by T. I. Lowe
The ringing of a cellphone draws my attention back to the doll on the couch. Her lovely face breaks out in such a genuine smile, I’m instantly jealous of whoever provoked it.
“Hey, Momma.” She says.
The sound of that name brings me relief.
Rambling quietly into the phone, she scoots out of the lounge, having already said more words to her mom than I’ve ever heard her speak.
Five minutes pass and I can’t resist going to find her. Shoving my sticks in my back pocket, I head out the door and nearly plow her over. After steadying her, I prop myself against the wall beside her.
“I should probably let you go, Momma,” Izzy says quickly.
On impulse, I grab her phone, leaving her stunned.
“Hey, Ms. Beth. This is Maverick King. Judith King’s son. Just wanted to tell you I’m a huge fan of your bakery. My mom is crazy over your salted pecan pies.” I look over and smirk at the doll glaring at me. She’s one fine doll, too, rocking artfully shredded jeans with tall black boots and a white Bleu Streak tee under a black blazer. All that fair hair cascading around her shoulders… The chick is killing me.
Her mom’s voice pulls me out of my checking out her daughter. “Why thank you, young man. Are y’all taking good care of my baby?”
“Yes, ma’am. Your baby is in good hands. Except for her not talking much to me. You should probably get ahold of her for that. It’s really hurting my feelings.”
Ms. Beth laughs wholeheartedly.
“I bet you didn’t raise your daughter to be so rude.”
Izzy surprises me by hauling off and punching me in the arm.
“Ouch! Now she just punched me.” I scoff. “The girl needs a spanking. I’ll take care of that if you need me to.”
Izzy’s mom takes a while to settle her laughing down. Taking a few deep breaths, she says, “Young man, I haven’t laughed that hard in a very long time. I need to bake you something special for that gift.”
“Now ya talking my language. What’s those cinnamon cookies you make called? Gigglepoodles?”
For the record, I’m not stupid. I know they are called snickerdoodles, but goofing around to make this woman on the other end of this phone sing out in such a happy melody is so worth it.
Both Izzy and her mom say in accord, “Snickerdoodles.”
“You call them whatever you want. I call them addictive.”
“I’ll text Izzy a new recipe I’m working on for caramel-filled snickerdoodles. Have her make them for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“By the way, are you single?”
My eyes automatically seek Izzy’s warm brown ones. “Now, young lady, that’s a bit personal for you to be asking on our first phone date.” Yes, I’m flirting with her and am having just the finest time doing it. “But I’ll tell you anyway. Yes, I am and hoping to be changing that real soon.”
“That sounds promising.”
“If I can just get her to loosen up and talk to me.”
“Don’t give up too quick.”
“No ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Tate pushes into the hall, eyeing us both before tapping his watch.
“Look, sweetheart, I hate to cut our date short, but it’s time to go rock this place out. You take care and don’t forget that recipe.”
“I’m sending it as soon as we hang up. You take care of my Izzy, please.”
“You got it.”
After pressing the END button, I hit the new contact app and add mine to her very limited list. Seriously, chick only has like a dozen. I’ve lost count of mine after it hit the hundreds. I call my number, feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, and hit END again. Izzy doesn’t catch any of this, due to Tate going over some stuff he needs her to take care of later.
“Oh yeah. You’re sitting with Jewels and Grace in the VIP section up front tonight,” he tells her.
I know what a VIP section means. “What are the suits from the label doing here tonight?” I ask him.
“Making sure the filming is coming along. We’re already past a million in preorders for A Bleu Streak Christmas DVD. So we best deliver.”
“The band has definitely delivered so far. It’ll be a great concert DVD,” Izzy says with a confidence I haven’t witnessed from her until now.
I hand over her phone and she hands over a stick of gum.
“I want to know what you and my mom were discussing.” Her cute little brows pucker.
“Now, now, doll. I don’t kiss and tell.” Before I can come to enough sense to stop myself, I press a kiss to her delicate cheek. It’s impossible not to linger a few beats too long with taking in the silkiness of her skin.
