by Mimi Wells
Katy chattered on. “Turns out those Phruitcake Phestival signs were everywhere, so we did a little Internet snooping and”—she looked around and emitted a happy sigh—“here we are!”
Rand didn’t know whether to panic or go into protective mode. “Doesn’t Julian worry about getting discovered?”
Katy looked over to where Julian stood, shoulders hunched in an uncharacteristic pose that made him look like the poster boy for Dad bod. “Not really. He’s a little full of himself after pulling off the great airport caper. I reminded him he didn’t have his stunt double here to help him today, but he didn’t listen.” She smiled over at Julian with soft eyes. “He never gets to do what he calls ‘normal people stuff.’ Who am I to stop him?”
She had a point. And, honestly, if he was a famous actor, he should be able to pull off a role like Anonymous Dad in his sleep. Right?
Just then, Ivy emerged from the kitchen shed behind her mother, carrying a tray of cake slices to one of the waiting tables. Her rich brown hair fluttered loose in the crisp afternoon breeze. She was laughing at something, throat arched back in a lovely soft curve. Rand’s pulse jumped.
Don’t look over. Don’t look over.
Katy caught his glance, then let out a soft sound of understanding. “Friend of yours?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Frenemy, then?”
“It’s complicated.” Everything about Ivy Macpherson had gotten way more complicated on this particular trip home for the holidays.
“Uh-huh.” They watched Ivy set out plates, Katy with a thoughtful expression on her face, Rand with a tug of longing. “Doesn’t seem complicated to me,” Katy continued.
He looked at her. “How do you mean?”
Katy laughed out loud. “Oh, man, do you have it bad. I never saw you like this in college, even with Miss Havisham.”
Rand rolled his eyes at her teasing. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”
“Hell no. Two weeks into that relationship, I caught her with bridal magazines and fabric swatches. I’m surprised she didn’t stage a pity party complete with a rotting cake on that big table in the sorority house when you broke it off. That girl’s great expectations were terrifying.”
Just then, Ivy looked up and froze. Rand realized with horror that her gaze was locked on the two of them talking on the porch. A chill pricked the back of his neck. Her eyes narrowed. He knew that expression well. It spelled trouble. “Shouldn’t you be checking on Julian?” he said. Take the hint, Katy.
“Jules is a big boy. He can take care of himself.” She smiled, and Rand groaned at the sheer wickedness in her expression. “Besides, I’m dying to meet your mystery woman.”
“She’s not my mystery woman.”
“Yet.” Katy smiled broadly at Ivy, who had threaded her way through the crowd and now stood at the bottom of the porch steps. “Hi! We haven’t met. I’m Rand’s friend, Katy Daniels.” She held out her hand for Ivy to shake.
Ivy climbed up the steps and shook it. Her thinking groove deepened between her brows. Rand’s chill deepened along with it. “Nice to meet you.”
“Rand and I met at NC State,” Katy explained, patting him on the chest. “I was passing through town on my way to Asheville, and Rand said he’d be here this afternoon, so I figured I’d stop by. Great party, by the way.”
“I can’t take credit for it,” Ivy admitted as she shoved her hands in her jeans pockets, as closed off as Katy was expressive. “This is really my parents’ shindig.”
“The Macphersons throw the festival every year,” Rand explained. “It’s become a town tradition.”
“I love that!” Katy gushed. Rand made a mental note to follow her back to Cooper’s Notch and lock her and problematic Julian in the basement.
“Yeah, well.” Ivy’s discomfort was palpable.
Katy looked from Ivy to Rand and grinned. “I’m going to get a slice of this fruitcake everyone keeps talking about. Rand, I’ll give you a call once we—I’m settled back at my place. Ivy, very nice to meet you.” She gave a little wave and clattered down the steps, the tiny braids beneath her striped knit hat bouncing on her shoulders.
Ivy gave Rand a look that was only marginally cooler than her voice. “College friend, huh?”
“Yeah. We were on the same floor freshman year. Haven’t seen her in a while.” He left out the two years they’d spent as housemates. Why pull the pin on a grenade? Please don’t go straight to Julian, he willed Katy with his mind.
