by Box Set
“Are you saying we were the little devils?”
“Yep, Braden-wick Stew, Damon’s Food Cake, Nash Browns, and here, tada!” I extract the one for Ben. “The best one of all, Eggs Bennett. Much better than Benedict, wouldn’t you say?”
“Bennett’s a heck of a lot sexier,” he admits, his cocky self overriding any lingering sad thoughts. He fingers the card. “You know, I’ve never seen her use these cards.”
“That’s because you boys probably weren’t in the kitchen.”
“True. I wonder if she wrote all of these up for Collie.” His voice grows wistful.
“I bet she did. You know what that means?”
“Sure.” He caresses the card for Cho-Collie Angel Cake. “It means she chose the name I wanted.”
“Exactly. And look, she wrote to serve Collie’s cake for Christmas Eve and Damon’s on Christmas day.”
“Mine and Nash’s are for Christmas breakfast. But she also made pancakes and waffles. She’d get up early—so early she’d say she bumped into Santa Claus.”
“I bet she did. And Mrs. Claus too. What did your father do?”
“Other than pull pranks on the yard decorations?” Ben chuckles. “They made him wear a big green elf outfit.”
“Oh, that must have been so funny.” I can’t help but giggle. “I wish I could have seen all of it.”
“What goes on at Santa’s Cottage stays at Santa’s Cottage.” Ben flips through the rest of the cards. He rubs my back and draws me into a hug. “Sorry I went all zombie on you at the restaurant.”
“You mean, when I suggested cooking Christmas breakfast for you?”
“Yes. I was shocked you’d want to cook Eggs Bennett for me, but I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He’s so sweet. Of course he wasn’t rude, just dealing with feelings he’s suppressed for so long.
“You weren’t rude.” I hug him around his waist. “I didn’t mean to offend you or the memory of your mother.”
“No offense taken. I want you to try my mom’s recipes. I’d be honored if you did. But …” His Adam’s apple bobbles, and he looks around the kitchen. “It’s the memories. I don’t know if you remember when Grandpa stopped coming to the cabin.”
“We used to visit, but I don’t remember. Things kind of faded once I realized he wasn’t really Santa.”
“You mean you stopped believing?” He cocks a grin at me.
“I remember everyone telling me Santa was fake, but I had this secret, smug knowledge that I was the only one who knew him, so I shut out all the arguments. Then one year, he didn’t go away. He showed up at our house Christmas Eve wearing jeans and a flannel shirt—not even a Santa hat.”
“That was the year Grandma passed. He never came back here—started renting it out.”
“Makes sense. He kept all the furniture the way it was.”
“Yep. This is all their stuff. The furniture, the old phonograph in the great room, the records and the giant radio, what they used to call the wireless, and my great grandmother’s Navajo rug.”
I glance around, fascinated by all the vintage things. “You think we can play some of the old Christmas records while we heat up the food and eat?”
“Sure! Do you even know how to work a record player?”
“We can google it.”
“No need. My mother showed me.” He tugs my hand and we walk to the great room to a metal card table holding the record player and other equipment, all sporting dials.
Flipping through the record collection, I find Bing Crosby’s classic album. “This one?”
“Definitely. You can’t have Christmas without Bing.” He turns a knob and the turntable starts to spin. “Look at this mechanism. You can stack records and they drop after each one is done.”
“Like pancakes? Cool.” I find a few more albums. “You like Elvis?”
“Absolutely. You have to have a Blue Christmas at least once in your life.”
Ben seems cheerier as he stacks the albums I choose and arranges them. He unhooks the needle and drops it on the rim of the first record.
A scratchy, hissing sound sizzles through the old, cloth covered speakers, and soon Bing is crooning about a white Christmas.
We go back to the kitchen and heat up the enchilada casserole Ben made the night before, and as we sit side by side on the window seat, I can’t help but wish I were Ben’s girlfriend and that we could spend Christmas together every year—right here with all the memories, among his family’s heirlooms.
