by Box Set
He twirled his fork in the pulverized pancakes and laid it on the napkin. Without lifting his gaze, he said, “When I drive you home, you should probably leave me alone. Run away and don’t look back.”
“You want to leave now?”
“Not until you finish breakfast.”
“I’m finished.” She pushed the chair back. “Whatever you want to do is fine.”
He wiped a hand over the back of his neck. It was tight and he felt a heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders. “I ought to check in with Grandpa.”
“Sure. I should go back to work, er, I mean, figure out what I’m going to do next.”
He signaled the waitress for the bill. After paying, he and Brittney walked silently to the truck. The lump in his throat surpassed the size of a softball, as monstrous as a frozen football. He ought to apologize. Say something.
But the words wouldn’t come.
They drove back to the cabin, and he followed her to the front door. She turned, waiting for him to unlock the door. He fumbled with the key and dropped it, cursing.
She bent to pick it up at the same time he went down to his knee. They bumped heads again.
“Ow,” she yelped.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, I’m okay.” She stood still, blinking, as their eyes met.
He picked up the key and handed it to her. “Do you mind going in and packing? I need some time alone.”
She opened the door and gently shut it behind her.
Ben walked around the side of the cabin to the small garden area. The rosebushes had gone wild, springing long stalks of shriveled leaves and broken, dried flower remnants devoid of petals.
The old tire still hung on a rusted chain looped over the low-hanging branch of an old oak tree. Ben gave the swing a push, guiding it in a gentle arc. The chain creaked and the swing wobbled on the way back. He gave it another push and watched it arc higher than it would be safe for a real child to play in. A gentle breeze rustled in the fallen leaves, and he turned to see who was watching him.
No one.
He walked back to the storage shed, noticing the hasp of the latch had rusted. He opened it to check if anything was missing. Wooden reindeers, a gaily painted Santa on his sleigh, a wooden train full of gingerbread passengers, and coils and coils of lights, sat undisturbed in the dust.
He bent down and rubbed the dust from the wooden angel his grandfather had put up the year after. Her cherubic face was still rosy after all these years, and her blond hair made of yarn flowed over white painted lace. Her wings stretched from side to side, but her hands were painted together in prayer.
“Colleen?” Brittney’s voice floated into the shed.
Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and choked back the sudden onslaught of tears. “Yes. Grandpa cut the shape and Grandma painted her.”
Brittney’s hand feathered over his back and she knelt at his side. “It’s okay to mourn. I’m sorry I overstepped. No one can replace your mother or sister.”
“No, don’t be sorry. You weren’t trying to replace them.” His shoulders shuddered as he tried to control himself. He was being ridiculous, ruining the best date he’d ever had by acting like a baby.
“I’ll never understand, because my mother, father, and sister are all with me, but if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears.” She put a comforting arm around him.
“It’s hard being back here.” He managed to keep from sobbing. “That’s why Grandpa rents it out.”
“It’s such a charming place.” She hugged him, then kissed the side of his head. “Let’s go back in, and I’ll fix you up a mug of hot chocolate. Then we can take a walk and collect pine cones.”
“You still want to hang around with me?” Ben inhaled her clean, soapy scent and moved closer, resting his head against hers. “I was rude at the restaurant. I didn’t mean you couldn’t try out my mom’s recipes.”
“You don’t have to explain.” She gave his hand a light squeeze. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easily. You still owe me two dates.”
“Two more?”
“Yes, and what happens after the first date?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but slanted her face and dragged her pouty lips over his.
At that moment, a fluttery breeze swirled the dried leaves outside of the shed, and a single white feather spiraled down, landing in Brittney’s hair.
Chapter 45
~ Brittney ~
I don’t mind that Ben was rude or that he’s moody and shuts off. Heck, I would too, if I didn’t have my family. All I know is, he needs me, and it’s too late for him to run away. He’s opened up to me, and I’ll do anything I can to help him.
