Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I know.”

  “My parents gave me a camera for Christmas.” He said it and she understood that he was gifting her with something so deep and intimate to him that he probably rarely shared it. “It was a week before they were killed by a drunk driver on their way to a New Year’s Eve party. And, you should know, I don’t hate Christmas because of that memory.”

  Camille kissed him. Their kisses were tender, slow, and so was their lovemaking. It was then that she knew she’d fallen in love with him.

  HUNT FOR CHRISTMAS

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hunt woke up and felt the bed next to him, looking to pull Camille against him. He longed to feel her soft, amazingly beautiful naked body against his. She wasn’t there.

  He sat up, stretched his arms over his head, then stood. He picked up his phone from the nightstand. “Holy crap!” It was six a.m. He’d slept straight through to the next day. He felt wonderful. He was rested, satisfied, and he hadn’t had any of the dreams that often haunted him.

  Making love to Camille was only part of the reason he slept so soundly. A really great part. But it was their honest and open conversations that gave them true intimacy. The kind two people share when they’re stripped bare of the obstacles that were created because they lack trust in the other person. For some reason, Hunt felt safe with Camille. He trusted her and exposed himself like he would the precious raw film from his camera that held images so easily destroyed, damaged or developed into something else. Maybe something wonderful.

  As they lay naked together, touching and petting one another, they talked more about their childhoods, their dreams realized and lost. Through the trivial to the substantive, Hunt got to know Camille. She hated cherries but loved watermelon. Her favorite food was boiled crawfish. Her least favorite was canned tuna. She’d been skinny-dipping in the bayou when she was two and then again when she was seventeen. She said she wanted to go skinny-dipping with him when she turned thirty-five next month. With each discovery, Hunt liked her more and more and more. Now, he was missing her.

  He stretched again, on a big yawn, and smiled. Clipped with one of his plain wooden clothespins on one of the photo lines next to the photo of her was a handwritten note for him. He got out of bed and laughed when he took the note from the line. It was true; doctors had awful penmanship.

  Hunt,

  I hope you had a long and peaceful sleep. I had to get back to Fa La. Luke’s giving me a ride. I’d like to see you again, as my time here is growing short. I have to leave the day after tomorrow. Please join me for tomorrow’s boat parade. If you slept through the night, that would actually be tonight—Saturday. Saturdays are special during the holidays for us, as we invite the public to join the procession. Meet at the docks at four.

  Camille

  P.S. I had a really wonderful time with you.

  Hunt hung the note back on the line next to her photograph. He tapped his chest. It felt full and warm. Should he go and put himself on an inescapable boat with a group of people who didn’t like him just so he could be with Camille? Or should he stay home, watch the parade from behind the lens of his camera? Either way, nothing could come of this powerful attraction between them. She was returning to New York on Monday. Her family and community would forever blame him for changing Christmas for them. Both weren’t things that inspired relationships.

  He walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. What in the hell should he do?

  ***

  Hunt turned off the engine to the outboard motor and let his small boat ease against the dock at Fa La La. It was cooler by about twenty degrees, since a cold front had come through as he and Camille had made love. The best night's sleep he'd had in months, he thought as the hull bumped the dock. Making love with Camille had been damn near perfect, except for the part where he'd woken alone. She should've still been in his arms. He'd anticipated making love with her slowly when they were both drowsy, and then starting their days.

  The concept of having a woman there to wake up to was as odd for him as enjoying spending hours talking to her, albeit she was naked at the time. He’d never craved having his bed partner stay with him all night. Was it just an aberration or was it something else? He intended to find out. That’s what drove him to put himself in the uncomfortable situation of riding in a boat parade with people trying to convince him to do something that would destroy the peace he’d only just figured out how to obtain. His friend Luke had come with him to give him some support and to make sure, in his words, “You don’t make an ass of yourself.”

  Luke zipped the hooded sweatshirt that he wore over another sweatshirt and under his jean jacket. “It’s damn chilly,” he complained as he climbed out of the boat and secured the stern line, then caught the bow line that Hunt tossed to him.

