by Kim Boykin
“In a box, of course,” she smiled up at him. “A treasure chest. He and his queen lay it at the base of the Christmas tree, he opens the treasure chest, and wallah! The tree magically lights up and the Christmas season is officially here.”
Another band of pirates took their turn swashbuckling. Only one more boat and the Spanish Galleon was next.
“And how is the Pirate King chosen?” he asked.
“It has to be a man who’s won the heart of a fair maiden so that she can be his queen.”
John turned her to face him, his arms wrapped around her. “Maybe I can be that guy next year?” And then, he kissed her long and hard, making her breathless. Definitely a nine.
“Sorry,” she teased. “You have to be from Magnolia Bay to be the Pirate King.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, just as she turned around to see pirates pouring off the Spanish Galleon.
Then Trent appeared decked out in what looked like black skinny jeans from the waist down and dressed like a very sexy Captain Jack Sparrow from the waist up. The crowd went nuts, hundreds of people cheering for him, but, having been a professional golfer before he fell in love with Darcy, he was used to that. His queen appeared at his side. Darcy, dressed like an oversexed fairy princess and looking gorgeous.
Trent’s crew appeared, a dozen gorgeous pirates, including Logan. Especially Logan. He looked so hot in his tight black jeans, his swashbuckler’s shirt that seemed to be missing so many buttons, though not as many as Miranda would have liked.
The Pirate King raised his sword in triumph as the crew hauled the large treasure chest off the boat. Trent led his queen to the Christmas tree in the town square, where his brothers lay the chest. The Pirate King kissed his queen, and when he threw open the chest, millions of tiny white lights illuminated the tree. The buildings. The streets. The Christmas season was officially here.
*
Miranda was determined to have a good time with John. He’d said he wanted to be the Pirate King. Maybe she would be his queen. Only she couldn’t stop looking into the huge crowd for Logan. And there were so many pirates, every time she saw a dark headed, incredibly built guy from the back, she thought it was him. And when Tall Dark and Gorgeous turned around, and wasn’t Logan, she was disappointed. She really needed to stop looking; she was with John, and she was having fun damn it.
She led John away from the mass of pirates toward the kids’ stage on the opposite end of Main Street. A class of kindergarteners from Magnolia Bay Elementary School were taking the stage. Twenty adorable little ones filed in a not-so-straight line onto bleachers. Some of them waved like it was possible to shake their fingers right off of their hand. Others were shy, but all of them seemed excited to perform.
From the second row, an adorable little boy with brown hair, who looked innocent and devilish all at the same time, pulled the pigtail of the cute little blonde in front of him. When the little girl turned around and swatted at the boy, the teacher fussed at her. She waited until the teacher was busy with another student before turning around and whacking the little boy on the arm.
“Cute kids,” John said, kissing the top of her head. “Bet you were adorable at that age. And precocious.”
Yeah, and her and Logan went at it all the time. The little boy gave the other pigtail a yank and when the little girl turned around to hit him again, he planted a kiss on her cheek. She wiped the kiss away and punched her nemesis in the stomach.
That trip down memory lane wasn’t helping her forget about Logan. Thankfully, a rock band on the opposite end of the street started up, the beginning of Magnolia Bay’s anthem, “Sweet Home Carolina” sung to the tune of “Sweet Home Alabama.”
“I love that song,” she said, nodding toward the music. “Let’s walk up that way.”
The band was good, and the festival food was addictive. Fresh warm benne wafers, and the usual trashy carnival sweets she loved, but always regretted eating. There were plenty of Magnolia Bay staples like shrimp and grits. Crab cakes. Lowcountry red rice. But the Christmas tree lighting was winding down, and Miranda was stuffed.
She and John walked to Ivy Cottage where his car was parked. “That was fun,” she said.
“We always have a good time together,” he said, taking her in his arms. “And then, we end up on this doorstep, and I keep wondering when you’re going to ask me inside.”
Yes. She absolutely was and had meant to before now. So, why hadn’t she?