I finally pull away and am rewarded by that attractive flush painting along her skin that she seems to have no control over. Without a word, I saunter off with as much swagger as I can produce, demanding myself not to look back at her.
Santa suit #2 is debuting tonight. I’m sure it’s going to impress the label suits. As I tap out the opening beats for the show, my eyes are trained on the side entrance that is roped off. Moments later Santa enters the arena on his electric-blue Harley.
Santa comes to a stop right in front of Jewels, hops off the bike, and commences to kissing his pretty girl right in front of everyone. Santa ain’t holding back. He’s kissing her like the world is seconds from ending. Dude is my hero, for sure. The place is close to being in a frenzy and not one lyric has been sung yet.
After hotshot places Jewels back on her feet, she hands him a mic. Santa then launches into singing our revamped version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa.” And dude is killing it. Of course, Santa ain’t kissing Mommy. Nope. Dillon is kissing Jewels. He stays on the lower level, walking close enough to the velvet rope to stay just out of grabbing reach as he serenades his swooning fans.
The lights are trained below us, so I see the suits looking very impressed. I also catch Izzy watching not the show of Santa, but me.
My surge of testosterone begs me to show off in front of this woman, so I toss the sticks in the air, catch them, and go back to shredding my drums. Izzy presents me with a wide grin when she realizes I’m watching her, too, and this little drum act is just for her. I watch her until the lights dim back over their section and Dillon finally joins us on stage.
The show is epic, hands down, and flies by too fast as always. We’ve just wrapped a second encore, leaving Will and Dillon to close it out with an acoustic duet. I want to watch it from the audience, so I shrug on a hoodie to shroud my face, even though I’m drenched in sweat from performing, and hurry to the VIP section.
A bodyguard assists in sneaking me in while the crowd is still on their feet applauding. I’m able to steal Izzy’s cushiony seat without her noticing. She sits down, but bolts right back up and spins around to catch her thief.
Smirking, I tap my lap. “Sit. They’re about to start.”
My little skittish friend looks around for an alternative. Not finding one, she reluctantly eases into my lap—making my night. I tuck my face into the side of her heavenly-scented neck.
She stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“Hiding my face so no one sees it’s me. Now hold that sweet little behind of yours still.”
“What? Why?” She peeks over at me, causing her nose to brush mine.
A growl sounds from the back of my throat as I clamp down on her hips to still her squirming. “You’re killing me.”
“Oh.” She finally gets it and goes completely motionless.
All the lights go down with one spotlight remaining on my boys. There’s no way all eyes aren’t riveted to the stage. Perched on stools with guitars resting in their laps, Dillon and Will set into “O Holy Night.” Both black heads are bent with complete focus on the chords they are beckoning from their guitars. Will plays the lead riff with Dillon noodling over it. There’s nothing amateurish about it—downright mind-blowing with skill. I couldn’t be more proud of Will if he was my very own son. The kid blows
me away. The dudes harmonize with perfection and my hands can’t help but tap out the beat against Izzy’s hips.
Hands down, epic.
•♫•♫•♫•
The show went off flawless, and the boat ride was really relaxing. The gift drop-off for the night, not so much. It was flawed and tense. But just as soon as I enter the house, after coming close to disaster, the aroma of warm cinnamon hits me and all’s right with the world. The pain in my neck and back forgotten, I follow my nose to the kitchen and behold a beautiful sight. Izzy placing cookies on a cooling rack is downright sexy. The guys barrel in so I lunge for the rack, grabbing up three before the rest disappear. The only sound in the kitchen is the whole lot of us smacking and moaning—they’re that good. Tucked inside of all that cinnamon goodness is gooey caramel.
Dillon grabs up a gallon of milk and takes a long swig of it before passing it around to the rest of us. By the time the jug makes its way to Blake, dude only gets a few drops. He’s whining like the twenty-three year old baby he is. I don’t tell him there’s another gallon in the fridge either.
