Chapter One

God, she loved Christmas.

Devon Pratt looked around at her beloved flower shop and nodded with approval. She’d taken the entire day to pull out her boxes of décor and lovingly string lights and tinsel around the signs, counters and display cases. Now, the midafternoon gloom seemed more cheerful, like shining beams of light in all the dark corners and whisking away the demons. The holiday season gave her a sense of hope and peace, inspiring her to give back and treasure all the people she loved. Who didn’t feel better gazing upon a shining Christmas tree with colored glass balls and a glowing star? Who didn’t get excited over wrapped boxes with ribbon stacked together and peeking from prickly branches? It was all meant to lift someone’s spirits and bestow a touch of magic.

That, and flowers of course.

She took stock of the new inventory of poinsettias in their bright red glory, along with pinecones, berries, and holly. Like the seasons, flowers followed the death and rebirth of Mother nature, and Devon found herself honored to be a witness. With every drooping petal there was a chance for a new awakening. Pruning was her favorite thing to do. Chopping away the excess to the bare core of a plant was similar to the grief and Phoenix rising of a human. Nothing stayed the same. Some looked at it as a curse.

Devon learned early to treat change as a blessing.

A silly grin curved her lips and she began humming as she hunted for Christmas carols. She was lucky enough not to have any big weddings to prep for, which was odd, but the past year had seen many brides and grooms wanting to wait for the new year. At least Alyssa—her part-time assistant—was able to go home and take some time off since Devon didn’t need the extra help.

She’d miss out on the money—holiday weddings were fat with profit—but Devon was looking forward to a break and focusing on the charity Fur Gala with Animal Welfare. She wanted to break all records since so many people struggled and gave up their pets. Under Devon’s watch, every animal would get a safe home, and families would be able to afford them. The more focus she gave her favorite charity, the better everyone would be.

“Jingle Bell Rock” streamed from the speakers and she gave a jaunty little twist, singing off-key while she finished setting out the holiday village around the display of fir trees. She lit a candle and twisted red ribbon around the branches to create a pretty centerpiece. Walk-in clients were plentiful so she needed a surplus of arrangements in various budgets available.

The scents of balsam and peppermint drifted in the air. She worked till closing, enjoying the silence. She was used to it and had no fear. Sure, she dreamed of finding the perfect man who fit her, who GOT her quirks and issues and loved her anyway, but she wasn’t about to waste her time bitching. Life was too short.

She had great friends, family, and a business she loved and had carefully built herself. She cultivated peace, happiness, and positivity. Negative energy was something she avoided at all costs. There wasn’t enough sage in the world to cleanse some of the poison people liked to put out just so they wouldn’t be alone in their misery.

But her floral shop catered to the hopeful.

Just the way she liked it.

Darkness settled over the small beach town of Cape May, but the white twinkling lights and carols and yummy scents beat it back.

She finished her centerpieces and began to pack up for the evening when the door flung open.

“Devon! Did you hear?”

She looked up at her friend, Jordan, who stared at her with wide dark eyes and flushed cheeks. “Let me guess. Vera is finally retiring and giving you the bridal shop.”

Jordan gave an annoyed grunt. “Very funny. That would be when hell freezes over, and though it’s cold out there, this place isn’t hell. At least, not yet.”

Devon grinned. Vera was a retired prima ballerina who ran the only bridal shop in town with an iron fist and a talent to please the pickiest of brides or grooms. Jordan had been working for her the past few years, and hoped to finally get her shot to buy it from Vera. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. What’s up?”

“Mac got called out of town. He won’t be back for the Fur Gala.”

Devon groaned. “No! The invites went out already, and we have no backup place to hold the event!” Her sudden selfishness hit her, making her pause. “Wait—is Mac okay? His family?”

“He’s fine. His sister is pregnant and her husband is overseas. She asked Mac to come help her out for a while in Paris. He couldn’t say no.”

Devon relaxed. Good, she didn’t have to feel guilty. “Well, I can’t blame him—who could say no to Paris? Plus, he’s the best brother ever so I can’t be mad. But what are we going to do on such short notice?”

“No, that’s what I’m here to tell you. Mac sent his cousin to run Vintage for the next two months. He’ll do the fundraiser and everything.”

