Christmas in Cupid Falls

by Holly Jacobs

  “No.”

  “Lamar’s father said he didn’t know a name that meant ‘from the Great Lake,’ so he went with Lamar.”

  Malcolm still didn’t say anything.

  “His dad retired last year and moved in with Lamar. They’re building a boat in Lamar’s backyard.”

  “A boat?” he finally asked.

  Kennedy nodded. “It’s a small model of the Brig Niagara. To scale and everything.”

  “Oh.”

  Kennedy couldn’t remember ever being so happy to see home. The timer had turned on the porch light for her, and Aunt Betty’s house looked welcoming. “Thanks for walking me home.”

  She fled into the house. Malcolm stood and watched as she hurried inside, closed and locked the door behind her. She peeked out the window. He was still on the sidewalk. He looked like he was lost in thought. After another moment, he turned and walked the final few steps to Pap’s house.

  They’d talked about coming home to families at night, but neither of them was coming in to anything more than an empty house.

  Kennedy hung up her coat.

  She needed to make dinner. Maybe an omelet.

  But more than that, she was thinking about making cookies.

  Oatmeal raisin, with lots of cinnamon, to be exact.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mal was up early on Thursday to start the turkey. He’d put it in the brine solution yesterday. He remembered helping his mother with holiday turkeys. She used to squeal like a girl when he pulled the neck out of the cavity for her. It’s so gross, she’d cry.

  There had been no one around yesterday when he’d prepped the bird.

  He realized that he’d missed Thanksgiving with his mom last year. He wished more than anything he could go back in time. He’d have come down the day before Thanksgiving and prepped the bird for his mom. He’d have hung out in the kitchen and helped with the rest of the cooking.

  But there were no do-overs.

  Maybe that’s why he was still in Cupid Falls. He wanted to do things right with Kennedy and the baby the first time around.

  He glanced at the plate of oatmeal cookies Kennedy had left on his porch.

  There was no note. Nothing to indicate they were from her. But the minute he’d opened the plastic container he’d known.

  And the gesture touched him. It also made him feel hopeful they’d make things work out, though he wasn’t sure how.

  For a man who spent a great deal of his life meticulously planning cases or even writing contracts, he still didn’t have any solid idea what to do about Kennedy and the baby. He hoped that if they spent time together she’d see that he was right, they should get married for the baby’s sake.

  He popped a cookie in his mouth before getting to work on the dinner, and for a moment, all his confusion gave way to the feeling of being home.

  He closed his eyes, and for that one moment, he felt his mother’s presence.

  When he opened his eyes, he realized there was one thing he could do for Kennedy—he could feed her a Thanksgiving dinner to remember.

  He pulled the bird from the brine and saw that the light had gone on in Kennedy’s kitchen.

  He glanced at the clock. It was only six. She didn’t have to work today, so this was awfully early.

  He wondered if she was okay.

  If the baby was all right.

  Maybe it was kicking. Or maybe she was having more of those Braxton Hicks contractions. He’d been reading up on pregnancy and knew a lot of women experienced them, but he worried.

  He knew that stress wasn’t good for Kennedy or the baby. He patted the turkey dry.

  He was certainly giving her stress, but he couldn’t walk away like she wanted. He started spooning the stuffing he’d made into the bird.

  So what was he going to do about Kennedy?

  That was the question he needed to answer.

  He finished up with the turkey and put it in the oven after he’d pulled out the pan of cinnamon rolls. They were another part of his mother’s Thanksgiving tradition. She’d get up early to cook, and the cinnamon rolls were her reward.

  The light was still on in Kennedy’s kitchen.

  He looked at the cake pan full of rolls and took half. He put them on a plate, then pulled on a pair of Pap’s old boots at the back door and tucked his flannel pajama pants into them. He flipped the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head as he made a dash from his back door to Kennedy’s. It hadn’t snowed in a couple of days, but it was cold enough that the grass in the back was frozen hard, so the sprint was easy.

  He knocked softly.

  Kennedy came to the door with a smudge of flour on her nose, her hair in a braid down the back, and a bathrobe covered in balloons. “Malcolm, it’s only six. What are you doing?”

  “I was starting the turkey and saw your light on, so I brought you these.” He thrust the plate at her. “If you let me in, they’d stay warm.”

  “I just put the pies in the oven.”

  “Then this is perfect timing. You can invite me in and we’ll have a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll before I head back over to clean up this first batch of dishes.”

  “Malcolm—”

  He interrupted her. “Kennedy, it’s a cinnamon roll and coffee. Think of them as a payback for the cookies.”

  She didn’t acknowledge the cookies, but she did open the door wider and let him in. “Have a seat. It’ll have to be decaf.”

  “That’s fine. I switched over the other day.” He sat down at the counter.

  She turned around as she poured coffee into two mugs. “Why?”

  “I handed you the decaf and looked at mine and felt guilty. I figured if you couldn’t have caffeine, then I shouldn’t, either. Sort of a misery-loves-company sort of thing.”