“Izzy, I think we need another round of cookies and milk for the night we’ve just pulled off,” Dillon says, taking off his black beanie. I don’t know why he wears one. His hair is darker than the cap.
Izzy eyes me questioningly, then her brown eyes widen to capacity. “You’re bleeding.” She points at my head. “Your ear,” she clarifies.
I grope around until my fingers hit on a pretty tender spot on my earlobe. Good thing I wasn’t wearing my silver hoops. Them suckers would have probably been ripped out when I landed in that unwelcoming bush.
Before I know it, she’s tending to me—dabbing at the cut with peroxide and trying to secure a small square bandage to my earlobe. I mind it none.
“You hurt anywhere else?”
“I think I banged up my thigh. You want me to take my pants off so you can nurse it back to better, too?” Okay, probably shouldn’t have taken it that far, but I couldn’t help myself.
She rolls her pretty little eyes. “You guys going to tell me what happened?”
“The place we dropped off at tonight was sort of shadier than we expected. We had to drop and dash,” Max grumbles around a mouthful of cookie dough.
“Dude, let her bake ‘em off,” I grouch, snatching the bowl away from him.
“And two in the morning wasn’t past their bedtime,” Logan adds as he plops down on a stool at the island, looking as tired as I feel.
I look around and realize I’m the only one hurt. Nothing new there.
“They turned their Rottweiler on us, and Mave took a nosedive off the porch,” Trace says before heading out. “Night,” he bids on a yawn.
“How’d the rest of you not get hurt?” Izzy asks, eyeing the group.
“Because the rest of us had enough sense to use the steps,” Dillon says. Chuckling to himself, he leaves us.
I roll my stiff shoulders and rummage through the freezer for an icepack.
“You need some Tylenol?”
“Nah. I’m good.” I don’t take over-the-counter unless it’s absolutely needed. Bodies grow an immunity to them and need stronger pain meds. I’m not good with handling anything stronger than that, so I just refrain.
Everyone wanders off in different directions, probably to bed, leaving me alone with the cookie-baking doll. Seriously, the woman is just beautiful.
“You need anything?” She eyes me with open concern.
“Another dozen cookies and the other gallon of milk, I’m sure I’ll be as good as new.”
“I think I can handle that,” she says, going back to arranging dough on a pan.
And that sight alone calms my demons.
“The show was incredible tonight,” she says after setting the pan in the oven and taking a seat beside me.
“Yeah. The final song was stellar.” I roll my shoulders a few times, trying to work the stiffness loose. I hit the ground hard earlier, making me feel some kind of old right about now. This body isn’t as limber as it once was. Sucks.
“I love how y’all start the shows with your own version of a lighthearted Christmas song and conclude with a breathtaking carol. You guys really know how to perform.” She smiles a sweet smile and I can’t help but return it with a wide grin.
“Years of practice.”
“I wish Grace would do a duet with Dillon. I asked her earlier tonight and the only answer she would give me is...” Izzy mimics Grace’s answer by shaking her head with wide, scared eyes, causing me to chuckle.
“You got our girl down pat. She has stage fright.”
“But Jewels says she does duets with her daddy all the time at church.”
“Have you been to our church?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “We have less than a hundred members little Grace grew up around. A concert is well into the thousands. Big difference.”
I don’t ask her about her church. Jewels has already filled me in on all things Elizabeth Walker—Shimmer Lakes First Baptist, father passed away not too long ago, just her and her mother, living on her own for the first time at age twenty-six, originally from North Carolina…
“Poor thing. I know how debilitating that can be.”
“Say, Izzy. You would be the perfect person to work on that with our girl.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge. Maybe her wanting to be a good role model for our Grace will push her out of her shyness some, too.
The timer goes off on the oven, so instead of answering me, she hops up and rewards me with a dozen cookies I get to devour all by myself. I only take out half a gallon of milk before wobbling up to bed in a sugar and milk coma.
