In Mistletoe

by Tammy L. Bailey

  “Much obliged if you keep that safe for me,” he said, with a devilish wink.

  “Neil, don’t you have a few projects to attend to this morning?”

  Neil slapped the table as if the question reminded him of something. “Yes, I do. Maggie asked me to go pick out a Christmas tree for her and the wee ones. I don’t suppose you’ll want to come along?”

  Ayden shook his head. “I have some business in town, and Kyle bequeathed the Christmas tree duty to you, remember?”

  “Yes, boss, and being that it’s the weekend, I thought I’d recruit some help.” He whipped around to Grace. “How about you? I’ll even let you use the axe.”

  Grace sat in bewildered contemplation. “Well…I don’t think…”

  “She’s part of the business, Neil,” Ayden interjected. “Besides, Grace prefers chainsaws.”

  Neil, in all his redheaded glory, turned with goggled eyes in her direction. “Well, I’ll be.” He rested his fingers on the table to drum them along with the holiday music playing in the background.

  Then, as fast as a hawk, he scooped up his hat, placed it on his head, and tapped the top with a swift hand. “I’ll see you two tonight, then.” Like a scene from a John Wayne movie, he strutted away, the door’s bell jingling a happy tune with his departure.

  “I think he likes you,” Ayden said, surprising Grace by his soft and thoughtful tone.

  Grace dipped her head to hide the blush creeping into her cheeks. “He’s cute.”

  “Yes, and he thinks he is. There lies the problem.”

  Still miffed over Ayden’s comment regarding her weak heart, she lashed out. “You know, the only difference between the two of you is Neil doesn’t hide the fact that he believes he’s God’s gift.”

  The food arrived a second later, Sarah placing a heaping pile of French toast, and a steaming platter of scrambled eggs, sausage links, and smothered biscuits between them.

  Ayden waited with flaring nostrils for the girl to leave while Grace searched for the closest restroom. Coward. As an awkward silence passed between them, he scooted forward.

  “That’s such an insightful assessment for knowing me less than twenty-four hours, Miss Evans.”

  She flinched from the truth in his words rather than his tone. She supposed he’d never let her get to know him. It was his flight vest, his suit of armor. Keep everyone out so no one gets hurt—well, almost no one.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She thought if she knew him one hundred years, she’d never be able to draw any conclusions about him. He was too locked up to reveal anything about himself. As usual, he remained guarded and quiet until she set her fork down and leaned back, stuffed.

  “Shall we get started?” he asked, scooting his plate away, not one crumb left behind. The crooked grin he liked to send her had long disappeared, his mood bleak and heavy.

  Despite their small spat, he grabbed her hand, dropped some cash on the table, and led her to his truck, the snow falling around them.

  He opened her door and helped her onto the cold seat. “Where are we going?” She was afraid they were headed to Maggie’s already without a plan, without knowing each other well at all.

  He didn’t answer until he’d shut himself inside the cab beside her. “Hawthorne’s Drug Emporium.”

  For the entire ride through the peaceful town, he didn’t say a word.

  ****

  Ayden didn’t know what to think. He’d never met a woman like Grace Evans, a woman who glanced upon him and saw more than his hardened exterior. It frightened and exhilarated him at the same time. He vowed, however, to keep his distance. Women like her were dangerous. They feigned innocence, all the while plotting how to get him to change his life to suit their dreams.

  Still, he knew it was only a matter of time before she incited him enough to want to cross the line between make-believe and reality. By then, he hoped Rick would be there to take her home.

  Rick, Ayden brooded, his mind unable to forget the expression of excitement and shock when her phone rang this morning. A second before it did and in a momentary lapse of reason, he’d bent his head with every intention of kissing her.

  Her scent sweet, her body firm, he ached to hold her against him again, to sample, for a tiny moment, her reserved willingness. Yes, although she’d startled him, he’d recovered enough to reach out and grab her, taking advantage of the situation to pull her underneath him. After a few minutes of internal restraint, he realized she invoked in him an unfamiliar weakness. She also unleashed unfamiliar jealousy, the thought of her with someone else putting a hole in the pit of his stomach. Dammit, he didn’t need to see her as anyone but a means to an end.

