Just In Time for Christmas

by Kim Boykin

  “Beautiful,” she said, sounding venerable, maybe even a little lonesome.

  Middle Street was beautiful; palm trees wrapped in white lights, big, old-fashioned colored lights strung across the street. Growing up, he remembered Miranda’s dad had been the guy everyone had tried to outdo when it came to decorating, and her mom had always had a Christmas party for the kids in Miranda’s class. He’d been lucky enough to go to a few of those parties and had always been fascinated by her grandfather’s train set that was Mr. Hamilton’s other obsession.

  After his parents split, a lot of his friends had thought it was cool that he had two Christmases every year, especially during the years his dad, Big Jack, had been trying to buy his sons with a ridiculous amount of presents. Logan had always made a big deal out of all the stuff he got, but he’d secretly envied the simple traditions Miranda’s family had.

  “Love me some Christmas lights,” she drawled softly.

  “You want to ride around the island and look at decorations?” he offered.

  She shook her head, like maybe the suggestion was too much like a date. “Can’t go to Ron’s without having ribs. We should eat before—before the band starts.”

  “You still can’t say it,” he said, grinning like a fool as he pulled in a parking spot beside the restaurant.

  Even in the busy restaurant, the kiss loomed large over them. It seemed Miranda wasn’t going to talk about it, and Logan had to admit, he enjoyed watching her pretend it had never happened. She was on guard. For what, he wasn’t sure. He wanted her to relax, have a good time. And for a guy who didn’t do relationships or even talk about shit like that, he was surprised that he wanted to talk about the kiss. Or maybe just skip the talking and do it again. Better. Hotter.

  One thing was sure, there was nothing more arousing than watching the fire in Miranda Hamilton’s eyes. Except maybe the anticipation of watching her fine ass moving to the music. They were sitting at one of the high top tables sharing a full rack of ribs and a basket of fries while the band was setting up. He almost lost his mind watching her lick the sweet sticky sauce off of her fingers.

  “What?” she asked, blushing and reaching for another napkin, then cursing under her breath when it fell to the floor. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows. Was he going to be a Southern gentleman and pick it up? Of course not, but he did enjoy the view of her bending over and snatching it off of the floor. “What?” she growled.

  “Nothing,” he said, and took a long draw off of his beer. He pushed the plastic basket toward her. “More fries?”

  “It’s not nothing.” She dabbed around her mouth with her fingers. “What is it?”

  He reached across the table and slid his thumb over a small drop of sauce on the middle of her luscious bottom lip. He wanted her to lick the sauce off of her lips, but he settled for tasting his thumb. Man, he needed to get a grip and stop mooning over this woman. He sucked the sauce off of his thumb and almost laughed at her look that for a few unguarded seconds was all heat.

  “So good,” he said, going instantly hard. Yeah, way to get a grip. But for the life of him, he couldn’t stop thinking of all the ways he wanted to taste her. Oh, hell, just go for it. “Earlier. About that kiss.”

  She gave him the not-talking-about-it look and threw her napkin on the table. “Excuse me,” she said, making a hasty retreat to the bathroom.

  “Cute date, Logan.” Bonnie set another beer in front of him without him asking. She was a pretty redhead, dressed for big tips in a tight pair of black pants and a yellow Home Team t-shirt that had been revamped with a pair of scissors to show off her boobs.

  “She’s not a date. She’s a—” Bonnie raised one perfectly arched auburn eyebrow. “Colleague.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself,” she smirked. “Want me to keep ’em coming?” She nodded at the beers.

  “Maybe for her, but this is it for me. I’m driving.”

  Miranda glanced at him, slight smile, before she made her way back to the table. Whenever he saw her around town she was beautiful, all dolled up in fancy clothes and makeup and pearls. But tonight she was a goddess in an old pair of jeans that hit just below the top of her hip bones and a red sweater that was just short enough to show a sliver of her flat belly when she moved.

  “Holler if you need anything, Logan,” Bonnie smiled and jerked her chin up at Miranda as she returned to the table.

