by Beth Ciotta
As soon as Dan moved to the counter, Maya leaned in. “Don’t you dare bail on the sleigh ride, Zachery Cole,” she ordered in a stern whisper.
“Who said—”
“It’s written all over your face. You look miserable.”
“I’m not—”
“Liar.”
Helen shuffled back to the table sporting a huge frown.
“Who was it? What did they want?” Dan asked while refreshing everyone’s mug.
“It was Ethel. Her nephew, John, came down with a virus. He won’t be able to deliver our care package to Roscoe Marx.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Dan said. “It’s not like Marx appreciates the Cupcake Lovers’ efforts. Has he ever said thank you? Has he ever even been cordial?”
“Who’s Roscoe Marx?” Zach asked.
“The grumpiest cuss in Franklin County,” Dan said.
“A war veteran,” Helen said. “And a recluse.” She turned to Maya. “As you know, the CL club was founded in the early forties by women whose husbands and sons were away fighting in WW Two.”
“Once a week they gathered at one of the members’ houses to enjoy the host’s featured cupcake,” Maya joined in. “They swapped recipes and shared news regarding loved ones. It was all about companionship and compassion.” She smiled. “I’ve always loved this story.”
“It’s more than a story,” Helen said. “It’s fact.”
Zach sipped coffee, absorbing his aunt’s and Maya’s enthusiasm. Dan looked bored. Zach got that. They’d both heard this saga a million times, but for some reason this version felt different to Zach. Maybe it was the passionate twinkle in Maya’s eyes.
“Soon after inception,” Helen said, “the Cupcake Lovers decided to spread some joy. Up until then they’d felt useless, helpless. So they sent care packages overseas. What soldier wouldn’t love a home-baked cupcake? That part’s tradition now. Decades ago we branched out, by participating in fund-raising events to help various causes. Then, five years ago, we started a new tradition. Christmas care packages for any veteran within Franklin County. We always gift the food baskets on Christmas Eve. We divvy up the deliveries and usually enlist volunteers to help. Ethel said she tried to find a replacement for John but couldn’t. I suppose—”
“I’m already carting you to three different homes this afternoon, Helen,” Dan cut in. “I’m not driving all the way up Thrush Mountain to deliver cupcakes to a grump who greets every visitor with the business end of his Remington.”
“But he’s a veteran,” Helen said.
“Who lives in the middle of the forest and who doesn’t give diddly-squat about Christmas charity.”
“But—”
“I’ll go,” Zach said. It was one way to escape the day’s planned festivities. Hard to justify indulging in a lighthearted sleigh ride, the community theater’s rendition of the living nativity, and a candlelight wassail toast around the town Christmas tree while his comrades endured another dog day in hostile territory.
“It’s a long drive,” Helen said, looking worried, “and you’d have to take an old logging road, which could be rough given the recent snow.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Your leg—”
“Won’t be a problem. As for the snow, that’s one of the benefits in owning an all-wheel-drive Hummer. Where exactly on Thrush?” he asked Dan.
While Dan rattled off specifics, Zach glanced at Maya, who seemed suddenly and unnaturally engrossed in slathering a muffin with orange marmalade. It triggered a lingering sexy memory, something Giselle had written about in one of her letters. Last night, in trying to reconnect with his pen pal, Zach had touched on that fantasy. If Giselle had had any latent interest in him, she would have snatched up the flirtatious baton. Instead she’d veered off, avoiding the subject altogether.
“Depending on traffic and weather, it could take up to three hours to get there and back,” Helen said. “You’ll miss out on part of the fun. It’s not fair—”
“Happy to do it,” Zach said, still focused on Maya, whose brow was creased in deep thought. Was she angry with him for bailing on the sleigh ride? Worried about him driving that kind of distance with his bum leg? He kept waiting for her to volunteer to ride shotgun. To keep him company or to trade off driving. Delivering a cupcake care package to an isolated Scrooge, trying to inject some Christmas cheer into a lone soul’s life, was right up her alley.
“You should invite Giselle along,” Maya said, still focused on her muffin.