  “So, how long have you and Rick been together?”

  From his peripheral vision, he saw her head turn toward the opposite window. He waited patiently as she gathered her thoughts to tell him what he needed to know.

  “My favorite color is lavender, my favorite sport is football, my favorite movie is Beauty and the Beast, and my favorite—”

  “Your favorite movie is a cartoon?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

  He honestly didn’t know, although he thought it strange. Instead of voicing his thoughts, he kept his mouth shut. Her gaze left his face to blink straight ahead, her arms placed in a defensive pose across her firm breasts.

  “I hate shopping,” she continued. “I love cold sheets, and I always skim to the end of a book to make sure I know how it ends before committing to reading it.”

  She let out a rush of breath, as if the task left her exhausted. He supposed she waited for him to bare his own soul, and he struggled on where to start.

  “I don’t have a favorite color or movie, real-life or otherwise. I detest flavored coffee and artificial sweeteners, and I prefer a warm body lying underneath me over a pair of cold lonely sheets any day.”

  She clicked her tongue and pivoted again in his direction. He pretended to pay more attention to the road than her surprised reaction. He hadn’t meant to incite her. Most women he knew, or at least dated, saw his comment as an opportunity. Grace, he knew, saw it as an insult.

  “Cold sheets might be lonely, Mr. McCabe, but I’d prefer to lie on them for the right reasons than to have someone warming them for the wrong ones.”

  At last her words called him out, but he refused to reveal anything about what he did regarding women and why. All Grace needed to know was what lay on the surface of their relationship. Everything else was off limits.

  Still, as he steered the truck to the drug store, he tried not to imagine her in the illusionary bed they’d made over the last few minutes. She belonged to someone else, even if she was as confused about the relationship as he was now. After he helped her find Danielle, after she shredded his heart in front of Maggie, she’d leave and never think of him again. The thought put him in an even darker mood.

  “May I see the picture and the postcard again?” he asked, attempting to take his mind off his struggles.

  As quiet as the sunrise, Grace withdrew the items from her purse and handed them to him. A split second later, she glanced down to check her phone. He had no doubt about the number or message she hoped to see. It riled him, and he shook his head, visible enough for her to notice.

  “What?” she asked, her tone soft, her question calm and searching.

  He maneuvered the truck into a narrow parking space before professing the truth. “Your goddamn ringtone is about a broken and abusive couple, it being tied to a man who yells at you for not being at his beck and call. Yet, you sit there, pining for him to throw you a line. I don’t get it.”

  She opened her pretty mouth to answer him, but closed it and turned away. He didn’t move, believing she had an answer for him. He just needed to wait.

  “My friend Betsy snuck the ringtone on my phone. I just keep forgetting to change it.”

  “So, now that you are…reminded, this might be a good time, don’t you think?”

  Her li
ttle nose flared with indignation. “Why do you care?”

  Yes, her boyfriend, ex or otherwise, wasn’t Ayden’s business, but it didn’t stop him from placing his hand out, palm up. “Let me see your phone.”

  She sat, unmoving, until she realized he wasn’t pulling his arm back until he had her device in his hand. She scoffed before mumbling something but gave in without too much more protest.

  Her phone was easy to access, too easy, and it only took him a few minutes, to change the song and hand the iPhone back to her. For whatever reason, she didn’t bother to investigate which song he’d chosen, preferring to stuff the device back into her pocket and let the conversation go.

  Believing he’d been triumphant in at least one argument for the day, he escorted Grace into the store. With its original planked floor, oak shelving, and potbelly stove in the corner, it seemed torn straight out of an episode of The Waltons. As with every year, the couple covered the place in holiday decorations of every nostalgic era. From snow globes to rotating trees, the place was a wonderland of fantastical Christmas indulgence.

  “Ayden, my boy.”

