An uplifting, beautiful story about never letting go of your dreams, the special magic of a family Christmas⊠and the rush of falling in love under the mistletoe.
Single mother Abbey Fuller loves her family more than anything, and doesnât regret for a moment having had to put her dreams of being an interior designer on hold. But with her son, Max, growing up, when a friend recommends her for a small design job she jumps at the chance. How hard can it be?
Nick Sinclair needs his house decorated in time for his familyâs festive visit â and money is no object. What he doesnât need is to be distracted from his multi-million dollar business â even if it is Christmas.
When Abbey pulls up to the huge Sinclair mansion, she has a feeling she might be out of her depth. And when she meets the gorgeous, brooding Nicholas Sinclair, she knows that sheâs in real troubleâŠ
With the snow falling all around, can Abbey take the chance to make her dreams of being a designer come true? And can she help Nick to finally enjoy the magic of Christmas?
Chapter One
Twenty-sixâthat was the number of windows across the front of this house. Fourâit had four chimneys. Abbey had only just counted them all as the enormous, Georgian-revival-style mansion came into view at the end of the mile-long driveway. Sheâd had to be let in via an intercom at a pair of iron gates bigger than her apartment building. As sheâd snaked along the property in her car, miles of perfectly manicured grassâgreen, despite the winter weatherâstretching out on either side of the drive, and the James River angrily lapping on the edge of the property under the winter clouds, her hands had begun to sweat. Abbey had always been impulsive, even though sheâd tried very hard not to be, but sheâd done it again.
Sheâd dressed up. She wasnât used to dressing up. Normally, she had on scrubs at work, and on her off time she wore hoodies and jeans. But this was a business meeting, and sheâd wanted to look prepared; however, nothing had prepared her for what was in front of her now. She shifted her portfolio case on the seat of her car to keep it from slipping onto the floorboards. It was a gift from her gramps and had sat empty until now.
You can do this, she said to herself as she tried to keep the seatbelt from wrinkling her clothes. Youâre gonna have to do this. You made your bed. Now you have to lie in it.
The owner of this home was in a league beyond comprehension. He was the grandson of a woman named Caroline Sinclair for whom Abbey cared. Caroline lived in a small cottage on the edge of the Sinclair property, and Abbey had always reached her cottage using a private side road. The estate was so large and wooded that the cottage seemed to be all by itself; the main house wasnât even visible. Caroline had explained that she wanted it that way.
âIf Nick is making me live on the property, I want to at least feel that I can come and go as if itâs my own residence. I donât want to live out back of the house, or something demeaning like that. I want my own place, not a guest quarters.â
Abbey had gotten the job caring for Caroline while working at an upscale retirement home. Nicholas Sinclair had called to ask if they had a service for in-home nurses. When sheâd said that they didnât, heâd offered to pay her more than what she was making there to care for Caroline at home, because he didnât want to put her in a facility. Caroline had mentioned that her grandson, Nick, had a âbig house,â but this kind of wealth was something out of a storybook.
As Abbey looked at the house, it shed new light on Carolineâs quirksâthe way sheâd held the thick mug that Abbey had gotten her for her birthday as if it were a delicate piece of art, the straightness of her back when she sat on the edge of her chair, the manner in which she nodded and said âthank you,â for the smallest of things. It was all clear now. What had seemed like generally polite behavior had actually been the behavior of a privileged upbringing. Abbey had never met Mr. Sinclair face to face. Sheâd always just provided Carolineâs current health status and data from her tests via phoneâusually leaving a messageâand heâd mailed her paychecks. Now, she wondered if sheâd notice those small indications of wealth when she met him.
Abbey parked her car in the great, circular drive and turned off the engine. Snowflakes dotted her windshield as she took a peek in her rearview mirror to be sure she was as presentable as possible. She dabbed on some lip-gloss quickly and dropped it into her handbag. With a deep breath, she got out of the car, her heels wobbling slightly with her nerves. Hoping the snow wouldnât begin to pile up when she was inside, she clicked along the brick patio-sized pathway to the front steps. With every step, she could feel the crescendo of the pounding in her heart.