“Invite me along where?”
All heads turned as Maya’s friend and business partner stepped into the kitchen. Zach knew from Maya’s carefully worded excuse—G’s jetlagged and sleeping in—that Giselle had slept in because she was hungover. Even so, she looked gorgeous—her dark hair sleeked into a high ponytail, makeup expertly applied. And even though she’d skipped any hokey holiday attire, she still looked festive in her tight jeans and emerald-green sweater set.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said.
“Jet lag is a horrible thing, dear,” Helen said. “No apologies necessary. I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Please don’t go to the trouble,” Giselle said as she took the empty seat next to Dan. “I’ll just have a toast and coffee.” She glanced at Maya. “Invite me where?”
“Zach’s delivering a Christmas care package to a war veteran on Thrush Mountain. Kind of a long drive, but pretty. You said you wanted to see more of the countryside, so I thought—”
“I’d love to,” Giselle interrupted, cheeks bright, “but I…”
“She has other plans,” Zach finished for her. He didn’t know for a fact, but given the way Giselle had hit it off with Adam and a few other locals last night, Zach wouldn’t be surprised if someone had invited her somewhere to do something.
“What plans?” Maya asked, looking flustered.
Giselle thanked Dan for pouring her coffee, then tossed Zach an apologetic smile. “I thought you had plans with your family—a sleigh ride and a play. I sort of invited myself on this trip and I didn’t want to intrude further, so I, well, Adam invited me to go snowmobiling and I sort of said yes.”
Maya frowned. “Sort of?”
“Adam who?” Helen asked.
“Adam Brody,” Zach said.
“Nice boy,” Dan said to Giselle. “I’m sure he’ll show you a good time.”
Giselle’s mouth twitched.
Maya choked on her muffin.
Zach smiled into his coffee. Since he and Giselle had traded intimate letters for several months, he should have felt a sting of rejection. He didn’t. All he felt was relief. The last thing he wanted was to spend half the day trapped in a car with Giselle. She was nice enough, but they didn’t click, as Maya would put it. He didn’t want to pretend interest in whatever Giselle had to say or to make small talk if she fell silent for too long. Truth told, he was looking forward to some time alone to stew in his holiday funk.
“For the record,” Helen said to Giselle, “you’re not intruding. Any friend of Maya’s is a friend of this family. If Adam has no plans for the evening, please know you’re both welcome for dinner. Now,” she said with a pat to Giselle’s arm, “what would you like on that toast? Apple butter? Jelly? Marmalade?”
“Dry is fine. I’m not big on sweets. Except for Maya’s cupcakes, of course. I…” Giselle trailed off, traded a look with Maya, who’d just bitten into the second half of her marmalade-smeared muffin, then smiled over at Helen. “Although once in a great while, I do get a craving.” She dipped her knife in the jar, glanced at Zach. “That trip of yours. Maybe Maya could tag along.”
“That’s a grand idea,” Helen said, beaming now at Maya. “It will give you and Zach time to catch up.”
Maya blanched. “Yes, but—”
“If anyone could crack Roscoe Marx’s gruff shell,” Dan said with a pointed look at Maya, “that would be you, princess.”
Zach, who was contemplating the marmalade weirdness, a
ssumed Giselle had pushed Maya into the mix so that she wouldn’t feel bad about jilting him—again. His aunt and uncle obviously didn’t want him to be alone on Christmas Eve and were no doubt worried about him driving that distance given his bad leg. Maya … Zach couldn’t guess her thoughts, but he sensed her discomfort. She didn’t want to be alone with him. Why? Was she still angry with him for keeping her in the dark regarding his injuries? Had she sensed his sexual interest? Was she disgusted? Intrigued? Why did she keep trading cryptic glances with Giselle? And if Giselle wasn’t keen on sweets, why had she teased Zach with a fantasy that involved sugary foreplay? He glanced at Maya, his groin tightening when she licked a glob of orange marmalade from her thumb. An innocent action that conjured the devil in him.
Any thoughts Zach had of privately wallowing in his misery fell by the wayside. He suddenly wanted nothing more than extended time with Maya. Time for a frank talk and he didn’t plan on having it in the pantry.
