Colorado Christmas Magic

by Caitlin McKenna

  Ava Grace widened her eyes. “Really? He’s coming here?”

  “If nothing has changed since the last time I talked to my mother. I haven’t talked to him in a while.” Technically not a lie—condolence texts didn’t count as talking.

  “Is he married?”

  “Not anymore.” She slammed her fist into the ball of dough.

  Ava Grace’s eyes lit up and Evans knew what was coming. Ava Grace was all but engaged and was always looking for romance for everyone else. “Is this an old boyfriend?”

  “No! Of course not.” She hadn’t meant to sound so vehement.

  Ava Grace narrowed her eyes. “You never went out with him a single time?”

  “No. Never entered my mind.” If she’d been Pinocchio, her nose would be out the front door. There had been this one time at a holiday party—for just a fraction of a minute—when Evans had thought he’d looked at her differently, when she’d been sure that Jake was finally going to ask her for a date. But they’d been interrupted, and the moment had passed. To this day, she never saw a sprig of holly or heard a Christmas bell without the memory of the humiliating disappointment slamming against her rib cage, driving the breath out of her.

  “It’s a new day,” Ava Grace said. “I grew up with Skip, and look where we are. It could happen for you, too.”

  “Not likely.” Evans floured her rolling pin. “A couple years back, my cousin Channing married and divorced him in the space of about seven months in the messiest way possible.”

  “Wow.” Ava Grace raised her eyebrows. “Your cousin just up and stole your man, easy as you please? Why, you must’ve been madder than a wet hen!”

  Evans shrugged. “He wasn’t mine.” She clenched her fist and the dough shot up between her fingers. “I doubt he would be open to romance with another Pemberton woman. Not that I would—be open to it, I mean.”

  The words had barely made their way out of her mouth when one of her assistant bakers ducked into the kitchen.

  “Evans, there’s a guy here to see you.”

  She stilled her rolling pin.

  “I think I conjured up a man for you.” Ava Grace laughed and removed her cap and apron. “See you tonight at Claire’s house.”

  “Right.” It was mentor dinner night with Claire, something they did every few weeks where Evans, Ava Grace, and Hyacinth gave reports and swapped advice.

  Ava Grace nodded. “I’ll just slip out the back.”

  “Who is it, Ariel?” Please, God, not the rep from Hollingsworth Foods—a regional company that provided frozen foods to grocery stores. According to Claire, they were interested in mass-producing her maple pecan and peanut butter chocolate pies. So far, the rep had only tried to contact her by phone and it had been easy enough to elude his calls, allowing her to tell Claire that she hadn’t heard from them.

  Ariel shook her head and played with the crystal that hung around her neck. “I don’t know.”

  Evans sighed. Of course she wouldn’t have thought to ask. The female hadn’t been born who was more suited to her name than Ariel—ethereal, dreamy, not of this world. But she could make a lemon curd that would make you cry.

  “All right.” Evans reached for a towel and wiped her hands. As tempting as it was to follow Ava Grace out the back door, she supposed it was time to deal with it. “Will you cover these and put them in the refrigerator?” She gestured to the sheet pans of oven-ready meat pies.

  Ariel nodded. “I’ll just get the plastic wrap.” And she floated to the storeroom.

  Evans still had a few meat pies, then peach cobblers to make for the Yellowhammer lunch tomorrow, so the quicker she sent him away, the better.

  She hurried through the swinging door that led from the kitchen to the storefront—and looked right into the eyes of Jake Champagne.

  Eyes.

  He had eyes all night long and possibly into the next day. Big, cobalt blue eyes with Bambi eyelashes. They weren’t eyes a woman was likely to forget even if he turned out to be a man she had to walk away from. Still, Evans had thought the day was done when those eyes would make her forget her own name. Evans. Evans Blair Pemberton, she reminded herself.

