Christmas at Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “For me?”

  “Yes, for you. Because I like you.”

  “Andy. Oh my gosh. I like you too.” She was so touched.

  “You keep coming in here and being you, Macy. It makes my day.” He slid her peppermint cocoa across the counter. The whipped cream on it was so high, the cherry jiggled.

  “Thank you, Andy. I-I—”

  “Go on, now. You don’t have to tell me I’m your favorite man. I already know I am. You can go do your errands. I can tell you’re in a rush. Or something exciting is going on.”

  What was exciting? She couldn’t remember. And then she thought about seeing Deacon that night at FIG. It was embarrassing, but she was excited about that. She tried to tell herself she was excited because she loved the food there. But the truth was, she wanted Deacon to see her in her beautiful new skirt from Nancy’s on King Street.

  “Andy, can I admit something to you? And will you promise not to tell?”

  “When have I ever told your secrets?”

  “You’re right.” She leaned closer. “Sometimes I’m the worst matchmaker ever.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said stubbornly. “You’re a wonderful matchmaker. Go on, now.”

  She sighed with gratitude and started walking away then turned around. Something had occurred to her. “Are you married? Or in love?”

  He laughed again. “I’m in love with life. And that’s good enough for me. Are you trying to set me up, Miss Matchmaker? This is a first. You’ve held back until now.”

  “Well, yes, but only if you want me to. I just think you’d make someone a wonderful partner.”

  Andy’s face grew serious. “I had a wonderful partner,” he said. “But that was many moons ago. It was a big enough love to last me a lifetime. Now I’m passing it on to all my customers.” He pointed to her cup with his right hand, his palm up. “That love is in your peppermint cocoa.”

  Her heart swelled. “I can tell.” She gave him a quick smile, and he turned away, got back to work.

  She was lucky, so very lucky.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Deacon’s ears were cold. They never got cold unless it was really winter.

  “Now it’s really winter,” he told George. They were drinking bourbon on Aunt Fran’s piazza. Not too much—Deacon was meeting Macy at FIG. “If it stays like this, we can have Christmas here and not feel funny.”

  “Yeah,” said George. “I don’t know if I could do a summertime Christmas, although Peter, my new best friend at Harris Teeter—”

  “The seventy-five-year-old bag boy?”

  “One and the same.” George inhaled on a cigar downwind from Deacon, who didn’t want the smell on his coat—for Macy’s sake. “Anyway, Peter says last year he wore swim trunks outside on Christmas Day. It was seventy-two degrees.”

  “Whoa.”

  “And we still have a ways to go. Peter said we could easily have a hot Christmas.”

  “No way,” said Deacon. “We brought the New York weather with us. It’s going to be cold.”

  “No snow, though, and that’s fine by me.” George stretched his legs out and sighed the sigh of a contented man.

  “I’ll miss the snow.” Deacon watched an elderly couple, bundled up and holding hands, strolling along the Battery wall. “But I’ll be fine as long as it’s good and cold to the point I go inside and want to sit by the fire.”

  “And drink bourbon,” added George helpfully.

  “Yep, I think this might be our last piazza bourbon. It’s time for fireside bourbon.”

  “You’d think.” George stubbed out his cigar. “But we’ll probably drink too much fireside bourbon, enough that we can’t feel the cold. And head out to the piazza again.”

  “You can’t beat the view.” Deacon admired the white caps scudding across the harbor. The fronds on the palmettos waved their leafy fingers. Dogs trotted, people gazed over the water. But he was nervous. He was going to go on a date with Macy. A trial date, where she was going to critique his readiness to go on dates with the women she’d chosen for him.

  After a few more minutes of sipping and people-watching, the two men stood.

  “Have a good time tonight,” George said.

  “I will.”

  “I know.” George chuckled.

  * * *

  Deacon wasn’t feeling on his game when he set out for FIG. The truth was, he’d never had to work for any sort of approval from women. Tonight would be his first time. And the irony was, tonight was the first night he wasn’t feeling exactly confident.

  His cell phone rang about a block from the restaurant door. It was Penelope.

  “Hi,” he said, surprised.

  “Hi,” she said back. “I got your number from Macy. I told her I needed to talk to you about your Banks ancestor. But of course I’m calling about the women on your list. I’ve spoken to all of them. They can’t wait to get you together with Macy. So be prepared. They all have their own ideas.”

  “Will she figure it out?”

  “Hopefully not. But even if she does, so what? She’ll find out her friends care about her.”

  “True, but I promised her I’d behave and follow through on our agreement. She might not appreciate that things changed without her permission.”

  “Deacon, stop worrying. You’re doing the right thing. By the way, I Googled you. Everything looks good. I don’t want Macy to get hurt.”

  “Definitely not. But fair warning: I like Macy but I also like being single. My life is complicated. If that doesn’t sit well with you and the other ladies, you might want to call off this operation.”

  “Operation Macy?” Penelope laughed. “No way. We want her to have fun. Everything else is up to you two.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up and opened the door to FIG.

  “Deacon!” There was Macy, looking gorgeous. She had a cranberry-colored martini in her hand.

