Christmas Kiss

Chapter 1 - It Started Out With a Kiss

Emerson DuPont felt her entire world screech to a halt when she saw his piercing, pastel blue eyes and perfectly coiffed pale, blonde hair across the restaurant.

Of course, she thought, not a single hair is out of place.

It had been three months since he had left her standing shell-shocked on the sidewalk in front of her apartment, but she'd recognize his lean silhouette and cocky swagger anywhere. Her eyes pricked with tears she refused to acknowledge as she crouched behind a potted plant, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She had successfully avoided confrontation with him since the day he abandoned her, which had been quite the feat, since Merrick Hollow wasn't a very large town, and his family owned a large part of it. Unfortunately, her luck couldn't last forever.

Walking into Le Rêve at that very moment was Crispin Walsh, the man who so callously tossed her aside, and on his arm was the beautiful (and famous) lingerie model Brooklyn Chandler. The two looked like a match made in heaven, and an ugly churning began in Emerson's stomach. She wasn't sure if it was jealousy or a large dose of humiliation.

Crispin's platinum blonde locks and ice-blue eyes hinted at a Nordic ancestry. His tailored gray Armani suit hugged his swimmer's frame, accentuating his good looks. His silky sapphire tie reflected highlighted eyes so icy blue, one would almost think the man wore colored contacts. In contrast, Brooklyn's perfectly voluptuous figure was on full display in a long, clingy gown that left little to the imagination. It was low-cut, showcasing an amount of cinnamon colored cleavage that bordered indecent, and a large slit ran up the length of her left leg. The deep burgundy color of the shimmery material brought out the auburn highlights in her wavy, chocolate brown tresses. Every man in the room seemed dumfounded as they studied her every move, enchanted when she tossed back her hair with tinkling laughter floating from her pouty lips.

Emerson glanced shamefully at the black cocktail dress she was wearing as the hostess for the fancy French restaurant. To be honest, if she wasn't standing behind the desk next to the front door, she could be mistaken easily for a patron of the establishment, though the dress paled in comparison to Brooklyn's dramatic number. Emerson's caramel brown hair with honey blonde highlights was pulled into an elegant messy bun, and her eyes were made-up with a smoky effect. Her plump lips were shining with a wine-colored gloss, and her understated diamond jewelry complimented the ensemble. Lastly, her black stilettos gave the illusion that her legs were a mile long and lifted her butt perfectly. If she wasn't concerned with the look of pity that Crispin was sure to give her, she would have felt confident seeing him, dressed as she was, after all this time. That is, if he didn't have a supermodel at his side.

Realizing that Crispin had yet to see her, Emerson turned to her co-worker for assistance. "Simon," Emerson whispered frantically at the gangly brunette stationed behind the nearby desk. He turned at the sound of his name, puzzled to find her peering at him from behind a ficus tree. "I need to take a break," she murmured. His forehead wrinkled when she ducked suddenly, and his wide hazel eyes searched hers in confusion when she met his gaze again. "NOW," she emphasized, ignoring the question she was sure was on the tip of his tongue. It wasn't his fault that she was acting strangely, but she had no more time to waste. Before Simon could respond, Emerson darted around the corner and sprinted to the kitchen.

"Jacques!" she yelled as she entered the bustling hub of the restaurant. The room was a pell-mell of organized chaos, with assorted cook stations manned by boisterous chefs who were focused on producing five star cuisine. Waiters hurried through the doors to collect large trays of food and just as quickly disappeared back into the dining room like choreographed dancers. Delicious smells from the clanging pots and pans wafted across the room, causing Emerson's stomach to growl. She ignored the uncomfortable sensation and quickly scanned the expanse of white walls and top-of the line stainless steel. She located her friend working vigorously at a nearby stove-top, shouting instructions to his staff in his native tongue.