Love on Main Street: A Snow Creek Christmas

by Juliet Blackwell

  Lance unfolded the blankets that Fiver had given him and lay down on the couch, trying to put thoughts of that silky robe out of his mind.

  Instead, he dreamed all night of what might be hidden underneath.

  ***

  “Steve from Blues Clues, maybe,” Caroline said, pausing with the label dispenser in her hand. Her best friend, Jennie Snopes, had come by for coffee and had stayed to chat while Caroline unpacked a new shipment of depilatory cream. “With way more muscular arms.”

  And more going on under his towel, she thought, blushing.

  “Um, that is really not hot,” Jennie said, handing her the next tube from the box.

  “I did say a cross between Ryan Gosling and Steve.”

  “You have the weirdest taste.”

  “It’s all hypothetical!” Caroline protested.

  “Oh, right, because of the curse.” Jennie made little air quotes around the word, they way she’d been doing since they were in middle school.

  “No Bonny daughter has ever married,” Caroline reminded her. “That’s fact. They all end up taking care of the Bonny men until they marry late and move their wives in here and carry on the family name. Then the women go live in terrible little apartments until they die.”

  “That’s a whole lot of bunk and you know it. I mean, your aunt Mary had a whole career of her own and a tri-level condo.”

  “Until mom died and she ended up having to move in with my dad and take care of him,” Caroline reminded her. Aunt Mary and Dad had moved into a nice two-bedroom apartment in the Hawthorne Senior village on the other side of town, because he was having trouble with the stairs above the store. “And now she waits on him hand and foot.”

  “Your dad does all the cooking, not to mention the grocery shopping,” Jennie protested. “Heck, I’d wait on him if he’d cook me that chicken chili.”

  Caroline sighed impatiently. “Dad only does the shopping so he can flirt with the check-out girls.”

  “Bonny men can’t help it,” Jennie said. “It’s in their blood.”

  “Why is it that every female on the planet feels compelled to forgive every flaw my brother and dad and grandfather ever had?” Caroline complained. “It’s annoying. Can we talk more about Lance Carter?”

  “You know, he sounds like he was in the Backstreet Boys. Plus he’s Matt’s best friend. You’re sure he isn’t gay? I mean, not to question your taste or anything, but you haven’t had a date since the first time the current president was elected, if I remember right.”

  “Go on up and look, if you’re so doubtful. He’s sleeping on the couch.”

  “Still? It’s almost eight thirty.”

  “We didn’t get back to bed until almost two. I mean…separately. In separate beds,” Caroline added hastily. “I was just up there a few minutes ago getting another cup of coffee, so I can tell you he’s still asleep.”

  Jennie was already getting up. “Be right back.”

  Caroline managed to label the rest of the tubes and had moved on to a shipment of Baltic pumice stones by the time Jennie returned, carrying a steaming mug. “You weren’t kidding,” she said, “though I’d say the Ryan/Steve ratio is about five to one. I think he was talking in his sleep—something about vacuuming. Maybe he’s domestic—that would be amazing, right? A guy who can clean? I fixed myself some coffee. Fiver already at work?”

  “He went to the gym first, but yes, he’s starting a three-day shift. Racking up overtime so Zeke could stay home.” Gina Hamilton had delivered twins a few weeks ago, their third and fourth children.

  “Aw, that’s sweet.”

  “Yeah, my brother’s a saint,” Caroline said sarcastically.

  “He is! He can’t help it,” Jennie said cheerfully, having long ago recovered from the broken heart Fiver gave her when she was thirteen. “Okay, off to work. Listen, we still on for the Ball?”

  “Yes, if you insist.” Caroline had never taken a date to the annual Fezziwig Ball, a celebration for the Main Street Business Association that took place every year after the Christmas Parade. Jennie had recently broken up with her latest boyfriend, so they’d agreed to go together. “Um, listen, Jennie…is there any chance you can cover for me next Saturday afternoon?”

  “Sure, I’m off. How come?”

  “I kind of have a lunch date. Maybe.”

  Jennie’s whistled. “With the guy on your couch?”

