The Clause In Christmas (Poppy Creek Series Book 1)

by Rachael Bloome

  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.

  Leaving the jar of fudge on the table, dutifully fulfilling the day’s task, Cassie shuffled to the door.

  “Here.”

  Turning, Cassie barely caught the bag of coffee beans Frank tossed in her direction.

  “Tell me what you think of those.” Without so much as a farewell, Frank twisted his back to her again.

  “Okay.” Cassie clutched the crinkly craft bag to her chest. “Goodbye.”

  She thought she heard Frank mumble something, but couldn’t quite make it out.

  Completely bewildered by the entire exchange, Cassie turned and found her way down the corridor and out the front door.

  Standing on the ramshackle porch, she ran her fingers through her hair.

  Had Frank Barrie just given her an assignment? And if he had… why?

  Was it possible that drawing her into his world was Frank’s own act of kindness?

  Or was that simply wishful thinking?

  Much like Cassie’s dream.

  * * *

  Luke drilled a screw into the two-by-four, securing it in place before pushing back his goggles to inspect his work. Satisfied with the alignment, he blew hard, scattering sawdust across the concrete parking lot of Poppy Creek Elementary where they’d set up their work station.

  “Hey!” Reed Hollis swatted at the fine powder settling on his jeans before returning his attention to the jumble of wooden boards at his feet. “How’s this supposed to go again?”

  Jack Gardner shook his head in bemusement. “You’re building an A-frame for the stable, genius. It looks like an A.”

  Reed narrowed his eyes at his childhood friend. “And what exactly are you making?”

  Jack glanced down at his own discombobulated pile of wood. “A manger?” he said, more as a question than an answer.

  Reed snorted. “That’s what I thought. You aren’t any more skilled at carpentry than I am.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Flower Boy.” Jack squatted, reaching for two pieces of wood, pretending like he knew exactly what to do with them. “These manly hands can build circles around you.”

  Reed, the owner of Poppy Creek’s only nursery and flower shop, threw his head back in laughter. “Right, Betty Crocker. You cook for a living. Not exactly the manliest job in the world. Besides, I’d like to see you prune a hundred rosebushes. The first thorn, you’d cry like a baby.”

  Jack mumbled something sarcastic under his breath, which instigated Reed into “accidentally” knocking over the arrangement of boards Jack had stacked like Jenga pieces.

  Luke sighed, sinking his head into his palm. Asking his best friends to help him make the sets for the school’s Christmas pageant seemed like a good idea at the time. But now, he wasn’t so sure. He pulled rolled-up papers out of the back pocket of his worn jeans. “I have instructions for you, lunkheads.” Luke handed them over with a good-natured swat.

  “Hey!” Jack protested with a chuckle. Then, glancing at the plans, he said, “I think I can manage this.”

  “They’re upside down.” Luke groaned. Jack could make the best pulled pork and baby back ribs in town. But a skilled carpenter he was not.

  “I know that,” Jack lied before flashing a grin at Reed. “At least Luke’s in charge of building the actual stage.”

  “True.” Reed chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to put any kids at risk by having one of us give it a try.”

  “Speaking of taking risks…” Jack waggled his thick eyebrows at Luke. “Have you asked Cassie out yet?”

  “Right…” Reed matched Jack’s impish grin. “How’s that going? Should I be renting my tux yet?”

  “Are you sure you guys want to give me a hard time about this?” Luke turned the drill back on for a menacing effect.

  Jack held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Calm down, Sprinkles.”

  Heat shot up Luke’s neck. “How did you—”

  “Eliza told me. You know she can’t keep a secret to save her life.” Jack’s blue eyes twinkled playfully. “And before you turn your drill of death on me, I think it’s great. You know what they say. First comes the nickname…”

  “Then they take your last name!” Reed finished in a singsong voice.

  Luke rolled his eyes. “What are you, five?”

  His friends grinned like clowns. No, not like clowns. They were clowns. Who just so happened to be the best friends a guy could ask for—most of the time.

  “In all seriousness, though.” Jack finally composed himself. “How’s it going with Cassie?”

  Luke hesitated, one hand poised on his safety goggles, ready to resume work. But the truth was, he wouldn’t mind a bit of advice. “It’s going well. Great, actually. I’m learning a lot about her. In some ways, it feels like we’ve known each other forever.”

  Luke caught a quick glance between Jack and Reed and narrowed his eyes. “Whatever juvenile comment is stirring in your blockhead brains, save it. I’m being serious.”

  “We know you are,” Jack said solemnly. “We weren’t going to make fun of you. Truth is, we’re jealous.”

  Caught off guard, Luke blinked. “Really?”

  “Darn straight!” Reed told him. “We’ve all been hopeless bachelors for years. Now you’ve found Cassie and—”

  “We’ve never seen you happier,” Jack finished.

  “And we’re happy for you, you twitterpated traitor.” Reed slugged Luke in the arm, but his dark eyes were warm and affable.

  Luke’s chest swelled with appreciation for his well-meaning, if somewhat maddening, friends. “Thanks, guys. But it’s not exactly a done deal. Cassie could still leave at the end of the month.”

