Second Chance Holiday (Spruce Crossing Christmas Book 2)

4. Christian

Itake extra time to get ready after returning home from the clinic, showering to ensure every feather, fluff, and piece of fur is off my body before I dress in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. Packing a care bag for Rupert, I ensure I add a bottle of wine for Ava and head down to Main Street to pick up the preordered meal from Wild Sage.

Mason greets me at the front, a bemused grin on his face when he hands me the paper bags, the delicious aromas of sage and thyme wafting up to meet my nose as we stand by the hostess stand to chat for a moment.

“I don’t know how I feel about you taking my prized salmon in your furmobile,” my best friend teases.

“I’m not going far,” I reassure him. “And I don’t think Ava’s much in the mood to socialize right now.”

“Dude, I’m just kidding. Hopefully, I’ll get to meet this lady-friend soon, though.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” I say quickly, heat inching up my neck. “We knew each other in high school. She’s been gone a decade.”

“No? It’s not like that? You sure seemed excited to see her here the other night,” Mason replies slyly.

I don’t tell him the truth, about the phone calls I’ve been receiving lately, offering me jobs across the country, and how seriously I’ve been taking them. This is not the time to pursue anyone new in Spruce Crossing when my future is so up in the air.

“I’m just trying to be there for her. If anyone knows what it’s like to take over a family business, it’s me.”

My best friend’s smile fades. “I know. You’re a good man, Christian Hargrove. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks.” I clap him on the back with my free hand and reach for my wallet, but Mason waves me away.

“Put your wallet away,” he instructs me.

I shake my head. “How are you going to make a profit if you don’t make customers pay for your food?”

“I’ll make do,” he retorts. “Now get out of here and eat that while it’s still hot. I’m not making another order for you.”

Rolling my eyes, I put my wallet away, recognizing the futility of my argument, and thank him again, heading back out to my SUV parked on the snowy curb.

The sun has fully set now, the twinkling fairy lights aglow on the lampposts all along downtown. All the houses on Frontier Street are decorated for the holidays, the pines and maples donned with multicolored lights as far as my eyes can see when I pull the Suburban behind Ava’s blue car.

Barking meets my ears as soon as I step out of the vehicle and head toward the front door, the interior opening to show Ava in a sweater dress. She’s breathtakingly beautiful in white, the paleness of the color so flattering to her dark hair and olive complexion.

Rupert snakes between her legs excitedly as I hold up the food and the care package. She smiles to let me inside. Immediately, Rupert lands on me, knocking me back a half foot as Ava scolds him. “Ru, stop!”

“Down, Rupert,” I tell him firmly, handing the packages to Ava, who tries to calm her over-excited pup. My hand raises as I pull myself to my full height. “Rupert, sit.”

Tail wagging, the Golden sits down, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, eyes gleaming happily.

“I’m sorry,” Ava apologizes. “He’s usually so much better behaved, but the move has really messed with him.”

“He’s fine,” I reassure her, finally showing the dog the affection he craves. “He’s just overwhelmed.”

“That makes two of us,” she sighs, gesturing for me to follow her past the staircase and into the kitchen.

I eye her sympathetically. “Are you feeling overwhelmed?” I ask, and she offers me a sheepish grin.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she replies quickly. “Wow, that smells amazing.” She sets the food and bag onto the marble countertop.

“Wait until you try it. Mason is an amazing chef. We’re lucky to have him in Spruce Crossing,” I tell her. “He belongs in New York or LA.”

She unwraps the packages, casting me a sidelong look. “Funny. Carlie said the same thing about you today.”

I laugh aloud. “I can’t cook to save my life.”

Ava snorts, and it’s adorable. “No. She said that Spruce Crossing is lucky to have you as our local vet. She told me what you did for her cat.”

My tongue clucks, and I slide onto a stool at the kitchen island, a smidgen of guilt piercing my gut at the comment. “Poor Lucky. She was the fortunate one. If they had waited half an hour more to bring her in…”

I don’t finish my sentence as I reach for one of the cardboard containers and pop it open, my mouth watering already to see the sage smoked salmon inside.

“Wow!” Ava breathes again. “He’s an artist, too!”

“Yep. All locally sourced, all homegrown. Farm to table,” I announce proudly, still unable to believe that Mason’s new restaurant is so successful.

Ava sidles up beside me, her own box open, and she hands me cutlery. I gesture with my fork toward the bag. “I brought some calming drops for Rupert. They should help when you’re away. There’s also a bottle of wine in there if you want to open it,” I offer.

Her eyes widen uncertainly. “Do you want some wine?”

My lips part to answer, but before I can, my phone rings in the breast pocket of my shirt. Grimacing, I hold up a finger, setting down my fork and knife as I pull out the device. A frown touches my face.

“Everything all right?” Ava asks, catching my expression, and I nod curtly, debating whether to answer. If I don’t, he’s just apt to call back again until I do.

“Can you give me a minute?” I plead. “Sorry about this.”

“Go ahead. Take your time.”

I jump off the stool and stalk toward the front of the house.

“Christian Hargrove,” I growl, annoyed that they’re calling at this hour. Well, I’m more annoyed that the recruiter is interrupting my time with Mia.

“Dr. Hargrove! I’m so glad I caught you!” comes the feigned cheery response on the other end of the phone.

