by Kim Boykin
“Since he dropped out, I’m be more than happy to fill in,” paunchy old Mr. George said. “Sounds like a great idea to me. I move that we accept Pammy’s wonderful proposal.”
“I second,” Felicia Hart, whose coffee had just apparently kicked in, added.
“Whoa. Whoa. Come on now, there’s got to be something else we can replace the pony rides with. Something that doesn’t require selling male flesh,” Logan said, looking at Miranda for a little help.
It was pretty delicious watching him squirm for a change. Miranda couldn’t resist. “I’m sorry, Logan. Robert’s Rules of Order clearly state, after the motion has been made and seconded, we have to vote.”
“I object,” he huffed.
“This isn’t a court of law, Logan. And you don’t have to participate,” the mayor soothed.
“But your picture has had the most pins,” Pammy added.
“I don’t even know what that means,” he griped, like he was being railroaded. And he was.
The unabashedly handsome smartass’s back was against the wall for a change, and Miranda was almost giddy. She called for the vote. As co-chair, she abstained, but five hands shot up in the air. “All opposed.” Logan gave her a steely look and raised his hand. “So moved,” she said, without laughing, which was the first Christmas miracle.
Chapter Three
‡
Miranda’s heels clicked along the sidewalk, and, after watching Logan get roped into the auction, she was smiling so hard her face hurt. As she passed Carousel House, the home where her friend and fellow Six Chick, Dusty, grew up, one of the more memorable times Logan had railroaded her came to mind.
Miranda had been twelve, no thirteen. It had been Dusty’s birthday party. They were supposed to be outside playing kick-the-can like Dusty’s mom had suggested. But a dozen teenagers sat cross-legged in a secluded corner of the garden, playing Seven Minutes in Heaven, using a spinning bottle to determine who was got paired off with whom.
Everyone who had taken a turn in the windowless potters shed had either come out grinning or blushing. Girls tried hide the hickeys they’d gotten in record time; a couple of boys were sporting them too. Because Miranda was now confident, boisterous, all of her friends expected her to know everything about everything. But she knew nothing about girl-boy stuff. Wasn’t even sure how those kids had gotten those bruise looking things on their necks or why they thought they were so cool.
Dusty’s sixteen-year-old brother, Hamp, who did seem to know about everything, especially about giving hickeys, was playing too. And when it was Miranda’s turn to spin the bottle, it landed squarely between Hamp and Logan. Miranda had trembled when Hamp had licked his lips, looking like the big bad wolf. She didn’t want to go into that shed with him.
Logan looked at Miranda and must have seen the fear she was trying to hide. “It’s a tie,” Logan said, just as Hamp started to get to his feet.
“Okay. Spin it again,” Hamp said.
Logan just shook his head and had adjusted the mouth of the Coke bottle until it pointed squarely at him. Everyone except Miranda and Logan oohed and giggled. He helped her up and nodded toward the shed but didn’t speak until the door closed behind them. “You okay, Miranda?”
It was hard to avoiding touching him; the shed was smaller than the antique phone booth at the Five and Dime. Even though it was fall, it was still humid in the shed, and it smelled earthy, musty. “Thank you,” she whispered, unable to remember a single time that she’d thanked Logan Maulden that he hadn’t made her take it back because of some smartass thing he had said or done. The boy lived to get a rise out of her.
He came a little closer and she jerked away, knocking God only knows how many pots over. There was a chorus of laughter outside followed by the buzz of whispers about what was going on in the shed.
“I’ve never seen you afraid before,” he said softly, easing closer. He’d snaked his arms around her waist, and she was surprised that she didn’t pull away. “You sure you’re okay? You seemed afraid of Hamp.”
It wasn’t that Hamp was a bad guy, not at all. Like most teenage girls, there had been times when Miranda had been a big talker. About stuff. Kissing. She’d never had a boy hold her like Logan was holding her. And the thought of Hamp Rice doing the same thing and sticking his tongue down her throat, particularly when she wasn’t even sure how that worked or why anyone in their right mind would want to do that, was more than a little intimidating.