  No way in hell was this a practice date, he decided. It was going to be real. He kissed her cheek. That was what he’d do on any first date. But it felt awesome to touch his lips against her soft skin. It gave him a craving to make out with her right then and there.

  “How are you?” he said close to her ear, and couldn’t believe how glad he was to see her.

  “Good,” she murmured, and looked up at him from beneath thick lashes, almost as if she was feeling shy. “I got a pomegranate martini. Want a sip?”

  “Guys don’t drink pomegranate martinis.”

  “Don’t be that way.” She grinned. “Just give it a taste.”

  “Okay.”

  She held it up to his lips. He took a sip. “It’s actually not bad.”

  “It’s delicious,” she said, and took another sip herself. Her lips were wet and shiny. She was sexy, and if he kissed her right now, he’d taste that martini.

  So he did. He kissed her, tasting her mouth with his tongue, and the jolt of desire that shot through him nearly knocked him off his feet.

  She pulled back, her eyes wide and luminous. “First-date kisses don’t happen that fast,” she whispered.

  “I couldn’t resist,” he said low. “I’d love to ravish you right here and now, but I’m a gentleman.”

  “Deacon—”

  “But seduction can wait,” he told her. “I want to hear what you have to say. I want to see what you get to eat too, and what kind of wine you like. I want to hear you laugh.”

  She inhaled a deep breath. “You’re very…”

  “What?”

  “Sexy,” she said, and took a large gulp of her martini. “Oh, this is a terrible first date. We’re not supposed to act so … hot and heavy.”

  “I think that makes for a great first date.”

  “People should take it slowly.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “So true friendships can evolve.”

  “Macy, I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be your lover.”

  Her neck turned a pretty pink. “Lovers should be friends.”

&n
bsp; “Fine, but who said the friendship has to come first? Sometimes the best way to get to know someone is in the sack. It’s more exciting that way.” He took in the peep of décolletage he could see and grinned.

  “Deacon, you are a playboy, and this conversation is inappropriate. I hope no one can hear it.” She looked around, her forehead marred with a single squiggle. But the place was busy. The ambient noise was as effective as cotton stuffed in a person’s ears.

  “We’re fine.” He chuckled and took her elbow. “No grading me until the end of the night, okay?”

  “Okay.” She gripped her martini glass tighter.

  “Follow me,” a friendly host said, and led them to a quiet corner table, where he put down two simple menus. “Enjoy your meal, folks.”

  Deacon pulled out Macy’s chair. He told her she looked beautiful. He asked the host to bring her another martini. But he did those things because he really wanted to, not to get a good grade on his dating report card.

  When the host left, Macy smiled at Deacon, a sparkle in her eye. “I always love this place. And it’s been a long day. It feels good to be here.”

  “I’m glad we’re here too.”

  There was the slightest pause.

  “Tell me about your day—” they both said at the same time.

  Macy laughed and unfolded her napkin, placing it in her lap. “You first.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Aunt Fran had me running all kinds of errands for her. The funniest one was buying pimento cheese. Celia told her about it. It’s my new favorite food. It’s so orange. And good. Especially on Wonder Bread.”

  Macy laughed. “You don’t have pimento cheese in New York?”

  “No. We’re missing out. What’s going on with you? Something beyond pimento cheese concerns.”

  “You sure you want to know?”

  “Yes. Lay it on me.”

  A college-age server with a high ponytail came by and took their order, but as soon as she retreated, Macy said, “There’s this client who runs all over me. And I have no idea how to turn that situation around. The truth is, I’m intimidated by her, even though I have no good reason to be. I’m the one who knows what I’m doing. But she’s very powerful and used to getting her way.”

  Deacon let that sink in while he munched on a cracker smeared with pâté. “Okay.” He wiped his mouth with an overlarge linen napkin. “Let’s create a list of good reasons to be intimidated by someone. Are there any?” He grabbed a receipt out of his shirt pocket. “Got a pen?”

  “Sure.” She pulled one out of her purse. “Better education,” she said right away.

  He turned the receipt over and wrote that down. “Wealthier,” he added, and scribbled that down too.

  “Better-looking,” she said.

  “Better social skills.” He was trying to keep up.

  “Which ties in with more confidence.” She put her chin on her hand and watched him write.

  “Anything else?”

  “Better athlete?

  “Okay.” He wrote that down and pushed it across to her. “Look at this list.”

  She perused it.

  “Do you feel like you’re back in high school again?”

  She chuckled.

  “We don’t have to be those people anymore,” he said.

  The server brought them their entrées, which smelled delicious.

  “You’re right.” She inhaled the delicate aromas of steaming rice and curry on her plate and smiled.

  “Before we chow down,” he said over his own plate of homemade pasta with prosciutto, “let’s pretend we’re rebutting that list to some really fantastic teenagers with low self-esteem. What would you tell them about better education?”

  “Easy.” She let out a breath. “Just because someone has a more recognizable degree or a higher level of formal education, doesn’t mean they will go further in the world than you.”

  “Agreed,” he said. “And common sense, which is much too rare, has nothing to do with education anyway. It’s found in every segment of the population.”