  “Mr. Hawthorne.” Ayden stretched out his hand for a gentle, but firm handshake.

  The man smiled, his sky-blue eyes twinkling behind a set of thick glasses. In the background, Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” popped and crackled on a vintage turntable. The man pointed with his thumb toward the back. “Wilhelmina has some rum cake wrapped and ready for ya.”

  “As always, it is much appreciated,” Ayden said, grateful for Mrs. Hawthorne’s generous amount of rum in her old recipe, especially as of late.

  Mr. Hawthorne nodded before glancing at Grace, hesitating to return his gaze to Ayden right away. Ayden knew the word pretty hung on the tip of the man’s tongue.

  “This is Grace Evans. We were hoping you could help us with something.” Ayden curled his hand around Grace’s side to haul her closer. The sweet smell of her enticed him, and without thinking, he reached up to stroke the nape of her neck.

  She stiffened, resisting his daring behavior at first. Then, as if remembering their pact, she relaxed against his hip, her hand lifting to spread against his chest.

  Like an electric charge, unexpected and swift, his heart catapulted into an erratic beat. Afraid she might read too much into his physical reaction, he slid her fingers closer to his ribcage. He hoped it presented a good enough barrier.

  He could not, however, place a strong enough wall between them as her hourglass figure stroked against his lower hip. For a distraction, he let her go and pulled the items from his coat pocket, setting it down on the glass counter.

  “You’re the only place that sells this postcard. It’s a long shot, but do you remember the person who purchased this, possibly in the last few weeks?”

  Mr. Hawthorne picked up the postcard and angled his head to better decipher what he held in his hand. He then wrinkled his eyes and slanted his head in the other direction. “I don’t remember who bought this. Maybe the missus will know. I’ll be right back.”

  This left Ayden alone with Grace, she remaining as quiet as the falling snow. Drawn in by her subtle presence, he turned her toward him.

  “If we find Danielle today, we still have a deal, remember?”

  Grace’s hazel eyes flickered, always brilliant, forever searching. Then she smiled, and his breath caught. He only had a moment to wonder at the unexpected reaction when Wilhelmina shuffled in from the back.

  “Ayden, dear.” She came around the counter to give him a hug. “How is Maggie?”

  “Meddlesome.”

  The woman giggled and handed him the cellophane-wrapped cake, his mouth already watering to taste a sample. She turned toward the woman standing beside him. “And you must be Grace Evans?” she said, beaming.

  The spirited attention caused a peach-colored blush to rise in Grace’s cheeks. “Yes.” She leaned into him. God, she felt good. For more reasons than one, Ayden had not one bit of faith either of them would leave the drugstore with their false relationship unscathed.

  “Delightful,” Wilhelmina finally said, her gaze jumping from him to Grace like a child in an ice cream shop.

  “Ayden asked if we might remember who bought this postcard from us recently,” Hawthorne spoke up. “Perhaps your memory is better than mine.”

  Ayden glanced down at Grace, her gaze intent on the examining couple. Since they’d walked in, she’d barely said a word. Hell, if not for the occasional sigh, he might think she’d stopped breathing again.

  Reluctant to take his gaze away from her, he sliced a quick glance at the older woman. She lifted the glasses from around her neck and peered down.

  “Is it possible the person in the photo was the one who purchased the postcard from you?” Ayden said, hoping his hunch was right.

  Wilhelmina’s head agitated with an animated shake. “The person who purchased this postcard wasn’t her.”

  For the first time, Grace stepped forward and said more than two words. “Are you sure?”

  Ayden tried to ignore the panic in her voice. He understood the urgency to find Danielle. He just didn’t want to think Grace stood too desperate to leave Mistletoe or the plans he’d put in place.

  Wilhelmina, oblivious to his concern, beamed brightly. “I remember that day well. It was a few weeks before Thanksgiving, and I’d just received a box of Christmas postcards I’d ordered. I don’t like to put them out too early, you see. Anyway, a young man approached me and asked if he could purchase one.”

  “A young man,” he and Grace said in unison.