“I’d appreciate the company,” Zach said, robbing Maya of a chance to wiggle out of the drive. “Although maybe you should stay in the car until I get Marx to lower that rifle.”
“He’s yet to shoot anyone,” Dan said. “All bark, no bite.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Zach said, throwing in his own cliché.
“You’ll have to stop at Ethel’s to pick up the basket,” Helen said. She pushed to her feet. “I’ll pack up some snacks and beverages for you two as well. Just in case the drive takes longer than anticipated.”
“I’ll help you,” Giselle said, grinning at Maya before following Helen to the fridge.
“I’ve got a map in my den,” Dan said. “I’d feel better if you took it along. Never know when a road’s going to close and you might need an alternate route.”
“I have a portable GPS in the rental car,” Maya said at long last. “I’ll get it.” She didn’t look happy.
She hurried out of the kitchen, and Zach ambled after. He caught up to her at the front door, where she was jamming her arms into the sleeves of her coat. She looked flustered and cute as hell in that goofy reindeer sweater. “If you’d rather not go with me—”
“Did I say I didn’t want to go?” she snapped in a hushed voice.
His mouth twitched. “It’s written all over your face.”
“It’s just…”
“What?”
“I wanted Giselle…”
“Stop trying to push us together, Maya. She’s not into me.”
“But you’re into her. In your letters—”
“She showed you my letters?”
Maya backed away from him, easing into the threshold, reaching for the doorknob. As if she couldn’t escape this conversation fast enough. “Maybe a few,” she said. “Okay. All of them. Don’t get bent out of shape.”
He wasn’t bent, but his wheels were turning. His libido was fired up, too—the image of Maya licking marmalade from her thumb was imprinted on his brain. “What did you think?” he asked while crowding into the door frame.
She blinked up at him—cheeks pink, eyes wary. “Think of what?”
“I was sexually explicit in some of those letters.” He dipped his face close to hers, raised a brow. “Then again, so was Giselle.”
Prompted by curiosity and the mistletoe hanging above them, Zach kissed Maya. She didn’t balk. She didn’t encourage. She just stood there, allowing him to sample. She tasted of sunshine and marmalade. Warm and sweet. Addictive. He wanted more, but he eased away, unsure of the moment. Unsure of the future. A one-night stand wouldn’t cut it with Maya. Forever wouldn’t cut it with him. Not when a person’s days could be snuffed in an instant.
Never saw it coming.
Wide-eyed, Maya stared up at Zach. “Why did you kiss me?” she asked in a husky voice.
He smiled a little and pointed up.
She glanced at the mistletoe. “Oh.” She cleared her throat, gave a nervous laugh. “Kind of a crazy tradition. I mean anybody could kiss anybody, not that it means anything.”
“Mmm.” He searched her pretty face, her expressive eyes, trying to read her mind and failing. He sensed her confusion, though, and her curiosity. Instead of making a quick escape, she lingered on the threshold—toe-to-toe with Zach. Her gaze moved to his mouth, and his heart skipped in anticipation. A smart man would salvage their longtime friendship and back away. Zach’s good sense must’ve taken a hit along with his legs. Instead of retreating, he willed her to make the next move, to initiate another kiss. But then she looked toward the kitchen and he knew she was inhibited by their surroundings. More than ever he wanted to get her alone. Away from this house—a place that rooted them in their childhood and old patterns.
Heart pounding, Zach buttoned Maya’s coat, the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. The urge to explore her bare skin was intense. Almost as intense as wanting to lose himself in her goodness. Seducing Maya would be selfish and reckless and potentially hazardous to their friendship. Then again, Zach had never been one to play it safe. His body still hummed from their chaste kiss. Marmalade lingered on his tongue and tripped his imagination. He hadn’t felt this alive in months. “Ready for an adventure?”
“Sorry?” she asked in a breathless voice, and he knew without a doubt now that the sexual awareness was two-sided.
“Roscoe Marx.”
“Oh. Right. I … I’ll, um, get my GPS.”
