by Danni Roan
“It’s down in Oxford,” Pablo turned, meeting Portia’s bright eyes again. He was so close he could feel her breath against his ear. “You could call someone there to have it delivered, or I can get one of the drivers from the place I used to work to take you down and pick it up.”
Portia lifted her eyes, meeting Pablo’s gaze. He had a dreamy look in the dark depths of his coffee brown eyes as something soft seemed to flicker to life in his soul.
“That sounds good,” Portia’s words were a whisper, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the man beside her. Nervously she licked her lips afraid to move for fear of shattering this moment.
Pablo’s head inched closer as she lifted her chin meeting his lips halfway with a soft kiss.
Fireworks seemed to erupt in her head as Portia’s lips brushed Pablo’s. He tasted like coffee, motor oil, and hard work, a strange mixture of effort and heart.
Pablo’s arms wrapped Portia’s slim waist pulling her close as she wound her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He felt the smooth skin at her back as her shirt hitched up her spine and was lost for several moments as the kiss seemed to make the world evaporate.
Portia pulled back, her face flaming with heat at her boldness. “Oh, um, sorry,” she mumbled, her words coming in soft gasps. “I’ll call someone.” A moment later, the Mustang burned rubber onto the road, and she was gone.
Chapter 11
“Portia!” Gram Walton called from the front porch as the young woman drove her convertible along the front of the house.
Portia pulled to a stop turning to see Mrs. Walton waving at her before driving the car toward the small parking area by the Inn. Her wind tasseled hair fell to her shoulder as she came to a stop, turning off the ignition and climbing out. She had taken two steps toward the front porch when she remembered her bag and turned back to the open-topped car.
Leaning over the door, Portia reached across the console, grasping the strap of her bag. Warm sunlight caressed her back as the tied in front shirt rode up her spine. This time as she turned back to the house, she didn’t bother to pull the shirt down, leaving her midriff exposed to the warmth of the day.
Grandma Walton watched as the pretty Portia leaned over the car, exposing her back and barely bit back the laugh that rose in her throat.
“Oh my,” the old woman whispered to herself a bright twinkle in her eyes. Two well-placed handprints, stamped out in grease graced Portia’s creamy skin beneath her polka-dot blouse. It was about time too.
“You called?” Portia ran lightly up the stairs smiling at Mrs. Walton, who had a peculiar look on her face. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything is peachy!” Gram enthused fighting the questions that threatened to pour forth. “I just thought you’d like to see the resident side of the house today. Everyone’s away at work, so we have it all to ourselves. You can even stay for tea.”
“That sounds lovely,” Portia agreed. It would be a pleasant distraction from the kiss only minutes before. A warm blush brushed her cheeks as she wondered if she would see Pablo’s bedroom. Would it be messy? Did his room look like the remnants of a young man’s dreams? Surely there would be posters of cars, or maybe those hot garage calendars with women draped over beefy muscle cars. Pushing the thoughts from her head, she fell into step behind Gram. She was interested in the house, not the handsome mechanic. At least that is what she was telling herself.
“I’ll be leaving for a few days,” Portia said, sometime later as she sat at a small table in the quaint kitchen. It was evident that this had, at one time, been a summer kitchen and had been converted to meet the needs of the family over time.
“You’re leaving? I didn’t think Pablo had the truck ready yet.” Gram hid her grin behind her dainty teacup, watching as Portia blushed.
“I’m not leaving for good. I have to run down to Oxford and pick up a truck. Pablo has been having problems getting all the parts he needs to rebuild Sweetie’s transmission. I’m buying another old truck that we can use for parts.”
“Oh, my isn’t that expensive?”
“I found one at a fair price. It isn’t in very good shape, but hopefully, it will have what we need. Trucks that are too damaged to be rebuilt don’t hold much value other than for parts.”
“I see,” Gram mused. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Pablo mention having problems before.”
“This is a little different. Sweetie is a classic and a rather popular one. You see images of them everywhere at Christmas time. You know those little red trucks with the tree in the back. It’s getting harder to find them. Besides, they didn’t make many that year because WWII broke out, and in February of ’42, the factory switched to building strictly for the military.”
“I remember that time,” Gram shook her head. “I was just a girl, but everything changed. We all did our part, and we're proud of our country for standing up to tyranny. So many sacrificed so much, and we all wanted to do what we could.”
Portia’s eyes softened as she gazed at the older woman across from her. She couldn’t tell how old Gram was, but she had seen a lot of years and a lot of changes. How strange it must have been to live in a world that had shifted so much. Portia felt a kinship bloom between her and the old woman, even as the knowledge of all that experience humbled her. Gram had lived. She had grown up through troubled times, married, had children, lost love, and still held tight to what she believed in. Portia only hoped that she could have half the life this dear old soul had.