  “You look good in red,” he said. That was an understatement. “Red for Christmas?”

  “I like red,” she said. “It’s a power color.” She’d always had the power. She owned it. And being such a competitive guy, Logan was surprised at how very much he liked that. But whatever was going on between the two of them, had her a little off kilter, and he liked that even more.

  Bonnie gave him a seductive look when she went by. Was she trying to help him out? Make Miranda jealous? Last time he’d tried that, when they were in college, it didn’t work out so well.

  *

  They had been at the same house party one weekend on the Isle of Palms, him with a bunch of University of South Carolina kids and her with College of Charleston friends. There had always been a lot of verbal sparring between him and Miranda, which, at the time, felt like it was leading to foreplay. Everything had been fine, until Pammy had arrived at the party.

  He’d seen the look on Miranda’s face when Pammy was hugging everybody hello, mostly the guys. He’d known how much Miranda and Pammy hated each other, so when Pammy threw her arms around him, he’d used it to his advantage to make Miranda jealous.

  Problem was, by the time he’d realized his stupid guy logic was, well, stupid, Miranda had been so pissed off she wouldn’t speak to him. He hadn’t been able to get rid of Pammy, and every time he’d tried to talk to Miranda, she’d blown him off and sidled up to some guy she went to school with at The College to make Logan jealous. And he was. He was also drunk enough to try to one up her by taking Pammy into his bedroom.

  He’d been pretty toasted. Nothing had happened; he’d slept, that was it. But when the two of them had come out of the same bedroom the next morning, Miranda wouldn’t even look at him. She made some excuse and bolted, and Logan had been either too stupid or too proud to go after her.

  It had taken months for her to even speak to him again, years before the first smart remark had come out of her sassy mouth. There’d been a hint of a smile, and, man, that had felt good. It had been at the Blue Crab Festival, maybe five or six years ago. He’d had a date he’d wanted to ditch so bad to see just how much she’d forgiven him, but he didn’t. Besides, Miranda seemed guarded, like things were almost back to normal, but after the long drought without her, that was enough for him then.

  “She one of your minions?” Miranda took a draw from the beer and nodded at Bonnie.

  “My minions?” he laughed.

  “Minions. Groupies. Whatever you call them.” She was flushed and was biting her lips together trying not to smile. The blush on her face traveled down her neck and disappeared under her sweater. Yeah, that wasn’t sexy.

  “You’re nuts,” he said, popping a fry in his mouth.

  “Maybe, but maybe not. I’ve been keeping my eye on the bidding, and there’s this girl, Candice Taylor, who’s giving Pammy fits. She seems to be one of your minions too. Do you know her?”

  “Candice Taylor?” The bass player thumped out a few notes warming up, while the lead singer checked the mikes, and the drummer sort just stared out into space. “I don’t know who this Candice chick is, but you’re wrong, I don’t have minions or groupies,” he said. Bonnie bussed the table facing him and, out of habit, she all but laid her tits on the table.

  Miranda laughed out loud, watching Bonnie strut back to the kitchen, “Definitely one of yours.”

  The drummer pumped the bass couple of beats, and the lead singer breathed into the mike. “Y’all ready now?” The music started, a funky piece complete with horns, and an intro that was so long, Logan wasn’t sure
what the song was. “Here we go now. A little ‘Brick House’ from Bootie Call.”

  Logan leaned toward her, his lips just above her ear. He wasn’t sure if it was her shampoo or her cologne, but she smelled good, like roses and raspberries. “You gonna blush every time they say their name?” he teased.

  She blushed again and he laughed. “Not blushing,” she shouted over the music.

  “Wanna dance?” he asked.

  She eyed him with a little of the sass she’d had at City Hall that morning. “Not dancing.”

  Then, she got an oh shit look on her face as her friends walked through the door with Logan’s brother, Trent. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I told the Chicks I couldn’t go out because I had work to do.”

  “So? You’re working. Beer. Ribs. Bootie Call.”

