Home for Christmas, page 10
She melted into him. Her fingers stretched wide against his back, clutching him to be fully enveloped in his embrace. The zip of electricity zoomed through her frame. Fear matched want as the kiss deepened, cleansing her mind of anything but his mouth on hers. Her hands on him. His hands caressing her.
With gentle pressure, he lifted his mouth. The cold air burned the heat of her lips. Resting his forehead to hers, a long sigh shuttered through his lips. “Hello.”
Biting the inside of her check, she lightly pressed her hands against his chest and turned from him.
Get it together Darcy. You are in no condition for “a this” to happen. Especially not “a this” with “a him.” You two are directing the church Christmas pageant, for Heaven’s sake.
The responsibility of the Christmas program, her aunt’s health, not to mention her annihilated career squeezed out the oxygen in her brain. The fireflies transformed to a swarm of hornets stinging in every soft place in her spirit.
Moving to the back counter, she uncovered her bowl of white butter cream and dolloped three large spoonsful into her green mixing bowl. Eight drops of forest green to the smooth surface combined with one swiftly spinning spoon and she would have her replacement icing. She made quick work of refilling her piping bag, securing the end with a rubber band. She picked up another blank, and tried to ignore the long, lean treat staring her down from the other side of the island.
“Darcy…”
She shook her head. “Don’t want to talk about it. Shouldn’t have happened. Let’s just chalk it up to the storm and stress.” Spinning the circle cookie in her hand she leafed the surface in under sixty seconds. Lightly laying the cookie beside its mates, she lifted the tweezers and repeated the decorating process.
As she reached for another cookie, Finn’s long fingers wrapped around her hand. Forcing her to meet his gaze, he stepped around the end of the island.
“Darcy. We didn’t do anything wrong. I’m extremely attracted to you. And I think…thought you felt the same.”
Darcy dropped her focus to their hands. She couldn’t ever remember feeling quite the same—this feeling of soft light sliding under her skin. Her nerves zipped with the electricity of a live wire and the serenity of a Sunday afternoon on a porch swing.
He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “Do you feel the same, Darcy?”
Her gaze locked with his. Every cell in her body screamed to touch him. She scooted closer, rising on her tip-toes, and cupped his face in her palms.
“Do we have any coffee?” The sound of Ben’s voice acted with the power of a firehose on a five-alarm scorcher.
She jumped, breaking the tender connection with Finn, as her brother padded into the kitchen. She met Ben at the coffee maker and shoved a cup into his waiting hands.
“You are godsend, Darc.” He took his cup to the breakfast nook. “Did I interrupt something?” he asked as he lifted the mug to his lips.
“No. Nope.” Darcy and Finn spoke over each other.
“OK...” Ben shifted his focus between Darcy and Finn. Raising a single brow toward her, Darcy felt the middle of her chest break into flames. He knew. Stupid twinning.
“Hey Finn,” Darcy said, turning her back on her brother. “I know you have church stuff to get to today, so why don’t we just meet up later to umm…”
“Talk about the Christmas play?”
“Yep. That’s a great idea.”
“We rescheduled yesterday’s cancelled practice for this evening. Why don’t we just talk about the play then?”
“Great. Perfect. Couldn’t have thought of a better idea.” She put both hands on his back and began to push him towards the doorway. “Your dry clothes are in laundry room. Don’t want to keep you.”
Over his shoulder, he gave her a wink. “I thought Ben and I could clean off the walk before I left.”
“No need. Already done.” She patted his shoulder and turned back to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a to-go cup so you don’t need to linger.”
Finn chuckled as he shuffled down the hall to the study.
“Darcy, you got some ‘splaining to do,” Ben said.
She gobbled the steps between them in three long strides. “Shut up. You’re one to talk, mooning all over Blondie-locks.”
“Uh, sorry to interrupt.”
Ben and Darcy swiveled together.