  She set the mugs down on the counter, then sat down. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Kennedy, I left you alone for most of this pregnancy. The least I can do is give you what little support I can.” He nudged the plate toward her. “So now I drink decaf and bring you cinnamon rolls.”

  She laughed and took one. “They are still warm.”

  “Mom and I used to try to time it. The rolls came out as the turkey went into the oven. Then we’d celebrate. I don’t think they’d taste the same if I ate them by myself, so you’re doing me a favor.”

  She chuckled and took a bite. “They’re so good.”

  “Mom made hers from scratch. Mine came from a can.”

  “Well, they’re still good. Your mom would be pleased you’re carrying on the tradition.”

  He took one himself. “I wish I’d been with her last Thanksgiving.”

  “Malcolm, she understood. There was so much pride in her voice every time she talked about you.”

  “Still . . .”

  She set down the roll and said, “Do you know what she said once?”

  “What?”

  “She said you were the son that every mother wished she could have.” Kennedy patted his arm. “She loved you, she was proud of you, and she knew you loved her. That’s something to take comfort in.”

  “Thank you.” He reached over and wiped the flour from her nose. “Flour,” he explained as she shot him a questioning look. He pulled his hand back.

  Kennedy reached up and rubbed her own face as they finished their rolls in companionable silence.

  Mal felt . . . a bit more settled. His mother knew he loved her. He still wished he’d been around more, but she’d understood.

  “I was thinking about do-overs this morning,” he said.

  “Do-overs?”

  “If I could go back, I’d do things differently. I’d come home more often. Not just on special days, but just for the heck of it. I’d surprise Mom. I’d show up at the Center and walk home with the two of you, like we di
d the other night.”

  “She’d have loved that.” Kennedy smiled, as if imagining the scene with him.

  “That’s what I want you to know,” he said softly.

  “There are no do-overs?” she asked.

  “That’s right. You and me . . . we didn’t plan on being in this position, but here we are. We need to get this whole parenting thing right the first time, because if we screw it up, we can’t go back and fix it. If we screw up, it will be our child who pays the price.”

  He waited for Kennedy to say something. To agree. When the silence dragged on too long, Mal decided to say it all at once. “That’s why I asked you to marry me. Our child deserves to have two parents. I can’t tell you how many times I wished my parents were still together so that I wouldn’t always feel as if I was being disloyal to one of them. If my dad made arrangements to have me in Pittsburgh and I didn’t really want to go because I had something going on in Cupid Falls. Or if I was in Pittsburgh enjoying myself, I’d feel guilty knowing Mom and Pap were here missing me.”

  “You couldn’t ever make both of them happy,” she stated, not asked.

  That was an understatement. “No. So I tried to make them both proud. I did well in school and played sports, but nothing I did ever felt like enough. Nothing could ever change the situation.”

  “Malcolm . . .” She reached across and touched his hand. For a moment, he thought she was going to hold it, but she pulled her hand back and said, “When I was young, I had a crush on this boy. I wanted him to notice me, to fall madly in love with me, and to realize he couldn’t live without me.”

  “Did he ever notice you?”

  Kennedy shook her head. “No. But the point is, I learned that I’m okay on my own.”

  She busied herself with spreading more butter on her cinnamon roll, and Malcolm realized that it was more than that school crush. She’d lost her parents and found herself living with her aunt.

  He remembered her aunt. She was a no-nonsense woman who didn’t seem overly inclined to shower Kennedy with love and affection.

  Kennedy had been alone, looking for someone to love her. And she’d fallen for some guy . . . some guy who couldn’t see what an amazing woman she was.

  Mal wish she’d told him the guy’s name. He wasn’t the kind to seek out someone and punch him for something that happened in high school, but he wouldn’t be opposed to accidentally stepping on the idiot’s foot.

  He smiled at the thought.

  “What?” Kennedy asked.

  “I was thinking that you and I might not have all the answers, but we both agree on one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The baby is the priority. If we can always remember that—always put him first—we won’t get too far off track.”

  This time she reached over and didn’t just brush her hand across his . . . she held it.

  “I think you’re right.”

  The timer buzzed and she pulled back her hand. “The pies should be done.”

  Mal glanced at the clock. “I better get back and check on the turkey.”

  “Thanks for sharing,” she said, gesturing to the rolls.

  He nodded. He wanted to thank her for sharing, too. He knew they weren’t any closer to figuring out how to share their child, but after their exchange, he felt pretty sure that given some time, they’d figure it out.

  It was just after one that afternoon when Kennedy walked over to Pap’s house. She was holding two pies and waiting for Malcolm to answer the door. He’d only stayed a half hour this morning, but that half hour had shaken her.

  There was something so . . .

  Intimate. That was the word.

  There was something so intimate about sharing coffee and cinnamon rolls with him while she was wearing a bathrobe.

  Sharing decaffeinated coffee.

  He’d switched because she had. That touched her.

  She felt as if they’d built some connection, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that. If she had a connection to Malcolm, it might make things harder since he wanted to be involved with the baby. Keeping things civil but distant. That’s what she wanted.