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Aw, hell, he was an eight again. Maybe not even that. She really should at the very least take him inside to her private quarters, even if they just fooled around on her couch. Give him a chance to up his rating. “I have a house full of guests, John.” Her voice sounded all breathy. “And a big day tomorrow.” She kissed him again.
He pulled back just enough to look at her and glanced up at the mistletoe. It was almost three weeks old and was looking a little withered. Most all of the berries had fallen off, or were picked off, thanks to goodnight kisses. Most of them with John. He nuzzled her lips before he devoured her. Blowing the scale completely, and she didn’t know what to think.
He picked the last berry off of the mistletoe and said goodnight.
Chapter Twelve
‡
Rosie Mauldin had tears in her eyes watching Miranda raise her hand to touch her beautiful coif. “You keep your hands out of your hair, young lady. Don’t you dare mess with perfection,” Rosie said, giving her a look. With her rattail comb, Rosie lifted the crown of Miranda’s French twist up a bit more. “You should have let me tease it a little.”
“No. Thank you,” Miranda laughed, “I want to look like myself, not like one of the B-52’s.”
“I wasn’t going for that, or even a Tammy Wynette up do, but, without teasing, I’m not sure it’s going to stay up very well.”
“It’ll be fine, Rosie. It’s beautiful.”
“Oh, honey, that’s where you’re wrong.” Her hands settled on Miranda’s shoulders as she looked at their reflection in the mirror. “You are stunning. Just like your mama.”
Miranda put her hand on Rosie’s. “And those tears were for Mama?”
Rosie nodded and forced a smile. Miranda knew Mama and Rosie had been best friends growing up and were until the day Mama passed. And when she did pass, Miranda was on one side of the bed and Rosie was on the other.
“Can’t believe how much you look just like her,” she sniffed and shook her head. “I just wish she were here to see you. And me. I miss her so much.”
“I do too,” Miranda, swiped at tears. “So very much.”
“The buzz around town about this auction thing has had her on my mind.”
“Mama told me about the May Day auction,” Miranda said.
“Really, it was more like the Magnolia Bay version of a Sadie Hawkins Day, and your mama was determined to win your daddy.”
Miranda nodded and smiled. “She told me the bid got high and she had to borrow money from you. And she still lost him to Emma’s mom. Her and Daddy always laughed about that, but Mama got her man, and he was a good one,” she said, wiping more tears away.
“I’ll never forget,” Rosie said. “We were over in a corner of the dance hall, counting change, trying to scrape up enough money in case she won,” Rosie said.
“Most all of us were just young things. Seventeen. Afraid of own shadows. Of boys. But not your mama. She always knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it.”
“You trying to tell me something, Rosie?” Miranda teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
“I’ve got no business saying this, and if you repeat it, I’ll deny it to my dying day. But Logan likes you. A lot. You want my boy? Then, you go after him. If you don’t, leave him be. I don’t want to see my son hurt.”
“Thank you for sharing Mama’s story with me,” Miranda hugged Rosie. “But I don’t want you to worry; Logan and I are just friends.”
*
“Your hair looks fabulous,” Stacia cooed as Miranda joined the rest of the Chicks getting dressed for the cotillion at Mimosa House, Darcy’s twelve bedroom B&B. Everyone was drinking some kind of champagne cocktail Darcy had created for her guests for the Christmas holidays.
“Thanks,” Miranda said, “my hair is about the only thing I can control right now. I’m so nervous about the cotillion, praying everything goes off without a hitch.”
“It will,” Darcy said, emphatically.
“It just makes me nervous, knowing Daisy and Camellia will be there, waiting for me to fail royally.”
“The Bloom Bitches are no match for a Six Chick,” Darcy said. “You taught me that.”
Miranda smiled and looked at the mirrored wall of the bathroom that was plenty big for seven Chicks to primp in. She almost touched her hair, but a picture of Rosie’s angry hairstylist’s face flashed through her mind, and she thought the better of it.
“Relax, Miranda,” Hannah said, handing her a glass of straight champagne. “Everything is going to be wonderful. You know it is.”
