Cozy Christmas Shorts

by Halliday, Gemma

  Donna's pasta fork clattered to the table. "I never thought he was stupid, but Lord knows I've been wrong before. This is your last year in the Grove Street house. Like you'd want to just turn your back on that and share eggnog with the queen bee-yotch of the universe."

  "You said a bad word." Donna's more inquisitive twin Pippa, shamed her mother. "I'm telling Daddy."

  "Where do you think I learned it?"

  I ruffled her daughter's strawberry blond head. "Thank you."

  "What for?" Donna helped me stack the girl's plates.

  "For understanding."

  Donna nodded, obviously lost in thought. "Although—"

  I held up a hand. "Stop right there."

  "What?" Donna blinked in mock innocence, a tip-off that her thoughts were truly devious.

  "I don't want to hear it. Christmas is going to be weird enough—I don't need Lizzy and Kyle and, God forbid, Kyle's parents too." Just the thought of my ex with his fiancé and his prune-faced parents gave me a migraine.

  Donna wiped her youngest's mouth with the bib she wore. "It's just that if you and Jones are going to have any future, um, interactions you'll have to accept that, as his half-sister, Lizzy is part of his life.

  Lizzy had been the bane of my existence in high school. A spoiled brat down to her marrow, she'd gone out of her way to ostracize me because she'd wanted my boyfriend, Kyle, for herself. Eventually she'd snagged his attention but not before I'd gotten pregnant and my life fell apart. Seeing either of them wasn't up there on my Christmas wish list.

  "I really can't talk about this right now." Or ever.

  Donna skillfully hefted the baby onto her hip. "Can't or don't want to?"

  I grinned at her. "A little of column A, a little of column B."

  "Keep me posted." Donna hustled her brood into the tiny restroom.

  I admired her multitasking skills. Donna was a professional career woman, a top notch Realtor, and an awesome mother to boot. She juggled work and family and looked good doing it. I, on the other hand was a Southern Scottish-Italian train wreck looking for a place to derail. I grimaced as I caught my reflection in the plate glass window. My wild curls were making another bid for freedom from my loose ponytail holder. My pale complexion was paler than usual in the winter months, and my jeans were too tight from indulging in way too much pasta of late. It wasn't all bad though, because Jones liked what he saw and was willing to put up with the nonstop crazy for it.

  A loud crash came from the kitchen. I whirled around just in time to see Aunt Cecily appear in the doorway, a black cloud of fury emanating from her small frame.

  All noise in the pasta shop stopped. Some people froze with pasta still dangling from their forks.

  "Who…" Aunt Cecily's voice was low, even dangerous. "…stole my recipe book?"

  * * *

  "Hey!" I called out to Jones as I entered his house. Technically speaking it was Lizzy's house. But Lizzy was still living at her father's monumental estate across the field and had no plans to move into this place until she and Kyle were officially married. Whenever that would be. They'd been engaged for almost two years now, and unforeseen circumstances had delayed their official date. From what I could tell Lizzy wasn't in a hurry to pick a new one. Jones had set up semi-permanent residence in the meantime. "You missed the fireworks."

  "There were fireworks?" I heard his footsteps on the basement stairs. He must have been working in the darkroom. Among his many other talents, Jones was a brilliant photographer and was putting out his own North Carolina calendar for the new year.

  "Of the duck-and-cover variety. Aunt Cecily's recipe book is missing, and she's convinced someone stole it. She threatened to give everyone in town the Evil Eye."

  "Wine?" Jones asked.

  "I thought you'd never ask." I followed him into the kitchen and settled on a bar stool.

  "Aren't you all set with the calendar?"

  "This is just a side project." Jones poured two glasses of Zinfandel and handed one to me. "What's the Evil Eye?"

  "It's an Italian thing, like a curse or a hex. Bad fortune comes to those who've been given the Evil Eye."

  Jones leaned on the counter, his dark sweater clinging to well-developed muscles. He smelled luscious, even better than the Crock-Pot full of stew I'd started that morning and just as mouthwatering. "Can you do it?"

  I snickered like an adolescent at his phrasing. "Gee, I hope so."

  His gaze turned hot, but he rose and turned toward the fridge. "I meant the Evil Eye thing."

  "Oh, no. My blood has been too diluted. You have to be pure Italian for the Evil Eye to work. Didn't stop me from threatening people when I was in high school though."

  "People like my sister?" He raised one dark brow.

  "I plead the fifth."

  Jones nodded almost absently. "So, about Christmas…"

  I held a hand up. "Don't start."

  His neon blue eyes fixed on my face. "She's my sister."

  "Half-sister."

  "Considering all she's been through this year, I think she deserves some consideration."

  "And I don't? I'm your girlfriend, and this is the last year I get to spend in my family home." To my horror, tears threatened.

  Jones came around the table and pulled me into his warm embrace. "I know how hard this has been for you. I've helped you clean it out for the past six months."

  He had. He'd been terrific as we'd pawed through all of my family's memorabilia, generations of Buckland and Rossetti family heirlooms, some over a century old. The process had been exhausting both physically and emotionally.

  Since Pops and Aunt Cecily had moved into a retirement community the previous spring, I'd basically been alone with my memories at the house. Jones had been my lifeline. He of all people knew how hard it was to let go of the house and how important it was to have one more holiday season in my childhood home.

  "Lizzy got you for Thanksgiving, but," I groused like a bitter divorcé in the middle of a custody battle. But I hadn't liked being apart from Jones, and I knew he wanted to be with me just as badly.

  "I just wish you'd understand how much I detest being in the middle," he murmured.

  "Why can't Lizzy just go to Kyle's house? She's going to marry into the family eventually, right?"

  He released me and circled the counter, his movements agitated. "There are…complications."

