Mischief & Magnolias (Magnolia Branch Book 2)

by Kristi Cook

  “You made us look like fools,” she says, shaking her head.

  Ryder meets her gaze. “That was not our intention, Miss Shelby. We’re going to work hard to regain your trust, but in the meantime I just want you know”—he glances over at me and smiles reassuringly before returning his attention to my mom—“that I love Jemma very much. This is important to me. To us.”

  I just nod, rendered temporary speechless.

  I’m not sure it was the right thing to say, though, because both the moms are crying now, and there’s no way of knowing if they’re happy tears or more ‘how could you do this to us?’ tears.

  “Go on, then,” Laura Grace says, sniffling into a tissue as she shoos us away. “Out. Me and Shelby have some things to work out.”

  What could they possibly have to work out? A marriage contract? My dowry? A visitation schedule, maybe? Approved hours when we’re allowed to spend time together over break?

  Confused, Ryder and I take our leave, glancing back warily as we head out into the hallway and make our way to the foyer. We’re already dressed for Christmas Eve church service, but we don’t leave for another hour or so. I’m not sure where they want us to go, or what we should be doing while we wait for them.

  He tips his head toward the stairs. “You think it’s okay?”

  “What, to go up to your room?” I mean, they can’t possibly plan on keeping us apart, to make us act like we’re not dating—not now, no matter how awkward it seems. Right? “Sure,” I say.

  Silently, I follow him up the long, curved staircase and down the hall to his room. It feels different now—weird, somehow, knowing that our moms are downstairs plotting together. But plotting what?

  He shuts the door behind us. Leaning against it, he draws me toward him. “This is so weird,” he says.

  “I know, right?” I lean into him, tucking my head against the broad expanse of his chest. I stay like that for a while, my hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as I listen to his heart beating a rapid staccato against my ear. He strokes my arms absently, the calloused pads of his fingertips warm against my skin.

  His words from earlier play over and over in my head—I love Jemma very much. This is important to me. He’s said those things to me before, but there’s something about hearing him say it to someone else that makes my heart skip a beat.

  I lift my head from his chest and peer up at his face, taking in the heat of his gaze, and something inside me ignites. Hastily, I pull the hem of his button-down shirt from the waistband of his khakis, hearing his sharp intake of breath as I slide my hands up his stomach, across his abs to his well-defined pecs. He’s warm and solid beneath my fingertips, and all I can think about right now is those years we wasted hating each other, too full of pride to admit that the hate was really a front for hurt feelings and secret longings.

  The source of years of discord was simply a misunderstanding in eighth grade—freaking eighth grade! Sure, he’d done something stupid, and he’d hurt my feelings. But what thirteen-year-old boy hasn’t done stupid, insensitive things? I know enough boys to know that they’re different from girls—they just don’t get some things, no matter how obvious they seem.

  Why had I been so stubborn? So much lost time to make up for…

  I tip my face toward his, reaching my hands behind his head, tangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck as I draw his mouth down to meet mine.

  “Jemma,” he whispers against my lips, and it almost sounds like a warning.

  In one swift movement, he turns me so that I’m pressed against the door now, my arms raised above my head as he holds me there, caged in as he kisses me, his mouth hot and demanding. I kiss him back hungrily, parting my lips as I press against him. His hands skate down my sides, drawing gooseflesh in their wake. My breath hitches as his fingers find the hem of my dress, brushing against my bare thighs.

  “Ryder,” I say breathlessly, breaking the kiss and tipping my head back against the wall. “Not now.”

  “I know,” he groans, his lips moving to my throat, kissing a hot trail to the spot behind my ear where my pulse leaps madly. He releases my hands and I drop them to his waist as I attempt to slow my breathing.

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” I remind him, trying to distract us both.

  He leans down, his forehead against mine, and sighs deeply. “I know. Just give me a sec.” He takes several more deep breaths, then kisses my temple. “Okay, I have a present for you.”

  I shake my head. “But it’s not Christmas yet.”