  Caroline figured that her blush gave her away.

  ***

  Lance sat up cautiously, waiting for the inevitable headache to kick in. Surprisingly, he felt pretty good, if ravenous. It had been hours since he’d had a plate full of fussy little canapés at the party. He’d waited a good half hour after the Bonnys’ maid arrived, feigning sleep while she took a long, appraising look at him. He’d hoped she’d go away when she found a strange man on the couch, but she just stood there staring, until he finally muttered that he’d be out of her way in half an hour if she wanted to start upstairs. Instead she fixed herself a cup of coffee, and left. Lance figured he only had a little while until she came back.

  He gingerly prodded his foot and found that it didn’t feel too bad either. A little sore around the cut, that was all. Carefully, he peeled back the bandaging and saw that the wound was well on its way to healing.

  Limping into the bathroom, he searched the shelves until he found a little tin of bandages and replaced the dressing. Caroline Bonny, in his inexpert opinion, had gone a little overboard on the first aid. Was it possible that she’d been as nonplussed as he was last night? As, perhaps, attracted to him?

  Grinning smugly, Lance looked in the mirror and nearly recoiled in horror. The face looking back featured blood-red eyes, a bristle of two-day growth that looked more down-on-his-luck than intentional, and hair that had somehow rebelled against the rules of gravity and was sticking straight up on one side.

  Lance showered and helped himself to the only razor he could find, a pink disposable with a squiggly purple flower design on the handle. He found a tube labeled shaving gel and instantly decided he’d switch to the brand—which left his skin feeling fresh and moist as well as delivering a perfectly smooth shave—if it didn’t smell like flowers.

  No eye drops, though. Well, he was above a fully-stocked drug store. He’d just get dressed and wander downstairs and see if Caroline could help him.

  Lance gave himself a cautious once-over. Not too bad, but there was still the issue of his hair which, despite, or perhaps because of, the fancy shampoo he’d borrowed, still looked a little funky. He scanned the shelf containing Caroline’s brushes and combs and found a tube printed in Italian. He squeezed a little onto his palm: a pinkish gel that didn’t smell nearly as good as the shaving cream, but would no doubt do the trick. He worked it through his hair and patted at it until it looked a little better.

  Then he went gingerly through the trash, piecing together shards until he could figure out what was in the jar he’d broken the night before, and committed the incomprehensible name to memory. He dug a clean shirt, underwear, and socks out of his duffel bag, tore a page from his notebook and stood at the counter to write.

  Only, what do you say to a pair of virtual strangers who’ve put you up for the night, when you’d gotten wasted with one and hoped to sleep with the other as soon as possible?

  Finally, after much deliberation, Lance wrote a note that wasn’t too different from the ones he’d made his class write to the bakery owner after he’d given them a tour, substituting “couch” for “muffins,” and left it on the counter. The product on his hair was itching his scalp, and he gave it a cautious scratch, which left his hand smelling like a strange combination of peaches and motor oil.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Lance was surprised to find the door slightly ajar. He peered around the corner, into the part of the shop that was outfitted with all the strange merchandise and equipment. Caroline Bonny was standing over what looked like a dentist chair, in which a tiny, elderly lady was relaxing with her
hands folded over her stomach. Caroline’s hands fluttered around the lady’s face.

  “Just hold still a little longer, Mrs. Meriwether,” Caroline murmured. Damn, she had a nice murmur, sexy and low, the kind of voice that would probably be just fine whispering into his ear. Hell, she could tell him to sit still any day. And that chair offered interesting possibilities, too.

  “Excuse me,” Lance said, approaching gingerly and scratching his head. “Where do I find the Fruits de la Mer Anti-ageant Poudre?”

  Caroline blinked. “I doubt you can afford it. And may I ask what you intend to do with it? I don’t think your skin texture would really be a good candidate for an intensive treatment.”

  “Put it back upstairs on your bathroom shelf, since you asked,” Lance said, trying to decide if he’d been given a compliment or an insult. “I managed to break the jar last night after the, uh, festivities.”

