The Clause in Christmas

by Rachael Bloome

  Cassie swallowed past the dry lump in her throat. Seriously, where was the waiter?

  Her mother finally met her gaze, and Cassie stared into almond-shaped eyes, not unlike her own. For an instant, she could see a flicker of grief in the deep pools of green.

  With a shaky breath, Cassie murmured, “I’ll figure something out.”

  Although what exactly, Cassie didn’t have the faintest idea.

  Arriving back in Poppy Creek at eight o’clock in the evening after an exhausting day of driving, the last thing Cassie wanted to do was check the Christmas Calendar. But although she’d love to get her mother into rehab as soon as possible, selling the cottage may be their only hope of getting the money they needed.

  Flipping open the Calendar, she scanned the entry for December 8.

  Make Mulled Wine.

  Cassie blinked, the edges of the page beginning to blur.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not today, of all days.

  Her breath coming in short, strangled bursts, Cassie paced the hardwood floor, racking her brain for a solution.

  But none came. If she didn’t make the wine, she’d never complete the Calendar. Which meant…

  Cassie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hopelessly trapped by her circumstances.

  Hands trembling, she assembled the ingredients. The spices, honey, brandy, and wine were all stocked in the pantry. As with most things pertaining to the Calendar, her grandmother seemed one step ahead of her.

  Cassie simmered the medley over the stove in a copper saucepan, pretending it was anything but alcohol. Fortunately, once the tartness of the wine dissipated, the sweet and spicy aroma smelled almost pleasant. But as she stirred the fragrant concoction, her heartbeat thrummed erratically. Hoping to settle her nerves, Cassie scrolled through the playlists on her phone, settling on a soothing mix of jazz.

  Closing her eyes once more, Cassie let the soulful notes of Etta James’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” wash over her. Leaning forward over the stove, she drew in a calming breath, inhaling the tingling scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. It will be fine, Cassie. One sip. That’s all. Then you can move on. But even as she tried to convince herself, her shoulders began to shake. Tears trickled down her cheeks and into the saucepan, like raindrops sprinkling across a still lake.

  So far, Plan: Convince Cassie to Stay wasn’t going well. All of Luke’s calls went straight to voicemail. And the two times he’d been by the cottage, Cassie’s car wasn’t there. No one in town knew where she was, either.

  In one final attempt, Luke knocked on the front door, caramel corn and a DVD of White Christmas in hand. At least her car was in the driveway this time.

  When he didn’t receive an answer after waiting several minutes, he turned to go. But soft music emanating from somewhere near the back of the house made Luke pause.

  Suddenly hopeful, Luke rounded the exterior of the cottage, his eagerness spurring him up the back steps with unnecessary speed. Knocking in rhythm to the song, Luke peered through the window in the doorframe, squinting past the thin layer of frost forming on the glass.

  The blurry figure inside made no move to answer the door, and Luke’s hand stilled, concern rippling through him. Using the sleeve of his jacket, he wiped some of the moisture from the window, and as Cassie’s hunched form came into view, his heart lurched.

  Cassie cradled her face in her palms as she leaned over the stove, her shoulders trembling.

  Luke didn’t deliberate. His hand instinctively coiled around the doorknob, and finding it turned easily, he pushed his way inside.

  In three steady strides, Luke had dumped his belongings on the counter and enveloped Cassie in his arms. For several moments, he didn’t move or speak; he simply held her close, letting her tears dampen the soft wool of his coat.

  When her sobs began to subside, he tilted her head back, brushing a damp curl from her cheek. “Cass, what happened?”

  Her lip quivered as she met his gaze, tears pooling in her beautiful green eyes. Without a word, she pointed to the Christmas Calendar.

