One More for Christmas(74)

“You mean as well as house parties?”

“Yes. It must be possible to do both.” The reindeer nudged her again and she tugged off her glove so that she could sink her fingers into his fur. The warmth of the animal contrasted with the bitter cold of the wind. “What you have here is very special.”

“The reindeer?”

“All of it.” She smiled as another reindeer approached. “Who is this?”

“Goose.”

“You look nothing like a goose.” She rubbed the animal’s neck. “You’re right about it being relaxing. Do you think reindeer therapy could become a thing?”

“You tell me.”

“I think it could. Right now I want to sell my apartment and live in the mountains with a herd of reindeer.” It was all she could do to tear herself away, but they headed back to the car and bounced and bumped their way back along the rutted track until they reached the road. “Where are we going next?”

“To the village. This will be the closest thing we have to civilization in case your guests feel in need of that during their stay. We have a small school, a post office that sells everything from tea to hiking boots and a pub. Highland pubs have a long tradition of great hospitality.”

The pub overlooked the river and was surrounded by pine trees.

Samantha paused by the door to take a few photographs—snow piled against a stone wall, the pub sign swinging slightly in the wind—then she stepped through the door and was enveloped by warmth, the hum of conversation and the smell of good food. There was a crowd of people gathered round the bar, and it was obvious that almost everyone in there knew each other.

The conversation stopped as she entered. Heads turned.

She smiled and hurried across to Brodie, who had grabbed a table close to the open fire.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“Wrong?” His glasses had steamed up, and he pulled them off and dug around in his pockets for a cloth.

She handed him one from her purse. “They’re staring at me.”

He polished his glasses and squinted toward the bar. “Probably those ski pants you’re wearing.”

“They’re the wrong thing to wear around here?”

“No. The pants are great. You look great in them. Better than great. I mean, that’s probably why... Forget it.” He colored, fumbled with his glasses, dropped the cloth. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t. And thank you for the compliment.” She retrieved the cloth, feeling a strange sweetness spread through her. “I assume it was a compliment?”

“Yes. Menus.” He shot to his feet. “I’ll get menus.”

She watched as he strode to the bar. That feeling of awkwardness and embarrassment that had been with her since that phone call had faded during the morning, probably because he was more awkward and embarrassed than she was. The difference was that he seemed to accept it as part of who he was.

She unwound her scarf from her neck, feeling warm. It was the fire. It had to be the fire. Nothing else.

Heat flowed from the huge stone hearth. She grabbed her camera and took a few interior shots for her newsletter. A basket of logs. The walls hung with ice axes and other pieces of climbing equipment.

Brodie returned with menus. “Forgot to ask what you wanted to drink. Single malt? They have about ninety-four different ones to choose from.”

“Tempting, but I’m not a lunchtime drinker. Diet cola is fine, thank you.” She slid her camera back into her backpack and a moment later heard laughter.

Brodie was in conversation with three men who were leaning on the bar.

They appeared to be teasing him because his face was pinker than usual, but he handled it with his usual good-natured laughter. He seemed completely comfortable with who he was. Even on a short acquaintance she sensed there was no outer Brodie and inner Brodie. Just Brodie. He knew he was a little clumsy and awkward, and accepted it with laughter. But equally he knew his strengths. He didn’t play down his professional skills. He was a man who knew exactly who he was and was happy to own all of it.

She felt a twinge of envy. She would have given a lot to be half as comfortable with herself as he was.

“So Really Festive Holidays—” He put the drinks down on the table. “Tell me how that happened. How did you become the Christmas expert?”

Samantha had a vision of Ella, five years old, glowing with excitement as she’d delved into the “stocking” Samantha had made her.

“I always loved this time of year. I used to dream about the perfect way to spend Christmas, and when I started working in the travel industry I realized that I could make that a reality for people, although what we offer isn’t exclusively Santa focused. Some people don’t want a traditional family gathering over the holidays, but prefer to travel. Lapland is popular, so are the European Christmas markets. I’ve sent people to Iceland, but also to Paris and London if they want a city break.”

“London? Not that I don’t like London, but I can’t imagine anyone booking it for a special festive break. What’s in London that would be attractive to tourists at that particular time of year?”

“Christmas lights. The Nutcracker ballet at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. Champagne afternoon tea at one of the exclusive London hotels. For you, London is probably about crowds, commuting and work stress, but that isn’t what a tourist experiences. My job is to bring out the magic of a place and focus on that.” She curved her fingers around her glass. “I bet I could make you fall in love with London again.”