She stopped between two urns, each one containing a spruce tree the size of her Christmas tree at home, and pressed the doorbell. The double doors in front of her were so ornate and grand that she almost feared what was behind them. What was she thinking, telling Caroline sheâd do this? Was she out of her mind?
The door opened, and, standing in front of her, was a short man wearing a charcoal gray suit and a red tie, his hair balding on the top. Abbey had heard about Nick Sinclair from the other nurses at the retirement home. Theyâd described him as tall, quiet, handsomeâgorgeous, one had saidâwith dark hair and perfect clothes. While there was nothing wrong with the man in front of her, he was a far cry from the description sheâd received.
He smiled, his lips pressed together, and took a step back to allow her to come in, the large door closing behind her as she entered the home.
She refocused on the man. âHello. Iâm Abbey Fuller. You must be Mr. Sinclair?â
âNo, maâam. Heâll be with you shortly.â
Wow, she thought. He doesnât even open his own doors. Her eyes moved around the space, taking in everything that surrounded her. The floor was a white- and slate-colored marble, with matching columns that looked as though they were holding up the entire second floor. The upstairs ran along an oval balcony that completely circled the room. The space in that one room was the size of the house where sheâd grown up. It was so grand that it had to have three massive chandeliers to light it, but the windows spanning every surface were large enough that the natural light coming in was plenty.
âFollow me, please,â the man said as he led her across the marble floor, between the two wide, curving staircases flanking each side of the room, and through an ornate doorway with more pillars on either side, the woodwork all painted cream to match the walls. Each piece was carved into swirling perfection that rolled to a peak at the top of the doorframe. The more she walked, the more nervous she became, her mouth drying out.
Her breath caught, and she swallowed to cover it up as she entered the next room. A wall of windows on the east side offered an almost blinding white light from the clouds outside. The grass had been dusted with snow in just the amount of time sheâd been in the house. In front of the windows sat a black grand piano, the top propped up, the keys so shiny she could see the reflection of the panes of glass on their surfaces. On the south side of the home another wall of windows stretched to the top of the thirty or more foot ceiling and overlooked the grounds. The walls had intricate woodwork framing their surfaces, the color between the woodwork the matching blue of the rug.
The man had walked over to two facing cream-colored sofas that seemed so comfortable that she wanted to snuggle up on them with a blanket and read. Their billowy cushions were juxtaposed to the formality of the blue and cream patterned rug that extended the entire length of the ballroom-sized space, and the general emptiness and sterile surroundings. He gestured for her to take a seat.
Abbeyâs eyes could not stay still in this room because sheâd never seen anything like it in real life. It was such a stiffly styled room, yet those sofas were sitting at one end, and she wondered if anyone had ever sat on them.
What kinds of things would someone do in a room like this? Did Nick Sinclair play piano? Had he ever played for anyone before, or was it just a prop, a piece of furniture?
She sat down and the man left her alone with her thoughts, having never even introduced himself. Abbey put her hands on her knees as she sat on the edge of that gorgeous sofa. How impressed must Caroline have been with her decorating skills to suggest that Abbey decorate this mansion for her grandson? She couldnât even allow her pride to slip in because the whole situation was so baffling to her. She was shakingâpartly from nerves and from the fact that the house was just slightly colder than she found to be comfortable. She shivered. The snow had really started coming down now in the few minutes she was there, already covering the ground outside. The scene played out before her through the towering windows, like a movie. Her mouth was so dry at this point, she couldnât even lick her lips, and she worried that her lip-gloss wouldnât last.
If she had to sit there much longer, she would explodeâshe needed to talk, have some kind of interactionâso she stood up to try to burn off her nervous energy. Her heels tapped on the marble floor that ran along the edge of the rug, and made hollow clicks that echoed throughout the room. âRugâ was an amusing term for this piece. It was half the size of a football field, it seemed. Her back to the room, Abbey looked out through the windows and, when she realized what was out there, she had to consciously keep her mouth from hanging open.
Covered in snow were tennis courts, a brick gazebo as big as a four-car garage, and, off in the distance, closer to the river, was a swimming pool. As she looked out at the grounds, the cold of winter seeping in through the icy glass in front of her, she wondered what Nick could possibly be doing. Why hadnât he greeted her at the door? Did it take him that long to walk from wherever he was in the house? Sheâd left a message, as heâd directed, and told him sheâd be there at two oâclock. Sheâd just expected him to answer the door.