“Miranda,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
She tried to hold the tears back. She really did. But when he felt her body shake, he held her tighter. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he whispered, just below the shell of her ear sending chills down her legs.
“Four minutes,” someone outside shouted.
She wiped her eyes against his chest and let out a nervous laugh. “I’m fine.” Then she’d willed herself to unwrap her arms from around his waist.
“You’ve never been kissed before, have you?” He wasn’t teasing her, like he usually did; it was more of a statement than a question.
She felt her face burn bright with embarrassment and was glad the shed was too dark for him to see. “Of course I have,” she said, trying to sound convincing.
“Three minutes!” That was definitely Emma, who was dying to get back into the shed with her boyfriend of the week.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “When the time’s up, we go out there together. You hold my hand. Nobody will know.”
Was that true? Up until then, no one had guessed that she was all talk. What if they did find out? Dusty had promised another round of Seven Minutes in Heaven. What if Miranda ended up with someone who wasn’t as nice as Logan? And when did Logan get to be so nice anyway?
“Or I have another idea,” he said. “Let me be your first kiss.”
She inched her fingers into the darkness until she felt his hand and then pulled his arms around her again. She felt his knees bend into hers so that he could reach her, then felt him smiling against her lips. “You ready?”
“One minute,” some guy shouted. “I’m warning you, Mauldin, if it starts rocking, I’m comin’ knocking.”
She nodded and tipped her chin up. The kiss and been so light, so sweet that when it was over, she’d thought she’d die without another one. He pressed his forehead against hers as the kids counted down the remaining seconds.
Chapter Four
‡
Logan hurried to his mom’s hair salon, The Sassy Scissors. Heads turned as he pushed through the door. While his mom, Rosie, was a great hairstylist, she swore she was booked most all the time because women of all ages came in to ogle him and his brothers who stopped in often.
“Hey, sugar. You’re late.”
“Sorry, Mom. I had a meeting.” He gave her a peck on the cheek and sat down in the chair at his mother’s station.
She snapped the cape over him and, as usual had it a little too tight. He ran his finger under the neck to give himself a little more room. She pulled her scissors out of their sheath. “So, what are we doing today?”
Logan usually wore his hair short, but he’d been so busy lately, it’d gotten kind of long, definitely scraggly. “Go short.”
She ran the comb through the chestnut hair he’d gotten from her and started snipping. “So, how was the committee meeting?” she asked, grinning.
“You’re kidding, I left there not five minutes ago. How’d you know?”
“It’s Magnolia Bay, honey. Word gets around. And there is such a thing as social media.”
He loved Magnolia Bay, would never want to live anywhere else, but honest to God, did anyone ever mind their own business? “Speaking of social media, I’m all for it, but I don’t get this Pinterest shit.”
“You’re a grown man,” his mom said, waving her scissors at him, “but you don’t say shit to your mama.”
“Sorry. But do you know about the Magnolia Bay bache
lor auction page? It’s ridiculous. It—”
“Sure would earn a lot of money for Miranda’s mama’s foundation, and that’s a good thing, honey. Besides, I’ve seen the hotties page; it’s not that bad.”
“I’ve seen those hot bods too,” Ms. Chatham, who was eighty if she was a day old, said. “Liked and pinned the page. Even printed out a few of the extra hunky ones.” She waggled her eyebrows at Logan.
“It’s bullsh—” His mom narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s bull, but I got roped into doing that stupid bachelor auction because of it.”
“I’d bid fifty dollars on you,” Ms. Morrison said. “I would be eating cat food for a month if I won. But, I bet you’d be worth it, sonny.”
“Rosie’s sons are hot,” Ms. Farley, who had at least ten years on Ms. Chatham added. “If Harold and I hadn’t been married for sixty-four years, I’d risk eating cat food for a date with one of them. Maybe even a little tongue action.”
