Keeping Christmas

by Rebecca Blevins

  "Tristan." He held up four fingers.

  "Is that how old you are, Tristan?"

  He nodded. Then she remembered the stash she had in her car. She didn't know if he'd like spicy pepperkaker, but she was sure he'd eat a bolle. "Do you like raisins?"

  He nodded.

  Thank goodness. "Go ask your mom if you can have a cookie, and I'll get you a special sweet roll from my car. It's not exactly a cookie, but it's really good." Paige hurried out to her car and retrieved a bolle, then grabbed a pepperkake for good measure. When she got back to the kitchen, Tristan was waiting for her. The bolle was frozen pretty solid, so she popped it in the microwave for a few seconds and gave it to him.

  While he munched, Paige told him about the julekurver—paper heart baskets—she and her family made for their tree, and how they all decorated the tree together. "Then Julenisse comes—he's kind of like Santa Claus—and we sing him a Christmas song and he hands out presents."

  "What kind of song?"

  "Well, one of my favorites is called ‘Musevisa.’ It's a Norwegian word that means 'The Mouse Song.' It's about a mother and father mouse getting ready for Christmas and telling their children to stay away from the mouse traps."

  The boy's eyes widened. "Do they get catched?"

  She laughed. "No, they don't. Do you want me to sing it for you? It's in a different language—"

  Before she could say more, Tristian yelled, "Yes!" Crumbs flew out of his mouth.

  So Paige sat on the floor, and he settled in as she sang. Her mood brightened considerably. She'd been in great danger of taking a trip to Grumbletown, but this small boy reminded her of the importance of what she was there for.

  As she finished the song and gave Tristan the pepperkake to try, someone paused in the doorway. Paige glanced up, and there was Wes, studying her. “We could use another cherry cobbler and another bucket of ice cream."

  "I’ll get the ice cream if you’ll get the cobbler," she said, getting off the floor.

  Tristan froze as if he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar, but Wes went over to him and gave him a fist bump. "How's it going, buddy?"

  "Good. She's nice," he said, pointing to Paige. "She gived me a cookie and singded me a mouse song."

  "I heard! It sounded pretty great. Well, I think your family's wondering where you are, Tristan."

  The boy got up and ran out of the kitchen. Wes hefted a pan of cobbler as Paige shut the freezer door. "That was really kind of you," he said.

  She shrugged her shoulders. "I like kids. We'd better get to the table before there's a revolt. Don't want to short anyone on dessert."

  "Roger that." Wes followed her out the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wes couldn't make sense of his emotions. Part of him wanted to spin Paige around, ice cream and all, and kiss the stuffing out of her. The other part of him wanted to shout some reality at her. He'd heard her talking animatedly in the kitchen as he'd approached the door, and had stopped to listen. He smiled as he'd heard her telling Tristan about her family's Christmas, but at the same time, the glowing picture she painted seemed so perfect, so idealistic, so out of reach.

  Yet when he'd heard her singing and stepped to where he could see, his heart melted. Her back was to him, and all he could see was her shining head of golden hair, braided into a long length down her back. At some point, she'd undone the bun she'd worn all day and redone it this way, and it only added to her charm. She sang with a sweet, pure voice, and Tristan stared up at her in complete adoration. That had been a beautiful scene.

  He maneuvered between the waiting people and set the cobbler down at the same time Paige set down the ice cream. He turned to ask her if there was anything else she needed, and with their close proximity, he was only inches away from her upturned face. Her dark brown eyes, up close, had flecks of gold, and she smelled like cinnamon—likely from the extra spice she'd added to the apple cobbler. A lovely blush stained her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze and said, "Uh, I'd better check on the last ham."

  "I’ll refill that gravy bowl.” What was up with him? He’d admitted to himself just that morning that he’d like to get to know a girl like Paige. But as the day had passed, he’d started wishing he could get to know her. She would leave in another hour or so—then what?