Thankfully, Katy did as she declared and headed toward the table with the fruitcake, picking up a slice and breaking off a big bite.
The uncomfortable silence between him and Ivy stretched on. “Having fun?” he asked. Lame. He sounded lame, like this was high school again and he was unable to talk to Ivy Macpherson unless it was about chemistry homework.
“I’m not sure ‘fun’ is the word I’d use to describe the living nightmare of my entire adolescence,” Ivy said, “but weirdly enough, it’s not bothering me as much this year.” She shrugged.
“Where’s your dad?”
“Over there,” she said, pointing to the six-deep crowd surrounding a medieval trebuchet.
Rand sent up a silent prayer that she wouldn’t spot Julian.
“I’ve managed to miss the past few years, so I’ve never actually seen the mechanized phling before,” she admitted.
“Your dad said he got the idea from watching Punkin Chunkin’ on the Science Channel. He emailed Tom Greene at the high school to ask some questions, and Tom ran with it. He and his physics students designed a catapult, and the theater kids built it.”
“I remember him saying something about it. But that’s not a catapult.”
“The phling machine has become a new tradition. The kids vote every year on what they want to build.”
The high schoolers prepped the trebuchet, checking the counterweight and loading the sling on the arm with a plastic-wrapped chunk of mass-produced fruitcake in the pouch. Mr. Greene stood by the handle of the device, rapping out directions to the students, who were now scribbling in their notebooks.
“The students have all the measurements and equations. Now their job is to figure out how far that fruitcake is going to fly.”
“School’s not even in,” Ivy said. She crossed her arms.
“Closest to the actual mark gets to choose between bonus credit on the next test or being excused from the test altogether,” he said.
“I get that. Goodness knows I spent enough time in high school crunching my grades to improve my GPA numbers. Not that it did much good.”
Rand ignored the subtle dig. Instead, he added an ear-splitting two-finger whistle to the general din. He enjoyed his place in the town and its weird little quirks. He wished she could do the same.
The countdown was beginning at the trebuchet.
“Ten… nine… eight…”
Rand shifted beside her and looked over to meet her gaze, the warm brown of her eyes a comforting blanket he could burrow into for hours.
“Seven… six…”
She cleared her throat. “Rand, I…”
“Five… four…”
Then something in the crowd caught her eye. Someone.
“Three…”
“Wait a minute,” Ivy said, “I think that’s Jul—”
“One!”
The trebuchet groaned.
The crowd cheered.
And Rand leaned over and kissed her.
*
Ivy’s one coherent thought when Rand’s lips touched hers was a bizarre mix of what? and finally. She leaned into him, her gloved hands sliding up the navy fabric of his puffy North Face jacket and settling against his upper arms where they could balance her.
His kiss was gentle but decadent. She wanted more. She opened her mouth to his and sighed. She could taste the bittersweet tang of a slice of bourbon fruitcake, a complex flavor that was her birthright and yet perfectly fitting for him and this
moment. His hand slid around to cradle the back of her head, the edge of one thumb brushing softly against her cheek, and she whimpered a little.
Rand took his time exploring. She clutched at his sleeves as her knees liquefied beneath her, her entire world tilting.
When they broke apart, Rand let out a whoosh of air and smiled at her. Slowly, the noise of the day seeped back in as if someone was turning the volume back up. She blinked.
“Wow.”
She wasn’t sure who’d whispered the word.
“Mistletoe,” he said with a sheepish look upward.
“Excuses, excuses,” she said, even though he was right. She’d helped her father hang the ribbon-wrapped bunch there the night before.
The noise grew louder. Like most of the people on the lawn, she glanced over at the crowd surrounding the trebuchet. The students were arguing over their calculations. Far down the front pasture, Mr. Greene was striding toward the marker her father had planted in the browned grass close to the fence along the highway. He held the handle of a measuring wheel she’d seen surveying crews use to mark the sidewalks along one of New York’s endless renovation projects.