Besides, he kisses so good, so desperate and passionate. He’s crushing my mouth with his and his tongue is strong, but not sloppy. He dips and tastes, then sucks as if savoring every last drop of me. My nipples tighten and tingle, yearning to get into the act, but deep inside, I know Ben’s not ready.
Something is holding him back. No matter how hungry he is, or how much his body betrays him, or how tightly he holds me, there’s a barrier, an invisible line he won’t cross.
I wonder what it is, and boy does it challenge me, like a difficult math problem or a piece of broken code.
He lets out a breath as he draws back. The emptiness between us returns for a moment, but he again closes the gap and buries his face into my hair, breathing deeply.
I’m catching my breath, steadying my galloping heartbeat, waiting for him to pull away. Order me into the car and tell me to run and let him go. Not that I’d obey. Nope. I’ve never run into a problem I can’t solve.
He’s breathing hard, gulping air, but not showing his face. I won’t acknowledge his tears, if indeed he is crying. The back of his neck is smooth and damp. I tease and caress the roots of his hair and listen to his breathing along with the rustling of wind through the redwood needles.
His mouth moves behind my ear, kissing my hairline. He nibbles on the shell of my ear, sending sparks of electricity through my body. I let out a moan and raise my head, exposing my neck.
With a groan, he tugs on my earlobe, then licks a trail down the column of my neck, drawing shivers and goosebumps.
My muscles turn limp, and I’m about to sag onto the floor of the storage bin, alongside yard ornaments and a leaf blower, when Ben’s muscles bunch and he keeps me from collapsing onto a pile of pink flamingos wearing Santa hats.
“Seriously?” I wipe dust off the flamingo on top. Not only does it have a Santa hat glued to its head, its black-tipped beak is painted with a large red splotch.
“That was my dad’s idea. College prank.” Ben’s eyes crinkle as a gleeful smile splits his face. He points to the wooden reindeer and the sleigh. “Every year, Grandpa would put out the decorations, the team of reindeer, two in a row, and string it to Santa’s sleigh. So, my father gets this bright idea. He ordered nine flamingo lawn ornaments from this plastics company and glued tiny Santa hats to them. This one’s Rudolpha, or Rue. They all have girl’s names by the way.”
“So, the team of flamingos replaced the reindeer?”
“Exactly, and it made the town newspaper, which was a big deal back in the seventies, before internet.” Ben picks up the flamingos one by one. “He wrote their names under their bellies. Daisy, Dani, Prancine, Vixen, Commie, Kewpie, Donna, and Brittzen.”
“Brittzen? Did you make this up?” I scramble to take the last flamingo from him. “It says Blithe.”
“I like Brittzen better. It rhymes with Vixen. I’m changing it.” He tucks the last flamingo under his arm. “There’s gotta be a Sharpie marker around here.”
“You really think I’m a vixen?” I bat my eyelashes and flip my hair back.
“You’re definitely a Brittzen, not a vixen.” He winks. “Brittzen’s are better. Sexier and sweeter. Help me find a marker or something.”
“I still can’t believe he replaced the reindeer with flamingos.” I rummage around the lawn orname
nts. “It’s like a treasure trove in here. Everything’s old.”
“Yeah, a junk pile. Except for the flamingos. They’re classy.” He chuckles. “When I decorate the yard, I’ll put Brittzen in front.”
A happy, light feeling flashes inside of me. He’s smiling and chuckling when just a few minutes ago he was sad about his mother and sister. Maybe the decorations can bring back happy memories instead of sad ones.
“I dare you.” I put my hands on my hips and wiggle them.
“Dare me to do what?” He’s still holding the plastic flamingo as if it were a blowup doll, right over his crotch area.
“Put those flamingos in the yard and have them pull the sleigh.”
“You mean pull all this stuff out there?”
“Why not? It’ll be relaxing for me and help me forget my problems.” I blink at him as innocently as I can.
“Okay, Brittzen, if we do this, we go all the way.”
“I like the sound of that.” I wag my eyebrows up and down.