  She leaned toward him, her eyes sparkling. “About wealth. We know money can’t buy you love.”

  “That’s right.” He picked up his fork. “You can’t take it with you, either. Money, that is. Maybe you can take love … or make love.”

  She leaned on her fist. “You’ve got a one-track mind.”

  “Not fair.” He shot her a lazy smile. “This is an enjoyable conversation.”

  “That it is,” she murmured. “So what will we tell these teens worried about beauty? That it’s in the eye of the beholder?” She picked up her fork too.

  “Yep, and good looks have nothing to do with changing the world.”

  “As for social skills and confidence, we’d tell them you can develop those.” She took a bite of her entrée and closed her eyes. “This is delicious.”

  She was so sexy. “And it takes all kinds to make the world go ’round anyway,” he added. “What if we were all extroverts? How exhausting would that be?” He sampled his entrée too, and put his fork down to savor it. “This is excellent.”

  “Isn’t it?” She leaned in. “You know what? I like shy people. I’d tell those teens who are shy not to worry about it.”

  “I agree. I like shy people too.”

  She smiled. “As for sports, anyone can become an athlete. How about the paralyzed man who walked across the Ravenel Bridge last year in the 10K fun run? He wore an exoskeleton. He crossed the finish line too.”

  “Wow. Good story.” Deacon eyed her. “So Frost. Tell me more about this woman who intimidates you.”

  Macy put down her fork and eyed him back. “There’s nothing to tell, Banks,” she said quietly. “Thanks for helping me remember that it’s all in my head.”

  They fist-bumped across the table then raised their wine glasses.

  “God, you’re going to get a big head over this, but you’re doing awesome on this date,” Macy said. “You’ll be a hit with all the ladies here.”

  The thought didn’t give him pleasure. “I want to be a hit with you,” he said.

  She sighed. “You are.”

  “I am?” He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it.

  She shook her head. “But it doesn’t matter.” Her voice was low. “For all the reasons we’ve already discussed.”

  “I’ll take it,” he said. “I’ll take anything I can get from you.”

  She smiled again. “You’re incorrigible. And—and the opposite of boring.”

  He laughed. “So are you.”

  She waved a hand.

  “You’re most definitely the most exciting woman I’ve ever been around,” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not flattering you.” He wished she believed him. “These things are true.”

  “I’ll think about them,” she said noncommittally, and was clearly relieved when the server showed up.

  After much discussion of the various options, they came to a conclusion: two coffees—one with extra cream for Macy—and they’d split the sticky sorghum cake with walnuts and amaretto ice cream.

  “So,” Macy said, once they were alone again.

  Deacon exhaled a deep breath. “I want to thank you for something.”

  “For what?”

  “You brought us a cake when my aunt arrived. You’ve been nice to George and to the Corgis. And now I know where to get the best soup in the world—at Fast and French. You’ve made me feel at home here in Charleston. And my family too.”

  She laughed. “But that’s just what people do … we’re kind to one other. We look out for our neighbors.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t gone out of my way to look out for anyone, really. Sure, I give my employees good bonuses and I try to make their workplace enjoyable. We partner with charities too. But I rely on my assistants to send flowers, to buy cards. I even get them to call my aunt for me.”

  “Surely you visit Fran.”

  “I do. Bu
t not as often as I could. Or should.”

  Macy shot him a sympathetic look. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.

  The server brought over the sorghum cake and smiled. “Enjoy. It’s on the house.”

  “My goodness.” Macy’s eyes widened in delight. “That’s so sweet of the kitchen. I’m not sure why … I don’t have a birthday. Deacon, do you?”

  “No.” But he soon would. And dammit, he’d be thirty-three. Anyone that age had no excuses left. You either accepted the mantle of full-time grownup or looked like an idiot rejecting it.

  “Actually, it’s not the kitchen,” the server said. “Two customers sent it over. They just left. Lisa and John?”

  Macy smiled. “Aw, the Tatums. That was so nice. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” The server went on her way.

  “Lisa and John are old clients who wound up marrying,” Macy explained. “They just had their first baby.”

  “You’re good at what you do. Really good. And I admire that.”

  “Thanks.” She wore a self-conscious smile that warmed his heart. It was obvious people didn’t tell her often enough she was amazing.

  Well, he was going to change that.

  They both dove into the sticky sorghum cake. And after the bill had been paid—Deacon insisted on handling it—they walked home together slowly. It was cold.

  He took her hand. “Let me,” he said before she could pull hers away. “It’s perfectly acceptable first-date behavior.”

  She stole a quick glance at him. “Okay.”

  He relished every moment of that walk.

  At her door, she took her hand back and tucked it into her coat pocket. “I had a great time,” she said.

  “So did I.” He didn’t want her to go in.

  The waves shushed and slapped against the Battery wall behind them.

  “So we’ll dissect this date tomorrow?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “That was the plan.”

  But he could tell she felt some reluctance about going back to thinking of this evening as a test. He grinned. “I won’t keep you in suspense. You were a fantastic date. I don’t have a single complaint or critique.”

  She gave a little hop. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Except for one thing,” he added.

  The wind blew down the street, soft and cool.