  Luke hated to let her go, but the urge to find the cause of her distress drove him to the Calendar. He scanned the page, looking for something that might have triggered Cassie’s tears. Other than a recipe for mulled wine, he didn’t see anything unusual. He glanced up, searching her face. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for…”

  She sniffled, swiping at her red-rimmed eyes with the back of her hand. “I have to make mulled wine.” Hiccup. “But I don’t… I can’t…”

  Her breathing came in short, ragged breaths, and Luke could sense another sob building in her chest. Closing the Calendar, he rushed to her side. “Hey, it’s okay. You made it. It’s done.” One arm wrapped tightly around her, Luke used the other to switch off the burner. The spicy, syrupy mixture had started to bubble and spurt, splattering against the stove top.

  “But…” Cassie stammered. “Don’t I have to…” She shuddered before she finished her sentence, but Luke knew what she meant.

  “The Calendar says to make mulled wine. It doesn’t say anything about drinking it.” Luke immediately felt Cassie’s shoulders relax.

  She hiccupped again, a faint smile playing about her lips. “Leave it to a lawyer to find the loophole.”

  Luke chuckled softly. Now that the crisis appeared to be over, he savored the blissful feeling of holding Cassie in his arms. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

  “You mean about why I’m such a mess?” She smiled through her tears.

  Without thinking, he brushed one away, gently grazing her cheek with his thumb. Their eyes met, and Luke saw such tenderness in her expression, he had to swallow against the temptation to kiss away her tears. “Let’s sit down.”

  Settled side by side on the couch, wrapped in a thick quilt made soft and supple from several decades of use, Cassie shared, “I’ve never had alcohol before. Not even beer or hard cider.” She glanced down, toying with a loose thread. “Growing up, my mom was…” Her features strained as if saying the words out loud brought her physical pain.

  “An alcoholic?” Luke supplied kindly.

  Cassie nodded. “She still is. Although, when I met her for lunch today, she expressed interest in rehab.”

  “Cass, that’s amazing!” Luke squeezed her hand.

  Cassie smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It sounds funny, but my mom is actually the reason I love coffee so much.”

  Luke cocked his head to the side, trying to work out the connection.

  “After one of her… episodes,” Cassie said, staring down at their fingers intertwined in her lap, “coffee was the only thing that would sober her up. And on really bad days, when she refused regular coffee, I’d have to get creative to entice her.” A soft, wistful expression blanketed her features. “She liked a variation of Turkish coffee the best. I’d grind the beans really fine, then boil them in sugar water until they settled in the bottom of the pan. Then I’d pour the sweetened coffee into a mug with heavy cream. She’d gulp it down in buckets.”

  “How young were you when this started?” Luke asked, not sure he could bear the answer. The thought of Cassie as a child, dealing with something so grown up, tore at his heart.

  She shrugged, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. “For as long as I can remember, really.”

  Her bottom lip trembled again, and Luke draped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her against him. “Hey. What do you say we make a pot of coffee and watch another Christmas movie? I brought popcorn.”

  “Won’t the caffeine keep you up all night?’ Cassie asked, although her voice already sounded brighter.

  “What kind of holiday season would it be without pulling an all-nighter once or twice?” Luke teased, coaxing a genuine smile from her lips.

  “Okay,” she said, straightening. “I’d like that.”

  “I’ll grab the DVD and start the coffee.”

  Striding into the kitchen, Luke went straigh
t for the saucepan. Dumping the mixture down the sink, he rinsed away every trace of the offending liquid.

  Learning about Cassie’s past made him feel more connected to her, stirring a desire deep in his core to protect her at all costs.

  Plus, he was now more determined than ever to make this a Christmas she’d never forget.

  Chapter 14

  Despite her emotional and physical exhaustion from the previous day, Cassie woke with a smile on her lips. Ending the evening on the couch with a cup of coffee in hand and Luke by her side had been exactly what she needed.

  Cassie remembered dozing off at the end of the film, then being lifted gently in Luke’s arms and carried upstairs. At the time, she’d been too tired to protest. But, truthfully, she wasn’t sure she would have, even if she’d had the energy. Something felt oddly right about nestling against his chest, wrapped in the security of his embrace. Given her childhood, she wasn’t sure she’d ever truly felt cared for until she met Luke.