He shakes his head and huffs, grinning. “I mean, lights, animatronics, sound effects, everything. I’m sure you remember visiting Santa’s Cottage.”
“I do. That was when I believed in Santa.”
“You mean you stopped?” He wags his finger and purses his lips. “You disappoint me.”
“I always believed in your grandfather.” A sour sensation twists my stomach. “I hope he’ll forgive me.”
“He’ll come around.” Ben is quick to reassure me. “Things have been hard for him. The pet store’s not doing well. He’s down to one employee, and ever since his heart attack, he hasn’t been able to put in any hours there.”
“That’s awful. I always bought my bunnies and supplies there, before I ended up with a rabbit allergy. Maybe Lacy can help with a marketing campaign. She’s bored of sitting around waiting for Baby Cole to come.”
“He won’t be able to afford a marketing campaign.” Ben picks up the stack of flamingos.
“Hey! Maybe if we open Santa’s Cottage again, we might be able to raise some money for it.” I bounce on my heels and tap him. “I’ll speak to my parents. We can set up a few Christmas trees here and do a raffle. You can charge admission to the cottage and sell souvenirs. Maybe Grandpa will come back here again.”
At the mention of Grandpa, Ben lowers his gaze to the ground. “Let’s leave him out of this. I don’t think his heart can take any more grief, and being here will only remind him of all he lost.”
“You’re right.” I touch Ben’s arm, but inside, I’m thinking this is the perfect way to bring Santa back on Christmas Eve.
Chapter 46
~ Ben ~
“You holding the ladder?” Sweat ran down Ben’s face as he climbed a rickety ladder with a string of lights looped around his shoulder.
“Just don’t lean back,” Brittney yelled from below.
“I’ll try not to, but the eaves are jutting out.” He looped one end of the Christmas lights on a rusty nail, then unrolled it a little and moved to the next nail. When he reached toward the right, the ladder wobbled.
“Better come down and move the ladder,” Brittney said.
“Yeah, no wonder Dad used to leave these up all year.” Ben hooked the rest of the lights over a rung near the top, and descended carefully.
“You never helped?”
“Let’s just say me and ladders don’t get along. I’m too top heavy.” He landed at the foot of the ladder in front of her and clenched his arms in a strong man pose.
“Oh, biceps.” She crooned, grabbing and feeling his arm. “So hard and hot.”
“Comes from hard work, girl.” He covered his pleasure with gruffness and moved the ladder several feet to the right.
It went on like this until they’d gone completely around the house. Every time he descended the ladder to move it, Brittney would feel him up and swoon over him, and he’d pretend not to care.
She certainly was good for his ego. Not just that. She was perfect. He couldn’t find a single thing wrong with her. She was kind to animals, considerate to elders, had the brain of a rocket scientist, and the body of a super model. A jolt of panic shot through him. What if she was the ‘One?’”
Could he take losing her?
He finished attaching the last length of lights to the extension cord and dropped the cord down around the eaves to the electric box.
“Shall we turn it on now?” Brittney asked when he removed the ladder.
“Not yet. Gotta put lights over all the bushes and shrubs, plug in the sleigh and all the moving parts, not to mention the snowmen and the flamingos.”
“Oh, that’s right, with their glowing tummies.”
“Especially Brittzen’s glowing chest,” he teased, lowering the ladder and resting it on the ground. “I’m bushed. How about we eat some lunch. You haven’t tried that casserole I made last night.”
Maybe they could take a nap after lunch and do a little cuddling. After all, she said he was already on second-base, or as he preferred to call it, the fifty-yard line with her.
“I’ll try anything,” Brittney said. “I’m not picky.”
“Do you have any faults?” He took her hand. “Or were you born perfect?”
“I’m far from perfect.”
“Name one fault.” He opened the kitchen door and led her into the house.
“I don’t write handwritten thank you notes anymore.”
“Ohhh … that disqualifies you. Ouch.” He kissed the top of her head. “I can’t have a girlfriend who doesn’t write thank you notes.”
“Uh, who’s trying out for the position?” She punched his abs lightly. “Are we being presumptuous?”