Harper stood under the doorframe. Darcy stared. Harper somehow woke up looking more beautiful than Sleeping Beauty. Her curly locks were tucked neatly under a knit cap and the heavy wool scarf she wrapped around her neck was in perfect messy twists. Her face was clean of make-up, and her naturally thick black eyelashes framed her eyes and made them pop. Darcy hated jealousy but she was green all over with one glance at the petite beauty.
“I hate to slumber and run, but I really need to get to the office today before they send out a search party.” She crossed the kitchen to the corner table. “Thank you so much for the hospitality and strangely fun evening.”
She tugged Darcy into a hug. Somehow, despite nearly a five-inch height advantage, Darcy felt like an unfilled ragdoll, her head lolling to the side and arms dangling.
As quickly as Harper hugged, she released, causing Darcy to stumble toward the table, for her own personal viewing of the good-bye.
“Thanks again, Ben.”
Ben stood, banging both knees and a shin as he stood. “Oww.”
Harper closed the minute gap between them. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I should be thanking you. We never would’ve made all the cookies without your help.”
Darcy caught a not-so-subtle squeeze of Ben’s thick hand in Harper’s delicate fingers. “I was delighted. And I insist on taking some of the blanks with me.” She shifted her focus to Darcy. “Between my mom, my sisters, and me, the cookies will be no problem.”
Darcy made up a box, including the decorating instructions for each of the cookie shapes in Harper’s box. “I really appreciate your help. All of it.”
“No problem.” Harper turned toward the front hallway. “Well, I’ll be off.”
The door opened and shut in her wake, followed quickly by Finn’s exit.
Darcy poured a cup of coffee and sat down across her brother. “So, anything new?”
27
“Don’t you think Shelby should be center stage for when she’s telling the town’s people about the miraculous birth of Jesus?” Tessa Tarrington asked.
Finn’s cousin, Tessa, the author of the Christmas play, and the soon to be stepmother of the lead in said Christmas play, was rapidly transforming into something he’d never experienced: A stage mom.
With each sweetly offered suggestion, Darcy’s body stiffened tighter beside him. Of course, her tormented response could have also been explained by the fifteen, under eleven-year-olds treating the sanctuary as a playground. Stained glass rattled with each race up the outer aisles while the smattering of adults and parents, spread over multiple rows of pews, focused on their phones or muffled conversation. Even his love of children and the congregation was wearing thin.
Tessa’s hands began to move in windmill patterns as she pointed to the makeshift stage.
Darcy’s eyes closed as she rubbed her temples.
“OK, folks.” Finn used the voice he discovered when he interned as a youth pastor. “I’d like to ask Mrs. Mallory to take everyone to the kitchen for the refreshments the LAS members prepared this morning.”
Without a pause, Megan Mallory ushered the children and adults to the basement fellowship hall.
Tessa feverishly marked a copy of the script and turned to Darcy.
“Tessa, do you mind going down to help Megan?”
His cousin’s waterfall of blonde hair draped over her shoulder as she locked her gaze with his. She opened her mouth, but nodded with the lift of a single eyebrow. “Of course.”
The click of her heels against the wood floor planks echoed through the holy space. Finn lowered onto the pew in front of Darcy. Her head rested against her folded arms.
“I quit.”
“Can’t quit.”
She lifted her head, barely linking her gaze with his. “Why not?”
“Two Darcy darlings.”
Slamming against the high back pew, she released a sound somewhere between a strangled cat and a wounded bear.
“Madame Director, quitting not being an option, what is your solution for our little play?”
“Cancel?”
“Also not an option.”
Darcy stood and stretched her arms long and high above her head. Her body was fit beneath the mounds and layers she seemed to prefer. She walked down the aisle and across the stage. She extended her unpainted fingertips over the thick white batting as she sat in the fluff.
“Darcy, it isn’t that bad.”
Lifting a single brow, she shook her head. “Really? We have mini-monsters running amuck through hallowed ground. Stage Mom Tessa-I-am-the-Author-Tarrington seems to know better than everyone else what we should do with the scenes. And we seem to have zero parental responsibility while the kids are in the church building. How, possibly, could it be worse?”