  “You can stay inside and watch Dancing with the Stars with the Fa La La elders if it’s too cold for you out here.” Hunt laughed, grabbed his camera bag, and joined his friend on the dock. The dawn sky reflected a bright coral glow and streaks of lavender on the rippling water.

  “Do yourself a favor, Hunt, don’t disappear behind that camera all night. Be part of the scene, not just an observer of it. You might be surprised what you see with your naked eyes rather than through the camera lens.”

  Before Hunt could respond, a full, thick Cajun-accented voice called from an approaching boat. “Catch my line, will you?” It came from a Lafitte skiff-style boat. Although the Christmas lights on the boat weren’t lit yet, Hunt could see it was decorated with all red lights, except for a bright green buoy on the bow. It looked like it had a light inside of it.

  “Happy to help,” Hunt told him as he walked to the edge of the dock behind his boat to get the line from a man who looked as sturdy as an oak tree. He had two women on the boat with them. One appeared to be about his age, mid-fifties, the other much older. The older lady, in her late seventies or early eighties, was dressed like a bubblegum pink elf with knee-high white disco boots. Her silver-blue hair curled around her matching elf-cone hat that had a thick white pom-pom on the end. Hunt reached for the camera around his neck, realizing it wasn’t there. She had a face that showed the wrinkles of a full life and a strong personality. He wanted to photograph her. He removed his camera from the bag, took off the lens cap, and turned it on.

  “Do you mind if I take a photo of you?” Hunt showed her his camera.

  “Of course not. Da camera loves me.” She kicked out her go-go boot and smiled. He snapped a few photos and when she thought he was finished, he snapped more.

  He helped Luke finish securing the lines, then extended his hand to help the elderly elf out of the boat. The fact that she was strong and sure-footed on blocky heels didn’t surprise him.

  “I know youz didn’t ride youz motorcycle here,” she told Hunt when she was on the dock. She rubbed the sleeve of his jacket. “Dat’s good leather. Look at this, Ruby. I think we need to get us a motorcycle jacket,” she told the red-haired woman wearing a bright green sweater dress that matched the buoy on the bow of the boat. Hunt extended his hand to help her onto the dock too. “Do youz think I can get it in pink?”

  “That’s real nice. It looks like a classic,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m Ruby and that fashionista is my aunt, Tante Izzy.” She waved to the man in the boat, standing in overalls with a green cone Santa hat hanging from his side pocket. “And that’s my husband, Big John.”

  Big John got out of the boat and shook hands with Luke and Hunt. He was a giant of a man, his hands thick and beefy, and his happy-go-lucky personality sparkled in his eyes.

  “I’m Hunt and this is Luke.”

  “Hunt? Da man who won’t let us on da island?” Tante Izzy scowled. “Harrumph. I guess youz have reasons. I sure miss gettin’ my kisses in da mistletoe gazebo.” She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “Just so youz know, you may have a land title, but you don’t own it.”

  “The state of Louisiana would disagree with you, Madame.” What was she talkin
g about?

  “Youz don’t own dat island, no more than you own da air and stars.” She hooked her arm in the bend of his as Hunt helped her up the flight of stairs. He remembered Camille quoting Massasoit philosophy on the first day they met and grabbing at straws, looking for an excuse that would stick to get him to change his mind about using Cypress Island. From the tone of Tante Izzy’s voice and the way her eyes narrowed, he knew she was being sincere.

  “Youz have taken guardianship of it to make sure it is well cared for and gets to serve da purpose of why God put it there.” She nodded. “And I think youz know da other part – it chose you.”

  “That’s a perspective I hadn’t considered.” Hunt gently squeezed her frail hand.

  “Well, youz think about it.” As soon as they reached the walkway, Tante Izzy was enveloped by a group of ladies who were anxious to have her taste some cookies they’d baked for the night. Hunt changed the aperture and adjusted his focus for a shallow depth of field to capture them in a candid moment,

  “Hunt.” Camille rushed up to him, kissing him on the cheek. All his doubts about whether he should be there evaporated. Her wide, happy smile lit up her face as she stood with the late sun’s tangerine and violet colors kissing her shoulders and black hair. She looked so beautiful in her jeans, red sweater, and short white jacket. Although he liked her best wearing nothing more than the candy-cane-striped socks she’d worn while they’d made love.