Chapter 48
~ Ben ~
Either Brittney loved Ben’s burnt enchilada casserole, or she was a wonderful actress. She made appreciative noises as she licked the last bit of sauce from her fork. What did he do to deserve such a sweetheart? Not only had she not brought up anything uncomfortable, like the part about being his girlfriend, she’d also apologized for offering to cook breakfast.
“I didn’t make any dessert, but if you want to try any recipes, we can go to the store,” Ben said, wanting to prolong the good feelings of comfort and joy.
“Hey, great idea. Even though Christmas is two weeks away, we can cook some of your old favorites and pretend today’s Christmas Eve.”
How did she know that was what he’d been wishing? That she’d spend Christmas with him? Even if it was pretend.
“Then I better get all the decorations up. We can’t have Christmas Eve without the lights.”
“We’ll need a tree and wreathes. I love the scent of pine.”
“I have an axe, and I’m pretty sure Grandpa’s okay with me chopping one of the firs down.”
“Let’s not. We can put the lights and ornaments on the tree outside.”
“Says the Christmas Tree Farm Heiress.” He laughed and tickled her cheek. “We better hit the grocery store.”
“Might not have time to do everything together. How about I get the groceries and you finish the decorations? From the look of some of these recipes, it might take a while.”
“How many are you cooking for?”
“Two. I figure Sally-Berry Steak, which is flat iron steak with juniper berries, the Cho-Collie Angel Cake, and throw together a salad. Cranberries, walnuts, chopped pears over arugula should be easy enough.”
“You’re a genius.” He kissed her lips, but when he tried to linger longer, she pushed him back.
“Time’s a ticking and Santa will be here soon.”
The next few hours were a flurry of activity, both in and outside of the cottage. Ben arranged all the wooden decorations, from the Santa’s sleigh to the snowman chorus to the old barber pole with a North Pole sign. Of course, he put the flamingos in front of the sled with Brittzen leading the way.
He looped lights around the tree trunks and bushes and pulled out boxes of ornaments. He really should surprise her with a cut tree, but he wasn’t sure if he had time.
Despite it being pretend, he couldn’t hide the excitement coursing through his veins as he plugged in all the lights and animatronics. He was tempted to test them out, but he would wait for it to get dark and together, he and Brittney would flip the switch.
After tidying up, he stepped into the kitchen. One whiff and he was in heaven. The aroma of steak mixed with the cinnamon scent of baking slammed home how much he missed his mother. Sure, the Powers had had other Christmases, especially the ones on the ranch in Wyoming and his stepsisters had family and friends, and everyone had tried to include him—but … nothing compared to being home for Christmas.
Home. With his own woman checking the cake in the oven. Wait. What was he thinking? She was only here for now, to get away from her problems. Once her getaway was over, she’d leave and this cabin would be even emptier than before. Suddenly, the deep voice of Bing Crosby declaring he’d be home for Christmas rang hollow.
Brittney turned from the oven and smiled when she saw him. “I love how everything is dials, not a keypad in sight. I’m surprised you guys have a microwave.”
“It’s one of the first
ones made. We’re not that far behind the times.”
The music was still playing and Bing was still promising to be home for Christmas, and somehow, Ben was drawn to Brittney like a homing pigeon. Their lips touched, then locked, and he was kissing her hungrily, his lips and tongue aching to get closer, to meld with her so that she and he would never be apart—especially not for Christmas.
Chapter 49
~ Brittney ~
“We have nothing to wear.” Those are the first words out of my mouth after that soul-searing kiss Ben greets me with. I do want to keep kissing him, but with the way my body’s reacting, the steak would be as hard as a rock and the cake would burn into a pile of ashes.
“Wear? What are you talking about?” Ben gasps for breath, and I’m so proud I put that desperate, lustful look on his face.
“Our second date. Christmas Eve dinner.”
“Oh, you mean we can’t wear what we’re wearing now?” He brushes a burr off his jeans.
There’s a reason I bring up clothes, knowing we truly don’t have much variety. What better way to get Ben into the spirit of Christmas than to wear one of the costumes in the closet?