“Oh, that’s great.” One look at her friend’s mischievous gaze had Devon frowning. “What’s the catch?”

“Babe, he’s hot.”

She blinked. “Who?”

“Mac’s cousin! His name is Jameson—isn’t that so sexy?” Jordan gave a delicious shiver. “And even better? He’s single.”

Devon fought the dread already forming in the pit of her stomach. There was simply nothing worse than a new single male coming into town, especially around the holidays. The busybodies came out in droves, proudly chirping about their fears over Devon’s single status and how they didn’t want to see her die alone and childless near the beach. Now, she’d have to deal with embarrassing gestures to try and set them up, which never worked. The last few men who’d come into town temporarily had not been even close to her match.

How could she be so happy with her life, but feel guilty for not doing what the town so badly wanted?

Settle down in a long-term relationship.

Devon shook her head hard. “No, Jordan. I’m done with matchmaking and gossip and humiliating attempts to set me up. He’s here temporarily and I don’t want to get involved. Do you understand?”

Jordan chewed her lip. “Sure.”

Devon threw up her hands. “I mean it! Tell everyone to back off and let the poor guy run Vintage for his cousin without interference. Okay?”

“You haven’t even met him yet! What if he’s your soulmate?”

She spun on her heel and began closing up. “He’s not. I’m grateful he’ll be taking Mac’s place so the animals don’t suffer. I’ll be nice and neighborly but that’s it. And I demand your respect. You’re my best friend for God’s sake!”

“I know, but that’s why I don’t want you to leave any stone uncovered. You’re amazing, Dev. The funniest, sweetest person I know and I’m pissed no male in this town has scooped you up yet.”

Her anger softened at the kind words. “Dammit, don’t be nice or I can’t be mad at you.”

Jordan winked. “Then my plan worked. I gotta go, but maybe you should head over to Vintage and introduce yourself? I’m sure he’d love to chat about the Fur Gala.”

“Maybe.”

Jordan chuckled and gave her a quick hug, then walked out, her short blonde curls bouncing over her shoulders. They’d immediately bonded when Jordan first came to town, and Devon had to admit it had been nice having a single girlfriend to hang out with. They’d hit Atlantic City, Bethany Beach, and Wild Wood clubs till late at night, until Jordan ran into the love of her life at a bachelorette party—a curvy, fiery redhead named Sistine, who stole her designer purse on a dare and then stole Jordan’s heart. Now, they were living together happily in Cape May and talking about getting married within the next few years.

Devon was thrilled but a tiny bit sad she’d lost her wing woman. Still, she adored Sistine and traded in one best friend for two. Not a bad bargain.

Maybe Jordan was right. She’d pop into Vintage tomorrow and welcome Jameson to town. It must be overwhelming to inherit a packed itinerary in a restaurant he wasn’t familiar with. She'd offer her assistance and warn him of the town’s shenanigans when it came to single males. They’d laugh about it and have some fun planning the Fur Gala.

Devon locked up the shop and headed home, whistling happily to “Jingle Bells.”

Christmas was the best.

* * * *

God, he hated Christmas.

Jameson Franklin stared moodily at the restaurant he’d inherited for the next eight weeks and wondered how he’d manage. When Mac called to ask for the favor, Jameson didn’t hesitate though he knew it’d be a challenge. Family helped family no matter what. He loved his cousin, but other than their shared passion for food, they were complete opposites.

His gaze took in the cheerful, homey type of décor that he normally avoided at all costs. Years working under one of the best French chefs had given Jameson a love for austerity, order, and restrained elegance. No dish or sauce came without a perfect pairing of red, white, or sparkling wine. He preferred small courses that led up to a finish, but without overwhelming the patrons with excessively sized dishes. There was a story to his menu at all times, and he took pride in running the Bordeaux Café in Manhattan. So far, he’d had no desire to open up his own restaurant, though he knew if he decided to, it would be a success. After a decade of living and studying the food industry, and being taught from the very best the culinary world could offer, Jameson knew all the factors to create a thriving business in a competitive industry.

He just hadn’t felt the ambition or need to go on his own. Owning anything in this world meant not only responsibility but becoming limited in all options.

No, thank you.