  Jake widened those eyes. That was a willful act. She was sure of it because she’d spent years studying him—so she knew what it meant when Jake Champagne went all wide-eyed on someone. He understood the value of those eyes and the effect they had on people. When he widened them, he was either surprised or angling to get his way. This time he was surprised. If he’d been trying to get his way, he would have cocked his head to the side and smiled. If he wanted his way really bad, and it wasn’t going well, he’d bite his bottom lip.

  Speaking of what he wanted—what in the ever-loving hell was he doing here? She was pretty sure he had not gone to work for Hollingsworth Foods.

  “You look great, Evie.” She was suddenly sorry she’d studied him. Knowing he was surprised that she looked great wasn’t the best for the ego.

  Besides, she didn’t look great. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, she was wearing an apron covered in flour, and any makeup she’d applied this morning was a memory. She only looked great compared to the last time he’d seen her—at the Pemberton family Thanksgiving two years ago, when she’d been coming off a bad haircut and sporting a moon crater of a cold sore. That had been five months after his wedding and two months before his divorce. Now, three years later, he could still send her on a one-way trip back to sixteen.

  “Hotty Toddy, Jake!” Why had she said that—the Ole Miss football battle cry? Neither of them had gone to Ole Miss, though most of their families had. They were fans, of course, but she didn’t normally go around saying Hotty Toddy.

  “Hotty Toddy, Evie. That’s good to hear in Roll Tide country.”

  She stepped from behind the counter and the awkward hug they shared was softened by his laughter. Though she didn’t say so, he really did look great—however, in his plaid shorts and pink polo, he looked more like a fraternity boy on spring break than a professional hockey player. Jake’s eyes might be his best feature, but he was gorgeous from head to toe. His caramel blond hair was a little shaggy and his tan face clean-shaven.

  They came out of the hug and she looked up at him—way up. He was over six feet tall to her barely five feet four.

  “It’s good to see you, Evie.”

  Evie, rhymed with levy. He’d christened her that—probably because it was easier for a toddler to say than Evans. “Only people from home call me Evie now,” she babbled.

  He raised one eyebrow and his mouth curved into a half smile. She’d forgotten about that half smile. “I am from home.”

  He had a point.

  “Would you like some pie? I have Mississippi mud.” His favorite. The meringue pie with a chocolate pastry crust and layers of dense brownie and chocolate custard was one of her most popular. She glanced around to see if one of the round marble tables was available. Though it was after one o’clock, a few people were still lingering over lunch, but there was a vacant table by the window.

  “No, I don’t think—” He stopped abruptly and narrowed his eyes. “Yes. I would. Can you sit with me? For just a bit?”

  Of course she could. She was queen of this castle. She could do whatever she wanted. But did she want to? Ha! What a stupid question, even to herself.

  “Sure.” She might still be making cobblers at midnight, but that was nobody else’s business. “Joy?” She turned to the girl behind the counter. “I’m going to take a break. Can you bring a slice of Mississippi mud and a glass of milk? And a black coffee for me.” She met his eyes. “Unless you’ve started drinking coffee.”

  He looked a little pained and she wondered why. “No. I still don’t.”

  He held her chair before sitting himself down in the iron ice cream parlor chair opposite her. What had she been thinking when she’d bought these chairs? A
pparently, not that hockey players—let alone this hockey player—would be settling in for pie. He looked like a man at a child’s tea party. She laughed a little.

  And in that instant, with the sun shining in the window turning his caramel hair golden, Jake came across with a smile that lit up the world. Good thing she’d packed up all those old feelings, right and tight, when he’d gotten involved with her cousin. Her stomach turned over—a muscle memory, no doubt.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “I was thinking I didn’t choose these chairs with men in mind.”

  “You don’t think it suits me?” He leaned back a bit. “Maybe you could trade them for some La-Z-Boys.”

  “Not quite the look I was going for.”

  He looked around. “So this is your shop? All yours?”

  “I have an investor, but yes. It’s mine.”