“Of course not.” I sniff in a fake disdainful manner. “There’s a closet full of clothes we can choose from.”
“You mean my grandparents’ clothes?”
“Yep. I’m sure there’s a frock or dress for me, and something in there should fit you.”
“I’m bigger and taller than Grandpa, even in his younger days.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to squeeze into something.” I let my eyes do a tour of his body. “Let me take the steaks out of the pan and I’ll find a costume to wear.”
“My Mom had a snow elf costume. I remember a silvery sparkly wand and fluffy white trim.” He blinks with a faraway look, looking so adorably like a little boy that I want to squeeze his cheeks.
“Go, go, go.” I push him from the kitchen. “Don’t come back until you’re Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick.”
“I’m not wearing a beard or wig. I hate those things.”
I wiggle my eyebrows and shake a spatula at him. “I’ll make an exception this time, because it’s a dress rehearsal.”
“Dress rehearsal? I thought this was pretend.”
“It’s both.” I cross my fingers behind my back. If things go well, Santa Grandpa might be back on his throne come Christmas Eve.
While Ben is dressing, I find candlesticks and a few old candles in the broom closet. The fine silver must be either locked up or moved elsewhere, but I set the table with the Currier and Ives place settings featuring scenes from a small town Christmas.
A few minutes later, the steaks are done and simmering in the juniper berry sauce. I toss the mixed greens for the salad and put the rotary timer on for the cake, then scurry to the bedroom to get dressed.
I skid to a halt at the bedroom door and gasp. Ben’s wearing Kelly green tights, or were they football pants without the pads? Whoa, entirely too sexy.
He’s cursing to himself and pulling on elf boots, the kind with the curled up toes and jingle bells and it’s not quite fitting. Since he’s not aware of me, I take the time to thoroughly check out his muscular legs and nice tight ass, clearly outlined through the too tight elf garb. I can only imagine pinching his cheeks while he’s humping over me. And no, he’s definitely not a boy, but a potent, perfectly proportioned man. A perfect model for an artist or sculptor, so hard, he’d never be putty in my hands or between my legs.
The cursing stops, but I’m too far into imagining Ben’s long, slow slide, that he catches me licking my lips.
My reward is a long, slow wink and a knowing, lusty grin. “Closet’s all yours. See you in the kitchen.”
He walks by me as if he weren’t the least bit affected by my ogling.
“You know, elves aren’t my thing,” I yell at his departing back. “Give me a Santa any day.”
“Oh, so you have daddy issues or should I say, grandpa issues? I knew you weren’t perfect.” He laughs, turning his head.
“Humpf.” My face is red hot and I slam the door. Caught lusting after an elf, even if he’s the largest elf ever at over two-hundred pounds and muscles stacked like an anatomy lesson.
The first few minutes of going through the closet are a blur. My heart’s pounding too hard, and my breath is unsteady. Face it. I have the hots for Ben Powers. Can I truly have a hookup fling with him and want nothing more? Lacy doesn’t think I have it in me. She believes little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes has to be in love before having sex.
But then, I hadn’t been in love the two times I tried sex. It was a big load of nothing. Discomfort, pain, and getting my boobs mashed. A few grunts and a thanks, “that was good,” which felt like a colossal waste of time.
Not that I ever told Lacy. Oh no. She’d only tilt her chin up in that superior knowing way and roll her eyes. She’d say I hadn’t found the right guy, that I have to kiss a lot of frogs before my prince would come.
Except who wants to kiss frogs? And why would a prince want anything to do with a frog kisser?
My fingers slide across the snow princess costume, covered with a plastic garment bag. I unzip it to reveal a baby pink velvet dress with white fur lining at the neckline and hems. Cute little red hearts, birds, and mistletoe designs are embroidered along the borders of the neckline which actually goes all the way up to the neck—nothing plunging about it.