“Jesus, Mom.” At the last family dinner, his brothers had complained to her about the rampant sexism at the Sassy Scissors.
“All right, ladies tone it down a bit, you’re making Logan here a little uncomfortable.”
“Sorry, honey,” Miss Morrison said, “but we’re old, not dead,”
“We’ll behave ourselves,” Miss Chatham, waggled her eyebrows for the last time.
“Jesus,” Logan hissed.
“They’re old, honey,” his mom said in a low voice, snipping the hair around his ears. “They see you or one of your brothers, and it makes their day.”
“Can we change the subject?”
His mom smiled and got back to work. She ran her hands through his hair and cocked her head to the side as she studied the way it laid. “So, I hear you’re sniffing around Miranda Hamilton.”
First thing you learn growing up with three brothers is how to play dumb. Because the last thing he wanted was the salon circuit abuzz about him when they’d been laser focused on Trent and Darcy’s upcoming New Year’s Eve wedding.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, please. I saw the mayor at church yesterday, and she told me you made that big donation to Miranda’s mama’s charity. Even asked to be co-chair of that Christmas committee your Aunt Daisy and Aunt Camellia have run for years.”
“What is it with you people?” First Miranda and now his mom? “Maybe I’m just doing my civic duty.”
“Your brother, Tanner, was the one who always volunteered for everything, not you. But you have always been the one who once you figure out what you wanted, there’s no stopping you from getting it. Besides, you know I adore Miranda, and I loved her mama like a sister. God rest her soul.”
“This will be the last time I try to be a good citizen.” His mother took the cape off and gave it a good shake. He stood and hugged her. She was only five four and hit him dead center of his chest. “Thanks. Love you, Mom.”
She pulled back and smiled up at him. “You like her, you keep after her, son. Don’t you let her wear you down.”
Chapter Five
‡
Miranda spent the rest of the day trying not to think about Logan. Her guests had gone out for the night, and she had Ivy Cottage all to herself. She went into the kitchen and was glad to see there was coffee left in the carafe. She thought about pouring a cup and adding a little store bought eggnog for a Christmassy shot of caffeine, but settled on a glass of chardonnay instead.
She was on her computer in her office, paying some bills when she got an email from Pammy with a link to a website. Miranda clicked on the link and laughed out loud at the Magnolia Bay hunks Pammy’s brother had photo shopped. Some of their pics were on a large Christmas tree like ornaments, some were tied up in bows and all of them were looking rather studly under the tree.
Good Lord, there was even a private message feature called the Cat Fight Box for virtual trash talking among the bidders. A pic of Logan adorned the top of the tree, different from the one of him shirtless and in board shorts. He was wearing a black tux. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned, the untied tie around his neck, and he looked annoyingly sexy and delicious.
Beside each pic was a box that with the current bid and the name of the bidder. All of the guys already had a bid beside their names. Out of sheer curiosity, she wasn’t going to bid or anything, Miranda checked out the box beside Logan’s pretty face and spewed her wine.
“Two hundred dollars.” She grabbed some tissues and swiped at her keyboard, praying to God she hadn’t ruined it. Again. And then narrowed her eyes. Pammy Anderson’s name flashed next to the dollar amount. And then some woman, Miranda didn’t know, upped the bid fifty dollars.
The house phone rang. Since Ivy Cottage was booked through Valentine’s Day, she ignored it.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” And as much as Miranda really really loved to give Logan Mauldin shit, she was—what? Appalled? No. Aggravated? Maybe a little. But no way was she jealous. Pammy suddenly retook the lead at $275. With almost three weeks to go, this could and probably would get pricy, definitely too rich for Miranda’s blood.
She knew Logan didn’t want to do the auction. She had even enjoyed watching him get all hot and bothered at the very idea. But he had saved her that one time at Dusty’s, and then there was that kiss this morning.
