you showed me and Gil. They weren’t yours, were they? Antony drew those. Because you asked him to.”

“How did you—?”

“That’s why you couldn’t convince us they would work. Because they aren’t you.” So much more made sense now. Her heart swelled, twisted for him. No wonder she hadn’t felt any connection to that building’s plan. It hadn’t been his. Except for the one, small sketch of colored glass in the bottom corner. “Xander, why? If you thought this job could be what you were looking for, why didn’t you present your own ideas?”

“Because I don’t have any.” Now who looked defeated? “I told you, I’m the closer. The one who collects the checks and writes the contracts. I’m not creative. I don’t think that way. Don’t believe me? Check out the overflowing trash cans in the cabin I’m staying in. I’m a man who quite literally cannot see the forest through the trees.”

“You’re wrong, Xander.” She let go of his arm and moved in front of him, placed herself in his line of sight and rose up on her toes so he had no choice but to look into her eyes. “If anything, you might be one of the few who honestly can.”

CHAPTER TEN

FROM HIS SOLITARY spot at the railing overlooking the harbor, Xander felt the sadness of his Calliope-induced confession session earlier in the day lift. Not because the day—aside from the lone gray cloud circling Butterfly Harbor—was as clear and blue as the Aegean. Not because whatever weight he’d been carrying in his chest had somehow lightened.

His mood improved because it was impossible not to smile at the sight of Santa Claus disembarking a sailboat called Rudolph’s Nose.

Poor guy, Xander thought. With the full sun and seventy-five-degree temperature, all those layers of flannel and fill must be acting like a makeshift sauna. Sure enough, as Santa clomped and limped his way up the gangplank, Xander saw dots of perspiration dotting his beard-encased face. That face broke into a smile as the sound of squealing children, yapping dogs and relieved parents exploded down Main Street.