Carolina Christmas Kiss: A Vixens In Love Novella

by Bailey Peters

  That’s how I ended up in the last church pew beside Jessup, wearing my favorite sweater dress and whisper-singing the words to “Amazing Grace”. He was right about the music. Instead of having a traditional choir, there was just a guy on stage with an acoustic guitar. It was simple, but something about the delivery was still beautiful and soul stirring. For the first time since I’d heard my parents’ scary news the night before Thanksgiving, I felt strangely at peace. Part of it was because of my company and the low baritone of Jessup’s singing voice. Part of it was the atmosphere of the church.

  It was a simple place with brick floors and exposed wooden beams, the stage sparse with the exception of a rugged cross and a sprinkling of minimalist decorations to usher in the Advent season. At the beginning of the sermon, when we’d been instructed to greet our neighbors, I felt like I’d been hugged by people so warm they might as well have been extended family I’d never known I had. One of my favorite touches was that there were no printed programs. “They’re moving toward being more sustainable,” Jessup had explained. Clearly, it was my kind of place.

  When the collection plate got to us midway through the song, Jessup slipped in a twenty and passed it along before whispering to me that it was time to go. He took my hand and led me out to the lobby, careful to be quiet when he opened the door so that we wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention.

  The congregation at his church was tiny enough that I was pretty sure someone would notice regardless and have something to say about it.

  “Don’t you think someone might get upset if we leave now?”

  He tucked a stray piece of hair that had fallen into my eyes behind my ear and gave me one of his butterfly-inducing smiles.

  “They’re going to be upset if we don’t leave now.”

  Instead of heading out to the parking lot, he led me down a side hallway into an industrial-looking kitchen. As soon as we pushed through the double doors, I was sure I’d found some kind of culinary heaven. The smells coming from whatever was cooking were absolutely mouthwatering.

  “Normally, I’d pick you up from your apartment to take you to church like any decent gentleman should. This morning, I asked you to drive separate because I was here at the crack of dawn, prepping this feast you see before you.”

  He wasn’t kidding about it being a feast.

  There were five massive crockpots filled to the brim with barbeque and a table covered in tiny balls of dough that had been left to rise. Based on the wafts of cheddar I was getting, one of the ovens was loaded up with large trays of mac and cheese. While I drank it all in with my eyes, he pulled a couple of casseroles out of the fridge and slid them onto a slice of unoccupied counter space.

  “You planning on feeding an army?”

  “Nah. Just all the people you saw in the pews out there and the folks that will come in for the eleven o’clock service. We’ve got about an hour and a half to put the finishing touches on everything before the youth group kids take it all to the community room.”

  Jessup grabbed an apron hanging from a hook on the wall and handed it to me before sliding on one of his own.

  “How do I look?” I asked, grinning and spinning around like I was modeling a designer ball gown instead of stained and ancient kitchenware.

  “Like a gorgeous woman that’s about to peel and slice the heck out of some apples, if you’d be so kind.”

  I washed my hands while he rummaged through the cabinets, producing everything I’d need to get started: a sharp knife, a peeler, a massive wooden cutting board, and a large tote full of granny smith apples.

  “Wedges or cubes?”

  “Wedges,” he said, getting down to business himself. Jessup was a whirlwind, seeming to do a million things at once: preheating the empty ovens for the rolls, stirring up all of the crockpots, breaking up sticks of butter so he could melt them down in the microwave. He hummed while he bustled about, mostly songs I didn’t recognize. It was hard not to be transfixed by his movements and the loving way he tended to his food. With at least fifteen apples to peel and not a lot of time to do it before they’d likely be turned into something else, I knew I needed to focus on the task at hand instead of him.

  “I didn’t know you worked at the church.”

  “I don’t. They do a big meal a few times a year as a fundraiser for mission trips where you donate money in exchange for a plate. I figured I could use some practice cooking in big batches since I’ll be running the restaurant soon, so I volunteered.”

  “I can’t wait to try your food.”

  “The benefit of helping me cook is you don’t have to wait.”

  He scooped a spoonful of pulled pork barbeque that had been simmering in Carolina-style sauce out a crockpot and motioned me over.

  I opened my mouth to accept the bite. The flavor was the perfect combination of tang and heat with just a hint of smoke.

  “What do you think?”

  “That if we date, I’m going to have to buy bigger jeans. Your cooking is phenomenal.”

  “And that’s just what I can do with a crockpot. At the restaurant, we smoke everything. It makes the food a thousand times better.”

  “Then I guess I better plan a road trip to Norlina.”

  He nodded in approval before plucking two lemons from the fridge and tossing them to me. “Cut these and sprinkle the lemon juice lightly across the cut apples so that they don’t brown. We’re going to use those apple wedges as scoops for a brown sugar cream cheese dip I made last night.”

  I wanted another taste test— this time, him swiping a dollop of the dessert dip with a finger and having me lick it off, but I remembered that we were in a church where I wasn’t supposed to act like some man-obsessed heathen. My appetite would have to wait to be quenched.

  * * *

  As much as I liked having Jessup to myself in the kitchen behind the privacy of the double doors, heat from the stoves curling around us, it was really something else to watch people react to the bounty he prepared for them.