  “So, what’s your plan?” Jack asked.

  Luke paused. What was his plan exactly? “She has a lot on her mind at the moment. But eventually I plan to tell her how I feel and see if she feels the same way.”

  “‘Eventually’?” Jack and Reed said in unison, each raising their eyebrows in question.

  “I’d tell her sooner rather than later,” Jack said.

  Reed nodded his agreement. “Yeah, why wait?”

  The question hung in the air between them, and Luke twisted the toe of his boot into the concrete.

  Luke had known Cassie for little more than a week.

  Was it too soon to admit he was falling in love with her?

  And that, maybe, he’d already fallen?

  Chapter 15

  Cassie coiled a strand of hair around her finger as she read the day’s entry in the Christmas Calendar.

  December 10: Go Ice Skating.

  Images of her and Luke hand in hand as they sailed across a frozen lake floated through her mind.

  Quickly, Cassie slammed the book closed, shutting out all thoughts of Luke. What in the world was happening to her? She’d gone one day without seeing him, and already she felt as though she were going through withdrawal symptoms.

  Cassie winced. Bad analogy. The hefty price tag
for her mother’s rehab remained an ever-present burden, like a sack full of coal draped around her shoulders. Yet, in the two days since their luncheon, no solution had presented itself.

  Leaning across the kitchen island, she buried her face in her hands, allowing herself a moment to wallow in defeat. Maybe she needed to start applying for jobs outside the coffee industry? Retail always seemed to be hiring. Or waitressing. She shuddered, pushing herself up from the counter.

  A little more than two weeks of the Christmas Calendar was all she had left. Then, however long it took to sell the cottage. She hated her mother had to wait that long. The sooner Donna got help, the better.

  Cassie opened the real estate app on her phone, scrolling through properties for sale in nearby towns. The several digits that comprised the average listing price used to fill her with extravagant daydreams. But now… conflicting emotions wrestled in her stomach. On the one hand, selling the cottage meant leaving Poppy Creek. On the other, even the lowest comp price was enough money to pay for Donna’s rehab and have some left over to… to what? Open her own coffee shop? The possibility sent goosebumps tingling across her arms.

  Crossing the kitchen, Cassie swung open the pantry door and reached for Frank’s bag of coffee. She hadn’t been able to touch a single bean, wary of the implications. Frank had asked for her thoughts. But what if, like the last cup, she didn’t like it? She’d told him the truth once, but a second time? Cassie wasn’t sure she had the gumption.

  Unfolding the tin ties that held the bag closed, Cassie snuck a peek inside for nearly the hundredth time since yesterday afternoon. The sweet, earthy aroma flooded her senses, causing her mouth to water. Cassie tilted the bag toward the light, peering closer, noting the beans looked plump and satiny, the exact color of decadent dark chocolate. Her pulse quickened, filling Cassie with a familiar, breathless excitement.

  “Come on, Cassie,” she murmured aloud. “You may not know much, but you do know coffee.”

  She paced the kitchen floor, tapping one finger against her lips as she debated the best brewing method. Typically, she preferred the French press. But on this particular occasion, Cassie decided to follow official cupping protocol. Since Frank entrusted her with this task, she wanted to carry it out to the best of her abilities. Even if the steps of the process would undoubtedly conjure up unpleasant memories.

  Cassie drew in a deep, calming breath as she filled the copper teakettle with tap water and placed it on the stove. A few remaining droplets of water trickled from the faucet, pinging against the porcelain sink. Cassie closed her eyes, still able to hear the pitter-patter of raindrops as they danced across the large picture window of the coffee shop that fateful evening in March.

  Cassie hadn’t been sure what to expect when she’d attended her first cupping demonstration at the grand opening of a new coffee shop on Market Street. But she certainly hadn’t expected the handsome and charming coffee buyer performing the demonstration to smooth talk her into a date.

  Derek Price was unlike any man she’d ever met. Not only had he known more about Cassie’s favorite subject than Cassie herself, but he’d captivated her with outlandish tales of his adventures on coffee plantations around the world. So much so, their first date had lasted over four hours.

  The coffee beans crackled inside the grinder as Cassie cranked the handle, releasing a nutty, pungent aroma. Instantly, her memories transported her to the night of their very first kiss.

  Playfully, Derek had decided to appraise Cassie’s palate, blindfolding her for a taste test. She’d correctly guessed three different coffee varieties before Derek surprised her by gently pressing his lips against hers. At the time, the gesture seemed incredibly romantic. Now, Cassie wondered if she’d been blindfolded throughout their entire relationship.

  The kettle screeched, wrenching Cassie back to the present. Slowly, she poured hot water over the coffee grounds waiting in the bottom of the mug. Then she set the timer on her phone for four minutes, observing the water change color as it reacted with the fragrant granules.

  Cassie watched the seconds tick by on her phone, pondering how time had such a powerful effect. The coffee needed to interact with the water for precisely four minutes to reveal its desired properties. Time had taken the opposite toll on Cassie’s relationship with Derek. Nine months was all it had taken for that chemical reaction to blow up in her face. In the most soul-crushing way possible.