  One of the Chicks let out an earsplitting squeal when she spotted Miranda and her face lit up as her posse surrounded her. Trent took a seat while the girls’ coats and purses filled the chair next to him. Yes, the Six Chicks were in the house hugging and dancing, which gave Logan a welcomed opportunity to watch that very fine ass of Miranda’s.

  “Buy you a beer, brother?” he said to Trent who was keeping an eye on Darcy.

  “I’m the designated driver.” He shook his head in mock disgust. “For all of them.”

  “Poor you,” Logan said. “What’d you do to deserve that?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Trent snagged a waiter as he went buy and ordered a water. “They got thrown out of Bottoms Up for being too rowdy. Another pre-bachelorette party.”

  Darcy looked up at Trent like she was ready to get naked, and then twirled around. “She looks at me like that again, I’m going to haul her out of here over my shoulder, and you can take the girls home.”

  “How many of these pre-bachelorette parties is she gonna have?”

  “Don’t know,” Trent said, and thanked the waiter for his drink. “Six, I guess. They’re all trying to out-do each other. Then they’re planning a big one the week of the wedding.”

  “No shit. How many bachelor parties do you get?”

  “She says none,” Trent grinned. “I’m thinking at least one.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Logan said. “Darcy already told me. No naked girls, and what’s a bachelor party without at least one naked girl?”

  “I’ve already got one of those, or will have very soon,” Trent said, his eyes never leaving Darcy. Moving to the music, she ran her long fingers down the sides of her body with a look that was all heat. He looked at his watch. “Jesus, is it ten o’clock already? Almost bedtime.”

  “Okay, Grandpa, how about me and the guys take you to the Crab Shack for your party, get you the early bird special. Maybe they’ll give you a special bib with your name on it. Think your woman will let you do that?”

  “You looking to get your ass kicked, little brother?” Trent grinned. “Haven’t done that in a while. Might be fun.”

  “You remember the last time that happened,” Logan gave his brother a look and they cracked up laughing.

  “I remember getting grounded for a month and you didn’t,” Trent said.

  “You should have, we beat the shit out of each other, and I had braces.”

  “You got the sympathy vote from mom because your damn mouth was a bloody mess.”

  “Good times,” Logan laughed and clinked glasses with Trent. Miranda looked his way, full on grin, but the girls were having so much fun, it was hard to know if that look was directed at him.

  “So, you and Miranda,” Trent smirked. “Wondered when that was gonna happen.”

  “Bullshit,” Logan said. “There’s nothing going on.”

  “Man, who are you trying to kid? You’ve always had a thing for her. And now here my little brother is, on a date and everything,” Trent laughed. “Ah. They grow up so fast.”

  “All right, old man, just to be clear, we’re not on a date. I booked the band for the cotillion, and she’d never heard them. Since she’s the co-chair of the committee, I thought it’d be a good idea for her to see them for herself.”

  “I heard Mom say Daisy and Camellia made her chair. Who’s the co-chair?” When Logan didn’t answer, Trent busted a gut laughing. “What the hell, man? You must have it bad; you’ve never done anything like that in your life.”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  “Bootie Call.” Trent snickered peeling the label off of Miranda’s empty beer bottle. “No subliminal message there. But if I were you, I’d try to be a little more romantic. Chicks dig that, especially those Chicks,” he said, pointing to Miranda’s girls.

  “Yeah,” Logan snorted, “I remember hearing how romantic you were, begging Darcy to marry you.”

  “First of all, I never begged. But I definitely would have,” Trent said. “Secondly, have you seen my woman? She could make any man beg. And the best part, she’s in my bed every night.”

  “You mean her bed,” Logan said.

  Trent shrugged. He’d moved in with Darcy before he proposed and had the whole town talking about his romantic declaration that got him back in her good graces in the first place. It took place at Darcy’s B&B, Mimosa House, when she had been so pissed off at him she wasn’t speaking to him. Ever. But he’d worked his way into her house and then into her heart when he pulled a Jerry McGuire in front of a bunch of guests who were staying at the B&B and all of the Chicks who’d been ready to castrate Trent because they thought he was screwing around. Which he wasn’t.

