43-ffc4-5dcb-b89a-ed5d346920fa">
“Yeah. Kid’s got a knack. Good head for business.”
Claire knew exactly where he was going with this and chose not to follow. “Clearly. Well. Give everyone my—” love, she started to say “—best. And have a good night. All of you.”
“You, too,” he said, his gaze locked on hers. And she thought, Hell.
Because, as she zipped out to her car, the thought nagged that despite what she’d wanted to see—to believe—about things easing between them … had they really? If they’d truly settled into friendship—which was the only logical choice, given the circumstances—why had that conversation felt like a pair of shoes that didn’t fit?
“Don’t even bother answering that,” she muttered to the universe.
Which was probably laughing its damn ass off.
***
Jersey Boys:
Born … raised … and ready.
Santa’s Playbook
Karen Templeton
A recent inductee into the Romance Writers of America Hall of Fame, three-time RITA® Award-winning author KAREN TEMPLETON has written more than thirty novels for Mills & Boon. She lives in New Mexico with two hideously spoiled cats, has raised five sons and lived to tell the tale, and could not live without dark chocolate, mascara and Netflix.
To the people in my life Both those I’ve known
And those I’ve yet to meet
Who’ve made Christmas magic for me.
I love you all.
Contents
Today would have been his sixteenth anniversary.
Only half hearing the kids’ thudding and slamming and yelling from downstairs, Ethan Noble glanced out his bedroom window, where a pair of chattering squirrels chased each other through an oak tree, the bare branches thickly webbed against a pale November sky. It’d been cold and windy that day, too, the mottled clouds occasionally spitting on everybody’s windshields as they made their way to All Saints.
But nobody’d cared. About the weather, about the indisputable fact that Merri’s stomach bulged a little underneath her high-waisted wedding dress. So things’d happened slightly out of order. Since it’d all worked out like they’d always planned anyway, what difference did it make—?
His cell buzzed—an incoming text message. Only one person who’d call this early. And for only one reason. Ethan scooped the phone off his nightstand.
Thinking of you.
If anyone would understand what he was feeling today it’d be the man who’d adopted Ethan when he was a toddler. Also a widower for some years now, Preston Noble had set an example of strength and loyalty and fairness that Ethan could only hope to emulate, especially as a parent. And his father had adored Merri....
God, she’d been beautiful. And so fricking happy. Same as he’d been, even if Juliette’s precipitous appearance hadn’t been in the playbook. Merri, though... She’d been a part of his playbook since they were fifteen.
Juliette’s age, he thought as his daughter appeared in the doorway, her wavy, warm brown hair streaked with some god-awful color. At least it was only chalk, it washed out, but still. Lime-green?
“Um...the others had breakfast, sorta. Cereal, anyway. So...I’m ready to go—?”
“Sure,” Ethan said, smiling. “We’re good.”
Jules came over, standing on tiptoe to give him a hug, a peck on his scratchy cheek. Shaving was strictly optional on the weekends. Then she released him, eyes full of concern, and Ethan’s stung. He didn’t make an issue of the anniversary,