  After she heard the front door latch behind him, Cassie had wriggled out of her jeans and sweater, burrowing into the warmth of the flannel sheets. She’d drifted to sleep almost instantly, returning to a recurring, and somewhat disconcerting, dream—a tender kiss shared with Luke beneath softly falling snowflakes.

  Stretching beneath the covers, Cassie sighed as she recalled the dream, almost wishing she could float back to sleep and revisit the magical, albeit imaginary, moment. Because imaginary was all it could ever be between them, as she constantly reminded herself. But, after the ordeal with the Christmas Calendar yesterday, getting more sleep wasn’t an option. She didn’t want to put off checking the day’s activity. Better to know what she was up against as soon as possible.

  Flipping open the Calendar, she read the entry for December 9.

  Carry Out a Random Act of Kindness.

  Cassie’s brow crinkled as she reread the line. That’s odd. Usually the tasks were clearly outlined, not nebulous. A random act of kindness could mean anything. How would she choose?

  Her chest tightening with uncertainty, Cassie filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove. Narrowing down the endless possibilities to one option wouldn’t be easy. And how would she select the benefactor of said act of kindness? Eeny, meeny, miny, moe?

  As Cassie set to work grinding a handful of coffee beans, one name forced its way front and center in her mind. But she quickly brushed it aside.

  Uh-uh. No way!

  The teakettle whistled, and Cassie slowly poured the bubbling water over the grounds in the bottom of the French press, inhaling the rich, earthy scent as it wafted toward her with the barrage of steam. As she mentally ticked off her options, waiting for the coffee to steep, the stubborn name refused to vacate the forefront of her thoughts.

  “Okay, fine,” Cassie grumbled aloud, compressing the plunger with a firm shove. “Frank Barrie it is.”

  Cassie tapped her foot against the slivered pine slat of Frank’s front porch, clutching a jar—well, his jar—now filled with generous squares of chocolate fudge, courtesy of Maggie’s Place. What man could refuse fudge? Surely, not even the curmudgeon of Poppy Creek.

  Chewing all the mint-flavored Chapstick off her bottom lip, Cassie waited anxiously for Frank to answer her persistent knock. Considering their previous encounters, she resigned herself to the likelihood that he’d ignore her entirely. As she debated leaving the jar of edible kindness by the haggard front door, it slowly creaked open.

  Frank peered through the narrow slit between the door and its frame, his sharp gray eyes widening in surprise.

  Cassie’s stomach flip-flopped as she struggled to clear the lump of nerves from her throat. “Hello, Mr. Barrie. I don’t think I’ve ever properly introduced myself. I’m Cassie Hayward.” She summoned a genuine smile. “And I brought you something.”

  The door groaned on its hinges as Frank pushed it open a few more inches. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Cassie Hayward,” she repeated, her voice a little less shaky this time. “I brought a small thank-you for the coffee.” Cassie held out her humble offering but Frank made no move to accept it.

  Losing her meager supply of confidence, she rambled, “I’m sure you already know this, but it was the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

  “And how would I know that?” One peppery eyebrow shot straight up.

  “Because, well,” Cassie stammered, wishing she could crawl through one of the many cracks in the front porch, “you’re the coffee master. Yoda, if you will.”

  To her shock, Frank tipped his head back and laughed. Actually laughed. “Yoda, huh? I prefer Obi-Wan Kenobi myself. Less green and wrinkly.”

  His eyes twinkled, astounding Cassie to the point of dislodging her jaw from its proper position. Did Frank Barrie have a sense of humor?

  “Well…” Cassie trailed off, now completely at a loss for words. “I guess I’ll leave this here and get out of your hair.” She glanced around for an appropriate place to set the jar since Frank still hadn’t accepted her gift. But other than the rickety old rocking chair, the front porch was painfully barren. It seemed rude to place it on the floor, now that he was standing in front of her, but what else could she do? She hovered awkwardly.

  “Since you seem to know who I am,” Frank said, his voice flat, “I suppose you fancy yourself something of a coffee expert?”