  The alarm buzzed, scooting her phone across the counter with the vibration. Jabbing her finger on the end button, Cassie dismissed the timer… and all thoughts of Derek.

  With nervous anticipation, Cassie lifted a silver teaspoon and gently plunged it into the mug, breaking the crust of the coffee before withdrawing the spoon. As the foam ran down the sloping curve onto the handle, Cassie inhaled the aroma, observing the various fragrance notes, exactly as Derek had taught her.

  Cringing, she squeezed her eyes shut again, desperate to push the memories back into the deep recesses of her mind. The last thing she wanted was for Derek to taint this experience. He’d already ruined Christmas for her. She wouldn’t let him have this, too.

  Steadying her hand, she lifted the mug to her lips, sipping in a slow, deliberate motion so the sample hit her taste buds in the correct order. A harmony of sweetness and complexity overwhelmed her senses in the best possible way, and Cassie had to keep herself from guzzling the entire mug of liquid heaven in one gulp.

  Having no idea how thorough of an answer Frank expected, Cassie followed the next steps of the cupping process to the letter, making notes in her phone as to the coffee’s acidity, body, balance, flavor, and aftertaste.

  With each step, Cassie’s joy bubbled up inside until it spread across her face in an exuberant smile.

  She had no idea what would come of the assignment—if anything—but for now, Cassie would allow herself to dream.

  * * *

  Luke smiled behind the dainty porcelain cup brimming with peppermint tea, grateful to see Dolores bustling about her kitchen with considerable ease.

  “You’re sweet to check on me, but my ankle is good as new.” She set a matching sugar bowl and creamer next to the antique teapot before sinking into the chair beside Luke. “I only use this walking stick because it reminds me of Arthur.” Her smile grew soft and wistful as she gazed at the intricately carved handle.

  “One of his finest pieces.” Luke set the teacup down and reached out a hand. “May I?”

  Dolores passed it to him before serving herself, filling the cozy, farm-style kitchen with the refreshing scent of mint.

  Luke ran his hand over the smooth manzanita, admiring the streaks of bronze, copper, and gold in the wood grain.

  “You’re every bit as good as he was, you know.” Dolores blew on the piping-hot liquid, the steam fogging up her glasses.

  Luke’s throat tightened, and he reached for the tea again, taking a comforting sip. “Did Arthur ever tell you about the first time he taught me to whittle?”

  Dolores shook her head, her silver curls bouncing with the motion. “If he did, my unreliable brain has since forgotten.”

  “You may not believe this, but I got called into his office my first day of high school,” Luke admitted with a wry smile. “I didn’t know what to expect, but I’d heard rumors about crazy old Principal Whittaker.”

  Laugh lines crinkled Dolores’s features. “He did have some unconventional methods.”

  “You could say that.” Luke chuckled. “I’d gotten into a fight with another freshman eager to establish himself as the school bully. But Arthur didn’t even ask me about it.”

  “I suspect he already knew who the real troublemaker was.” She winked over the gold-etched rim of her teacup. “Did he give you a good scolding, anyway?”

  “I thought he was going to, but…” Luke shook his head, still baffled by the memory. “Arthur kicked his dusty boots on top of his desk and leaned back with a hunk of manzanita in one hand and a carving knife in the other. I tell y
a, my eyes bugged out of my head when I saw the glint of that knife.”

  Dolores giggled. “Sounds like my Arthur, all right. What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘You know what’s great about working with wood? You can make it anything you want it to be, but it’s still a chunk of wood.’”

  Pausing mid-sip, Dolores cocked her head, a puzzled expression on her round face. “What was that old fool rambling on about?”

  “I think he was trying to say you can’t change your circumstances, but you are responsible for what you make of them.”

  Tears sprung to Dolores’s eyes, and she stared intently at the elegant rosebud pattern on her teacup, blinking them away.

  “Of course, I didn’t realize that until later,” Luke said softly, tracing the carving with his calloused fingertip. “But he’d planted the seed.”

  Dolores smiled through her tears, pulling an embroidered handkerchief from the pocket of her afghan. “He was a pretty smart old fool, wasn’t he?” Dabbing her eyes, she added, “Wait. Didn’t you say he taught you how to whittle?”

  Luke leaned the walking stick against the edge of the table and reached into his back pocket. He withdrew a small Swiss Army knife and handed it to Dolores.

  She turned it over in her palm, her lips parted in surprise. “Arthur’s pocket knife? He told me he lost this on a fishing trip.”

  Grinning, Luke squeezed her other hand. “I’m sure it was the only fib he ever told you, DeeDee. He probably would have gotten in a lot of trouble for giving one of his students a knife on school property.”

  “He gave it to you that day?” This information seemed to soften her.

  “Right after school. He handed me the pocket knife and my own branch of manzanita, quickly showing me the basics.”

  “Did he give you any guidance on what to make?”

  “Nope. He said what I made of it was entirely up to me.”

  Eyes brimming with fresh tears, Dolores held out the pocket knife, waiting for Luke to stretch out his hand. She placed it in his palm, gently curling his fingers around it before cupping his hand with her own. “He’d be really proud of you, you know.”