  As soon as the minister was finished blessing the food, the congregation swarmed the buffet line.

  Jessup and I stood side-by-side in matching hairnets, scooping portions out of heated serving trays onto each person’s plate. He oversaw the barbeque while I rationed out helpings of green bean casserole topped with French fried onions. To my left was a line of teens from youth group, each assigned a delicacy of their own.

  “Girl, if you keep giving such big servings, I’m not going to be able to have seconds,” a man old enough to be my grandfather teased.

  “Don’t pay attention to my husband, dear. If he wants more, he’ll probably just steal it off my plate… which is why you should give an even bigger serving to me.” The woman winked, holding out her tray.

  Jessup shook his head. “Don’t listen to Mrs. Smith, Jody. She’s our church’s biggest troublemaker.”

  “I like a woman that knows how to make some mischief,” I said, giving her an extra spoonful and my most winning smile. Both Jessup and Mr. Smith feigned indignation.

  “Just like women to gang up against the men.”

  They moved down the line but were quickly replaced by plenty of others ready to angle for more than their fair share of food. After the perfectly seasoned bite of barbeque I’d tasted, I couldn’t say I blamed them.

  The women in my general age bracket sized me up as they went through the line, cutting their eyes back and forth between Jessup and I like they were trying to discern our relationship status. Nothing about my hairnet or church attire screamed sex appeal, so I didn’t think it was jealousy I was noticing. Just unmasked curiosity. Since everyone seemed to know Jessup based on the way they complimented him, teased him, or patted his shoulder, they probably had a vested interest in making sure the mystery woman beside him wasn’t bad news.

  Once the line died down some, the pastor and his wife approached the table wearing aprons and hairnets of their own.

  “We’ve come to relieve you two of your stat
ions so that you can enjoy a plate of the food you worked so hard to make. With the money we’ve raised on your lunch, we’ll be able to send at least three teens on our mission trip this Spring at no charge to their families. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, son.”

  Jessup shrugged. “I was happy to do it. Just returning one of a thousand favors the two of you have done for me.”

  The minister turned his gaze to me. “It looks like you’ve found a good one if this young woman of yours was willing to get up early on a Sunday morning to serve food to strangers.”

  “Sounds a lot like one of our first dates, actually,” the minister’s wife said. She held up her left hand to show me her wedding ring before slipping on a pair of plastic gloves. “It must have worked out alright for the two of us.”

  Jessup and I ducked our heads in unison and blushed. There was no right way to respond.

  12

  After comparing exam schedules, it seemed that both Jody and I had a relatively easy Monday. She had a short presentation to give on her time spent helping at a local farm and I had a test in Railroad System Planning, the class that came the easiest to me. We’ll blame that on the obsession I had with toy railroads as a kid and all the hours I spent looking at plans for actual railroads as a teen, begging local civil engineers from cities like Raleigh and Charlotte to talk to me about their projects.

  We’d arranged for her to pick me up from the Engineering building when my class let out so that we could head to the mall in Wilmington together and brave the throngs of holiday shoppers.

  In the food court, we shared an eggnog milkshake with two straws while we came up with a plan.

  “Who’s on your shopping list?”

  “Just my brother Randy and my sister Amy. Randy is easy. He loves to read, so I ordered him a Kindle and got an Amazon gift card. That way, when he deploys, he’ll have access to all the books in the world without his collection taking up too much space. My sister Amy is a little tougher.”

  Jody lit up like a Christmas tree, ready to swoop in and save the day. “Sounds like a challenge for me. How old is she?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “And what does she like?”

  “Girly stuff. Unfortunately, no one in our family knows what to do with that.”

  That had been true even when mom was alive. After years spent in an Army uniform, she seemed unsure about how to dress herself in the civilian world. As a result, she’d resorted to a new uniform: the Rice Family Barbeque t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and restaurant-safe clogs nearly every day of the week. She had a black dress or two for dates and holidays, but that’s about as festive or feminine as it got.

  “Text her and get her sizes and her favorite colors. While we wait to hear back from her, we can tackle my list.”

  I did as I was told, knowing fully well Amy would be terrified at the prospect of me shopping for her. In middle school and constantly worried about her social standing with the local mean girls, she’d probably have preferred gift cards over anything I might pick out for her. That said, I wanted there to be something for her to unwrap under the tree that wasn’t a skinny envelope. It was the first Christmas without mom, which meant it had to be special.

  After I’d sent the text, Jody had me show her pictures of my sister. “Blonde hair. Fair skin. Got it. That’s going to help me when we hit the makeup counter,” she said.

  I didn’t want to buy my sister makeup. I wanted to buy her huge teddy bears and pretend she wasn’t growing up. I’d always been protective, but now that I was essentially going to be a parent? The thought of taking over while Amy was growing into her teenage years— and possibly teenage rebellion— was more than I was ready for. Makeup was just another symbol of the burgeoning maturity I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

  “What about you? Who’s on your list?”

  “All I need from the mall is a gift for my parents. The stuff I need for Isabella and our other friends is all at the craft store, but I figured I’d spare you from all the rows of paint and glitter.”