He frowned at the limp garlands strung along the rafters of the dining room. The spray of white and colored lights littering the windows. The endless red flowers and cheap décor that made him feel like he’d stepped into one of those chain Christmas stores to bulk up on items for a house party. He’d completed a thorough investigation of the staff, menu, vibe, and setting, coming to one final conclusion.

Vintage was one hot mess.

He fought the urge to throw up his hands and squeak through, allowing Mac to keep his vision and habits, even though Jameson knew the man would be broke within the year. When he’d tentatively asked about profit margins, Mac had laughed it off, calling the restaurant the child of his heart. Besides serving an overabundance of high-quality food for reasonable prices, he seemed to open the doors to any type of not-for-profit party in the beach town, taking a hit on the expenses under the guise of charity. Vintage had been a BYOB place for years, and Mac only recently attained his liquor license—a perfect opportunity to increase profits. Instead, Jameson had almost screamed when he saw the wine inventory offered at cost, and no specialty cocktail menu where drinks were cranked up to fifteen dollars a pour.

Hadn’t his cousin completed a business course?

Even worse? When he inquired why the BYOB sign was still out, Mac told him the customers still liked to bring their own champagne for brunch, and he allowed it.

He’d been struck mute in horror and unable to text his cousin back.

Mac cited large crowds, but it shouldn’t be an element to boast about. From what he’d observed this past week, there were regulars who took advantage of low-balled prices, excellent food, and Mac’s good heart. Even the staff, as lovely as they seemed, had happily informed him of their revolving complicated schedules, telling him when they needed to leave or switch shifts as if he was running a college rather than a restaurant.

Jameson headed to the back, ignoring the slight throbbing of his temples. It was Friday and he anticipated a busy evening. After-work celebrations and family gatherings in preparation for the holidays had them fully booked. If only Mac took advantage of the customers’ loyalty and tightened his ship, his cousin could make a killing.

Suddenly, he stilled as the thought hit him hard. His gut twisted with excitement. Maybe Jameson could help. Imagine if Mac returned home from caring for his sister and saw a brand-new Vintage? One with tasteful décor, higher prices, and a cocktail menu. He’d stop the bleeding and present his cousin with a thriving, profitable restaurant with a graceful nod of his head and a humble acknowledgement.

He had two months for the overhaul.

Mac was too entrenched with the locals, but Jameson didn’t need to make friends here. He needed to run an efficient business. He could take the heat from Mac and transform the restaurant without worrying about being nice. He had nothing to prove. Who cares if they thought he was an asshole? They could grumble and whine about the changes, but in the long run, when Mac returned, he’d be making a ton more money and inherit a tightly run operation.

The challenge made the blood in his veins warm and his heart beat faster. It would be a wonderful lesson for him, too, and a way to figure out if he actually would like to run his own place. He’d help Mac out, and finally decide about his own future. A win/win with no casualties.

Jameson closed the door to the back office—a small drafty space with the basics, and whipped out his own laptop. He quickly made a list of top priorities to focus on during the next sixty days, checking the calendar to create a schedule that was ambitious but doable.

His finger tapped on the weekend of the 22nd which was blocked off in bright red.

Animal Welfare Fur Gala.

A frown creased his brow. How could Mac agree to such an event during the busiest weekend of the year? The restaurant would be blocked out for an entire day for prep, missing out on the lunch and dinner crowd.

He remembered the brief conversation with his cousin, and being told to give them whatever they needed.

For free.

A shudder shook through his body at the thought. He had no doubt Mac was being taken advantage of in the name of some unknown dogs. Sure, he believed animals should be safe and well-treated, but spring or summer would be a better time to push that agenda. Besides, how could he welcome dogs into the restaurant? It made no sense. He had the outdoor patio with heaters but what if it rained and they got cold? They’d trot inside with their shedding fur and bad breath and muddy paws into a place he was trying to transform.

No. He’d need to cancel it. He was sure the rescue organization would understand due to the circumstances of Mac leaving. The firehouse would be more appropriate, and he’d even offer to help with some of the food catering. Just as long as they didn’t spend precious hours at Vintage drinking free booze and eating on his cousin’s dime.

Satisfied with his decision, Jameson picked up his phone to break the news immediately.