  “I know, but I want to give you this now. While it’s just the two of us.”

  “But…your present is back at my house. I didn’t know we were going to exchange—”

  “It’s okay,” he interrupts, walking over to his dresser and opening the top drawer. “I have something for you for tomorrow, too, but I’d rather give you this one now.”

  “Sure,” I say with a shrug, even as a little thrill runs through me.

  He produces a shallow, square box that’s clumsily wrapped—clearly his own handiwork. I take it, turning it over in my hands to test its weight, drawing out the anticipation.

  “Go on, open it,” he urges.

  “Okay.” My hands tremble slightly as I rip off the festive paper, revealing a black cardboard box. I hold my breath as I lift off the lid and remove the square of protective cotton. A smile spreads across my face as I reach down and remove a pretty heart pendant suspended from a black velvet cord. It’s heavy—a flat, polished river rock or sea glass, maybe—with shades of red swirled through the dark, grayish-black stone.

  “I got it in New York,” he offers. “At one of those Christmas stalls near Columbus Circle.”

  “I love it. You picked this out without your mom’s help?”

  His dimples dance as he watches me admiring it. “Yeah.” He points to the discarded box. “There’s a note, too.”

  I pick up the box and find a folded square of paper tucked into the bottom. My hands are shaking again as I unfold it and read the words written in Ryder’s messy scrawl.

  I’ve already given you my heart, but here’s another, just in case. Please don’t break it. My real one, I mean, as it beats only for you. Love, Ryder

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. “Oh, my God, you made me cry.” I reach up to give him a hug, dampening the front of his shirt. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

  “Yeah, but feel free to tell me again,” he says with a grin. “And again and again and again.”

  “Wow, you are so needy,” I tease.

  “And you are so cute. Especially when you’re crying. Your eyes get so green—did you know that?”

  “Shut up and help me put this on.” I reach for the necklace and hand it to him, then turn and lift up my hair.

  He fastens the cord around my neck, and I settle the pendant in the hollow of my breastbones, comforted by the weight of it. I turn back to face him, smiling as I run my finger along the velvet cord.

  “It looks perfect,” he says. “You’re perfect.”

  And all I can think is how freaking perfect this moment is. Like, bottle-it-and-carry-it-with-you-everywhere perfect. I want to stay right here, just like this, all night—with this boy who I love madly and deeply, the starry December sky framed in the window, and the promise of Christmas filling the air with excitement and expectation.

  The spell is broken by the sound of Laura Grace calling up the stairs. “Ryder? Jemma? Where did you two go off to?”

  “Coming,” Ryder calls back, then glances over at me with a questioning look. “You ready?”

  I shrug. “As I’ll ever be. Tuck in your shirt!” I add in a whisper, fearing that the moms are standing right outside his door by now.

  Heaven help us.

  Chapter 8

  On Christmas morning, I’m still in my pajamas, lounging on the couch amidst the pile of opened presents, empty boxes, and discarded wrapping paper stuffed into trash
bags when my sister Nan comes bursting into the house, her boyfriend Dean trailing behind her.

  “Mom, Dad,” she calls out, and they both come running in from the kitchen, looking alarmed. As soon as we’d finished opening presents, Nan had headed over to Dean’s apartment in Oxford, where she spends most of her time these days. She’s only been gone an hour, so whatever brought her running home must have happened fast.

  Nan dashes into the room, one hand extended. “Look,” she cries, waving her hand around. “We’re getting married!”

  “What?” my mom cries out excitedly. “Let me see!”

  We all gather around her, Dean hanging back with a grin on his face as we take turns examining her engagement ring—a beautiful, brilliant pillow-set diamond in an old-fashioned setting. Almost a carat, I’d guess.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, turning her hand this way and that so that the stone catches the light, sending colorful refracted rays onto the hardwood floors. “Wow. Good job, Dean.”

  “Thanks,” he says, looking extremely pleased with himself.

  More squeals and hugs follow, my mom crying openly now. “I can’t believe it—my baby’s getting married!” she says.

