The Clause In Christmas (Poppy Creek Series Book 1)

by Rachael Bloome

  In the several days she’d spent in Poppy Creek, no one had mentioned Ben’s father before. And Cassie would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. “What’s your dad’s name?”

  Ben shrugged. “I don’t know.” His tone was casual, almost breezy, as he took up the search for another appendage.

  “You don’t know your dad’s name?” Cassie pressed, determined to make some sense out of his answer.

  “Uh-uh. I’ve never met my dad.” Once again, Ben sounded nonchalant and unconcerned, and thousands of possibilities reeled through Cassie’s mind. His father could have died before he was born. Or, maybe, he’d never been in the picture at all.

  A look of sadness must have crossed her features because Ben suddenly paused, worry lines creasing his forehead. “Is that… bad?” he asked, his voice uncertain, as if the prospect had never occurred to him before.

  “No! Of course, not!” Cassie said hurriedly, hoping to put his mind at ease. “Lots of people don’t know their dads. I’ve never met mine.” The words left her mouth in a rush before she could stop them.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Cassie fidgeted with her scarf, wishing she’d never mentioned it.

  “Do you want to meet him?” Ben lifted his chin to meet her gaze, and there was something in his soulful brown eyes that broke Cassie’s heart. An unspoken longing. Maybe even a subconscious one. To not only know who your father was… but if he ever loved you. The same longing Cassie experienced when she was Ben’s age. And if she were honest, still did.

  Cassie parted her lips to respond, but words failed her.

  The sound of her ringing cell phone broke the silence instead.

  Scrambling inside her coat pocket, Cassie gratefully accepted the interruption. “One second. I have to take this.”

  She pressed the phone to her ear, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

  “Cassie! Finally! I thought I’d never reach you.”

  As the familiar baritone oozed through the speaker, Cassie nearly lost her balance. Her fingertips instinctively found their way beneath her scarf, curling around the cold metal of the silver heart charm. “Derek, I told you never to call me again.”

  “But I have great news.” Derek’s chipper tone contrasted starkly with Cassie’s strangled breath.

  “Stop calling me,” she hissed, stepping out of Ben’s earshot, grateful he seemed preoccupied trying to locate another branch. “I’m going to hang up now.”

  “Wait, Cassie. Two seconds. That’s all I ask.”

  Cassie hesitated, toying with the necklace.

  Derek took her silence as an invitation. “I did it, Cass. I finally bought a coffee shop! Just like we always talked about.”

  Drawing in a breath, Cassie closed her eyes against all the memories of late nights they’d spent dreaming about opening a coffee shop together. Derek utilizing his skills as a green coffee buyer, and Cassie lending her wealth of knowledge and experience. “That’s great, Derek. Good for you.” She didn’t care how bitter she sounded. It had been her dream in the beginning. Not his.

  Derek laughed, unperturbed by her tone. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say. I want to hire you, Cass. I want this coffee shop to be ours.”

  * * *

  As Luke idled the pickup in the driveway, waiting for the engine to heat up, he pulled out his cell and dialed his mom’s number.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” His mother’s cheerful tone reverberated through the speaker after the first ring.

  “Hey, Mom. Just calling to check in.” He wedged the phone between his chin and shoulder, checking the air vents for any sign of warmth.

  Maggie chuckled softly. “You came by for dinner a few nights ago. And restocked my firewood. You don’t think I went through all those logs already, do you?”

  “No.” Luke rubbed his hands against the bitter cold. “But it was a pretty bad storm yesterday. Just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, honey. Heading to the bakery in a few minutes. Will you be stopping by before work? I prepped a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls last night.”

  Luke’s stomach rumbled. “I’d love to, but I’m going to check on Dolores. I think she left the phone off the hook again. I couldn’t get through.”

  Maggie sighed. “I keep telling her to get a cell phone. But she insists they’re the scourge of humanity.”

  Normally Luke would have shared in a laugh over Dolores’s idiosyncrasies, but his heart thrummed with nervous energy. “I gotta go, Mom. I’ll see you later, okay? Love you.” Ending the call, Luke tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and shifted into reverse. Something didn’t sit well in the pit of his stomach.