Unable to help herself, she quickly registered so that she could bid. She debated on whether to use a fake name, but decided against it. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to place her first bid.
Wait a minute. If Logan went online, he’d know she bid on him. But he’d been so opposed to the idea, she doubted he would. Still Magnolia Bay was small; you could drop a fork on one end of town and hear it on the other.
She typed in her bid, knowing full well it would never be enough, and if it was, she was in big trouble because she didn’t have three hundred bucks to throw away. But there was nothing wrong with running the bidding up to raise money for charity. Was there?
Three hundred dollars—the number blinked at Miranda begging her to press Enter. The house phone started up again, ringing forever before going mercifully silent. Her finger hovered over the key. This was for charity.
A shot of adrenaline zipped through her as she hit the Enter key and watched her bid flash beside her name on the screen.
She sat there for what really was an eternity and nothing happened. Well, that wasn’t true, there were other bids being placed on other guys, but her bid was still flashing beside Logan’s smiling face.
She tried to undo it, to take it back, banging on the Escape button, the Delete button, but there was no going back. Everything would be fine. The way the bidding was going, someone would outbid her in no time. Ten minutes later, she was still the top bid.
She put her head down and plowed through some more bills, willing herself not to look. This would never have happened if she hadn’t blown Darcy off when she called earlier asking Miranda to go out with her and the Chicks to another pre-bachelorette party. A half hour later, her name was still beside Logan’s sexy face. Where was snarky Pammy Anderson when you needed her?
The doorbell rang. Miranda stared at her laptop, willing the next bid to overtake hers, but nothing happen. Then a private message in the Cat Fight box popped up.
Pammy: YOU’RE GOING DOWN.
Of course, the word bitch was implied, but Miranda heard her loud and clear. Still, why wasn’t Pammy upping the bid? Shit.
The doorbell rang again. She hurried to the door and looked out the lace curtains to see Logan standing on her doorstep. Looking all hot with his shades on top of his head like he was some celebrity, which, according to the auction, he practically was. Shit. She ran back to her laptop and snapped it shut and put on her best haughty look before she opened the door.
“Logan,” she said. “Lose your cell phone?”
“Nope.” He held his smartphone up for her to see. “It appears you’re the only person in Magnolia Bay not in my phone, so I thought I’d j
ust stop by, ‘Randa.”
Nobody had ever called her that except him, and he hadn’t since they were in elementary school when he used to call her Randa Panda to torment her. And why was he stopping by anyway? To talk about the kiss? No. She wasn’t going there. No way.
“What can I help you with?” she asked as sweetly and as fake as possible.
“Peace of mind,” he smiled, and mischievous green eyes sparkled back at her.
“I thought folks were selling peace on earth this time of year,” she snapped.
“Okay. It’s about Bootie Call.” He laughed when her face went hot. “The band. They’re playing at Fiery Ron’s on Sullivans Island tonight. You should go hear them. With me. Make sure Bootie Call is what you want.”
“If you say Bootie Call one more time—” She gave him a look meant to intimidate. “Besides, you gave them a contract. It doesn’t matter whether I like them or not. If they’re not good, it’s on your head, not mine.”
Her pulse shot up when he moved closer. She stepped back, grateful there was no wall hemming her in like there had been at City Hall. “I’m not trying to trick you, Miranda.”
“Are you asking me out, Logan Mauldin?” she asked, trying deflect his sincerity with her best Magnolia Bay belle voice.
“It’s only fair,” he laughed when she cocked her head to the side. He jabbed at his phone and pulled up the auction page. “If your bid wins, you’ll be taking me out.”
“I. Will. Not.”
Chapter Six
‡
She didn’t say much on the short drive, and, to be honest, he enjoyed watching the silence making her squirm. Imagine that, Miranda Hamilton, who always had an opinion or a smart remark, speechless from a simple kiss that happened twelve hours ago.
They passed over the turning bridge onto Sullivans Island and then hung a right onto Middle Street. The tiny town was already decked out for Christmas.