“I’ll get Dan’s map.”
Together, maybe she and Zach could find their way to wherever this new kink in their relationship was heading.
Chapter Seven
Maya was burning up.
In addition to thermal leggings and a matching thermal top, she was wearing jeans, her reindeer cardigan, thick socks, insulated boots, a knee-length down coat, a fleece-lined Santa hat (compliments of the Cupcake Lovers), and a matching wool scarf and gloves.
The Hummer’s leather seats were heated, and multiple vents blew hot air. She could shed a few layers and she’d be more than comfortable, but she had this insane worry that if she as much as peeled off one glove she’d lose control and strip down to nothing. Ever since Zach had kissed her she’d had one predominant desire.
To get naked.
With him.
“Are you mad about the kiss?” Zach asked.
Startled by his voice, Maya glanced left. “What?”
“We’ve been on the road for half an hour. Aside from the exchange we had while picking up the care basket from Ethel Larsen, you haven’t said a word. Not that I mind Christmas music,” Zach said while dialing down the volume she’d kicked up, “but I mind the tension.”
“I’m not mad about the kiss.”
“Ticked because you’re missing the sleigh ride?”
“No.”
“Because Giselle’s spending the afternoon with Adam?”
“No. Yes.” She shrugged. “A little.”
Zach looked over the rims of his aviator sunglasses, catching her gaze before focusing back on the icy road. “Nash mentioned something about Adam going through a bad breakup a few months back. Hit him hard. Maybe you should be happy he hooked up with Giselle. Especially given the holiday. Beats cryin’ in his eggnog.”
“I guess.”
“What’s wrong, Maya?”
“Nothing. I just … I have a lot on my mind.” She kept obsessing on that mistletoe kiss. The way she and Zach had cuddled on the sofa the night before. The fact that whatever had burned between him and Giselle because of those letters had since gone up in smoke. Face-to-face, they’d fizzled.
And the marmalade fiasco … Maya would bet her Disney Princess collection that Zach suspected the truth about who owned that particular fantasy. If she didn’t know better, and she didn’t, she’d think Giselle had slipped up on purpose.
“Giselle mentioned you’ve had an off year,” Zach said while navigating the sparsely traveled back road. “And you’ve been on edge the whole time you’ve been in Sugar Creek. I know your party business is booming. So what’s
got you down? Charlie?”
Maya whipped around so fast, she nearly strangled herself with the seat harness. “G told you about Charlie, too? Jeez, did she give you a tally of my financial assets? A rundown of my social calendar?”
“Don’t get bent.”
“I’m not … Okay. I’m bent. Why would she blab about Charlie?”
“I asked if you were seeing anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because I was curious. Damn, Maya. Do I have to spell it out?”
Her heart pounded up into her throat, choking her silent. She stared at Zach’s hard profile. Saw him work his jaw as if searching for words himself. She swiped off her merrymaking cap as her temperature shot through the roof. “That mistletoe kiss,” she ventured.
“Wasn’t half the kiss I wanted it to be,” Zach finished. “I needed to know if my recent yearnings had merit. If I kissed you would I feel a spark?”
“Did you?”
He slid off his shades and glanced over, his gaze injected with a heady dose of lust. “I don’t know what to do with this … attraction, Maya. Scratch the itch? Ignore it? You tell me.”
“Pull over.”
“What?”
She wretched off her gloves. Were her fingers smoking? “Pull over, Zach!” Her body burned as though thoroughly torched. She whipped off her scarf and was working the buttons of her coat when he peeled into an unplowed lot. She saw a silo and a crumbling barn and, beyond, a broken house. Abandoned or neglected, she didn’t know. Didn’t care. She saw no vehicles. No trucks. No tractors. No animals.
No signs of life.
She unbuckled her seat belt, pushed open the door … and took a header in a snowdrift in her haste to escape the suffocating Hummer. She heard Zach call her name, shook off the impact of the fall, and trudged toward the barn.
“Dammit, Maya! What the hell?”
“Don’t curse,” she yelled over her shoulder. “It’s Christmas Eve.”