Home for Christmas, page 5
Turning to face him, she needed to lean back to make eye contact. “Found it.” She lifted the tin box to him.
Her voice was barely a whisper, sending the feeling of warm, melting chocolate seeping through his system.
“Seems you did.”
Reaching for the box, his hands dwarfed her chilled fingers. Her skin was smooth and soft to his touch. The simple contact set his heart racing. Swallowing against his swelling throat, he lowered his gaze to her full lips. One little shift forward and he would know if she tasted as good as she smelled.
Ripping her hands from his, she pivoted, and hustled back to the kitchen. “Let’s see if we can find that recipe.”
Ben scrubbed his face with his hands. “Yep. Recipe.” He needed to get his head on straight. She was the pastor’s girlfriend. He was here to help his aunt and reconcile with his sister.
Focus Ben.
He caught sight of Harper sliding an apron over her head of curls. A smile stretched her lips. “Ready?”
He was in trouble.
12
Bennett nodded and turned to the rack of aprons.
Harper concentrated on the counter, blocking the vision of his broad shoulders stretching the tattered sweatshirt to the point of ripping. She needed to focus. She didn’t have time for distractions—especially distractions who were in Ohio for a limited run.
Flipping through the tin recipe box, she mentally listed the steps of her master plan. Again. Anytime a juicy distraction threatened to pull her from her path, she reminded herself of what she had ahead of her. She was responsible for her dreams—and no man-distraction would derail her. Not this time. She would not repeat Italy.
After interning in Rome, she returned to Columbus and completed her master level courses five years ago. Since graduation, her own design firm was her sole focus. Her time in Italy taught her what she was willing and not willing to sacrifice for her passion. After a year freelancing in Nashville, she spent the last three years working for one of the most groundbreaking design firms in Columbus. She sought her position with the group because of their diverse projects. She wanted to be involved in all aspects of spatial design. Not simply home interiors, but landscape architecture, holiday installations, and creating the perfect party space. Harper loved to create beauty—to translate what she saw in her mind to a three-dimensional reality. With the side projects she had picked up over the last few years, designing for the seemingly endless string of festival themes for Gibson’s Run as well as several high-end parties for targeted clients, she nearly had enough saved to open up her office. And, she wasn’t about to let some manly distraction divert her from her goal. No matter how manly the distraction was. She’d done that once. Never again.
“I’m aproned up, Coach. Now what?”
She couldn’t suppress the giggle bubbling in her chest. “Well, I’m not sure the ruffles will do much good to protect your sweatshirt.”
Bennett had selected Lulu’s favorite “You Doughnut Know How Much I Love You” Valentine’s Day apron speckled with glittery red, white, and pink doughnuts and trimmed with wide eyeleted ruffles.
A twist of a grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “At least the color scheme works.”
“OK, let’s get our bake on.”
13
Darcy cracked open the heavy, dark stained-glass door of the church sanctuary. She could barely see the traffic light through the thick snowfall. Practice was definitely canceled. And by what she couldn’t see of the road, she and the good pastor were not going anywhere anytime soon.
Clicking the door into its frame, she leaned against the smooth wooden surface. She needed to prepare for Aunt Lulu’s return home. Being stuck anywhere but behind a computer ordering hospital grade furniture, researching techniques for orthopedic recovery in seniors, and shopping for supplies was a disaster.
She had lists to prepare, food to make, and furniture shuffling to do. Organizing a Christmas pageant only two weeks before the holiday didn’t even make the top one hundred of the things she needed to accomplish. And yet, she was stuck in a church with a pastor who seemed more concerned about getting the score of the hockey game than creating a flawless representation of the Savior’s birth, or the more dire problem, discovering a way to get them out of the church in the middle of a massive snowstorm.
“How’s it looking?”
Lifting her gaze, she stared into the crystal blue eyes of Finn Tarrington. Correction. Pastor Finn Tarrington. Why did a man of God need to be drool worthy?
“I can barely see the traffic light.”