  “You don’t happen to have those red-and-white socks on inside those UGGs do you?”

  She laughed. “Maybe you can find out later.”

  June, T-Dud, Mr. Dudley, Bob, René and the rest of her siblings, nephews, and nieces told him hello and made their way down the stairs to their boats. Hell, when had he learned the names of so many people here?

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Camille told him, touching his arm. “It’s good you brought Luke too.” She looked over her shoulder, where he was talking to René. “He’ll ride with René. We’ll ride on my papa’s boat. It’s the caboose in the parade, which I like best because we get to see all of the lighted boats in front of us. It’s beautiful.”

  “Not dat it’z any of youz concern, but I didn’t walk up by myself,” Tante Izzy told Dudley. “Dat handsome Hunt escorted me.” Camille laughed.

  “Why, Hunt. I see you’ve got a fan.”

  “Yeah, I’m a pink elf magnet.” He grabbed her hand. “Come with me.” And she did.

  They rushed past most of Fa La La’s residents as they were heading toward the docks. He continued to walk at a brisk pace, turning right when he saw someone approaching from ahead of them and left, when someone approached from the right. Camille laughed, sounding young and happy as her boot-clad feet tried to keep up. Finally, there were no more people around in the dark corner he randomly found at the back of Fa La La.

  He spun her around, pushing her back against the wall of the building. He leaned into her, his leg moving between hers. He captured her mouth, like his very life depended on it, his tongue stroking hers in a soft, desperate, and sense-exploding kiss that had his hands trembling. He grabbed her butt and squeezed, remembering how her hot, naked flesh felt in his hands. Camille nipped his bottom lip, then gently stroked the spot with her tongue. When she blew on his wet, tender lips, he went blind.

  “Light,” she murmured when it flashed on. “Uh-oh.” A second later, a little old lady wearing dark, cat’s-eye glasses, yelling in Cajun French, started swatting them with a stiff-bristled broom. “Tante Pearl. Pardon. Pardon.” She grabbed Hunt’s hand. “Run.” They ran like teenagers caught making out along the bayou side. He couldn’t remember having laughed so hard in a very long time.

  Soon, they all boarded the ten or so boats there, while other boats floating in the bayou, loaded with passengers, waited to join the parade. The scents of diesel fuel, the muddy bayou waters, and verdant marsh grass were carried on the light, northerly breeze, along with happy voices. There was such a palpable feeling of anticipation and pleasure around them. It surprised Hunt how much everyone seemed to enjoy the Fa La La Cajun Bayou Christmas Celebration, even though it was basically their job to be there. Of course, he’d always enjoyed his work.

  The wheelhouse was well lit by fluorescent lights that hung on white marine paneled ceilings. It was well appointed with polished teak wood cabinets, counters and trim spanned the front of the cabin, with a narrow ledge along the walls. There were monitors, gages, and two laptops on the counter, along with levers and the boat’s wooden helm. A queen-size bed on a platform with cabinets below it was to the rear of the cabin. He imagined there was another cabin or two below decks. He thought about having Camille taking him on a tour there, as a ruse to steal a kiss while they were away from the curious eyes of the people on board.

  “Tante Pearl isn’t on this boat, huh?” he asked with a grin.

  Camille lifted a brow. “No. Why are you asking?” He lifted both his hands and smiled in response.

  “What youz think, Hunt?” T-Dud motioned to the wheelhouse, where he looked comfortable captaining his boat. Hunt lifted the camera and snapped a photo of Captain T-Dud.