  This morning threw that off. She wished she’d said no to dinner, but since she hadn’t, she was going to try to build that relationship. Civil. That’s what she was going for. So she pasted her best flower-shop-civil smile on her face in preparation—she’d used it a lot with May. But it wasn’t Malcolm who opened the door, it was Pap Watson.

  “Pap, you’re back,” she said with genuine delight as she set the pies down on the small table in the entry and hugged him. It was an awkward hug because the baby had pushed her stomach to ridiculous expanses.

  “I am back. Course, I’m heading back to Erie right after dinner. I’ve got plans at six, that’s why we’re eating in the afternoon here.”

  “So who is this mystery woman?” she asked as he shut the door and she started to debundle. Most years she didn’t mind cold-weather layers, but this year it was one more thing to try and work around. “She must be pretty special.”

  Pap’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know there’s a woman?”

  “Look at you. No flannel. No worn jeans. You’re all spit and polish. You look dapper, Pap. Of course there’s a woman.”

  “Did anyone ever mention you’re a sassy girl?” He said it with a grin, so she knew he was teasing.

  “You might have, once or twice.” She kissed his weathered cheek, then stood back and looked at him. She realized that this was the happiest she’d seen him since Val had passed. “I’m so glad. You deserve to be happy.”

  “Everyone does, sweetie. Not everyone manages it, though. I’m lucky. I’ll introduce you to her at the Bow-Wow Ball. I still say that’s a lame name for the fund-raiser.”

  “Don’t look at me. Clarence Harding started it when he heard the proceeds for the Christmas Ball were going to the Everything But a Dog Foundation. He barks every time he comes into the floral shop, no matter how many times I’ve told him it’s Bow . . . long O. Bow as in Cupid’s bow and arrow.”

  Pap laughed. “Kennedy, you are an original.”

  “I’m doing my best to promote the town. Did I tell you that Aggie Samuels requested a variance so she can open a business in the residential part of town? The Cupid Falls Bed and Breakfast. How wonderful would that be? And I think I’ve found the money to expand the trail to the falls into a real bike path. Next summer we can have tours. Gus mentioned buying some bikes and maybe eventually some Segways and renting them out from The Cupboard’s old barn . . .”

  Mal stayed in the kitchen cooking as he listened to Pap and Kennedy catch up. Her enthusiasm for the town was only rivaled by her plans.

  He’d found a notebook where Kennedy had obviously jotted down ideas for the Center. There was a bunch of pages with a VD Ideas header. It had given him a start until he realized she meant Valentine’s Day.

  “Should we help Malcolm?” he heard her ask.

  “No, that boy is just like his mom. He doesn’t like company when he cooks,” Pap said.

  That wasn’t quite true. Mal did like company—he used to enjoy cooking with his mother, and he was pretty sure that he’d enjoy cooking with Kennedy. But he’d rather she sit down and put her feet up. She’d been up early this morning baking pies, and he couldn’t help but notice the plethora of fruit baskets, gift baskets, and flowers that lined the counter of her shop yesterday. She had to be exhausted.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Malcolm heard Pap go to answer the door. Kennedy came into the kitchen. “I brought the pies.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded at an empty corner of the counter. She set them down.

  “How’re you feeling?” he asked as he mashed the potatoes with a hand masher. “Yesterday must have been crazy for you.”

  “I’m fine,” she said in
a tone that didn’t brook any further comments.

  He switched topics. “I’m going to tell Pap about the baby at dinner. He knows, but I don’t think he’ll acknowledge it until we make it official.”

  She nodded. “Fine. But you don’t have to.”

  “Kennedy, I—”

  Pap came into the kitchen, interrupting what was sure to be an argument. “Look what the cat dragged in . . . or rather who.”

  Mal liked to think that being an attorney had taught him to be prepared for the unexpected and that he was prepared for most contingencies. Well, unexpected was one thing and his father walking into the kitchen was entirely another. He wasn’t sure he could prepare for a contingency like that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mal tried to see his father through Kennedy’s eyes. Malcolm Carter III was a tall man. His dark hair had faded to a steely grey that perfectly matched his eyes. Today he wore a pair of black slacks and grey shirt and no tie. That was Senior’s version of dressed down.

  He glanced at Kennedy, who was frowning at his father.

  “Dad, what brings you to Cupid Falls? I thought you said you were spending the long weekend prepping for the Montgomery case?” He loved his father, but he knew his grandfather and father were like oil and water . . . they didn’t mix at all. And from Kennedy’s expression, she wasn’t pleased to see him, either.

  Frankly, neither was he. Having his father in Cupid Falls had never been a good thing. They got along so much better in Pittsburgh. They were colleagues there. They had business in common. Here? They were simply father and son, and they’d never quite figured out how that should work.

  “It’s Thanksgiving. I thought I’d give the whole family holiday a try.”

  That was a first for his dad. Mal hated to be cynical, but there was something more going on here.

  Kennedy stood, and Mal saw his father’s expression of shock as he took in her condition. “And this is?”

  Before Mal could introduce her, she said, “I’m Kennedy Anderson. We’ve met before, Mr. Carter. I was your ex-wife’s friend, and I think I’m your son’s friend as well.”