âHello, Ms. Fuller,â she heard the words echo across the room.
Abbey turned around. As she fixed her eyes on him, she had to work to keep her breath from coming out in ragged, nervous jerks. He was gorgeous. He was probably the most handsome man sheâd ever seen. He had on navy trousers and a buttercream sweater with a thick collar that made the icy blue of his eyes visible even at a distance. His hair was perfectly combed, not a strand out of place, and his face looked soft, as if heâd just shaved a few minutes before their meeting. Perhaps that was what heâd been doing⊠Abbey shook the thought from her mind.
âHello,â she returned. She wanted to walk toward him, but she didnât trust herself in heels, and she worried that she might fall. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, giving the two of them a large amount of personal space. He held out his hand in greeting, the starched cuff of his button-up shirt peeking out from underneath his sweater. She shook his hand.
âItâs nice to finally put a face with the voice,â he said. âShall we head into my office?â He moved aside so that she could step up next to him. âWe can discuss the details of your employment more easily there.â He smiled. It was a pleasant smile, but it didnât seem to sit comfortably on his face.
They walked along the corridor, a lofty area so wide and open that it couldnât possibly be called just a hallway. It, too, was quite emptyâno pictures, no accent tables, nothing. Abbey was shocked at the lack of decorations. The house was so cold and unfriendly that it made her wonder about Mr. Sinclair. Was he as cold as this house? They finally stopped outside what looked like Nickâs office.
âYou can just call me Abbey,â she said, gripping her portfolio case to keep her hands steady.
He smiled down at her.
âDid you just move in?â she asked out of curiosity. There was nothing in this home to suggest that it was regularly lived in. There were no photos, no memorabilia anywhereânothing to tell her about who he was.
âNo,â he said, sitting down behind a shiny desk with a mahogany finish. His chair rolled on the slick marble floor beneath it. Then, he made eye contact. âMy grandmother tells me that you are a very good decorator,â he said, offering that manufactured smile again. This time, Abbey could almost tell that heâd practiced it. Was he used to having to smile when he really didnât want to? She wondered what he looked like when he laughedâreally laughed. What would his mouth do then? Would he keep still or throw his head back? Would she be able to see amusement in his eyes?
She sat down in one of the leather chairs facing his desk and crossed her legs at the ankle. With a tiny breath to steady herself, she put her portfolio case on her lap and unzipped it. Sheâd taken a few photos of her best decorating and had them blown up to a larger size for her presentation. âIâve never had a project this size,â she warned. What she really wanted to tell him was that the only decorating experience sheâd had was when sheâd decorated his grandmotherâs cottage because Caroline didnât have the ability to paint and decorate herself. Abbey had worked hard to make her presentation professional, and there was a lot riding on this. She had Max to think about.
Abbeyâs son, Max, was in first grade. He needed lunch money, school supplies; he was on neighborhood sports teams. There were things she had to pay for if she wanted Max to have a regular childhood. Her poor judgment with his father had been her fault, not Maxâs. And the fact that her grandfather needed medicine that she had to help her mother pay forâthat wasnât Maxâs fault either. Her son deserved nothing but the best, and she was going to give that to him, even if it meant that she went without. And she had before. Abbey had gone nights with no dinner, skipped parties with her friends, and lived on meager funds so that Max would never know that he was any different than anyone else. Secretly, she worried about him. Would he wonder why he didnât get beach vacations with his family? Would he wish that he could have big birthday parties with all his friends? She fretted about it all the time. And this was her chance to do something great for his future.
âIâm not concerned about any lack of experience. You come highly recommended by my grandmother, and sheâs hard to please, so I trust youâll do just fine.â
She pulled back the flap on her portfolio and retrieved the first photo from it, turning it around for him to view. âI have experience decorating in a small variety of stylesâŠâ she said nervously. Sheâd practiced her presentation last night a hundred times but it was quite different with Nickâs eyes on her. âAs you know, this is a picture from your grandmotherâs cottage. I thought Iâd start with hers first, since you could envision the before and afterâŠâ
He cleared his throat. âYou donât need to sell me,â he said. âIâm already hiring you.â He offered a pleasant expression, but it was clear from his face that her presentation was over.