  “She’s a beauty,” he said, then asked T-Dud about the type of engine he had on the boat and the equipment within his reach on the counter. T-Dud showed him the depth finders, GPS, radar, diagnostic and monitoring equipment, and temperature gages for the ice storage wells at the back of the boat. They discussed the functions of the boat and a little bit of its history. After about fifteen minutes, the radio crackled on a high shelf to his left. Hunt recognized Pierre’s voice.

  “We have sixteen boats tonight. Y’all know your positions in line. I’ll move out first. Just follow after that.”

  Camille handed Hunt a cup of steaming hot chocolate. The white marshmallows started melting in a creamy puddle of richness on top of the thick, sweet drink. Their hands brushed for just a moment, and Camille’s cheeks got pink. It pleased him more than it should have to see it.

  “Take him outside for da boat parade,” her father told her. She interlocked her fingers with Hunt’s and led him to sit on a large ice chest below the high window of the wheelhouse, in the front of the boat. Here in the darkest shadows, no one could see them, unless they came to the bow of the boat.

  Without preamble, the boat’s lights went on, from bow to stern, from boom to boom, and along the edge of the wheelhouse. Various shades of blue, green, white, red, and gold lights illuminated the other boats and parts of Fa La La too. It was a display of creativity, over exuberance, and style, as each boat had their own unique way of decorating. Some boats had extras like lighted Joyeaux Noel signs on both the port and starboard sides. Another had an animated blow-up snow globe with a Santa inside of it on top of their wheelhouse. And another had a lighted nativity with a Christmas Star suspended in the tall booms of their shrimp boat. While they all were decorated to the talents and tastes of the boat owners, the same music was shared by all. “Jingle Bell Rock” was playing now.

  Camille sighed, looking out at the bayou. “There are as many lights shining on the water as there are stars in the sky tonight.” She turned her head and looked up at Hunt. He bent down and kissed her tenderly. Sweet kisses under the glow of Christmas lights around them, on this cool, crisp evening felt as special and important as the hug she’d given him in his cabin that day. Both seemed to have rocked his world, touching a dark fearful place within him with Camille’s special light. Both went beyond sexual desire, of which there was plenty. It was something. . .else.

  She leaned to let her back rest on the front of the wheelhouse. Hunt did the same after he safely stowed his camera in its bag. Camille shivered and Hunt put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him to share his warmth. She relaxed against his chest. “I’m so glad you are here.”

  “It’s a different perspective from onboard than from my island.” He immediately thought about what Tante Izzy had said. It wasn’t his island. He was guardian of it for future generations.
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  “It’s a different perspective when you move away and return home for a visit too.” The light breeze with the motion of the boat had their hair blowing away from their faces. “I’m going to miss it when I go back to work.”

  Hunt’s heart felt like it stopped beating. “So you’re going to return to New York?”

  She nodded, scooted closer to him. “It’s getting colder now that the sun is going down.”

  It felt colder to him knowing he wouldn’t see her sunny smile. He knew he’d think of it every time he looked at Fa La La. “What’s in New York that makes you want to go back there?”

  “It’s what’s here that makes me want to go back to New York,” she said, just as her mother walked up to them. Hunt knew she’d heard her daughter.

  “I thought y’all would be cold,” June said, handing them a large, heavy beige quilt stitched with a big sleigh overflowing with presents.

  “Thank you,” he said, unfolding the quilt and placing it over Camille’s shoulders. “Would you like to join us?” Hunt saw the crushing hurt in June’s eyes and thought maybe she needed some time to talk to her daughter. Although unintentionally, Camille’s words had upset her mother.

  “Thank you, Hunt, but I want to get the other quilts out for our guests.” She walked away without making eye contact with her daughter.

  “It’s none of my business and you know how I feel about my privacy, so I’m going out of my comfort zone to tell you this.” He pulled the quilt closed over her chest. “I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at your father with sadness in your eyes and I’ve seen the way your mother has looked at you with a saddens too. I don’t know if what happened between you all, if anything has, is why you want to go back to New York, but your words just now, they hurt her.”

  “What?” She sat up, the quilt falling off her shoulder. “I’d never say anything to hurt my mother. . .”

  “You did.” He picked up the quilt and put it on her again.