  My dad and Dean exchange a knowing look, one that means Dean spoke with him beforehand. Dad knew it was coming, and managed to keep the secret from the rest of us.

  I’m a little torn about that. A part of me admires the old-fashioned respect shown to my dad. But another part of me is uncomfortable with the whole idea of “asking” for permission to marry her. I mean, Nan and Dean are grown-ups. They don’t really need to ask permission to get married.

  Still, I’m so happy for Nan—it’s been a rough couple of years for her. She’s fully recovered from the brain surgery, but it was a long, uncomfortable convalescence. Luckily she had Dean to help her get through it. She never went back to Southern Miss after the surgery, transferring to Ole Miss instead, where Dean is in graduate school. She’s graduating in May, right on time thanks to a summer semester, and is applying to law schools for the fall.

  “Wait, there’s more,” Nan says, glancing back at Dean. “We’re moving to Washington D.C. Probably right after graduation.”

  “What? Why?” my mom asks, her face falling. I think she was probably expecting the engagement, even if she wasn’t exactly sure when. But moving to D.C.? No one had even mentioned the possibility before now.

  “Hopefully I’ll get into Georgetown Law,” Nan continues. “If not, there’s plenty of good law schools in the area. And Dean has a job—in Senator Baker’s office on the Hill. Isn’t that great?”

  “That’s terrific, son,” my dad says, patting Dean on the shoulder.

  My mom doesn’t look convinced. I think it’s a lot to take in at once. “That’s…I don’t know. It’s just a shock, that’s all.”

  Nan gives her another hug. “I know, Mom. Sorry to spring it all on you like that, but we’re just figuring it all out ourselves.”

  It hits me then—the empty nest syndrome my parents will have to face with me off in New York and Nan in D.C. Oh, they’d already had a taste of it, with Nan back and forth between here and Oxford all these months. I feel bad, but there’s no other way, really. At some point, Nan and I have to grow up and go on with our lives. Still, a part of me misses this—our whole family here in Magnolia Branch, together. A sense of melancholy washes over me, and I have to force it back, force myself to smile again.

  “Want to go look at dresses tomorrow?” Nan asks me.

  “Definitely,” I say, perking up.

  “It’s a date, then,” she says. “You, me, and Mom. We can take a look at the shops in Oxford, have lunch out. It’ll be a girls’ day.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, giving Mom a nudge. She’ll come around eventually, I realize, once she gets over the shock of Nan moving away. Looking at dresses will help. Shopping always does, and I know my mom has been dreamily looking at wedding dresses since we hit puberty. She’s addicted to Say Yes to the Dress, so this should be fun for her.

  “Actually, you know what would be great?” Nan asks, turning to me. “Maybe you and Lucy could look at some of the vintage shops later this week and see if there’s anything you two could work your magic on. I’m not opposed to having one of your original creations, if I can’t find something I love in a bridal shop.”

  “Seriously?” I always imagined Nan having a traditional wedding dress, but now my imagination is taking flight. “I’ll call Lucy and see what she thinks.”

  Nan reaches over to hug me. “Thanks. Okay, we should head out. We’ve got to go tell Dean’s parents now.”

  My phone buzzes as my parents see them out. I glance down to find a text from Ryder.

  Where to first? Your place or mine?

  Ooh, that sounds scandalous, I answer, adding a shocked-face emoji.

  Very funny. You know what I meant—gotta see what Santa brought you.

  Come here, loverboy, I text back, grinning to myself.

  A beat passes before he replies. Are you quoting that song from Dirty Dancing?

  Of course I am. See, that’s why I love you. You get me.

  I’m not sure any of us actually gets you, Jemma Cafferty. We just do our best to keep up.

  Will you shut up and get over here?!

  Yes, ma’am.

  “Ryder’s coming over,” I say when my parents walk back into the room.

  “What? Oh, okay. Right.” My mom returns her attention to my dad. “But why D.C.? And why now? Couldn’t he get a job in Jackson, if he wants to work in politics? He could start at the state level, and go from there. I’m sure Rob knows someone—he could put Dean in touch, put in a good word for him.”