“An alert just came through.” He lifted his phone. “The county is at a level three snow emergency.”
“Whoa. The worst we ever get in Columbus is a level two.”
“More windy roads and hills out here. I’m sure first responders are thankful for the call.”
She nodded, but had no idea why the police or firefighters would care about the level of the snow emergency. They had to go on calls no matter what the county determined.
“I chaplain for the township fire department and the police. The less people on the roads, the easier it is for the county to get the roads clean and the fewer road emergencies they have to solve.”
“Makes sense, but that means we can’t get home.”
“Once the snow settles, we can walk to your aunt’s house. It’s only about a mile.”
She glanced down at the only items she had in her car when she left home yesterday: leggings and running shoes tucked in her back up gym duffle. “Do you happen to have a magical carpetbag with snow boots, pants, and gloves like Mary Poppins?”
Trailing his eyes from the top of her head to her sneaker-covered feet, he laced his arms across his chest. “Guess you’ll have to stay.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. In a church this size there has to be a decent number of lost and found items. I can makeshift an outfit.” Scooting around him, she shuffled down the stairs connecting the main entrance to the basement. “If you won’t help me, I’ll help myself.”
She heard the squeak of wet shoes on the tile floor behind her. “Hang on.”
“I need to get to Lulu’s. I have too much to do before she comes home. I can’t waste time here with you.”
“Ouch! And I was just teasing you. Don’t they tease where you are from?”
“Oh...I didn’t realize you were teasing.” Heat burned a path up her neck, settling warmly on her cheeks. “I can be a little intense during stressful situations.”
“Well, that might be a bit of an understatement.”
“So, teasing…you’ll help me get home?”
“Of course. I’m a pastor. It’s kind of required in the job description.”
Releasing her arms to her sides, she let out a soft sigh. “I’m pretty used to doing things myself. I’ve been on my own for a while
“Why don’t we make some coffee while we wait for the storm to settle down?”
Without waiting, he turned left and headed down a darkened hallway. The squeak of his running shoes echoed off the empty halls. Watching his lean form disappear, her heart quickened, sending her feet skipping after him. “Wait up.”
“Afraid?”
“No. I am not afraid. I’m simply unfamiliar with my surroundings.”
“Always so formal, Dr. Langston?”
“How did you know I was a doctor?”
He laced his fingers through hers and led her forward. The simple touch awoke fireflies in her belly. She avoided looking down because she was fairly certain she could create her own flashlight with their exuberant dance.
“Lulu’s my best friend in Gibson’s Run. I know all about your research, and your brother’s mission to save greater Nashville one vaccine at a time.”
“You know about Bennett, too? Why didn’t Lulu ever tell me? I thought he was living a big old dream life in California or New York. How could I not have known my twin brother was running a free clinic in an underprivileged community? He just told me last night when we got back to Lulu’s.”
He shrugged, tugging her forward through a wide doorway. With a flip of a switch, the fluorescent lights flickered and began humming with the waking electricity. A long, wide commercial kitchen stretched before them with hanging pots, stainless steel counters, a twelve-burner stove and two commercial refrigerators lording over the space like a king and queen at court. “Whoa, this is amazing. We’re still in your church?”
He chuckled. “Yes, Dorothy, still in the church.”
“My name’s Darcy.”
Pressing a slow breath through his lips he shook his head. “Yes, I know. I was teasing again. You know…Dorothy? The Wizard of Oz?”
The fireflies zoomed from her belly to her cheeks. How could she not catch on to the teasing? She wasn’t a complete nerd. Well, she didn’t think she was a complete nerd. She could be cool. Last week she even went grocery shopping without a list and splurged on chips and a frozen pizza. She just did not get his humor. Or maybe he was one of those people who thought he was funny when he really wasn’t. “You know you aren’t very funny.”
“Really?” he asked, with a lift of his eyebrow.
She shook her head. “No, not really. You’ve apparently been trying to joke with me and I haven’t understood a single one of your jokes.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not funny.” He stepped closer to her and tweaked the end of her nose with his thumb and forefinger. “That means you’re not funny.”