  In less than twenty minutes, Luke pulled up to a butter-yellow farmhouse framed by a white picket fence and dormant rosebushes, all coated in a thick layer of snow like icing on a cake.

  Bounding up the broad steps two at a time, Luke knocked on the front door, scanning the wraparound porch for any signs of damage while he waited for Dolores to answer. A few fallen branches littered the front yard, but none near the house. Luke breathed a little easier.

  He raised his fist to knock again, but the door creaked, inching open.

  Dolores leaned against a walking stick, her face creased in pain. “Luke! What a pleasant surprise.”

  “What happened?” Luke rushed to her side, sliding an arm around her waist for support.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. No need to fuss over me.” She tried to laugh and winced.

  “Come on. Let’s get you off your feet.” Luke kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot and helped Dolores into the small sitting room just off the entrance.

  “It’s silly, really,” Dolores insisted as Luke eased her into the armchair in front of the fireplace.

  “Silly or not, I want to hear what happened.” Luke took the walking stick from her hand and propped it against the side table before glancing around the room for a footstool. He almost missed it buried beneath a pudgy orange fur ball.

  “Sorry, Banjo.” Luke shooed the large tabby cat off the ottoman before scooting it closer to Dolores.

  Banjo hissed and ruffled his tail, giving Luke the evil eye before sauntering toward his plush chenille bed in front of the hearth.

  “All right, DeeDee,” Luke said firmly as he elevated her swollen ankle. “Tell me the whole story.”

  Dolores sighed. “Not much to tell. It had started snowing pretty hard, and I wanted to move my potted azalea inside. In my haste, I must have slipped on a patch of ice.”

  Luke cringed, imagining how painful it must have been for Dolores to get back inside all on her own. “Sit tight. I’m going to call Doc Parker to come have a look at it.”

  “Oh, it’s fine.” Dolores waved her hand dismissively. “All I need is a little rest.”

  “Maybe so,” Luke said, striding toward the kitchen where Dolores kept her old rotary phone. “But I’m still calling Doc.”

  With each step he took, Luke’s boots felt harder to lift off the floor. How could he have not come to check on Dolores when the snowfall first began? Guilt tore at his insides as the truth pummeled him.

  He’d gone to check on Cassie instead.

  Luke’s heart constricted as if a C-clamp had been placed around it, tightening with each second it took for him to come to the inevitable conclusion.

  He had to put all thoughts of pursuing Cassie aside.

  Too many people counted on him.

  Chapter 10

  Cassie stared blankly at the Christmas Calendar, barely even registering the day’s entry. Not that it made much sense, anyway.

  December 6: Attend Pajama Christmas.

  What on earth was Pajama Christmas? To be honest, Cassie didn’t really care. Derek’s words from the day before echoed in her mind, leaving little room for anything else.

  I want to hire you, Cass. I want this coffee shop to be ours. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Oh, she believed he bought a coffee shop.
Money wasn’t an issue for Derek Price. But working together? That would be impossible. Especially if he would be her boss.

  Cassie poured the last of the Colombian beans into the hand grinder, her heart sinking as she gazed into the empty bag. An image of Frank Barrie spinning the metal drum, aromatic smoke swirling into the murky winter sky, sprang to mind.

  After crumpling the craft bag and tossing it in the trash, Cassie grabbed her keys off the counter and strode purposefully toward the door.

  When it came to coffee, Cassie Hayward didn’t give up easily.

  * * *

  Up close, the neglected farmhouse appeared to be in even more disrepair. Several of the knotted pine planks were missing from the porch, and most of the shutters seemed held in place by hope and prayer. The single rocking chair creaking softly in the bitter breeze stirred a deep-rooted emptiness in Cassie’s heart she’d spent a lifetime trying to suppress.

  Tentatively, she knocked on the front door.

  No answer.