  “Semantics,” Trent said. “The point is that I’ll have that gorgeous woman underneath me in a few hours, and you’ll probably still be sitting here, pretending you’re not on a date.”

  “Asshole,” Logan growled.

  “Idiot.”

  The girls were still dancing when Darcy raised her long red hair off her neck and gave Trent another look. He downed his water and pushed back from the table. “Love to stay and talk little brother, but it looks like I’m about to get laid.”

  “You go at it like rabbits all the time.” Jesus, Logan sounded whiny.

  “Because I don’t deny the obvious,” he said, punching Logan’s arm. “You ought to try it.”

  Trent kissed Darcy like there wasn’t another soul in the room or on the earth and said something to the girls. All of them came back over to the table to get their coats and purses, while Miranda stood there like she wasn’t sure what to do.

  He’d seen the Chicks giving her the third degree on the dance floor between songs and wondered what she’d told them about being out with him.

  “Fun band,” Dusty said as another song started.

  “I know. It’s early for most of us.” Emma raised her eyebrows at Trent and Darcy who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.

  “Can we even have a pre-bachelorette party without a bride-to-be?” Shelby asked.

  “Hey,” Stacia said, with her hands on her hips. “Don’t forget about me. I’m next, if Sawyer will ever set a date.”

  “Don’t worry, ladies. Stay and play as long as you like,” Trent said grabbing Logan’s keys off the table and then tossing the keys to his huge SUV to him. “Logan’ll get you home.”

  “Gosh, Logan, we don’t want to spoil your date,” Hannah said.

  “It’s not a date,” Miranda said as Emma and Dusty pulled her out on the dance floor.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  Well, it wasn’t a date. At least that’s what Miranda kept telling herself. Logan was a good sport dancing with the Chicks when asked and then driving them home. She’d stuck to her guns about not dancing with him. She didn’t know why, other than a simple dance suddenly didn’t seem as innocuous as it should have.

  Good sport or not, as much as Miranda loved her friends, she didn’t like Logan with them. And they all passed him around. When the they weren’t dancing with him, they whispered comments about his ass and the rest of his very hot body. And she really didn’t like that. But she kept her mouth s
hut until they closed down the bar.

  Stacia was the only really tipsy Chick and spent most of the evening whining about Sawyer always being gone. Logan took her home first. Then one by one, he dropped the girls off until just Miranda and Emma were left.

  For a moment, Miranda thought Logan was going to drop her off first. It would have made more sense. Both he and Emma lived in Magnolia Run, the brand-spanking new, gated community barely within the city limits. Instead, he drove past the guardhouse and into what amounted to Lowcountry sacrilege. Row after row of soulless Hardie Plank homes that weren’t even modern day replicas of Magnolia Bay historic homes. They were all copies of Charleston single and double houses South of Broad except they had three car garages and cavernous walk-in closets.

  Their only redeeming factor was the homeowners were almost as crazy for Christmas as Miranda. These people lived the truth: there is no such thing as too many lights. They were the folks with their noses pressed against the glass at Lowes or Home Depot, maybe Target the day-after-Christmas, waiting for the doors to open. The ones who stacked their carts with decorations for next to nothing, and couldn’t wait for next year. When their streets were lit up with an insane number of Christmas lights, she could see the glow at her house from two miles away.

  But they didn’t stop at lights and wreaths. All manner of giant blowup decorations filled almost every lawn. Daisy and Camellia were fighting to outlaw the blowups even within the gates of Magnolia Run. Not that they ever set foot in the development, but just knowing the inflatables were there was cause enough for them to propose the ban.

  Miranda was a little disappointed to see only the remnants of colorful Santas and reindeer, elves, and overgrown snow globes melted into puddles on the lawns. In keeping with city ordinances, the Christmas light war was over every night at ten, and only the streetlights illuminated Emma’s home.

  “Thanks for the ride, Logan. This was fun.” Emma got out of the car. “Call me, Miranda,” she said, with a look that would demand details ASAP. But there wouldn’t be any details; nothing was going to happen. Miranda would see to it.