  The lady jerked her head up and stared at Lance, wide-eyed. Actually, her gaze was exceptionally wide-eyed since she was wearing a pair of long-fringed false eyelashes that Caroline had just finished applying. “What were you doing in Caroline’s bathroom, young man?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Caroline said tersely. “My brother brought him home. You know Fiver.”

  “Oh my, yes,” Mrs. Meriwether said, lying back down. “That dear, incorrigible boy. Though I didn’t know he swung that way. Not that it matters, I do love the gays. Caroline, how about something silvery in the way of eye shadow?”

  “Mrs. Meriwether has a lunch date,” Caroline said, giving Lance a sweet smile. She didn’t seem to want to come to his rescue regarding the lady’s misunderstanding. “We’re doing a smoky eye. I trust you found everything you needed upstairs?”

  “Yes, I helped myself.” He resisted the urge to explain to Mrs. Meriwether that he wasn’t gay.

  Caroline sniffed the air. “What exactly did you use?”

  Now that she mentioned it, the odor of the goop on his hair seemed even stronger. Almost acrid. And it wasn’t just itching, it was stinging. Powerfully. He gave it a cautious pat and his hand came away with several strands stuck to his fingers. “I, uh…the stuff by your brushes in the purple bottle?”

  Caroline blanched. “You didn’t,” she breathed.

  “I did. Why, does it cost a thousand bucks a pop or something?”

  “Mrs. Meriwether, stand by,” Caroline said urgently, whipping around and opening a small wardrobe in the bank of cabinets. She pulled out a length of pink fabric and grabbed Lance’s arm, jerking him toward the chair next to Mrs. Meriwether’s, pulling so hard he nearly fell.

  “Hey,” he protested as Caroline unfurled the fabric and let it settle over him, working the top into his shirt. He quit protesting as her fingers slid under his collar and did something to his neck which he dimly understood to be fastening it in place while his body responded in a variety of pleasant ways.

  “Hush,” Caroline snapped, and pressed something at the foot of the chair with her foot, causing the entire arrangement to tilt back. Seconds later, warm water was rushing over his scalp, which he had to admit felt pretty good; the stinging diminished some.

  “So what did I put on my hair up there? It wasn’t gel, was it? Was it some sort of dye?”

  “Nope.” Her hands worked furiously, directing the spray all over his scalp. Some of it got into his eyes, but he wasn’t about to complain about her technique. So maybe he’d end up with highlights or something, that was okay. The kids would probably like it.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Meriwether said faintly.

  “We’re too late,” Caroline said, her fingertips stilling on his scalp. Which was feeling much better. Much…lighter.

  He put his hand up to his scalp and touched…skin. Bare skin.

  “Hey, Old Maid,” a voice called. Heavy boots stomped across the wooden floor. “Hey, Mrs. Meriwether. Who all else you got under there?”

  Then, “Holy shit.”

  Lance awkwardly sat up, turning and craning his head to see his reflection in one of the mirrors that lined the walls.

  Three faces were trying very hard not to laugh. In the center of them was Lance, dripping wet and bald as the day he was born.

  ***

  Six days later, a strawberry blond stubble had grown in, but Matt and Johnny were still calling him Mr. T. Lance ran his hand over his scalp as the boys’ SUV crawled down the mountain behind a highway patrol vehicle, a light snow falling.

  “We won’t get there until tomorrow at this rate,” Matt grumbled.

  “Yeah, but it was worth it.”

  The skiing had been fantastic, and better-than-average snowfall kept the resort’s bookings high. Which was good news for Snow Creek, which would receive the ripple effect of the record tourist business.

  Lance had spent much of the time, when he wasn’t trying to keep up with his friends on the slopes, thinking about Caroline. He cleared his throat, figuring he’d put this moment off long enough.

  “So, I, uh…kind of have a date tomorrow.”

  Johnny twisted around and smirked at him. “With Caroline.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “The whole town knows. Mrs. Meriwether ratted you out, said Caroline offered to give you the treasure tour tomorrow. Everyone feels sorry for Caroline, it’s all they’re talking about, according to dad.”

  “Great,” Lance said. “Thanks a lot. So glad I can count on you.”