“I’m funny!”
He turned from her with a chuckle. Opening and closing several cabinets, he pulled out a pan, two mugs, cocoa powder, and sugar. “Do you mind grabbing the whole milk from the fridge?”
“I thought we were having coffee?”
He shrugged. “I’m improvising. I could use a little sugar with my caffeine.” He glanced over his shoulder and locked his gaze with hers. “I need fuel to be creative. And this play we need to plan, is going to require more than the ridiculously cheap coffee the church has in stock. We need sugar to stimulate our muses. I’m not as funny as you clearly are.”
With a stomp, she closed the distance to the beautifully polished stainless-steel refrigerators, standing nearly a foot taller than her. Yanking the door open, she saw three rows of milk of varying fat content. “Shouldn’t we use the non-fat milk? It’ll be better for us.”
“No. Always use whole ingredients. The hot chocolate will be non-inspirational if we use non-fat milk. Whole milk will provide holy creativity.”
Handing him the full fat milk, her lips twisted. “Really? ‘Holy creativity?’ Did they teach you that in pastor school?”
“Ha! Pastor school. That’s almost funny. The holy milk is already working. Imagine what you’ll do when you sip a whole cup of holy milk hot cocoa?”
Darcy rolled her eyes, but her stomach flittered with the dozens of firefly wings pulsating.
14
Pouring the milk into a pan, Finn whisked in cocoa, sugar, a pinch of kosher salt, and a splash of vanilla. If he was at his Grandma Bailey’s house, he would have added a dash of cayenne pepper. Grandma Bailey loved a little kick to her taste buds when it came to sweets. Whisking the cocoa and milk made him wish his grandma was still around to ask for some advice. Grandma Bailey would have known exactly what he should do.
When he’d decided to leave his lucrative job as a sports agent, throwing away undergraduate school and law school, most of the family had thought he’d fallen off a dumb truck, except Grandma Bailey and Uncle Tom.
Uncle Tom understood the overwhelming call into full time, credentialed ministry. He’d followed a similar path bucking the family law tradition. But Grandma Bailey simply loved Finn regardless. Athlete. Academic. Agent. Apologetic. She didn’t care. “Are you happy, Sweet Boy?” She would always ask with his cheeks cuddled between her palms. His happiness was her only concern.
He glanced over his shoulder to Darcy. She straightened the mugs, shifting handles to perfect ninety-degree angles at the edge of the stainless-steel counter in the center of the lengthy kitchen. Matching plates of two snickerdoodles and two chocolate chip cookies were perfectly positioned with one sitting beside each of the appointed cups.
With a sigh, he refocused on the cocoa, and wished he could ask Darcy, “Are you happy, sweet girl?”
Lulu had shared Darcy’s unfortunate change in her employment status. He imagined, based on the biography he’d heard on Dr. Langston—female version—the lack of career stability wasn’t sitting well with her. Her aunt thought the distraction of the Christmas pageant would be a welcome relief from the worry over Lulu’s health and the double worry over her unknown career path, but Finn wasn’t so certain. On their best day, a Gibson’s Run Community Church production was chaos, but this Christmas program was disarray in all its pre-incarnate glory.
The play Lulu originally selected had mostly adult parts with a few kids sprinkled throughout the production. But as the Labor Day Carnival rolled into the Founder’s Day Celebration, and that rolled into Apple Butter Days which slammed into the Turkey Trot and the newly established Thanksgiving Day Parade, all the adult volunteer actors were overcommitted with town pride activities. At his and Lulu’s weekly lunch the Friday after Thanksgiving, Finn waved the flag of defeat—hoping for a live Nativity with the support of a few sheep and maybe a calf from a local farmer, but Lulu wouldn’t surrender.
“Life is all about how you navigate the valleys, my boy,” she said, “If you want to stand on the mountain top, you’ve got to sweat through desert.” And she presented her idea of having the kids’ church students perform A Guard-Ann Angel’s Christmas.
