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took her hand, but rather than give it a polite, casual little shake, he held on to it. In fact, went so far as to cover it with his other hand, apparently completely unaware what that did to her already overloaded hormonal circuits, considering he just stood there, smiling down at her with something that looked like a mix of delight and affection plastered all over his handsome face.

      It was that affection part that totally froze her up. Reverting her back to sixteen, when all she could do was stare. God only knew what expression was on her face. All she knew was that his hands were big and warm…and her body was swiftly following suit on the latter part.

      She’d like to think a dozen years living independently in London, in the fast-paced world of advertising, would have long pushed her past her shyness and the paralyzing fear that always came with speaking in front of groups. Sometimes groups of one. Especially when they looked and sounded like Sean Gallagher. And, back in London, she most definitely had. She wouldn’t have made a very successful art director if she hadn’t. And she had been. Successful. But that was business. This…she didn’t know what this was. All she knew was she was a long way from London, and her smart, confident, savvy London self hadn’t apparently made the trans-Atlantic flight along with her.

      Standing there, staring, she still felt exactly like the awkward sophomore she’d once been, looking at all of his senior perfection and feeling her tongue tie into knots. Right along with her stomach.

      “I miss your folks,” he said as they continued to stand there, and stare. “But I got a postcard and note from your mom from their cruise ship. Sounds like retirement is agreeing with them.”

      “Yes, yes it is,” she said, finally coming out of her pheromone stupor and slipping her hand from his. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you. I’d—I’d better get inside and—” She glanced at the store and faltered. She had no idea what she was going to do when she got inside, so she just plastered a smile on her face and grabbed the handle of her suitcase before he could again. “Good to see you.”

      “I heard you were coming back to take over the store,” he said as she bumped her suitcase up the curb and fumbled with the keys.

      “I—” She didn’t know yet what she’d come back to do, or not do, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Right.” Finally, blessedly, she turned the lock and the dead bolt and swung the door open.

      “I’m glad you’re back in town, Holly Bennett.”

      She glanced back at him, standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, chef apron tied perfectly around his hips, somehow looking all the more manly for it. He also looked like he was freezing.

      “Me, too,” she said inanely, for the lack of any real reply of substance. Or honesty.

      Just then someone stuck their head out of the front door of the restaurant. Where Sean’s hair was a dark, thick mop of waves, this head was closely shorn and red. But the easy grin and dancing eyes proclaimed him yet another Gallagher. And, if that wasn’t enough, the thick brogue was final proof.

      “Sean, me boy, we’re sinkin’ in here, doncha know. And O’Hara’s called back twice now. I think you can get quite a deal on the mahi mahi and the scallops both if you play it right. You can flirt about later.” He sent a small salute and a wink toward Holly. “Unless I finish me chores first.”

      “Right, Mick,” Sean called back, never once taking his own twinkling eyes off of Holly. “My cousin,” he told her, by way of explanation. “Come from Cork to spend the holidays. And make my life even more impossible, that one,” he finished, doing a fine imitation of a brogue himself.

      “I’ll let you get back to it,” Holly said, feeling just as she had all those years ago, watching his unruly, boisterous clan tumble and wrestle about. Part envious of what it must be like, to always know you had the bosom and embrace of a big family to sink into anytime…and part petrified of what it would be like to never have a moment or thought completely and entirely to yourself. She tore her gaze away and dragged her bag through the door.

      “Welcome home,” Sean called out, sketching a salute of his own before jogging back across the street and through the door his cousin was still holding for him.

      “Home,” Holly echoed as she closed the door behind her. She turned to look at the shadowed room, lined with crammed full shelves and dotted with the odd, eclectic antique furnishings. It was a place she knew like the back of her own hand…every aisle, every shelf, every tile of the floor. And which, at that moment, seemed completely alien to her now that she was totally in charge of them. Owned them, in fact. It was cold. And dusty. And dank smelling. Things her mother’s place had never been.

      Except it wasn’t her mother’s place any longer.

      She tucked her hands under folded arms, trying to ward off a chill that had little to do with the heat being turned down and the electricity switched off.

      Home.

      All that was left of it, anyway. Holly started to tremble a little as she allowed her gaze to travel the depth and breadth of the place. Her place. Now that she was standing here, the real enormity of the decision her mother had left her to make hit her full force. It made her want to call her mother right then and there and angrily demand to know how in the hell she could do something like this to her. Or jump back in the taxi, race back to the airport, and flee once again to London, where she’d send word to Florida that, thanks, but no thanks, then simply get on with her life.

      But the taxi was gone. And so were her parents. At least until after the new year. She glanced across the street, to the yellow glow that emanated through the windows and door of Gallagher’s. Warm and inviting. With people talking, working, knowing, and understanding their purpose.

      She looked back at the interior of the shop, her shop…and wished like hell she had even an inkling of what that felt like. Because, standing there, finally ensconced once again in the cheerful, fairy-tale world of Christmas her mother had so lovingly built and tended to, Holly felt no rush of longing, no ache of homesickness that made her want to cling to the familiarity of the past. She hadn’t realized until just then that, somewhere in her mind, perhaps she’d been hoping—praying—that that would be what happened.

      Instead, the reality was that she felt even less connected to this place than she ever had before.

      “Bah, humbug, dammit,” she muttered, giving in to the feelings that had plagued her since her mother had handed her the keys with that knowing smile and face full of hope. She dragged her bag farther inside and locked the door behind her. “Merry freaking Christmas.”

      4

      Sean was distracted all day. Night, too. He found himself putting in far more front-of-house appearances than usual. Not because there were service issues, or because he wanted to spend more time chatting up new customers, although he managed to deflect a few of the former, and make sure the passing-through-towners were having an enjoyable meal. No, he found any excuse to be in the front of the restaurant because that was where he could look across the street. To where Holly Bennett was currently residing. Like some kind of lovesick teenager, mooning over the girl who got away. Which…well, it was certainly a lot easier for her to get away when the guy never, exactly, did anything about getting her.

      It was closing in on one in the morning when he was finally ready to lock up and leave. Only, instead of heading out into the small rear lot reserved for him and his employees, climbing into his truck, and heading home…he headed out the front door, boxed meal in hand, and went across the street to Santa’s Workshop. The lights in the front of the store were off, but there was a golden glow seeping out from somewhere in the rear of the store, which he happened to know was where Bev’s office was. Or, he supposed that would be Holly’s office, now. So he was doing the neighborly thing…bringing over a hot meal for the new kid in town, freshly off a long flight from the U.K. Neighborly. Friendly. That was Sean Gallagher, all right.

      “You are so full of shit,” he muttered as he tapped lightly on the glass pane of the front door. When no one appeared from the back, he knocked a bit

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