  Better just to forget her. He'd never known she'd existed until late last night. How much could he really learn about another person in one day? And she was a lawbreaker to boot—okay, he was grasping at straws. But seriously, he needed to let this go. Let her go. And not think about how it would feel to lean down and kiss her soft-looking, inviting lips. Plus, she had a guy. Earlier, she’d said something about some old "friend" she'd be meeting up with in Decorah.

  Shake it off, man. Just shake it off. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been swayed by a pretty face. Get through tonight, and she'd be out of his life forever.

  Paige glanced up from covering a ham with a foil tent when Wes came in and set the gravy bowl in the sink, then said, "I don't think we'll need to put more out. The other three gravy bowls have plenty, and people are slowing down. Probably another thirty minutes, then we'll be able to clean up."

  Something about his demeanor had changed. Should she ask him what was up? Could she?

  If she didn't, she'd always wonder. "Hey, Wes?"

  "Yeah?" He ran water into the gravy bowl and added dish soap.

  "Is everything all right?" She leaned against the counter and studied him as he washed the dish. She couldn't help noticing how his muscles moved beneath his shirt, slightly straining the fabric here and there. The man was seriously attractive.

  He stopped for a moment, then resumed scrubbing the bowl. "It's that obvious, is it?" He put a teasing tone to his words, but they still sounded kind of forced.

  "Yes. Have I done something to upset you?” She couldn't think of anything, but what else could she say?

  "No. No, not at all. I mean, at first, your Christmas elf impersonation weirded me out a little, but I get it." He finished rinsing the dish, set it on a towel next to the sink, and turned to Paige. He had a big grin as if to prove he was teasing.

  "What do you mean by 'Christmas elf impersonation’?" She wondered if she should be insulted.

  "Oh, you love Christmas so much, and you have all those family traditions . . ."

  "And?" What was he getting at? "I've noticed you have a bit of a Grinch complex, which I can't understand, since you do so much to make other people happy. I'd far rather be an elf than a Grinch. Just not that Elf on a Shelf." She shuddered. "I have serious issues with its motives."

  He chuckled, leaning against the sink and folding his arms. The green shirt he wore made his blue eyes really stand out, which was funny since she'd never considered green to be able to do that before. "So," she said, "if it's not me, what is it?"

  Wes thought a minute and fidgeted. Was he uncomfortable? Why?

  Finally, he spoke. "It's just that Christmas brings up some personal stuff for me. I like to help other people celebrate because it's important to them. Making children and their families happy is the best gift I can think of to give." He studied the floor, then let out a breath and looked Paige in the eyes. "I have my reasons. For one thing, I don't have family around. My sister, Janelle, went to visit Europe with my—with a friend, and she loved Italy so much, she decided to stay there indefinitely. Teaches over there at a university now. So while I don't celebrate Christmas myself, I can't stand to wallow in my own problems. That helps no one, and only makes me feel worse."

  Paige didn't know what to say. When someone opened up to her like that, words wouldn't come. So she did the only thing she could think of—she went over to him and placed a hand on his arm. "Thanks for sharing that with me."

  Wes covered her hand with his warm one, slightly callused, but comforting. "I . . . I've never met anyone quite like you, crazy Christmas girl."

  A slight nervousness fluttered through her stomach and down to her toes. "You're somethin
g else yourself. I don't know what, but you are." Oh, she sounded like such a dork when she was nervous.

  "Oh, you don't, do you? I'm sure you can think of something." He gave a half smile that made her weak in the knees, squeezed her hand once, then let go.

  She stepped back a safe distance, not sure what she was feeling. Certainly not anything she’d expected. But now wasn’t the time to analyze her emotions. “Well, we’d better check those tables.”

  He gave a small smile and nodded. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  Rachel came into the kitchen, holding an empty cobbler pan loaded with serving utensils, cheerily proclaiming, "Looks like it's about over—" She stopped short as she saw Paige and Wes standing there.

  Paige panicked, not wanting Rachel to get the wrong idea. "Hey, Rachel! We're washing up dishes!" Rachel glanced at the counter, where the lone gravy bowl sat. "And drying them!" Paige grabbed a towel and dried it furiously.