  She loved the wood floors, the happy fruit-stenciled yellow walls, the gleaming glass cases filled with pies, and the huge wreath on the back wall made of antique pie tins of varying sizes. Five minutes ago, she’d loved the ice cream parlor chairs. She probably would again.

  “I knew you had a shop.” He looked around. “But I had no idea it was like this. So nice.”

  You might have, if you’d bothered to call me once in a while. Evans bit her tongue as if she’d actually spoken the words and wanted to call them back. Instead, she packed them up and shoved them to the back of her brain. Jake was here. She was glad to see him. That was all.

  “I’ve had some good luck,” she said.

  His eyes settled on the table next to them. “You serve lunch, too?”

  “Nothing elaborate. A choice of two savory pies with a simple green or fruit salad on the side. I would offer you some, but we sold out of the bacon and goat cheese tart and you wouldn’t eat the spanakopita.”

  He frowned. “Spana-who?”

  “Spanakopita. Spinach pie.”

  He shuddered. “No. Not for me, but I’m meeting my teammate Robbie soon for a late lunch anyway.” She knew who Robbie was from The Face Off Grapevine, a pro hockey gossip blog she sometimes checked. They called him and Jake the Wild-Ass Twins, though they looked nothing alike. For whatever reason, this Robbie was coming to play for the Yellowhammers, too. Jake went on, “He’s been in Scotland since the season ended and just got in this morning. We’re going to a place down the street.”

  So I’m only a pit stop. “Hammer Time. Brand-new sports bar for a brand-new team.”

  He nodded. “I hope Hammer Time is half as nice as your shop. You obviously work really hard.”

  “I do. But I don’t have to do it on skates.” She held up her chef clog-clad foot. Why had she said that? Belittled herself?

  He laughed like it was the best joke he’d ever heard. Ah, that was why. She’d do anything to make him laugh. She’d forgotten that about herself.

  “Here you go, Evans.” Joy set down the pie, milk, and a thick, retro mug decorated with cherries like the ones on the wall.

  “No pie for you?” Jake picked up his fork.

  She sipped her coffee. “No. I taste all day long. The last thing I want is a plateful of pie. Are you sure you want that? Aren’t you about to eat lunch?”

  “I want this more than I’ve wanted anything for a long time.” He took a bite and closed his eyes. “Other people only think they’ve had pie.”

  If she never got another compliment about another thing, this one would do her until death. “Mississippi mud is a hit in Alabama.”

  “Don’t tell her, but this is so much better than the one from your mother’s bakery.”

  No kidding. Anna-Blair Pemberton was all about a shortcut. “If she’d had her way, I’d be back in Cottonwood, making cookies from mixes and icing cakes with buttercream from a five-gallon tub.”

  Jake laughed a little under his breath. “My mother might have mentioned that a time or six.”

  “No doubt.” Christine Champagne and Evans’s mother were best friends. When Evans had deserted her mother’s bakery after graduating from the New Orleans Culinary Institute, it must have given them fodder for months.

  “I, for one, am glad you’re making pie here.” Jake took another bite. “There’s something about this...something different. And familiar.” He wrinkled his brow. “But I can’t place it.”

  Evans knew exactly what he meant, and it pleased her more than it should have that he’d noticed.

  “Do you remember the Mississippi mud bars we used to get when we went to Fat Joe’s for tamales?”

  “Yes! That’s it.” He took another bite of pie. “We ate a ton of those things, sitting at that old picnic table outside. Didn’t Joe’s wife make them?”

  “She did. I got her secret and her permission to use it. She used milk and dark chocolate, and she added a little instant coffee to the batter.”

  He stopped with his fork in midair. “Coffee? There’s coffee in here?”

  Evans laughed. “You’ve been eating Lola’s for years without knowing.” She reached for his plate. “But if you don’t want it...”

  “Leave my pie alone, woman.” He pretended to stab at her with his fork. “Those were good times.”

  “They were. We did a lot of homework at that picnic table.”