When he reached the marker, he checked the counter on the device and yelled out a number. His voice was snatched away by a breeze, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted. The students looked down at their phones, and then one girl whooped and jumped into the air.
Ivy frowned. What had she been thinking of before? Oh, yes. That guy over by the trebuchet, the one who reminded her of Julian Wolf. She looked for the telltale green jacket, but she didn’t see it in the applauding group anymore.
“Hey.” Rand’s voice was soft.
“Hey, yourself.” His blue-green eyes stared down into hers, and she thought of a mountain pool, something quiet and deep. The idea of Julian Wolf slid right off her brain pan and into a mental file drawer. She could worry about him tomorrow.
*
The rest of the festival passed in a blur. Afterwards, people pitched in to help restore the farm to rights, including Rand, who acted like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, all the way up to the moment he got in his car and drove off, a foil-wrapped plate on the seat beside him. If Ivy hadn’t lived through the wobbly, off-kilter way the rest of her afternoon had gone, she would have thought she’d dreamed their kiss.
But she hadn’t.
Now, in the clear light of the next morning, she touched her fingertips to her lips, remembering. Yesterday wasn’t a moment. It had been an event.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like that. Maybe never. She’d been engaged once, about five years ago when she hit a quarter-life crisis and panicked, grabbing onto a perfectly nice banker she’d met in a fancy wine bar in Chelsea. Jada had warned her from the beginning that he wasn’t a sound long-term investment, but Ivy had refused to listen.
Miles was everything she’d run to New York for. Cultured—his family had season tickets to the Met. Sleek—he had impeccable fashion sense and better tailors than Bill, the cranky, bristled man who did rare alterations for her. Sophisticated—his sports involved high-tech racquets and fiberglass shells, not tractors or cleats or mud. She was smitten, both with him and the life she imagined with him in it.
“I know guys like these,” Jada had warned Ivy. “They’re like those chocolate Easter bunnies you think are solid Belgian goodness, but they’re really just chalky, bitter, and hollow.”
Ivy didn’t listen. She’d fallen hard and fast. So when Miles dropped to one knee in the middle of Grand Central Station and slid a sparkling solitaire on her finger, she’d accepted with enthusiasm, sparking a viral photo of the two that had ended up on the Scoop website.
The engagement had lasted about a month. It was clear when she met Miles’s parents that a girl from some backwater mountain town in North Carolina, someone with a job at an online gossip site, was not who they would pick out for their precious and only offspring. Their preferred choice was a socialite Ivy caught sneaking out of Miles’s apartment one morning when she’d showed up to surprise her fiancé with breakfast. She handed back the diamond, swore off sweet-talking guys, and put her head down at work. And that had paid off for her, right up until yesterday.
Kissing Rand Cooper had not been on Ivy’s travel agenda. Her life agenda, truth be told. But now that it had happened, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Knock it off, Macpherson,” she grumbled aloud.
“Knock what off?” Laurel asked, coming in the room in a fleece robe, slippers, and a thick towel wrapped around her head.
“Nothing.” Ivy rolled over to stare up at the ceiling.
“Right,” Laurel said. She sat on the edge of her unmade bed. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that lip-lock you planted on Rand Cooper yesterday, would it?”
Ivy groaned. “You saw that?”
“Half the town saw that. In fact, I’m pretty sure money changed hands because of it.”
Ivy pulled a pillow over her face. “Any chance I can get a direct flight back to New York before lunch?”
Laurel yanked the pillow away. “Knock it off. You’ve been dying to do that for years. Admit it.”
Ivy said nothing. Way down in the dusty cabinet of memory, yes, yes she had. For about ten seconds during their senior year. Maybe twelve. They’d gotten lost in the same section of the corn maze during that year’s harvest festival, and he’d looked so cute and vulnerable, she’d almost succumbed to a crazy temptation to, as Laurel might say, “plant one on him.” But then Kit and his football bros had come around the corner and the moment, and the mood, vanished like smoke. “Okay, so I wanted to kiss him. And now I have.”
“And now you can see what the rest of us have for all these years.” Laurel let out a happy sigh. Her romantic heart was nearly as big as her sweet tooth.