  “Not because the date’s with you. Because of the curse,” Matt added helpfully. “Dating always goes badly for Bonny women. It’s really best if they just accept their fate and give up.”

  “Which is what everyone thought Caroline had done,” Johnny said sympathetically. “She didn’t get invited to prom. She had to go with Mindy Callahan.”

  “What was wrong with Mindy Callahan?”

  “Nothing, she's actually pretty hot. She was just really into good deeds at the time, so she said she’d share her date. So what happened is that they both were going to go with Keith Goodman, except in between the time he asked Mindy and the actual prom, he dropped out of the Jesus Cares Club and ended up getting caught having sex in the Mobil sign.”

  “In the….” Lance’s head was starting to spin, which might have been a result of an encounter with a tree that had knocked his helmet sideways and deposited him almost a hundred feet down-mountain from his skis.

  “Oh, they took it down a while back. Zoning. It exceeded height limits, you used to be able to crawl up in there and—never mind,” Johnny amended, blushing. “The point is, it was humiliating for both Mindy and Caroline, though Mindy pretended it was what she’d prayed for, but it was the first of several terrible dating experiences for Caroline and everyone thought when she took over the drug store after her dad retired that she was done.”

  “Are you sure she knows this is an actual date?” Matt asked suddenly.

  “Well, yeah,” Lance said. Didn’t she? There’d been that electric attraction between them, the way she’d held his foot while he bled on her. Her gentle caresses as she rinsed all his hair down the sink. “I mean, I’m pretty sure.”

  “How did you ask?” Matt said.

  “Well, uh, before we left last Sunday, I laid it on kind of hard with the I-love-kids thing, asked her if she’d show me around the treasure map site so I could tell my students about it. You know. Chicks always fall for that shit.”

  “Worked for me,” Johnny murmured. “Matt brought the class in for a bookstore tour, and this one little girl pushed her friend into the Hunger Games display and it fell on her and he was so sweet about it, getting her all calmed down and helping me put the books back on the rack.”

  “While totally checking him out,” Matt sighed dreamily.

  “Sweet,” Lance said drily. “But unless you can get some little kid to knock me over on the tour, that’s not going to work for me.”

  “Well, she said yes to taking you up to the mill, right?”

  “The mill?”

  “Oh
, darn,” Johnny intoned flatly. “I just gave it all away. The location of the secret treasure is, gasp, the old mill where fifty billion gallons of water just happen to be rushing over the location on the map, so the treasure is buried forever, but what do you know, there’s a little stand where Caroline’s dad used to sell lemonade and T-shirts in the summer.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, sport,” Matt added. “Buy a T-shirt from the poor girl so it’s not a total bust, okay?”

  “So this stupid curse,” Lance muttered. “Isn’t there some way to break it?”

  “Of course there is. She didn’t tell you?”

  “No….”

  “You just have to find great-great-great-grandpa Bonny’s treasure. As soon as you do, the curse is lifted and Bonny daughters are free to find true love.”

  “And, presumably, the men have to figure out how to take care of themselves. Terrible news for Fiver,” Matt said. “But it doesn’t matter, since there’s no way to get under that millstream, which is how every sensible person in the town knows the whole thing is a bunch of hooey.”

  “Hooey?” Johnny demanded. “Honey, I hate to say it, one week in town and you’re starting to sound just like you’re from here.”

  “Want me to come along and take your picture with her? For the kids?” Matt asked kindly, ignoring his fiancé.

  “No thanks.”

  Lance was silent the rest of the way back. Caroline might not think it was a date. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

  ***

  “You’ve been putting makeup on for almost forty-five minutes, and you don’t look any different,” Jennie said. She was sitting on Caroline’s bed, wrapping Christmas presents for her nieces and nephews, while Caroline fussed at the mirror.

  Caroline sighed. “I’m going hiking, Jennie. I can’t look like I’m trying.”

  “You never look like you’re trying. I swear, Caroline, considering that you’ve made up every woman in this town, plus most of the women in a fifty-mile radius, plus the Divas, you’d think you wouldn’t be so afraid to take a chance on yourself.”