  "I see," Rachel said. "I'm going to get a bag and start tossing all the plates people left at their tables. I mean, come on! There's two trash cans out there that they've hardly used!"

  "Then why don't you just toss the garbage in those cans?" Wes drawled.

  "Oh. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking." Rachel was cute, even when flustered. Paige wondered if Wes thought so.

  "I'll go with you to clear the tables. We can each take a trash can around," Paige suggested. "Wes, would you mind taking more empty trays off the tables and bringing them in here?"

  "Not at all. But you'd better hurry—if I remember correctly, didn’t you tell the judge you had a date tonight?" Wes asked.

  Why would he bring that up now, especially after the moment they'd had—almost had? She really didn't get this guy. And in a few hours, she wouldn't ever have to think about him again. It was a very good thing Rachel had interrupted them. "Not anymore. We rescheduled for Monday."

  "Well, I don’t know how long the drive takes you, but another front is coming in sometime in the next twelve hours. You’ll want to get on the road soon," Wes said.

  Paige hardly knew what to make of him. Was he trying to get rid of her? "You know, you're right. Let me help clear off these tables and get the food boxed up, and then I'll be off."

  By eight o'clock, Paige was ready to leave. Her impatience must have shown because Rachel told her not to worry about the mess and set two wrapped plates on the counter. "For the road, in case you get hungry."

  Paige was touched. "Are you sure? Because I don't mind staying to help."

  "Well," Rachel said, "I'd love it if you spent another night at the inn so we could watch more movies."

  Paige wanted to say yes. "You know what? If the weather wasn't looking iffy for the next twelve hours, I really would consider it. But if you’re sure you're okay finishing up here, I probably should go now. Not that being snowed in with you wouldn't be fun—’cause we'd have a blast—but I really don't want to miss Christmas with my family." She meant it, too. She was tired and would've loved another night in the Stay Inn, chatting with Rachel and eating crackers and cheese.

  After putting on her coat, Rachel practically tackled Paige in a bear hug. "Drive safely, and stay awake!"

  "I will." Paige squeezed her back, then turned to Wes. "Well, I guess this is goodbye. For an incarceration, this has been great."

  He held her gaze, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Finally, he said, "Yes, it has. Thanks for being such a good sport. I know dropping everything to help us put on Christmas dinner wasn't a small thing."

  “This might come as a surprise,” she said, “but it was my pleasure.”

  Wes picked up the foil-wrapped plates. "Here, I'll walk you out." He seemed so formal all of a sudden. Was he being more distant for Rachel’s benefit? He walked Paige to her car and placed the plates on the passenger's seat, then shut the door. Then he came around to the driver's side, where Paige stood.

  He stopped in front of her and said, "I guess that's it, then."

  Paige nodded slowly. "I guess so."

  He reached out, and Paige went to give him a hug, then realized he was opening her door for her. Totally awkward. She half patted his back, and he paused briefly, then she moved and he swung her door wide open. Should she say something? Or would saying anything make the situation weirder? Maybe just . . . "Well, I hope you have a good Christmas."

  He frowned slightly. "Yeah, I'll try to do that."

  She’d had enough. "Okay. You know, I don't understand why you hate Christmas. I’m sorry you have problems, but everyone does. Maybe you could lighten up a bit for people around you. Don't get me wrong—it's so good of you to do all this for your town." She gestured to the community building. "But I just don't get how you can be so . . . so giving, and yet get your back up every time someone talks about Christmas joy, or traditions, or whatever." She shut her lips firmly, both satisfied and horrified that she'd actually said what she’d been thinking.

  He exhaled hard and took a step back. "Look. I know you mean well, but you don't know me, so please don't try to tell me how to be at Christmas. Not everyone has raisin rolls and tinsel and holiday cheer, and frankly, you could do with a little less. I don't know how you manage in the real world when you're not obsessing about having fun with all your traditions." His eyebrows lifted, and the blue eyes that were warm and inviting as the sea only hours earlier were now as cold as the December wind.