She slid the photo back into the case and closed it.
âAre you planning to charge a flat rate per square foot, or would you prefer a salary with a decorating budget?â he asked.
âUh-mmmâŠâ Abbey chewed on the inside of her lip, trying to scramble for an answer. She didnât know. She didnât have a clue. Sheâd only ever been a nurse. The idea of how to charge him hadnât even crossed her mind. That thought alone was unsettling enough to cause her chest to burn with anxiety.
Abbey had gone online during a few of her breaks, ordering things that were more extravagant than sheâd ever bought, but she knew just how to place them to give them life in Carolineâs cottage. Sheâd done it as a favor to Caroline, but she hadnât made any money doing it, and it never occurred to her to ask for any. She realized that she hadnât thought this through at all.
âI, uhâŠâ She scrambled for an answer, feeling ridiculous that all she could produce were unintelligible sounds. Get a grip! she scolded herself. Answer him! This was too big a leap for her. She wasnât a decorator. Sheâd always dreamed of being one. She had files of magazine clippings just in case she ever won the lottery and was able to buy what she really wanted for her and Max.
Her passion for art ran deeply through herâshe painted, she could draw, she saw art in everythingâbut when it had come down to it, sheâd had to choose the career that would be the least amount of risk. Sheâd had to pick something that would provide for Max. Because of that, sheâd gotten a nursing degree as quickly as she could because it would give her that steady income. Sheâd taken as many classes as the local community college allowed, and sheâd done nothing but study so that she could get her degree. Abbey still believed there was art in everything; she just didnât always have time to notice it anymore.
As she sat across from Nick Sinclair, she felt very small, heat filling her cheeks. She blinked to keep the tears at bay. Never had she come to tears about anything before nowânot even raising Max alone. Sheâd always been able to handle it. So why was she about to cry now? Abbey tried not to process the answer, but it was bubbling up: She knew her artistic talent was that one piece of her that she could always hold on to when sheâd lost everything, hoping that one day she could tap into it. It was the only thing besides Max that she was proud of. Now, finding herself out of her league, she didnât want anyone telling her that it wasnât good enough because that would crush her.
And the last thing she wanted was for Nick to think less of her, but she didnât know a thing about how to charge him for this job or the etiquette in a business relationship like this.
Abbey was silent, still trying to formulate an answer while not giving away how she was feeling. She didnât know what to say, so she just sat there, inwardly screaming at herself to say something. âIâll do it for free if youâll let me take photos for my portfolio when Iâm finished,â she said finally.
Then, his light blue eyes changed as he looked at her. He looked curious, but there was a gentleness in his face that she hadnât seen until right then.
âMy grandmother has wanted me to do this for a while. Before she was set on having you do it, sheâd even called around and given me quotes. Iâve had quotes for upwards of a hundred fifty thousand dollars, so, with that said, I wonât let you do the job for free. My grandmother might disown me if I did. Why donât we settle for seventy-five thousand dollars to decorate the whole house?â He searched her face for a reaction. âAnd that will be your salary. Then, Iâll buy whatever you need in terms of furnishings.â
Abbey blinked to keep her eyes from popping out of their sockets. Seventy-five thousand dollars? That was three yearsâ salary for her, and she was about to make it in a matter of weeks. All of a sudden, she felt lightheaded, her excitement swelling up inside. This could change everything. With money like that, she could pay for extra childcareâprivate sitters when she needed them. That would take the burden off her mother who was caring for her grandfather and watching Max. She might even be able to get Gramps that medicine he needed so badly.
âDoes that suit you?â he asked. âAre you okay with those terms?â
âYes.â She couldnât say anything more than yes. Her emotions were getting the better of her. She wanted to get up and hug him and tell him what a Christmas miracle that money would be for her and her family. She wanted to thank him for being so generous despite the fact that, clearly, she was inexperienced.
âGreat.â He stood up and walked around to her side of the desk. She followed his lead and stood, tucking her portfolio under her arm.