  Maybe Frank wasn’t home? There wasn’t a car or truck in sight, although Cassie didn’t recall seeing one on her first visit, either.

  Disappointment akin to defeat settled in Cassie’s stomach as she turned to leave.

  Then a loud crash rang out from somewhere inside the house.

  A surge of adrenaline propelled Cassie’s fist to make contact with the front door, shaking loose flecks of once-white paint that floated to the ground like sullied snowflakes. “Frank? Are you okay?” When she received no answer, she tried the doorknob. It turned easily.

  “Hello? Frank?” Poking her head inside, Cassie glanced around before inching across the threshold.

  Her heartbeat hammered in her ears as she crept down the shadowy hallway. “Please don’t be hurt,” Cassie whispered, apprehension prickling her skin.

  To her surprise, the inside of the house looked nothing like the outside. Though sparse and decidedly masculine, the interior was clean and functional. Maybe even pleasant. But there wasn’t any sign of Frank—injured or otherwise.

  After searching several rooms, Cassie found herself in Frank’s study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls filling the modest space with the delectable scent of aged leather and yellowed pages. The third wall comprised almost entirely of a stunning picture window that overlooked the neighboring forest of mature pines, while the fourth was home to a feather-soft chenille recliner, reading lamp, and mahogany writing desk.

  The bright white screen of an open laptop called to her like a beacon. But as she drew closer, something else captured her attention. A quart-sized mason jar filled with dark, velvety coffee beans. Lifting the jar, Cassie turned it over in her hands, the beans rattling like a makeshift maraca. Why on earth did he have coffee beans sitting on his desk?

  Glancing at the laptop, Cassie hesitated. She should keep looking for Frank. But the blinking cursor piqued her curiosity. One quick glance…

  Leaning closer, Cassie peered at the title line.

  The Mariposa Method: Second Edition.

  Shock rippling through her, Cassie stumbled back a few steps, clutching the jar to her chest.

  “What are you doing?”

  Whirling around in fright, Cassie stood face-to-face with Frank Barrie, his arms laden with firewood.

  “I…” Words failed her as she tried to process everything that was happening. “I, uh, heard a loud crash and thought you’d fallen.”

  Frank snorted derisively. “You thought I fell into my laptop?”

  A guilty blush stung Cassie’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I—”

  “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be.” His narrowed gaze communicated get out now more clearly than any words could have.

  Somehow, Cassie managed to make her legs move and propel her past Frank toward the front door. With only a few more steps until freedom, she had a horrifying thought—she was still holding the jar of coffee beans! Mustering all of her courage, she forced herself to turn around.

  Frank glowered in the shadowy hall, arms still loaded with firewood, as if waiting to ensure she actually left. Even from several feet away, his steel-gray eyes bored into hers, sending chills down her spine.

  Hands trembling, she held out the jar. “I’m sorry. I just realized I—”

  “Take it and go!” The words erupted from Frank’s mouth with such force and hostility, Cassie didn’t hesitate before bolting out the front door.

  And she didn’t stop running until she was safely in her car.

  * * *

  “You have to try it.” Cassie’s dazzling eyes showcased her excitement as she scooted the mug across the counter toward Luke. An aromatic wisp of steam curled into the air, instantly kickstarting his taste buds.

  He raised one eyebrow. “If I do, does that make me an accessory to your crime?”

  “If you’re too chicken, I will.” Eliza snatched the mug before Luke had a chance to protest, closing her eyes to savor the incredible scent before taking a sip.

  Luke noticed Cassie’s subtle lean across the counter and the way her lips parted in anticipation of Eliza’s reaction. He couldn’t help thinking about their conversation from two nights ago, and a surge of disappointment shot through him. Their connection had seemed so strong in that moment, sharing their dreams while mince pie filling simmered on the stove. But now, Luke wouldn’t even be here had Eliza not insisted they take Cassie to Pajama Christmas. He was supposed to be distancing himself. But taking Cassie to one of his favorite Christmas traditions felt like the opposite of keeping her at arm’s length.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Eliza’s entire body seemed to drain itself of tension with the first sip. “This is amazing.”