“I figure I’m halfway there, second base or fifty-yard line?”
“I can still make you fumble your football.”
“I’m a defensive linebacker. I’ll sack you in the backfield.”
“Oh, I’m so scared.” She stuck her tongue out, and bam! Just like that, she got him. Adrenaline shot through him, harder and faster than a wall of offensive linemen pushing him to this knees.
The only one who was scared was Ben—the bruising linebacker with the tender heart. He’d put out a feeler, the joke about having a girlfriend and she’d shot him down. She didn’t want to be his girlfriend. That much was loud and clear. Besides, he had no time for one either. After the holidays, it would be nonstop training until the draft. No goofing around.
“Let me put the ladder and tools away.” He wiped his hands and cleared his throat. “I’ll meet you inside.”
Chapter 47
~ Brittney ~
While Ben puts away his tools, I rummage around the kitchen drawers. Even though his grandfather rents this place out, it feels like a home. The guests have left notes and recipes, as well as coupons and a few photos.
Wouldn’t Ben be surprised if I were to find his mother’s recipes? Any woman who’d alter recipes and name them after her children had to be a very creative one.
Besides, it’ll give me something to do as I consider what Ben hinted about. Me being his girlfriend. Even though it’s an old-fashioned thing, I like it. Makes me feel warm and comfy, like I’m wrapped in a giant stadium blanket with him.
I flip through the guest book and read the comments. Although Grandpa Powers no longer comes here, this cottage has been a happy place filled with memories for a lot of visitors. Some even put up the decorations, and of course, they’ve added to the collection over the years.
There’s no recipe book in the drawers, so I hunt through the cookie jars. They’re the old ceramic crock ones—a beehive, a snowman, and a Mrs. Claus. I pop the top of Mrs. Claus and find a stack of index cards. The rubber band has disintegrated and falls apart when I touch it.
Pay dirt! The cards are yellowed with age, but the writing is clear and precise. Nash Browns, Damon’s Food Cake, Jon-balaya, Gus-pacho, Sloppy Jolenes, Terri-Yaki Chicken, Cece-viche, Sally-Berry Steak, Breakfast Barry-tos, Braden-wick Stew and Eggs Benne
tt. There’s even a Cho-Collie Angel Cake and Colleen Greens. She must have chosen Ben’s name for his sister, Collie, for Colleen.
The kitchen door thuds, and I look up to find Ben staring at me with a tight look. His gaze flicks to the cards in my hand.
“Look what I found.” I take steps toward him. A chill washes over me and I’m suddenly unsure whether I should have been snooping. “Recipes.”
His gaze intensifies and rests on the cards in my hand. “Whose are they?”
“Your mother’s. Isn’t it a miracle how they’re still here, even with people renting this place?”
“The guests are mostly Grandpa’s friends, so they’re pretty respectful.”
Gulp. Is he saying I’m not respectful? I force a smile and pretend he’s happy about me finding the cards. I’ve learned long ago that being positive and assuming people are happy often results in a change of heart. Unlike, Lacy, who always thinks she’s the bad one, I simply pretend I’m good, and ten times out of ten, everyone believes it’s so.
“Look, she even made up a cake recipe for Colleen. She called it Cho-Collie Angel Cake.”
Ben’s face pales, and he reaches for the card. “Let me see. She couldn’t have written this. Someone’s playing a cruel joke.”
I give him the card. “The handwriting looks the same.”
He flips the card back and forth. “It’s newer than all the others. See how there are no stains or crinkles on it? And the card is whiter.”
“True, but some of the other cards might be a lot older, and she used them a lot.”
Ben licks his lips and swallows. “This has to be a fake. She already made Damon’s Food Cake for my brother. She wouldn’t make two cakes, and Angel cake? How did she know Colleen would die?”
I touch Ben’s arm and lean my head on his shoulder. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it that way. Everyone calls me Angel Face. Maybe she thought of Collie as her little angel because she’d be the only girl after all the boys.”