I tug the long-sleeved dress over my body and secure the wide red belt around my waist. The chest area is a little tight, but because of the high neckline, everything is covered. Red tights, curly topped red elf boots, and a pointy pink hat with a red ribbon complete the vintage elf outfit.
I brush my long blond hair and smile at myself in the mirror. Since I have no makeup, I truly do look like I’m out of a children’s picture book. What did Ben’s mother look like when she wore this? How old had he been? A little toddler hanging onto the fur-lined skirt?
A faint scent of rosewater and potpourri stirs the flyaway strands of my hair, and I think I hear someone say, You look beautiful.
Strange. I check over my shoulder, but there’s no one in the mirror. The bedroom door is closed, so I should be safe from Ben’s prying eyes. Besides, that wasn’t a male voice, and I don’t talk to myself.
Still, the woman looking back at me in the mirror doesn’t quite look like me. She seems faded, in a vintage sort of way—like on the black and white TVs my grandparents had which stopped working once everything went to digital.
I pinch my cheeks and the color returns. Outside, Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney are singing “Silver Bells.” I pat the velvet outfit and turn in the mirror, looking back. The outfit’s a perfect fit. I hope it doesn’t make Ben sad. Maybe I should put on the Mrs. Claus costume his grandma wore. But he wore his father’s green elf costume. Guess his dad’s a big guy like him, but from the way the fabric stretched, not as big as Ben.
Dressed in holiday style, I open the bedroom door and swing to the great room. A smile tickles my cheeks when I see the log in the fireplace. It sparks and crackles, adding an old-time feel to the scent of the holiday dinner and baking.
But what really gets my pulse jumping is the handsome elf grinning in front of a newly-cut Christmas tree. Bing has segued to “White Christmas,” and I can almost imagine it snowing outside, with frost etched on the windows instead of the fog descending over a California coast.
“You brought in a tree.” I can’t help but bounce toward him.
He sweeps me into his big, strong arms and twirls me around, locking my lips with his. Wow. I do love men who’d rather kiss than talk. Tingles like a million snow flurries sprinkle over my shoulders and gosh, if we’re in a snow globe, it’s one I don’t want to ever leave.
“We can’t have Christmas without a tree,” he says after the breathtaking kiss. “Shall we start our second date?”
“Yes, I believe we should. Can I get my phone so we can take a selfie in front of the fire?”<
br />
“No phones.” He whips out a black square box with a lens and button across the top. “An old film camera I found in the closet.”
“Does that thing still work?”
“Won’t know until we try.” He winds the dial, then plugs in a flash bulb that looks like an ice cube. Holding out his long arm, he turns the camera toward us.
“How will you aim this?” I’m wishing for my selfie stick already.
“Take a chance.” He dots a kiss on my lips then turns to the backwards camera, his finger over the shutter release. “Ready?”
I smile as large as I can and open my eyes, making it count. There’s no digital review, no knowing whether the film is any good, but the best thing is, it doesn’t matter. After all, if we’re in the mid-twentieth century, there’s no internet or social media to post this to.
The bulb flashes, blinding me for a second. Before I can say another word, he bends over me and kisses me. I wrap my hands around his neck, on tiptoes with one leg flipped up to reach him better.
The shutter clicks and the bulb flashes.
“There, our second date. Too bad I didn’t get one of you this morning at Jack’s.”
“It’s okay, I’d like to think of this as our first Christmas together.”
“Only the first.” He holds out his hand and I take it. “Time for dinner, Miss Brittzen Elf.”
“The first of many, Mr. Bennett Elf.” I snuggle close to him as we walk to the kitchen, accompanied by Rosemary Clooney singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
Chapter 50
~ Ben ~
Ben couldn’t stop staring at Brittney, despite the mouth-watering steak over mashed potato hush puppies. She was every man’s dream, so sweet and beautiful in his mother’s pink elf costume. Her blond hair framed her face, making her glow like a ballerina in a Nutcracker show. Even though her cleavage wasn’t showing, the way the velvet dress stretched over her chest would work to his advantage in detecting the arousal of her nipples.