  As much as I wanted to spend time with Jody, I couldn’t say I minded skipping out on arts and crafts.

  “Are you getting your parents separate gifts or a joint gift?”

  “They’re having some problems, so I thought it would be good to get them something they could do together.”

  In my grief over mom’s death, it was easy for me to forget that I wasn’t the only person out there working through difficult things while keeping a smile plastered on my face. For days, Jody and I had been together nearly nonstop, and I hadn’t once realized that she was also struggling. If I was going to win her over and be the kind of man she deserved, I was going to have to learn to read her better. Be more observant. Ask the right questions.

  “That sounds like a good plan,” I said, my foot finding hers underneath the table.

  She sucked down the rest of the milkshake and tossed the empty cup in a nearby trash can, averting her eyes in a way that suggested that perhaps she’d already volunteered as much information as she was willing or able on the subject.

  I understood what it was like to have someone poke at a raw nerve, so I didn’t ask further questions. I just followed her into the sea of crazed consumers, all bustling to find the best gifts and sales.

  Not knowing much about her parents and not wanting to pry into their problems, it was hard to know what to suggest.

  At Barnes and Noble, we perused through board games. “If I find a strategy game that takes forever to play, I’d have an excuse for trapping them in a room together,” Jody said, eyeing Monopoly and Settlers of Catan. When I didn’t comment, she screwed up her mouth. “Yeah, I don’t think it’s a good idea either.”

  At a bath and body store, she asked me if it would be weird for her to get her parents massage oil. I picked up the bottle and skimmed over the label. The scent was Sensual Sensations.

  “It’s a little suggestive,” I shrugged. “But still a nice gesture. Who doesn’t want a massage?”

  I certainly wanted to give Jody one. Preferably stripped down to whatever she was wearing underneath her winter attire.

  Frustrated, she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.

  “I’m never going to find the perfect thing.”

  “Maybe you don’t find it, you make it,” I said slowly, an idea brewing. “What about a scavenger hunt? Send them around your town to places you know they have good memories. Start it out by giving them a gift card to a restaurant they’ve been to for something like an anniversary and arrange for a waiter there to deliver a clue that will take them to the next place.”

  Before I knew it, Jody was throwing her arms around me and squeezing me tight in the middle of all the scented candles and body washes. “That’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you. Now what’s the budget for your sister’s gift?”

  I pulled out my wallet and peered inside. I had a healthy stack of twenties lined up between the leather folds and a healthy supply of cash stashed away in my checking account. Between the money I’d inherited from my mother, the money I made when I went back home to the family restaurant, and the money I got from odd jobs around town, I was in a good place. If I was going to be frugal somewhere, it wasn’t going to be on bringing joy to my family when I knew they needed a lift.

  “Money’s no object.”

  “That makes it even more fun to spend.”

  I groaned a little, pretending to dread the thought of slinking through clothing stores with her. She grabbed my hand and veered us toward the mall map. She tapped a finger against her lip while she perused our options. “This should be easy. I know exactly where we’re going,” she said.

  In Pacsun, Jody flipped through racks of jeans with holes in the knees, all designed to hug the wearer’s hips and be low slung across the waist. “I’d love to see some of those on you, but on my little sister…?” I winced. “I don’t want a bunch of middle school boys checking her out in that.”

  Jody narrowed her eyes at me. “If
you want my help, you have to accept that your sister is a young lady and not a nun, unless there’s something you’ve forgotten to mention. This is how young girls dress.”

  “Okay,” I managed. “But can we set some ground rules?”

  She pursed her lips into a thin white line, eyebrows raised.

  I launched into my stipulations. “No crop tops. No tube tops. No spaghetti straps. As a practicality, I’m pretty sure her school doesn’t allow skirts or shorts that go too far above the knee—”

  “Fine. I’ll sign off on those rules, as long as I get veto power if you get tempted to grab something and throw it in the cart that’s going to get her made fun of. Middle school mean girls are the worst.”

  We squared off against one another, both of us with arms folded across our chests, staring the other person down.

  She was stubborn and it was kind of hot. The fact that she cared enough to advocate for my sister when she hadn’t even met her? That meant something. I just worried that if the two of them ever met, they’d gang up against me. As a parental figure, I was fine with telling Amy no if I felt a situation suggested it. If Amy enlisted Jody’s help in an argument, however, I was probably a lost cause.

  I tried not to think about Amy meeting Jody. That scenario was entirely contingent on whether or not our attempt at romance managed to get off the ground before the end of exams. I hadn’t even managed a kiss yet and our time was running out.

  By the end of the afternoon, I’d been to American Eagle, Forever 21, and a slew of dimly lit stores with pulsing music that reeked of sickly sweet perfume. I put my foot down when she said something about scouring the racks in the Pink section of Victoria’s Secret. If she needed a hoodie or sweatpants, we could get them for her elsewhere.

  Jody asked the saleswomen about their most popular items at each store and petted the fabric on every possible purchase as though she was trying to find the perfect ratio of comfort and durability. When she asked about whether Amy had classic staples— a set of simple pearl earrings, a solid coat, a perfect white shirt— I shrugged helplessly and continued following her around.