“I’d better get going,” Portia said, reluctantly finishing her tea. “I have to be in Oxford tonight, and I’ll check out the truck in the morning. If all goes well, I’ll bring it back in a day or two.”
“You be careful,” Gram stood, reaching across the table and squeezing Portia’s hand. “We like having you here.”
Portia squeezed Gram’s hand in return, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Thank you,” she said simply, turning and striding out the door.
So many thoughts and feelings tumbled through Portia’s head as she packed for her quick trip south. She wasn’t even sure what she tossed in her soft-sided bag. It seemed that in such a short time, she was becoming very attached to the people and places here in Michigan. She had come for a summer holiday. A mini-adventure, but was finding so much more. All her life, it had only been her and her dad. What would it be like to belong to a much larger family?
Chapter 12
It seemed strangely quiet at the dinner table that night when Pablo came home. He had worked late, making sure the engine was perfect, but he felt Portia’s absence keenly back home. As annoying as the woman was, he was getting used to her. He missed seeing her walking along the shore or popping in to ask him a question. It was evident that he and Portia were from two different worlds, but he couldn’t help his attraction to her.
He still didn’t know what had come over him, causing him to kiss her in such a way. He had never really had much time for girls over the years, but there was something that drew him to Portia: an irresistible, irritant that seemed to have gotten under his skin. He didn’t have time for romance. His business was growing, he had regular customers, and he was making a name for himself as someone to go to for muscle car work.
It didn’t matter in the end though. He and Portia were from two different worlds. Worlds so far apart that not even a love for all things motorized could bridge that gulf. Besides, Portia would be gone as soon as he had Sweetie fixed. He had already set up the bodywork schedule and painting for the next few days. He would tow the truck to his old boss to have it painted while he worked on the transmission. The last details were falling into place, and once Portia returned with here salvage truck, she would be that much closer to roaring out of his life in a cloud of dust.
“Aren’t you hungry tonight?” Gram asked. She had been eyeing him funny all night, and he wondered if his confusion was that obvious.
“No, I mean yes, I’m hungry, I just have a l
ot on my mind.”
The old woman chuckled, a knowing sound as if she had a secret he should know. “If you say so,” she mused. “I’ll fix us a nice cup of hot cocoa with cinnamon and vanilla. Maybe that will help ease your mind. You always did overthink things.”
“Pablo?” Carlos asked, looking between the two. “You mean the little brother who was always on the razor's edge of falling into trouble?” He grinned, reaching out and patting Pablo on the shoulder.
“Don’t you tease him now, Carlos, he is working very hard to make Portia happy.”
Pablo’s head snapped up, looking at the only grandmother he had ever known. Had Portia said something to her? What if she knew he had kissed the pretty woman? Pablo felt his face flush, and he dropped his gaze, turning his attention to his meal.
“I guess you have been working pretty hard,” Carlos admitted. “I’m proud of what you’ve done with that garage. I shouldn’t tease you so much.”
“Thanks,” Pablo mumbled. His brother had always been willing to do whatever it took to look after his younger siblings, and the older Pablo got, the more he realized what Carlos had sacrificed. He didn’t think of himself as a bad egg, but it was true that as a teen, Pablo was more likely to be seen driving his boss’s fancy cars, or battered jalopies, loaded down with loud music and louder friends.
“Gram, thank you for another fine meal,” Carlos said. “I’m going to go check on Jamie and Chris. He probably has her as soaked, and suds covered as he is by now. Bath time is never an easy task.” He grinned, pushing out of his chair and leaving the room.
“You finish up there,” Gram said, nodding to Pablo’s plate of chicken and dumplings. “I’ll make that cocoa, and we’ll have a little chat.”
For a moment, the short hair on the back Pablo’s neck prickled. It had never been a good sign when one of his family members said they needed to talk. All too often, it brought back memories of the day that Carlos had told him and Nita that their parents had been lost in a terrible car accident on Christmas Eve. Even now, he had moments when he was sure they were watching over him from a distance.
Carlos had organized a memorial service to help bring closure to the family’s grief, but with no bodies to bury, something always seemed that little bit out of place.
“Here,” Gram placed a piping mug of hot chocolate in front of him, whisking away his empty plate at the same time. Hot steam rose around mountains of whipped cream, and little shavings of dark chocolate sprinkled the top.
“Thanks, Gram,” he said, taking a spoon and dipping into the top of the mountain.
“You like that girl, don’t you?” Gram asked, causing him to choke on his treat. She never batted an eye as she settled across the table from him, slowly stirring the whipped cream into her special blend of cocoa.
“No, I mean, I’m just doing a job. Portia is a client.”
“A very pretty client.”
“A very self-centered, spoiled client.”
“A lovely, very kissable client.”
Pablo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could he deny the truth? He had kissed Portia, and he would do it again given half the chance.
“Pablo, I know it’s true,” Gram grinned like the proverbial Cheshire cat. “The signs were plain to see. You kissed that girl today, and you liked it.”