  “Isn’t it?” Cassie pressed her palms together as if she couldn’t quite contain her enthusiasm. “I’m so glad you both stopped by because I had to share this with someone.” She drew in a deep breath before announcing, “Frank Barrie is Richard Stanton!”

  Her grand announcement was met with silence.

  “Who?” Luke glanced at Eliza, who looked equally baffled.

  “Richard Stanton,” Cassie repeated. “He wrote The Mariposa Method. The magnum opus of the coffee world.”

  “Oh.” Luke nodded, although his furrowed brow gave away his confusion. Frank Barrie was Richard Stanton, a famous author? It didn’t make any sense. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Cassie’s entire face radiated delight. “I saw the proof myself. He’s writing a second edition of The Mariposa Method.”

  “What does ‘Mariposa’ mean?” Eliza asked, taking another sip before handing the mug to Luke.

  “It’s Spanish for butterfly,” Cassie explained, her voice filled with admiration. “In the book, Richard—I mean, Frank—equates the coffee roasting process to the transformation of a butterfly.”

  Luke inhaled the earthy aroma before bringing the mug to his lips. As soon as the smooth, rich liquid hit the tip of his tongue, he knew why Cassie couldn’t stop raving about it. It was, by far, the best coffee he’d ever tasted. In his life.

  Cassie’s lips arched as she watched him. “Good, huh?”

  “That’s an understatement. Normally I wouldn’t condone stealing. But for this…” He took another sip, savoring the way it slid down his throat, warming him from the inside out.

  “I still can’t believe you went to his house again. And stole his coffee.” Eliza giggled, reaching for the mug.

  Luke reluctantly handed it over.

  “I didn’t technically steal it. I think he was so desperate for me to leave he didn’t care if I took it.”

  “He should have been grateful you went inside to check on him,” Eliza pointed out. “What if he’d actually been hurt?”

  Cassie gave a little half shrug. “In hindsight, I think he probably dropped his armload of firewood.”

  “But you didn’t know that,” Eliza pressed.

  “True. But now that I’ve not only trespassed on his property, but stumbled upon his secret identity, I have a fe
eling if I had any hope of connecting with him before, it’s gone now.”

  She sighed, looking so dejected Luke had half a mind to march over to Frank Barrie’s that second and sort the whole thing out. But they were already running late.

  “I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” he said with an encouraging smile. “But right now, we have somewhere to be.”

  “Right. So mysterious.” Cassie smirked. “Don’t get me wrong. I was relieved when you called to say you and Eliza would pick me up for Pajama Christmas, but I was really hoping you’d give me some clue as to what it is.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Eliza teased, heaving her giant purse onto the counter.

  “Ben isn’t coming with us?” Cassie asked.

  “My parents took him a little early. He likes to…” Eliza paused, then waggled her finger at Cassie. “Nope. You’re not getting any hints from me.”

  Cassie laughed. “Okay, I give up. Should we get going, then?”

  “First things first.” Eliza flashed a devilish grin as she pulled a garish pair of flannel pajamas from her purse and tossed them to Cassie. “Put those on.”

  Cassie gaped at the gaudy pattern of snowmen, reindeer, and Santa Clauses splattered across the plaid fabric like wacky polka dots. “Do I have to wear this?”

  “Yep,” Luke and Eliza said in unison.

  “What about you two?” Cassie asked.

  “Oh, don’t worry about us.” Eliza pulled two matching sets of PJs from her bag, handing one to Luke.

  Cassie grinned. “Well, I guess if I have to embarrass myself, at least I won’t be doing it alone.”

  Luke’s heart did a somersault as Cassie’s gaze met his own. Something about the idea of wearing matching pajamas sent an exhilarated shiver down his spine. But he pushed the thought aside. Distance, Luke. Distance.

  But he couldn’t help it. No matter how hard he fought against the unwanted emotions, Cassie seemed to pull him toward her like a magnet.

  And tonight, more than ever, it would be nearly impossible to keep his growing feelings at bay.