  Tears stung, and she blinked them back. How dare he! She slid into the seat and turned the key. He didn't know her! What a jerk! Served her right for saying something to a guy she hardly knew. And for a while there, she'd been a little confused as to how she felt toward him. Well, she wasn’t confused anymore. Without looking at him, she reached to shut her door. It wouldn't budge.

  "Wait.” Wes held the door so it wouldn’t close. "I'm sorry. I had no right to snap at you that way. It's . . . personal. The way you helped out today was nothing short of amazing. I know Sheriff Carlston stuck you with a raw deal, and no one would’ve blamed you for being mad all day. But you were wonderful. I'm really, truly sorry." He softened his voice. “Please . . . forgive me?”

  She buckled her seatbelt and stared up at Wes, who towered over the car. His face was a mixture of sadness and hope. She swallowed hard, and the knot inside her loosened a little. "Sure. We all say things we don’t mean.”

  Paige was still irritated, but she didn’t want to leave Higgins, or Wes, on a bad note. All in all, it had been a good experience. And she had been the one to say something first. She took a breath. “I should have stayed out of your business. I’m sorry about that. Maybe I'll see you when I'm passing through sometime. I need more of Rachel’s cooking."

  Wes gave a wry smile. "Just make sure it's not in the blink of an eye, Speedy, or Sheriff Carlston will pull you over again."

  She laughed. "I think I've learned my lesson."

  He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, then snapped it shut. Finally, he said softly, "Goodbye, Paige," and closed her door.

  She put the car in gear and rolled down her window slightly. "See you, Wes."

  When she pulled onto the highway, her heart felt rather empty, and she wasn't sure why.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was nearly one in the morning by the time Paige drove down the lane and pulled into her parents' driveway, the motion of her car turning on the yard light and casting shadows on the farmhouse.

  Home.

  Cozy warmth filled her chest as she took it all in until the light shut off. The porch light was on, a dim beacon in the darkness. No snow here yet. She got out of the car and hauled her suitcase up the walk.

  She breathed deeply, the cold fresh and clean, with the hint of wood smoke. An owl hooted, and she was surprised it wasn’t huddled up in a tree trunk somewhere.

  She fumbled with the doorknob, and finally got it open just as her mother came to the entryway. "Paige!" Her mother, wrapped in the same worn, red robe Paige remembered her wearing as a child, c
ame toward her, arms outstretched, tears in her dark eyes. "I thought you'd be trapped in that miserable place forever!"

  They hugged for what felt like hours before her mother said, "Take your things to your room. I have some Berlinerkranser that Farfar brought over just for your arrival. Of course, your father is sleeping, so stay quiet." Paige carried her suitcase upstairs to her old bedroom.

  The pale yellow comforter was the same as when she'd last left it. Her basket of stuffed animals sat in the corner, only slightly dusty. Mamma must have found the time to come in and clean between volunteering at the Vesterheim and taking care of grandchildren.

  After putting her suitcase in the closet, Paige hurried back down the stairs and sank into one of the old wooden chairs at the kitchen table, where a plate of Berlinerkranser waited.

  Her mother set a cup of tea in front of Paige and settled across from her with another. "My dear, it's very late. But tell me about your adventure before you head to bed."

  Paige filled her mother in on everything that had happened. When she was done, Mamma sat back in her chair, tapping her lip thoughtfully. Paige knew that expression. "So," her mother finally said, "this 'Wes.' Is he handsome?"

  "Mamma!" Paige spluttered, nearly choking on her sip of tea. "What kind of question is that?"

  Her mother set her cup down and studied Paige with the hint of a smile. "Well, is he?"

  "I . . . I guess so. But what does his level of handsomeness have to do with anything?"

  "Nothing. I'm only wondering."

  Paige bit into a cookie, rich and buttery. She was instantly transported to years of Christmas memories all wrapped up into one bite. She could almost see her old Onkel Arkin singing “Musevisa” and dancing about the room, kicking his spindly legs in glee. If Wes had experienced Christmas as she always had, maybe he would feel differently about it. She wished she knew what happened to him.

  "—kiss him?" her mother said.