  Heat spread across Cassie’s cheeks. He sure knew how to make a girl uncomfortable. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Let’s see how good you are, then.” Frank swung the door open a few more centimeters, wide enough for Cassie to squeeze inside.

  Cassie blinked, certain she must be imagining things.

  “What’s the matter? Feet glued to the floor?” Frank grunted.

  Flustered, Cassie scrambled across the threshold.

  As she followed Frank down the dimly lit hallway, she suddenly became self-conscious of her feet. Was she walking too fast? Too slow? Should she match his stride? Or trail behind? Finally, they made it to the kitchen, and Cassie exhaled in relief. Never in all her life had placing one foot in front of the other been so stressful.

  Frank’s kitchen was… pure heaven. Cassie couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. While simplistic in decor, with unstained pine cabinets and white tiled countertops, the kitchen boasted enough coffee-related paraphernalia to start a slew of coffee shops. Cassie even spotted a mini Cavaliere espresso machine, she was sure cost over four thousand dollars.

  “Sit,” Frank barked, nodding to the tiny round dining table and mismatched chairs.

  Obediently, Cassie sat and watched, in complete awe, as Frank proceeded to hand grind tan-colored coffee beans and scoop them into a pour-over filter, before switching on an electric kettle. Each move was swift and deliberate, as though he’d performed the same dance a hundred times.

  In less than five minutes, Frank scooted a piping-hot cup of coffee in front of Cassie. The steam curled in an aromatic wisp, tickling her nose.

  Cassie stared at the tawny liquid, wondering what she should do next. Did he expect her to drink it in front of him? Or was he going to prepare a second serving for himself? The thought of sharing a cup of coffee with the illustrious Richard Stanton sent tingles of excitement coursing through her.

  “Tell me what you think.” Frank crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting for her to take a sip.

  Cassie hesitated. Oh, no! It was a test. Maybe even a trap.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her rattling nerves, Cassie wrapped her hands around the stout mug and lifted it to chin level. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sharp, tangy aroma, aware he was watching her every move.

  Tentatively, she took a sip, allowing the hot liquid to remain on her tongue a moment before swishing it around her mouth. Her taste buds instantly registered several flavor notes, but…

  Uh-oh.

  Cassie suppressed a groan. This wasn’t going to bode well for her.

  Slowly, she opened h
er eyes and set the mug back on the table.

  “Well?” Frank narrowed his gaze. “What do you think?”

  Cassie’s heart pounded against her rib cage as if shouting, Warning! Warning! It’s definitely a trap! “Um…” she stalled, uncertain how to talk herself out of this mess. Telling him the truth wasn’t an option.

  He cocked one bushy eyebrow. “Out with it. How does it taste?”

  Cassie’s pulse jumped erratically as she tried to remember how to breathe. In and out. In and out. Maybe telling him the truth wouldn’t be so bad? Without meeting his gaze, Cassie said, “It tastes… okay.”

  Surreptitiously, she stole a glance in his direction. No smoke billowed out of his ears yet, so she pressed on, a bit bolder this time. “It’s a little sour. With grassy undertones. And the finish is… shallow.” Fearful, she sucked in a breath, waiting for Frank to implode.

  He stared at her evenly. “And how would you fix it?”

  “I would… roast the beans longer, taking the color a smidge darker.”

  Frank’s expression remained stoic, void of any clue regarding what he thought of her assessment.

  As the seconds ticked by, Cassie counted each pulsing throb against her temple, doing her best to remain calm. While in reality, she was ready to sacrifice her last pot of coffee to know what Frank was thinking at that precise moment.

  Without a word, Frank snatched the mug off the table and strode to the sink, dumping the contents down the drain.

  Was he angry? Neither his posture or expression gave any hint of the emotions brewing inside. But a niggling feeling told her Frank already knew the answer to his question. So, why was he testing her?

  “Make sure you close the door behind you on the way out,” he grunted.

  One thing was loud and clear—she was being dismissed.

  On wobbly legs, Cassie stood.

  Frank kept his back to her as he rinsed the mug at the sink.