Ivy threw her a dark look. “Hardly,” she said, beating back a guilty twinge as she spoke. “The world is still spinning. I saw something yesterday I have to follow up for my story. And I have to find something spectacular for Mama’s birthday-slash-Christmas present.”
“Oh, please,” Laurel said with a dismissive wave. “You came home. That’s her present. Trust me.”
Ivy rolled over and propped herself on one elbow. “What?”
Laurel pulled the towel off her hair and began to comb it gently. “She never sees you. When you do come home, you act like you have ants in your pants and bolt out of here before any of us really get a chance to talk to you.”
It wasn’t often Ivy felt like the bad daughter, but every once in a while, the bolt struck home.
“Fine,” she finally said, flinging the pillow aside. “I still need to get something for her to unwrap. Guess I’m headed back to town whether I want to or not.” She was not looking forward to facing town scrutiny and endless questions about Rand Cooper, but it couldn’t be helped. She should take a buffer. “Want to come along?”
“I’m happy to drive you down, but you’ll be on your own. I have to open this morning.” Laurel shot her sister a speculative look. “You could always go down the mountain to Hemlock instead,” she suggested, “if you need to run away from the inevitable while you do your shopping.”
“You’re evil, you know that?”
Laurel smiled. “What are baby sisters for?”
Chapter Eleven
The sky glowed a clear, Carolina blue dotted with cotton ball clouds. And every procrastinator in Western North Carolina was prowling Main Street’s shops for the perfect last-minute gift. Parking was a madhouse. Laurel tucked her little Chevy into one of the two designated spots behind Joy’s and killed the engine.
“I’m closing the shop at four today because it’s Christmas Eve. Mrs. Pringle has to get up to her church to setup for the community service.”
Ivy nodded. That was one Dogwood Mountain tradition she respected. Since the year-round population was so much smaller than the summer one, each Christmas Eve the townsfolk gathered
at one house of worship for a late service, rotating among different styles, traditions, and cultures. If Mrs. Pringle had to set up, that meant this year’s service would be at the Solid Rock Church up the hill from Main Street.
“Four, then. Need anything while I’m shopping?”
“Nope!” Laurel chirped. “I finished all my shopping weeks ago.”
“Showoff.”
“Here—just in case you change your mind about running away.” She handed Ivy her car keys. “Don’t forget to be back by four.” She disappeared into Joy’s to begin her opening routine.
Ivy looked at the keys in her palm, considering. Then she got behind the wheel and cranked the car. It was still early enough for folks to be lying around in pajamas. Might as well clear the occupied Airbnb list she’d created after the houses she and Rand had explored didn’t pan out. Still no sign of the gray SUV as she crept up the crowded street. “Fine,” she muttered to herself. She still had a couple of days before Wendy would get back to the office. She could do this.
Cresting the hill, she spotted Angelica setting up the special board outside her parents’ business, Chihuahua Burrito. Angel waved—Ivy waved back and turned down Second Street.
She passed the Solid Rock Church and imagined the sound of the church organ within. Tonight, the little church would be full of people. Now, the parking lot was empty save for a few cars, probably Dr. Solomon and his staff prepping for the community service.
When she turned into the shared lot between Hart’s Hardware and the grocery store, she finally hit the jackpot.
A gray Jeep Cherokee!
Ivy couldn’t make out who was inside thanks to the tinted windows. Her heart sped up.
The Cherokee pulled out of its parking place and turned down the highway, picking up speed on its way out of town. Ivy hung back but kept the car in her line of sight. It wasn’t long before the Cherokee braked and turned, dipping down the paved drive that led to the Upsy-Daisies.
Adrenaline bumped up her heartbeat. One of the cute yellow and white houses had been listed on Airbnb as unavailable through the new year. Now she knew why. She pulled over next to the big mountain laurel planted by the mailbox and fished out her phone. She zoomed in on the car. Two people inside, a man and a woman. She fired off a burst of photos when the car doors opened, willing her hands not to shake when the man driving it stood up—tall, broad shoulders, knit cap—yes!