  My dad shakes his head. “It’s not for us to decide, Shelby. This is what they want to do. We have to respect that, and support it.”

  They wander off into the kitchen together, their heads bent in conversation. Only then do I realize what a wonderful gift Ryder and I have just been given. The focus has shifted now, from Ryder and me to Nan and Dean. She’s getting married, moving away—for good, maybe. Ryder and I, secretly dating and sneaking around behind our parents’ backs... Hell, that’s nothing in comparison.

  Odds are, we are officially off the hook. I hurry upstairs to change, eager to tell him the news.

  Thank you, Christmas miracle.

  * * *

  Hours later, Ryder and I walk hand-in-hand over to the ruins on Magnolia Landing’s property. We’ve just finished an enormous Christmas dinner over at my house, and we excused ourselves while our parents and Nan and Dean gabbed on and on about their wedding plans.

  They barely noticed us leave as the discussion of suitable wedding dates raged on. Mama was saying that, if they wanted a good venue, the earliest possible date to consider was next spring, but Nan doesn’t want to wait till then. She wants a fall wedding, and she doesn’t really care if it’s at Rowan Oaks or any of the local plantations—she’d be happy with a wedding on the lawn here at home. I’m pretty sure I heard Laura Grace offer up Magnolia Landing and a big tent just before the door shut behind us.

  Ryder’s carrying two blankets, one for the ground and one to snuggle under, and we find the perfect spot beneath the stars. He spreads the blanket on the patchy grass in front of the stone staircase and we sit, leaning back to gaze up at the indigo sky.

  “Thanks again for the camera,” I tell him. “I’ve wanted one for ages.” He’d given me one of those instant-types, a cute pink one that spits out little Polaroid-style pictures. I love the vintage look of the photos, not to mention the immediate gratification. I’ve filled my bulletin board with cute selfies of the two of us taken just today, going through almost an entire pack of film already. But it’s so nice to be out in the open with our relationship, not having to hide pictures that out us as a couple. I’ve even changed my phone’s lock screen back to what it is when I’m in New York—my favorite picture of us from prom last year. If my mom has noticed, she hasn’t mentioned it. She’
s too preoccupied with Nan right now, and that’s fine by me. In fact, if I’m lucky it’ll be this time next year before she comes up for air and realizes that I’m finally dating the boy she always hoped I’d marry, and maybe by then she’ll forget the part where we didn’t tell her about it for fourteen months. One can only hope.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Ryder says. “I loved my stuff, too.”

  “Good, because boys are impossible to buy for.” Especially boys like Ryder, who pretty much has everything he wants or needs. It makes gift buying especially difficult. And since I hadn’t known what, exactly, to get him, I’d gone with several smaller things, instead. A bound collection of star charts he’d admired once in a used bookstore. The Battlestar Galactica complete series, which he’d somehow never seen. A cool braided-leather bracelet that I wasn’t sure he’d actually wear—but he was now, so maybe it was okay, after all.

  I glance over at him, but he appears lost in thought, gazing out at the horizon beyond the still, dark waters of the creek. “What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know. This place, I guess. Wondering if we’ll ever be back here. To stay.”

  “Do you want to? Come back here eventually, I mean?”

  “I don’t know. I do, but there’s so much out there. Planetariums and museums and research facilities. NASA, even. Who knows where I might end up? But…I’d miss this place. This is home.”

  I nod. “Magnolia Landing will be yours someday. I can’t imagine you selling it. It’s been in your family way too long.”

  “I’d never sell it. I just...it’s so easy to see us back here, you know? You and me and kids. A life here. All along, it’s what I pictured. How I imagined my future.”

  I draw in a sharp breath. “You always imagined your future with me?”

  “Always,” he says. “Even when I thought you hated my guts. And now…now I have you. We have each other,” he corrects himself, giving me a sheepish grin. “But our future? I just don’t know anymore. I’m studying astrophysics, you’re studying film. What if our future isn’t here?”