  He grimaced. “Well, it wasn’t the homework I was thinking about. I’d have never passed a math class without you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “I do.” He shook his head and let his eyes wander to the ceiling like he always did when he wanted to change the subject. “What about the beach this summer. How was it?”

  The question took Evans aback. Jake hadn’t been on the annual Champagne-Pemberton beach trip since Channing came on the scene. She was surprised he even thought about them anymore.

  “Sandy. Wet. Salty,” she quipped. “Like always.”

  He grinned. “Must have been a little too sandy, wet, and salty for you. I hear you only stayed two days.”

  “Lots to do around here.” She gestured to the shop.

  He let his eyes go to a squint and his grin relaxed into that crooked smile. “Too much sorority talk?”

  “I swear, it never stops.” She slapped her palm against the table. All the women in that beach house—Evans’s mother and two older sisters and Jake’s mother and younger sister—were proud alumnae of Ole Miss and Omega Beta Gamma, the most revered and exclusive sorority on campus. Addison, Jake’s sister, had recently made the ultimate commitment to her Omega sisters by taking a job at the sorority’s national headquarters.

  Jake took a sip of his milk and chuckled. “I hear you. Especially with rush coming up.”

  “It’s like being in a room full of teachers who won’t talk about anything except test scores and discipline problems. You just get tired of it.” But it was more than that. Legacy or not, Evans would have never made the Omega cut had she gone to Ole Miss instead of culinary school. She wasn’t tall, blond, and sparkly enough. She loved those women—every one of them—but she had always been a little out of step with them. Plus, living with all that sparkle could be hard on the nerves.

  Jake laughed. “Well, they have to do their part to keep Omega on top, where it belongs.”

  “Sorority blood runs deep and thick in Mississippi,” Evans said. “Sisters for life.”

  Jake went from amused to grim. “I don’t think Mama and Addison feel very sisterly toward Channing anymore.”

  Channing had, of course, been the poster child for Omega. “For what it’s worth, my mother and sisters don’t either.” And I don’t feel very cousinly toward her. Not that I ever did.

  He shrugged. “I’ve moved on—not quite as fast as she did, of course. Miss Mississippi, hockey wife, music producer wife, all in the space of eight months. I suppose you’ve heard she’s pregnant?”

  “Yes.” The baby
would probably have mud-colored eyes like Mr. Music Producer, when it could have had the bluest eyes in the world. Baffling.

  “But I’m better off,” Jake went on.

  She studied his face and decided he meant it. “I’m glad you know it. You’re better than that, Jake. You deserve better.”

  Jake looked at his pie, and back at her again. “You remembered my favorite pie and that I’m not a coffee drinker?”

  Thank goodness for the change of subject. “How could I not remember? You always asked for Mississippi mud pie when you came into the bakery at home.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m glad to see you, Evie.”

  “I’m glad to see you,” she echoed. And she was. But something was niggling deep in her gut. It seemed Glad and Mad were running around inside her, neither one able to get complete control. She beat back Mad and embraced Glad. It was impossible to control most emotions, but mad wasn’t one of them. She had always believed that if you didn’t want to be mad, you didn’t have to be. So what if he’d only come to see her because Crust was near his lunch spot? They had history. That was what was important. And he’d been through a lot: divorce, Blake’s death, a new town and team, and—well, she didn’t know what else, but wasn’t that enough?

  “I probably don’t deserve for you to be glad to see me, but I appreciate it.” Oh, hell. He was going to try to get negative now, just when she’d talked herself into a good place. She would not allow it. The only thing she was better at than turning out a perfect puff pastry was turning a situation around.

  “Why wouldn’t I be glad to see you?” She smiled like she meant it, and she did. Everybody always said you had to clear the air before you could move on. As far as she was concerned, that was way overrated. Sometimes it was better to just let it go. Saying yes when others might say no sometimes made life go smoother.

  “Let’s not pretend I don’t owe you an apology.” He cocked his head to the side and widened his eyes. What was the point of that? She’d already forgiven him.