"ARE THOSE...present bags?" Nat asked, as Cyrus pulled her into the Grand Lodge.
She couldn't help it, even in a stressful situation. He heart had sunk when the fire engine sped by the church, and her foreboding had been confirmed when she saw the truck returning from the Grand Lodge.
While driving to the house, she had prayed that everyone was okay and practiced what she would say to him. She had decided that, after checking that they were not harmed, she would accept Cyrus's apology, and then pivot to implicitly agreeing that the previous night's argument was a misunderstanding. It was a prudent plan regarding the attractive, easy-to-talk-to, but strong-willed millionaire.
But she was nervous, so when he opened the door and she saw the bags strewn around her beautiful, sophisticated—okay, maybe not totally sophisticated because the ornaments were all toys and bows—Christmas tree, the wrong words flew out.
She calmed down quickly, though, and prepared to take a different approach. After all, the tree was still gorgeous. It was just that it deserved better than some grungy bags and crumbled crepe paper.
She felt a stab of guilt. Oh, of course the bags didn't really matter, but if she hadn't left last night those presents would look a lot different.
"Yes, those are indeed bags," Cyrus said, smiling broadly at her. "And the kids loved them, for, you know, the five nanoseconds that it took them to get their presents out."
He sounded proud of that, and it was music to her ears. The morning's developments hadn't dimmed Cyrus's Christmas feeling.
Good.
"I'm surprised it took them that long," she said, returning his smile.
"They wanted to savor the moment," Cyrus said, now staring out the front window at the front yard.
"Are they still arguing?" Nat asked.
"Oh, yes," he drawled. "Leah can hold a grudge with great tenacity."
"Noah has some game too," Nat said. "I remember when one of the movie stagers brought the wrong Christmas tree to the set. It wasn't pretty."
"I can respect that, being particular about his trees. It is the family business. I'm surprised he didn't have his father provide the tree for the movie."
"He felt it would come across as nepotism, but he changed his mind after he got Frasers instead of Balsams. Northstar provides the trees now."
But who knew what would happen now that—
Cyrus stepped back from the window hastily. "I think she saw me. The kids are right. She has a sixth sense."
"All the best nannies do."
"Let's go get coffee," Cyrus said, heading for the kitchen. "Then you can tell me what's going on."
Nat sighed. "I heard there's a blonde involved."
"Of course there's a blonde involved," Cyrus said. "There always is."
They crossed the living room. The television was on, but no one was watching it. Jack was building a Lego building on top of the coffee table, and Gigi was reading.
So far, so normal.
"Hi, kids," Nat said. "Merry Christmas on the actual day."
"Merry Christmas on the actual day to you," Gigi reciprocated with the traditional Holiday Lake greeting. Suddenly she lifted her head and looked around. Her brows creased. "Where's Leah?"
"Outside arguing with her boyfriend."
"Is that why she looked sick this morning?" Gigi asked.
"I figure," Cyrus replied. "She had a bad night."
"Love sucks," Gigi said.
Cyrus laughed. "You'll change your mind about that, but no rush."
"No, I won't," she replied. "Spies can't fall in love. It's against the rules." She aimed a thoughtful look at the door. "But it's an interesting phenomenon, well worth studying."
"Give Leah some privacy," Cyrus said. "She's having a hard time."
"Uh, sure," Gigi replied, sounding resolutely insincere.
After following Cyrus into the kitchen, Nat leaned in to whisper to him. "She's going to go out and spy on Leah, you know."
"Well, I certainly hope so," he replied, setting up the coffee machine. "I want to know what's going on, and who better to find out?"
Nat winced, knowing that he probably expected her to 'fess up.
"It's a long story," she said as he reached for the mugs.
He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I have plenty of time."
Well, this was excruciatingly awkward, Nat thought. She'd gotten used to unusual situations in her line of work, but she'd never crashed someone's Christmas Day with a lovesick television-director-slash-Christmas-tree-farm-heir before.
"There we go," Cyrus said, pushing one last button. "Nice to see that I'm able to work the coffeemaker without disturbing the balance of the universe."
"I saw the fire engine," Nat said. "Don't worry. That happens with the rentals. The guys are very nice, particularly Matt Davies, who always volunteers on Christmas Day because he can't stand his mother-in-law."
"They certainly seemed to be used to emergency visits," Cyrus said, sounding not at all worried.
Actually, he sounded quite happy, which was amazing. He'd started as one of her most demanding clients ever, and so far, his perfect Christmas had included a pretzel overload, punk-rock Christmas carols, and crappy present bags.
Not her best moment.
"I'm sorry I ran out last night," she said in a quiet voice.
Cyrus leaned against the kitchen counter, suddenly serious.
"I'm sorry too," he said. "More than I expected to be."
That last sentence took her by surprise. He didn't seem to be talking about present bags.
His gaze shifted to the side. "I know it's selfish to monopolize your time, particularly during the festive season."
"Oh, no, it's—"
She stopped. Was she really going to say that it was perfectly fine? That she preferred spending time with him?
Even if it was a stressful, last-minute assignment? Even if it kept her from her Mexican margaritas?
Yes, she was really going to say that.
Because it was true. At that moment, Nat realized that she'd had more fun in the past few days than in the rest of the year.
"And it's particularly bad when your mother is having a tough time," Cyrus continued. "I realize that."
"My mom!" Nat's eyes went wide. She'd forgotten Marisol.
But wait.
"How do you know about my mom?"
He refused to meet her eyes.
"Cyrus?" she asked.
The coffee machine beeped. Cyrus immediately relaxed.
Ah, saved by the coffeemaker bell.
She watched him retrieve mugs from the cabinet, noting that he picked the Holiday Lake Inn one.
You have to like a man who appreciates a good mug.
Cyrus rubbed the back of his neck as the fancy machine poured coffee into the cups. The nervous gesture was endearing.
But not endearing enough to keep her from asking more questions.
"What do you know, Cyrus?" she asked, as he handed her the Holiday Lake mug.
The warmth of the coffee spread through her fingers.
"Eggnog creamer," he said as he picked up a small container. "Did you know this existed?"
She took a sip of coffee. "Yes. Now stop stalling and spill it. What do you know?"
He sighed. "Northstar Farms is up for sale."
Nat almost choked on her drink.
"How do you know that?" she asked, setting down the cup.
He sipped his coffee and stared at the floor.
"Wait, are you thinking about buying it?" Nat asked.
Cyrus stared at her in shock. "No, no. What would I do with a Christmas tree farm? I do commercial real estate not lumber."
Nat's eyes narrowed. How did he know about the Northstar Tree Farm sale then? Noah had only told her this morning and he said it was a secret. For a second, Nat wondered whether Gigi was actually running a spy ring in town. That would explain a lot.
Noah had also told her that the mysterious blonde was the attorney representing the prospective buyer—the highly confidential, extremely discreet attorney.
So how had Cyrus learned about it?