“You realize it’s dinnertime, right?” I snap. “It’s a little late to be calling, don’t you think?”

There’s a slight pause before the apology follows. “You’re absolutely right, Dr. Hargrove. My apologies. It’s only six-thirty here.”

I roll my eyes but bite my tongue. This might be a great opportunity for me.

“You just haven’t gotten back to us,” the too-smooth voice on the phone prompts. “And it’s been a week since we’ve sent you our proposal.”

“I will call you as soon as I’ve had a chance to look over all the details,” I say calmly. “With the holidays coming up, I’ve been busier than usual.”

“The terms are the same that we spoke about,” he counters.

“Yes. But I would rather look over the proposal. I like to see things in writing,” I tell him. “Give me some time.”

“Can you tell me what’s holding you back?” he presses. “If it’s a matter of money, we might be able to negotiate better terms.”

I choke back my excitement. It’s already more money than I’ve ever been offered before.

“It’s Christmastime,” I say flatly to the headhunter. “I’d like the month to think about it. Can’t this wait until January?”

“Of course, Dr. Hargrove. I can appreciate that. Would you say you’ll be open to the move after the holidays, then?”

My eyes dart toward the kitchen, and I think I see movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I look, Ava is in exactly the same spot as I left her. Rupert sashays out, and my heart rate returns to normal.

“After the holidays is definitely a better time,” I concede. “Can we reconnect, then?”

“I’ll run it up the ladder, Dr. Hargrove,” he replies. “Have a good night—and sorry about interrupting your dinner.”

“Goodnight,” I sigh. I disconnect the call and head back into the next room, where Ava is waiting for me. “Sorry about that,” I murmur.

“Everything all right?” she asks, her voice vaguely strained. I wonder how much of my conversation she heard.

“Yes,” I answer honestly. “Everything is fine. Let’s eat because if it gets cold, Mason will not be happy.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes, the savory salmon melting on my tongue, fusing with the mix of wild greens and asparagus in a perfect seasoning. I almost forget about the call before Ava bluntly asks me, “Was that a job offer?”

Stunned by her astuteness, I set my fork down and look at her across the counter. She avoids my eyes. “Yes,” I reply. “But I get offers like this frequently.”

She continues to eat, averting my gaze, but her tan complexion appears paler than usual as she chews thoughtfully. Once she swallows, she speaks again. “Where’s the job?”

A small part of me hesitates, but I don’t lie to her.

“San Francisco.”

She sets her fork down and stands, grabbing another napkin, her back to me so I can’t read her expression. “Are you taking the job?”

“I don’t know yet. The money is… it’s crazy, really. I can’t believe they’re offering as much as they are with the benefits and the retirement plan.”

I stop speaking as I realize Ava doesn’t care about the perks of my job offer.

The fridge opens, and she removes a water jug, reminding me of the wine, but before I can mention it, she’s speaking again. “You would leave your family’s practice and go just for money?”

I frown at her simplistic breakdown. “That would be one reason, yes,” I agree. “It’s life-changing money.”

She nods, her back still to me as she pours. “You want a glass?”

“Why don’t you open the wine?” I suggest.

“I have an early morning,” she replies curtly. “But I can open the wine if you want some.”

She glances over her shoulder.

I sense the tension brewing in the air. “I’ll just have water, too.”

What just happened?

“But I really haven’t decided one way or another,” I conclude. “I mean, it’s a pretty big decision.”

“Is it?” She turns to give me the glass of water, and I blink, wondering if she’s taunting me, but her expression is guileless. She’s genuinely asking me.

“Yes… it is.”

“You have a practice here already,” she reminds me.

“No,” I correct her when she reclaims her spot. “My family has a practice here. I just moved back two years ago, because my mom asked me to after my dad died. I own it, but it’s not really mine.”

“It’s your legacy, though, Christian. I’m not sure I understand.”

I gnaw on the insides of my cheeks, unsure I want to get into this with her. After all, she has just come back to take over her mother’s business.

Her hand reaches out to touch my arm, but as she moves, the doorbell rings. Rupert goes wild, his barks ricocheting off the walls. A look of dread floods Ava’s face.

“Are you expecting anyone?” I ask her, rising. She shakes her head, and I nod toward the door. “Do you want me to get it?”

“Please.” She sounds exhausted. “It’s probably one of the neighbors popping by again, and I just don’t have the energy.”

“I’m on it,” I promise, striding forward to answer, but as I hold Rupert back by his red studded collar and turn the handle, a chorus of sonorous voices filters into the house.

“Ava!” I laugh, calling out to her. The carolers don old-fashioned dresses and suits in green crushed velvet, their top hats shining and black as they burst into their rendition of The Little Drummer Boy.

Ava appears at my side, her face twisting into a smile of relief to see them. Her lovely face softens as cold air swirls through the front of the house, and I protectively wrap an arm around her while holding Rupert with my other hand. She glances at me in shock, her tooth capturing her lower lips as if silently asking what I’m doing.

And that’s an excellent question. What am I doing? Because if I’m taking that job in San Francisco, I can’t start anything here with Ava, no matter how much I might want to.

Why did she have to come back now? Why did this offer have to come through right when Ava Norwood returned?

It’s like the Ghost of Christmas Past is playing a cruel joke on me.