His cousin Tessa had written a series of children’s books about Guard-Ann Angel and her charge, Shelby, based on the imaginary friends of her soon to be step-daughter Emma. Somehow Lulu knew Tessa was writing a Guard-Ann Christmas book and convinced her to share the unpublished manuscript with the church. Finn imagined Lulu used Tessa’s pastor’s kid guilt against her, likely claiming Uncle Tom would have a repeat of last year’s heart attack if she didn’t pass along her latest story.
The guilt worked. By the Monday after Thanksgiving, Tessa presented Finn and Lulu with a rough play based on her latest book. They cast the play the following day, with Emma, the inspiration for the series’ main character, Shelby, playing the lead, and several other of the kids’ church children playing the friend roles. Bonus all adult characters—save Guard-Ann—were non-speaking angel roles, most of which were quickly snatched up by the choir. Everyone loved saying they were an angel.
The genius of the play was its fifteen-minute run time. Add a few Christmas carols into the scenes—with the audience singing along—and the play would wrap in under thirty minutes. Most people undervalued brevity, but a pastor worth his weight in casserole dinners knew nothing pleased a congregation more than exiting the sanctuary earlier than anticipated.
Everything with the play clicked perfectly into place, right up until Lulu fell. Until that moment his role had been as a cheerleader—supporting Lulu’s scheme—from the balcony. Now, he needed to figure out a way to help Darcy transform a children’s book into the crowning achievement of the town’s fiftieth Christmas Festival. And for a town that loved a festival more than a state fair loved fried food, the Christmas Festival was the festival. Everything in town was the Christmas Festival and before the Christmas Festival. Every other parade, carnival, and event in town was a pale imitation of Gibson’s Run’s first love—Christmas.
Pulling the warmed through cocoa from the stove, he poured the steaming liquid into a waiting carafe. He turned to the makeshift snack station Darcy had created and lifted his gaze to her.
Her forehead was scrunched and her bottom lip was sucked between her teeth, while her fingers swiped furiously against her phone screen. Her foot tapped an unrecognizable rhythm, only she could hear.
“Ready to warm up?” He filled each mug with the steaming liquid. The rich aroma of chocolate laced his nostrils and settled into his bones. In his life, he realized, nearly everything could be cured with Jesus and a cup of hot chocolate.
He handed her a mug and drew a deep drink from his own. “Mmm, always hits the spot.”
Darcy held the mug in her hands, blowing across the brim to cool the contents. The tick of the kitchen clock’s hands echoed.
Finn sucked down another deep drink of the chocolate—cooler now, but still as comforting as a grandma hug.
“Take a sip. My grandma always said cocoa soothed the rough edges of a harsh day. And you have had a doozy for forty-eight hours.”
She tipped the cup back slightly, tentatively taking a sip. A soft smile tilted the corner of her mouth. “This is very good. Pastor and cook?”
“Cook might be a stretch. I liked being with my grandma in the kitchen more than I liked working the tiller in the garden. Learned a few things.”
“You learned them well.” Taking another sip, she traced circles on the counter. With a sigh she lifted her gaze to his. “I guess we should talk about the play.”
“It’s not a death sentence, Darcy. Just a church Christmas play. It could be worse.”
“How?”
“We could be planning a church meeting.”
15
“There are a lot of steps to swoon pies.” Bennett said as he dipped a sandwich cookie into dark chocolate.
“Don’t forget the sea salt on the chocolate. The graham cracker, marshmallow, chocolate, salty combo is what makes swoon pies swoon worthy.” Harper couldn’t help the flutter of her eyelids as the memory of hundreds of swoon pies brushed across her tongue.
A swoon pie never disappointed. Swoon pies always made everything better. No matter how difficult a problem seemed, the combination of pillowy marshmallow cream, smooth chocolate, and sweet crackers transformed into a cake softened even the worst of Harper’s traumas. In the middle of her darkest moment, she often dragged herself to an all-night market in search of the humble ingredients. The process of creating her own salve was almost as healing as the treat.