He was so close that she caught his scent, and it caused a tickle in her chest. Abbey had never smelled cologne that good before, and she wondered what it was that he was wearing. Had she ever even heard of it? It was probably very expensive.
âLet me show you the rooms that youâll be decorating,â he said, distracted, as he pulled out his phone and put it to his ear. She was glad to be up and moving again, and hoping to finally get to have a normal conversation, but he was already barking into his phone. âI donât care how much it costs,â he said. âItâs a car. Just buy it⊠Iâd like it detailed and cleaned before it leaves the lot this time.â After a minuteâs more conversation, he ended the call and looked down at her. âI collect carsâmostly Ferraris,â he said, with an air of pride.
âCars?â she asked. Max collected cars, but she wondered if he might be talking about a slightly different kind.
âThereâs a Lamborghini thatâs up for auctionâvery limited number of them. Iâve got someone bidding for me and Iâm trying to manage that while I show you around. My apologies.â
She stared up at him long enough to realize that it was becoming awkward, so she looked down at her feet. Her grandfather couldnât even buy the medicine he needed and this guy was wasting money on luxury cars.
âYou need more than one car?â she asked.
He looked at her, the skin between his eyes wrinkling as if he were trying to make sense of what she was saying. âI collect them. I donât necessarily drive them.â
âWhere do you keep them?â
âI have a garage on the property. Theyâre displayed there.â
She knew that her face was showing her distaste, and she couldnât straighten it out no matter how hard she tried. She had no right to offer any opinion about what he did with his money. âSo who comes to see them?â
He eyed her again. âNo one,â he said, his voice sounding slightly exasperated. âI collect them for my own amusement. No one elseâs.â
She was quiet after that; the idea of all that money sitting somewhere in a garage helping no one had silenced her.
âBasically, youâll be decorating all the rooms except for a couple. I know thatâs a big jobâŠâ He looked down at her as they walked, changing the subject. Had he been able to interpret her opinions? âAnd youâll have only a short time to do it.â He stopped, so Abbey did too. âI have family coming and Iâm having a Christmas party. I want you to make the house look lived in.â
A punch of laughter rose in her gut, but she cleared her throat to remove it. She remembered the ballroom with nothing but a piano and a set of fluffy sofas, and thought to herself, How can I make a room like that look livable?
If sheâd chosen to be a full-time decorator instead of becoming a nurse, Abbey would take something like a cozy corner nook, paint it a warm color, add a pop of white furniture, and fill it full of bookshelves. Sheâd arrange the books on the shelves between knickknacks from various locations around the world that her client had gotten on his travels. Sheâd even drape a snowy-white throw across the arm of the chair and add a floor lamp for ambience. That would look lived in. This house was like a museum. It was too big to make it even seem like someone would live in it. But then, her thoughts went to Nick. He lived here. And as far as Abbey could tell, he lived here all by himself.
Caroline had never mentioned a family when she spoke of her grandson. Sheâd only said that he needed help with his home because he was too busy working to do anything with it. How sad to have to walk these giant hallways alone.
They rounded the corner and headed up a curling staircase to the second floor. Everywhere she looked, she saw lofty ceilings and balconies. It made her feel the need to take a deep breath to release the growing tension she was feeling about this job sheâd taken.
All the doors to each room were shut, which was odd to Abbey, but then again, perhaps it was hard to heat such a large house. He stopped at the first one and opened it. It was another colossal expanse of space with vaulted ceilings, ornamental woodwork, and more chandeliers.
âThis is a bedroom,â he said as she walked around the room, snapping photos of walls and architectural features. She looked up at the intricate crystal chandelier above her, with its strands of diamond-like jewels dripping down, and took a photo. âThere are eight bedrooms in total. Iâd like each room to feel distinct, yet consistent with the style of the home. What you do with them is up to you. I trust you.â
Abbey dragged her hand along the ornate woodwork in the recessed doorway, noticing how the patterns in the wood emerged from under the thick coats of shiny white paint. Sheâd keep that, she decided. She imagined Georgian-style furniture to maintain the integrity of the home, but with a few present-day traditional accents to make the look current. In such a large space, sheâd want to focus on breaking the room up into smaller piecesâperhaps put a sitting area at one end of the bedroom. The key was to make this cold space seem warm and more personal. The walls needed neutrals but in inviting colors like light buttery yellows and subtle mint greens, rather than just plain white. She jotted down notes in the notebook that sheâd included in the front pocket of her portfolio.