“We have fake snow. Not having snow for a play about a snow angel would be worse.”
A strangled chuckle trickled from her lips. “Really, Pastor Finn, you do have a strange sense of optimism.”
He closed the space between them in two strides, and sat beside her. “Kind of in the job description.”
“Oh…” A single tear slipped down her cheek.
With a finger, he wiped the wetness from her face. “Hey, there’s no crying in church plays.”
Shaking her head, she reclined on her elbows and stared toward the pitched ceiling. “How am I supposed to figure out my life, or even help Aunt Lulu, if I can’t pull together a twenty-minute kids Christmas play?”
“Thirty minutes with music.”
“You really are not funny.”
“Well, that is not officially in the job description, but it does help to sell a sermon.”
The street lamps’ muted light scattered the confines of the barely lit room, splashing a rainbow from the stained glass. Her profile, highlighted with the wash of evening color stole his breath. Thick hair knotted on top of her head accented high cheekbones dotted with a wash of blue and pink, reminding him of a modern storybook princess, forlorn and yet brave, as she faced her unknown path.
“It’s only the first practice, Darcy.”
“The first of four. Four practices. There is no way we’ll be prepared or polished in a week. Aunt Lulu comes home tomorrow and the festival starts the day after. I don’t know how…”
He linked his grip with hers. The tender connection filled him with peace and purpose. “You aren’t doing this alone. I’ll do anything you need. Tessa is willing to help too.” Her eyes seemed to roll involuntarily in their sockets ripping a chuckle from his chest. “Listen. She’ll let you lead. You just need to show her you are in charge. You are dealing with literally her written baby, and her might-as-well-be human baby. But she will step back. She’s a PK after all.”
“PK?”
“Pastor’s kid. They’re used to being behind the scenes without making a fuss.”
“Well, she’s definitely breaking the mold.”
“As I said. Just show her you’re in charge.”
She squeezed his hand, releasing the connection. “OK... How do I?”
“Be in charge?”
She stood and nodded.
“How did you do it in the lab?”
Shrugging, she walked to the large stained-glass window of Mary and Baby Jesus. “I was in charge of mice, interns, and blood samples. There wasn’t a need for leadership.”
The sound of dozens of tiny feet pounding against the stairs filtered into the sanctuary. “Well, Not-Doctor-Langston, I think it’s time to put on your mice and intern leading cap because your colony of kiddos is descending.”
“Paddor Finn, those cookies were so good. I tink I can sing dat solo.” Emma Jessup, the star of the Christmas pageant, shouted as she zoomed into the sanctuary lunging her whole person into Finn’s arms.
“Emma”—Tessa’s lyrical voice came from the sanctuary entrance flitting over the excited tones of the other children and their parents returning from the snack break— “we discussed this yesterday. And this morning. Lizzie will sing the Snow Angel song. You have a very special part, but every kid in the play needs their own special part.”
Emma twisted to face her soon to be stepmother. Tilting her head, her soft curled pony tail brushed her shoulder. “Likes Baby Turner being the Jesus?”
Tessa nodded. “Just like Baby Turner. And Rose is Shelby’s friend who goes door to door to get the townspeople to come and hear the story of Jesus.”
“I guess dat makes senses.” Emma turned back to Finn and Darcy. “Guess I wont’s be singing. Too bads ‘cause I really loves to sing.” She zoomed to the rear of the church where the other children waited to start practice once again.
Tessa sighed, a soft tilt to her lips. “I love Emma as if she’s my own daughter. But only Jesus could love the singing voice she inherited from her father. She’ll be the perfect Shelby. After all she was the inspiration. She actually co-authored the first book. But I think solos should be a gift left to other parents.”
“To endure?” Finn asked.
“To enjoy, I’m sure. Dr. Langston. Darcy. I need to apologize. Shelby and Guard-Ann are like my family. And this is the first time they’ve been three dimensional. I’m sorry I overstepped.”
“Oh…It’s…it’s OK.”