Chapter Eight
Izzy
“Good Day Sunshine” lures me from sleep as my phone alarm goes off. Tapping around the screen until the Beatles give me a snooze allotment, my eyes drift back shut…
My bed starts shaking before a little angel starts singing out, “Get up! Get up!”
The sight of Miss Grace using my bed as a trampoline greets me once I finally pry my eyes open. The phone goes back off and I can’t help myself. Hopping up to join my little intruder, we jam out to “Good Day Sunshine” until Jewels comes in to join us.
After our jam session has concluded, Jewels points to the bathroom. “Shower. Now. The makeup artist and hair stylist are both already here waiting for us.”
Sighing deeply, I say, “Are you sure it wouldn’t be best for me to go help Tate and the children at the Kids’ Club party? I think that would be for the best.” Grace and I are nodding our heads in agreement with Jewels shaking hers in opposition.
“Nope. Blake is going with them.”
“But…”
Those green eyes give me the look that needs no words, so I huff off to the shower and do as I’m told. There’s just no give with that one.
I had only been asleep for a few hours when she rushed in here earlier to declare a shopping trip for an evening gown. It’s for the band’s charity, so I have no choice but to accompany them tonight. Jewels brought a gown with her—a dark-green one shoulder number that looks gorgeous on her. I lucked out and found a white and silver haltered dress that reminds me of snow, which is quite fitting with a winter gala.
I’m not a picky shopper, so we had a dress and shoes picked out in no time, and I was able to go back to bed for a few hours this afternoon.
After a long, hot shower, I turn myself over to the professionals. Another hour or so later, I’m looking in the mirror at one fancy-looking girl—hair in a loose updo, white frilly gown, and silver stiletto sandals.
“You’ll pass,” Jewels deadpans, and then winks.
“I guess you pass, too,” I say dramatically on a huff, earning a giggle from my friend.
She’s a knockout, choosing to wear her hair down in soft cascading waves. Her dress is accentuated with gold stilettos and several gold bangle bracelets. My dress is sparkly enough, so the only jewelry I go with is a pair of silver chandelier-style earrings.
&n
bsp; “Come on. The guys are meeting us there.” Jewels wraps her hand over mine and ushers us out to a waiting limo.
We pull up at what appears to be an ancient, unassuming warehouse, but when we enter I am struck with awe. The place is very urban-chic with exposed brick walls, wood beam ceilings, richly stained cement floors, and ornate pillars. Blanketing all of that urban-chic is blue and silver Christmas décor that is tastefully draped around the room. Large round top tables are gleaming with silverware and fine crystal. An area is set up with a small stage and dancefloor. I’m hopeful at knowing the band playing later on tonight.
A gasp escapes me as I take it all in. “Wow.”
“Absolutely,” Mave says from behind me.
Spinning around, I gasp again. “Wow.”
His lips curve into a slow smile as he takes his time studying me, head to toe. I rightfully return the favor. This rocking bad boy cleans up nicely. Gone are his normal worn-out jeans and thermals and in their place is an expensive tuxedo sans the bow tie. It’s obvious the suit is custom cut specifically for his long, lean physique. The top two buttons of his shirt are defiantly unfastened. And his brown hair is artfully tousled in such a way my fingers itch to thread through it.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
“Wow, Izzy, you could be that frozen princess’s twin,” Max says, drawing my attention away from the stunning drummer.
Max and the other guys saunter closer to us girls, and they are one handsome group of men, no doubt about it. They have all abandoned their bowties somewhere, probably in the trash back at the lake house.
Logan eases over to me and drapes his arm across my shoulder. “Be sure to keep an eye on your plate.”
“Why?” I look up at him, but only see my reflection in his shades.
“You’ve been seated between the twins. They’re thieves.” He walks us over to the front of the room to our reserved table, and sure enough, the little place card with my name on it sits between Max and Mave. Logan helps me onto my chair before leaving me to fend for myself.
The hushed Christmas carols playing mingle with soft conversation among the guests at my table. We are all able to be sit together, which is a relief to me. I’m finally getting more relaxed around this group and find myself getting attached to each one.