  Chapter Eight

  Wilhelmina Hawthorne nodded. “Yes, peculiar fellow. He was covered from head to toe in winter clothing, the tags still dangling from his plaid toboggan hat and orange puffy vest.” The woman paused to chuckle behind her hand. “He was such a sight to see.”

  “Was he alone?” Grace asked.

  “Yes, though someone might have been waiting for him outside. Though, if you ask my opinion, he wasn’t from Mistletoe, or Washington, for that matter.”

  Ayden grasped Grace’s shoulders and gently guided her around to face him. “Do you have any idea who it could have been? Who may have been with her?”

  “No.” Grace’s features fell into a somber pose, and he wanted to give her a little hope of what happened to Danielle.

  “And he purchased this card?” Ayden lifted his gaze back to Wilhelmina, knowing quite well the answer.

  The woman nodded once. “This very one. He was adamant about buying the card, although, upon further inspection, the printing company misspelled Washington. See here.” She pointed to the word nestled above the infamous picture of the town’s annual Christmas lighting ceremonies.

  “I allowed him to keep it for free since I planned to ship the box back and have them re-do the cards.”

  Grace returned her attention to the Hawthornes. “Could you tell the color of his eyes or…or the length of his hair?”

  Wilhelmina dropped back on her heels and inhaled. “I’m sorry. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to be recognized.”

  Grace’s shoulders slumped under Ayden’s palm.

  Ready to leave, he extended his hand to Mr. Hawthorne and nodded a farewell to his wife. “Thank you for your time.”

  Ayden dropped his hand, finding Grace’s small fingers and folding them in his. They were halfway out the door when Wilhelmina yelled, “Wait!” across the store.

  Believing she’d suddenly remembered something about the man, he and Grace turned.

  “Look. You’re standing underneath the mistletoe.”

  Grace lifted her face to his and then toward the dangling plant. She held her attention there, surprise and then comprehension staining her round cheeks.

  “You have to kiss,” Mr. Hawthorne said.

  Ayden shrugged, unable to hide the fact that he did want to kiss her, and had wanted to ever since he saw her sitting in O’Shannon’s. However, he also didn’t want to break his own rules of enga
gement when it came to women. He always waited for them to kiss him first.

  Of course, Grace’s eyebrows furrowed, her attention pulled from him to the Hawthorne’s and back again. The longer she made him wait, the faster the blood rushed through his veins.

  After she nibbled on her lip, enticing him more, she stepped closer and lifted on her tiptoes. At the very moment when her lips would have touched his, her pocket book shook with the tune he changed on her phone.

  “Foolish,” by Ashanti, blared on its highest volume, sending Grace fumbling to answer it. She also sent him an annoyed expression before shuffling away, attempting to find a place where her voice didn’t echo. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the recipient, she chose the least resonant corner, the tall nostalgic Santas doing everything to block his view of her and Rick’s conversation or her reaction to what he said. With her back to Ayden, all he could see was her hand gently caressing a majestic snow globe.

  In the meantime, the Hawthornes had planted themselves behind the counter, refusing to move or assist Francis Tisdale who’d come in to fill her numerous prescriptions. After three long minutes of waiting, Ayden had had enough. He strode toward Grace, his temper tittering on furious.

  “I will. I love you, too,” he heard Grace say, forcing him to stop short on his approach. She turned and smiled, innocent and breathtaking. How in the hell did anyone think she was simply pretty?

  Spurred into a devil of a mood, Ayden rotated in the direction of the door, irritated he cared so much about who she loved or didn’t. He tried to escape, for both their sakes, before Wilhelmina caught them again. Unfortunately, between Grace’s forgetfulness and his brooding, they met under the damn mistletoe, again, at the very same time.

  “There’s no way around it this time.” The elderly woman beamed from behind the counter.

  ****

  Grace tried to calm her clamoring heart, wishing she had waited until Ayden left before making her way to the exit. Now, here she stood, staring up at him, his eyebrows narrowed and his lips stretched into a thin line.