“I don’t know anything. What happens if the caterer shows up with the wrong food? Or the band’s van breaks down on the Copper River Bridge or the drummer’s wife goes into labor? There are a million things that can go wrong, and the Bloom bitches will be there to make sure I’m keenly aware of each and every one of them,” Miranda fussed at her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, God, why did I take this job in the fist place? And why did I agree to go to the cotillion with Logan of all people?”
“I’ve known you since we were in diapers,” Dusty said, leaning into the mirror to put her fake eyelashes on. She waited about thirty seconds for the adhesive to set up before she finished her sentence. “And you don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
“What’s so bad about going with Logan?” Emma teased. “He’s gorgeous.”
“And annoying,” Miranda added.
“Then, trust me,” Darcy said, with a sly look, “if you’re annoyed, you really do like him.”
“John doesn’t annoy me,” Miranda said, lining her lips. “He’s a very good kisser. And he said, he’d like to be the Pirate King so that I could be his queen.” She colored in between the lines with a Christmas red lip stain and scrutinized her makeup one last time. “Yes, I believe I like me some John Jackson.” Keep saying that. Maybe you’ll believe it.
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Stacia said. “He can’t be the Pirate King; he’s not from Magnolia Bay.”
“The point is, Stacia, girl,” Miranda slipped into her silky cobalt blue gown and turned for Emma to zip up the side. “He wants me to be his queen.”
“And that makes a difference to you?” Stacia said, putting her dangly earrings on.
“Of course it makes a difference,” Miranda said. “Doesn’t every woman want her man’s queen?”
“Stop trying to analyze everyone, Stacia,” Shelby said, “if she wants to be John’s queen, she wants to be his queen.”
“Then why is she going to the cotillion with Logan?” Stacia didn’t so much ask as she stated in a booya kind of way.
*
Well, shit. Stacia was right. Why was she going out with Logan if she wanted John? Because Logan had dared her? She wasn’t eight or eighteen or even twenty-eight. She could have said no. Again. And meant it.
Maybe part of the reason was the competitor in her. Maybe Miranda said yes to Logan so Pammy or whoever this Candice chick was couldn’t have him. But John was getting impatient. He wanted more. And it had been a while since Miranda had had more; she wouldn’t mind the same. But, as romantic as that whole Pirate King and queen thing seemed at the time, something was keeping her from being all in with John. And that something was definitely Logan Mauldin.
Miranda regretted, yes regretted, this whole stupid thing with Pammy and was incredibly grateful to the women who had picked up the slack after Miranda stopped bidding. Sophia Jenkins, Madison Walters, a couple other out-of-towners, including Candice Taylor, who had really come through.
Chatting with her on the auction website, she’d seemed like a nice girl. She didn’t know Logan and didn’t ask as many questions as Miranda would have asked if she was going to shell out that kind of money for a date. Candice seemed just as competitive as Pammy, and the best part was, Logan was like a bone Pammy couldn’t let go of. There was no telling how high the bidding would go. But what if Pammy won?
She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped out a message.
Miranda: Last day of the auction! Good luck.
Candice: Thanks. Why aren’t you bidding on anyone?
Miranda: All the good ones are taken :) Bidding ends at 10:00pm! I can’t wait to see the look on Pammy’s face when she loses. If I can, I’ll message you from the party. Maybe send you a pic of Logan all dressed up. Ciao!
“They’re here!” Emma squealed as the limo pulled up out front.
Miranda threw her phone into her very tiny purse and put some clear gloss on.
“And why do we need a limo again? The party’s just a few blocks away?” Stacia huffed.
“Because,” Darcy said, “Trent didn’t want me to fall in my do-me heels before we get home tonight. And because he’s the perfect fiancé, he doesn’t want my friends to suffer either.”
Nobody said anything to Darcy, but the truth was, part of the tradition of the cotillion was that the town was small and the gardens were within easy walking distance from most everyone’s home. Even in heels. The walk to the dance had always been more of a strut. All of the handsome Magnolia Bay men ushering their beautiful dates to the dance.