“No, it isn’t. But thank you for being generous.” Tessa turned to Finn. “Cousin. I’ll be transitioning my volunteer service to the refreshment committee for the night of the play. I talked to Ryland while we were having a snack. He will bring Emma to the rest of the rehearsals.”
“Sounds wise.” Leave it to Tessa to read what wasn’t written.
“Right.” Tessa turned to the back of the sanctuary. “Kids, come on down and listen to Miss Darcy and Pastor Finn.” She gave a quick wink to Finn. “Darcy and Finn, these little sugar-high heathens are all yours.”
28
“Nicely done, Emma.” Darcy glanced at her watch and signaled for the company to sit in the front two rows. Nearly an hour after all the non-actor adults left the sanctuary, the main characters had run through the play twice, adjusting to Darcy’s directions with little resistance. Maybe Finn was right, and she just needed to be a leader. Novel thought. “Well done, everyone. I’m very impressed with how you’re becoming your characters.”
“It’s easy, Miss Darcy,” Lizzie, the soloist, said. “We’ve all read Miss Tessa’s books. We knows the peoples real well. It’s like they’s our friends. I was born to be Marley.”
Darcy bit the side of her cheek trying to stifle the involuntary laugh bubbling in her chest. “Yes, well, it shows, Miss Lizzie.” She glanced at her clipboard and rattled off the dates and times of the upcoming practices. “As a reminder, we won’t be rehearsing tomorrow, but we will be the day after, so please practice your lines and songs tonight.”
In under ten minutes, all the children were bundled in various layers of goose down, gloves, and galoshes. The rowdy sanctuary simmered to a low din as actors waved good-byes.
“Please tell Miss Lulu we’ve all been praying for her,” Eloise Mayweather, the adult playing Guard-Ann, said. “She was missed this week in my seniors’ intro to ballet class.”
“I’m sure she would rather have been in a pliè than in the hospital.”
“Well, she is quite blessed to have you to fill in for her as director. Good night.”
Eloise was the final pageant participant to exit the sanctuary, leaving her and Finn alone. Again. How did she continually find herself alone with the good pastor?
She sat on a stool in the front of the sanctuary, as he tidied the pews. “Need some help?”
He glanced toward her, and the wide grin stretching across his face nearly toppled her off the stool. The memory of the feel of his lips pressed against hers burned to the surface. She didn’t need to close her eyes for the feel of his heat to be against her cheek or feel his frame fit perfectly with hers. Each second of kissing Finn Tarrington rushed over her with a single smile. She was a puddle of mush.
With a little cough she cleared her throat, shifting her focus to the nave and the altar acting as the makeshift stage. “I should probably clean all of this fluff up, huh?” Without an answer she began rolling the batting like a sleeping bag. Perhaps they could stack the filling in the choir loft or in the bell tower cove? She’d hate to have to take the sets back and forth to Aunt Lulu’s each day, but she never bothered to ask when she showed up with the dozens of yards of thick quilt batting for snow where she would store it.
She jumped at the soft touch to her shoulder. Whipping around, she collided the coil of batting with Finn’s broad chest. “Uh, sorry.” Her voice was muffled by the white fluff.
His hands floated up her arms, as soft pools of heat expanded under her skin. Each of her limbs liquified with his touch. Leaning into him, she linked her gaze to his, a moment before his mouth captured hers. The batting fell from her grip as she clasped her arms around his neck, and melted into him. The sound of the ocean rushed into her ears and paced the speed of her heart. His fingers drew a light, tempting trail up her neck, tangling in her hair, and loosening the bun, allowing the weight to hang down her back.
Finn broke the fiery connection. He sucked in a shuddering breath, matching her own as his fingers tangled with her mess of hair. “We have to keep meeting like this.”
Darcy’s heart seemed to fill with helium. If he wasn’t holding her, she would surely float to the rafters. A girl could get used to looking into those eyes every day. “I guess this is becoming a…”
He rested his forehead against hers. “A what, Darcy?”
“A problem,” she whispered.
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