They opened the next two doors, and he explained the purpose of each room. She wrote down where the light came in and areas on which she wanted to focus. When they came to the fourth door on the hallway, he skipped it and walked ahead. She looked at his face, his thoughts seemingly preoccupied all of a sudden. It was subtle, but sheâd noticed. What was behind that door?
âDid you want me to see this one?â she said, stopping in the hallway and pointing back to the closed door.
âNo,â he said. âI wonât need you to decorate that room. Itâs fine.â He walked ahead and opened the next door. It was just like the others.
âIâm sorry,â she stopped him right there in the hallway. She was going to have to really make sure he understood if she ever wanted to feel comfortable in his presence. âI must drive home the fact that I havenât ever had a decorating job of this magnitude. Ever. Iâve only done the cottage for your grandmother and Iâve decorated my momâs house. Iâve never even been in a home on River Road before.â
Everyone in the vicinity of Richmond knew where River Road was. It was more than just a road; it was a landmark, a stretch of real estate showcasing Richmondâs finest. âI mean, my motherâs house is nice. Sheâs on the corner of Maple and Ivy Streets,â she kidded, trying to joke about the insignificance of where her motherâs house was located. Clearly, he didnât get it. Maple and Ivy obviously didnât have the same impact as River Road. Her joke had fallen flat.
He stared at her, as if waiting for something more.
âWhat Iâm trying to sayâŠâ She swallowed. âWhat Iâm wondering isâŠâ She didnât want to not take the job. But telling him the truth was the right thing to do. âIâm inexperienced. With all the money that you have, why donât you just hire an experienced decorator?â
He was silent a moment as if he were trying to get his answer just right. âI mean no disrespect,â he said. âThis was my grandmotherâs idea. She thinks I need to make this house presentable for my family and friends when they come for Christmas. I agree, to a certain extent. And I think the emptiness bothers her in general. The problem is, I only want to make her happy. I donât care enough about it to spend time searching for a decorator. I just want it done, and if she thinks youâre the person to do it, then so be it.â
So he didnât care that she wasnât a seasoned professional. He didnât care about any of it. Any feelings of achievement sheâd had by securing this job came crashing down. He was telling her loud and clear that it wasnât about him trusting her abilities; it was just something to tick off his list. Nick turned and headed down the hallway again. Trying to look on the bright side, Abbey walked along beside him, thinking of all the possibilities.
Release Date: October 26, 2019
Release Time: 84 minutes
Director: DJ Viola
Cast:
Jill Wagner as Abbey Fuller
Matthew Davis as Nick
Brandon Quinn as Dr. Mike Acosta
Donna Mills as Caroline Sinclair
Darby Hinton as Phillip Fuller
Marquita Goings as Desiree Squires
Charles Green as Walter Fairbanks
Wyatt Hunt as Max Fuller
Rachel Hendrix as Kate Newhall
Kenneth Israel as Bob McManus
Dorothy Steel as Dolores (as Dorothy M. Steel)
Bruce Taylor as Ham Acosta
Jenny Hale is a USA Today, Amazon, and international bestselling author of romantic contemporary fiction. Her books have sold worldwide, have been translated into multiple languages, and adapted for television. Her novels Coming Home for Christmas and Movie Guide Epiphany Award winner Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses are Hallmark Channel original movies.
She was included in Oprah Magazineâs â19 Dreamy Summer Romances to Whisk You Awayâ and Southern Livingâs â30 Christmas Novels to Start Reading Now.â Her stories are chock-full of feel-good romance and overflowing with warm settings, great friends, and family. Jenny is at work on her next novel, delighted to be bringing even more heartwarming stories to her readers.
When she isnât writing, or heading up her romantic fiction imprint Harpeth Road, she can be found running around her hometown of Nashville with her husband, two boys, and their labradoodle, taking picturesâher favorite pastime.
KOBO / IMDB / AUDIBLE / INDIE BOUND
EMAIL: jenny@itsjennyhale.com
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