“I think the limo is a great idea,” Miranda said, “and I’ll tell Trent myself.”
Chapter Thirteen
‡
One minute he was standing around in the foyer shooting the shit with the other guys and the next minute, there she was at the top of Darcy’s grand staircase. The most exquisite creature Logan had ever seen.
She was dressed in a strapless sapphire blue dress that made her eyes sparkle. The other girls closed in around her while a couple of guys at the bottom of the stairs snapped pictures with their phones. And when she caught sight of him and grinned, he felt like he’d won a prize.
His heart squeezed as she walked toward him.
“Hi,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.
“Hi,” he said, kissing her back and lingering long enough to drink in her scent. That raspberry and rose cologne that always did a number on him.
“The limo’s here,” Trent announced, with a wink to the Chicks. “Let’s go.”
The weather was perfect, warm enough not to need a coat and just cold enough for a girl in a ball gown to snuggle up to her date to stay warm. Of course, they were the only locals who arrived in a limo. Although some folks from Charleston who had come to party and had done the same.
The gardens were lit up with millions of tiny lights and white candles in hurricane glasses. A huge white tent with a dozen chandeliers was set up next to the Wedding Chapel, which was centerpiece of the gardens and the scene of many a Magnolia Bay wedding for almost two hundred years.
Logan gave the attendant their tickets at the entrance and ushered Miranda through the crowd, his hand on the small of her back. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
“I could use one,” she said, looking around the party. “I’m nervous.”
“What are you nervous about?” he asked. “Everything’s beautiful. People are having a good time. There are no flying monkeys wreaking havoc.
She laughed and, man, that was a beautiful sound. “Everything looks perfect. The decorations. The food. You. But I can feel Daisy and Camellia eyeing me, waiting for something to blow up in my face. I’d give anything if I could crawl under this temporary dance floor until this is over.”
He threaded his hand in hers. “It’s great, Miranda, and nobody’s waiting for anything to blow up in your gorgeous face.”
Daisy said some
thing to Camellia, who nodded, both of them still giving Miranda the eye. “Tell that to them,” she said jerking her chin toward his aunts.
Logan caught sight of his aunts and waved. “Come on, I’ll get you that drink.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking his arm.
“Hey, kids.” His mom hugged him and then held Miranda’s hands and looked her over. “You are breathtaking, Miranda.”
“Thank you,” she blushed. “I owe it all to my hairstylist.”
“You owe it to genetics,” his mom said, hugging Miranda. “And by the way, everything is gorgeous tonight.”
“Including you,” Logan said giving his mom a peck on the cheek.
“Thanks, sweetie. Y’all did a fabulous job; everything looks wonderful. So many people. I hope you’ll take time to enjoy the cotillion. You deserve it.”
They thanked his mom and started toward the nearest bar. But he couldn’t stop looking at Miranda. If he was going to make it across the tent to the bar without falling flat on his face, he needed to.
“What?” She caught him staring. She put her hands in her hair and pushed a couple of pins into place. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this,” he said.
“Come on, Logan, you’re never at a loss for words. Especially a good smartass remark,” she laughed. She wobbled a little when her heel snagged on the temporary flooring, he caught her. His front to hers. Still staring.
“I’m not sure there are words. For how beautiful you look tonight. Right now.”
For one honest moment, she looked at him, almost pleading for him do the dance they normally did. The verbal sparring. Pissing each other off. Flirting relentlessly, but stopping there. He was done with that. Tonight, she was his, and he was going to use of the time he had with her to show her how much he really did—What? Want her? Love her?
He wasn’t sure exactly when he had fallen for her. Maybe because he’d always felt the way he did now, he was just too stupid or too proud to admit it. No, it had always been the sheer unadulterated terror of admitting how he felt about Miranda Hamilton and her telling him she didn’t feel the same way. But he wasn’t afraid anymore. He’d held her. Wanted her. Watched her, watching him. If she couldn’t admit she felt the same way about him, it was her stubbornness talking, not her heart.