Pablo’s face felt as hot as his beverage, and he lowered his head, not wishing to give anything away.
Gram leaned across the table, her keen eyes studying him as he slumped over his mug. “She had greasy handprints on her back.” The older woman leaned back, laughing loudly at the look of horror on Pablo’s face. The boy was precious to her, as were all her children and grandchildren and bonus grandchildren.
“It just happened.” Pablo half stood, placing his hands on the table. “I didn’t mean to, but she was so close and then…”
Gram reached out, dropping a weathered hand over his. “Sit down and drink your chocolate,” she commanded. “Your secret is safe with me. I can’t say I’m surprised. You two have a lot in common.”
“But too much that isn’t as well.” Pablo felt the weight of the world fall on his shoulders as he poured out his heart to Gram.
Chapter 13
“You’ve got to get him to open the package.” The two figures standing in the darkest corner of the Old Inn’s yard gazed up a second-floor window. After all, you’re the one who sent him the wrong one at Christmas time. It could have been a catastrophe.”
“But how? He doesn’t know me. He won’t trust me just because I tell him to open it. Also, if you remember, Pablo gave that other little car to Chris to play with, so I didn’t do any harm.”
“You have to be more careful. Now you made this mess, and I’ve done all I can to fix it, but you’ll have to do the rest.”
“Mama,” the man with the white beard pleaded. “I’m sure he’ll open it in time.”
“Christian Kringle, don’t you Mama me,” Mrs. Claus placed her hands on her hips. She looked lovely in a summer sweat suit and running shoes, her shoulder-length bob of silvery hair all but glowing in the moonlight. “This is the first year we’ve even dared use the Christmas Cottage. It’s rented in our names for the next five years and will play the part it was made for in winning lonely hearts, but you jumped the gun on this one, three Christmases ago. Everything wasn’t in place, and now we’re spending our summer working it out.”
The man wrapped his arm around his lovely wife, a soft ho, ho, ho emanating from his belly. “I’ll think of something, though it doesn’t look like they need any more help.”
“That’s what you think.” Mrs. Claus sighed, resigned to having to wait for things to play out as they should. “Now, let’s peek in on our grandson.”
Chris winked, placing his finger on his nose and whistling softly. A moment later, they were each seated on the back of a reindeer peering in the open window at little Christian Jimenez. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains of the partially open window, and the little boy rolled over on his bed, yawning as he blinked sleepy eyes at the two people outside. A happy grin spread across his face, and he tucked his knees under him as he drifted off in peaceful dreams.
“One day,” Mrs. Claus sniffed. “One day, it will be our turn to come home.”
Chris placed his hand on his wife’s back. “We have to go,” he whispered, sending their mounts back toward the earth and the tiny cottage they were sharing while they waited for the world to right itself once more.
***
Pablo staggered down the stairs heading for the coffee pot. He had to be working too hard, or his worries about Portia were getting to him. Last night as he struggled to sleep, he could have sworn he saw two reindeer dash past his window.
Yawning heavily, he stretched and reached for the largest mug he could find nearly draining the pot of its black brew.
“Rough night?” Carlos walked into the kitchen, already wearing his white painter’s overalls. He had had one too many buckets of paint toppled on him not to wear some kind of protective covering, these days.
“Strange dreams.”
“Are you stressed over this truck?” Carlos poured what was left of the coffee into his cup and set the pot up to start over. “You’ve been putting in some long hours.”
“It’s worth it.” Pablo dropped into a chair, taking a long draw on his mug. “Portia, Ms. Princeton, is paying me well. With what I’ll earn rebuilding this truck, I’ll pay off most of what’s owed on the equipment. I might even set some aside to update the barn a little more.”
Carlos grinned. “Let me know if you need help.”
“What, doesn’t this place keep you busy enough,” Pablo laughed the grin scattering the strange remnants of his vision from the night before.
“It does, but you know I’ll always be there to help.”
“Thanks, Carlos. What are you working on today anyway?”
“I’m touching up some of the trim work on the porch. It gets a lot of traffic in th
e summer, and the wind off the lake is hard on it all winter.”
“Carlos, how did you know that Jamie was the woman for you?” The question caught Pablo as much by surprise as it did Carlos.
“Everything just fell into place,” his older brother grinned. “Like that little paintbrush ornament, the crash and spill at the Patriotic cabin. Her need for someone to help at the inn, and my need for someone to help here.” He tapped his chest with his index finger. “We were meant to be together, and it just took a little nudge to let me know it. I guess you could say it was a jumble of different things that all came together at once.”
Pablo nodded. He had seen the transformation in his brother. The joy, the light in his eyes each time he saw Jamie. “Thanks,” he said, gulping down more coffee and reaching for a slice of coffee cake on the table. “I guess if something is meant to be it will be.”