  I sat up straighter, my fatigue forgotten. "What sort of complications?"

  He cut his gaze to me. "She doesn't want you to know."

  "Now who's putting you in the middle?" I slid off the stool and cornered him. Though he was head-and-shoulders taller than me and could move me aside like I'd move a pot off the stove, he stayed where he was. "You're my concern, not Lizzy. I promise I won't repeat anything you tell me about her."

  One dark eyebrow arched. "Not even to Donna?"

  I crossed myself and laid a hand over my heart. "Not even to our Lord and Savior at Christmas Mass. Now spill."

  "Kyle and Lizzy are having problems."

  I blinked, sure I wasn't interpreting the information correctly. "Like relationship problems?"

  Jones nodded. "She refuses to set the date. I'm not sure why, and Kyle's frustrated. I walked in on them shouting about it last week."

  I was proud of myself for not breaking out into jazz hands. There was trouble in paradise between my wretched ex and his miserable intended, the woman who had made my life a living hell in this town. Sometimes late at night I wished I was a bigger person, that I could rise above the past and just let it go and not begrudge them their fairy tale happiness.

  I so wasn't that evolved.

  But at least I didn't do any soft shoe in front of Lizzy's brother, who I happened to care about very much. And despite our rocky history, Lizzy wasn't quite as big a bee-yotch as she'd been in high school. It was the holidays for the love of Pete. Surely I could muster up an iota of compassion, no matter how much it hurt.

  I took his hand, laced my fi
ngers through it, and looked into his eyes. Took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. "You know how much it means to me to have one more Christmas at Grove Street. I see how much it means to you to be with Lizzy. So I guess you're just going to have to bring her with you to Christmas dinner."

  All the air rushed out of my lungs as he pulled me into a sudden embrace. I didn't mind getting the wind knocked out of me. Having Malcolm Jones, the sexiest, most incredible man I'd ever met, holding onto me like I was a unique Christmas gift was totally worth the inconvenience.

  We finally broke apart and went about serving up the stew. I had a second glass of wine raised to my lips when Jones said, "Tell me about your aunt's recipe book."

  "It's full of family recipes, all the ones we use at the pasta shop and some that we only use with family. It's the one possession Cecily and Nana brought with them from the old country. Believe me—heads will roll if we don't find it soon."

  "And Mimi was upset because she had it last?"

  I swirled the wine in my glass. "Yes. Aunt Cecily wanted her to familiarize herself with the recipes so she could take on more of the cooking."

  "I'm sure Mimi just misplaced it," Jones said.

  I wasn't nearly so sanguine. "She only just let Mimi see it for the first time last month, when she was down with the flu and we had that big Black Friday rush. Judging from Mimi's reaction this afternoon, she knew the significance of that. I'm sort of afraid she had it too close to a burner or something."

  Jones wiped his bowl with one of the fresh rolls I'd brought home from the pasta shop and then leaned back in his chair. "Well, the next step is clear."

  I nodded, our minds syncing up in total agreement. "We have to talk to Mimi."

  Jones nodded. Then he rose and held out his hand, eyes sparkling. "First thing tomorrow."

  Oh, how I loved this man.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jones and I let ourselves into the pasta shop first thing the next morning. True to form, Mimi was already up and chopping veggies. Her eyes were red from crying.

  "Give me a few with her first," I whispered to Jones.

  He nodded. "I'll run across the street and get us coffee."

  I waited until the door shut behind him before I approached our sous-chef. Mimi was beautiful and fragile looking, almost like a Japanese animation character brought to life, except she was Chinese and was a tireless worker. Eventually she wanted to be a pastry chef, but for now she worked for us to keep her visa legal.

  "Good morning." I approached her cautiously, like I would a wounded animal.

  "Andy, I am so, so sorry," she sniffled.

  Instead of setting into work, I pulled her over to a stool and sat down beside her. "Tell me what happened. Did the book get destroyed somehow?"

  Her eyes rounded. "No, nothing like that."

  Thank the powers that be. "Okay, so what exactly happened?"

  She ducked her head until she was staring at her shoes. "I left it in the restaurant."

  "Here?" Yeesh, Aunt Cecily wouldn't like it that Mimi had taken the book out of the kitchen, never mind out into public view. No wonder she'd been scared.

  She nodded. "Yes, and then the phone rang up in my apartment. I was waiting for Cho to call."

  Cho was her significant other, a handsome young chef she'd met online. "Okay, so this was after hours?"

  "Yesterday morning, before we opened," she confirmed. "When I came back, the book had disappeared."

  "What time?" I asked her.

  "About ten to seven. I always get up early and study the recipes. I used to sit in the kitchen, but the booths are so much more comfortable, and I thought since the restaurant was closed it would be all right."

  I hadn't known that she studied the recipes. Mimi had a work ethic that made me look like a layabout. "Okay, did anyone else know you got up that early? Did you leave either of the doors unlocked?"

  Mimi lived in the small attic apartment over the pasta shop. Her brow crinkled as she thought about it. "No one knew. I'm not sure about the doors. I usually unlock the back door for you, but the front was locked, and the sign flipped to Closed."

  "Right, and there isn't a huge rush for garlic parmesan pasta at seven a.m. Okay. So how long were you on the phone with Cho?"

  "About ten minutes. He had an early day, too."

  I bit my lip. Ten minutes wasn't much time for someone to just happen by, see a dusty old book lying on a table, decide to break in, and steal it. It wasn't valuable, other than sentimentally at least. Other than one or two unique recipes, most of the dishes we made were variations on recipes that could be found online.

  Jones pushed through the back door, black jacket and wet hair clinging to him attractively. I rose and plucked a dish towel from the clean drawer, snagging the cardboard container of to-go coffee cups. "My hero."

  Mimi smiled and accepted a cup, but her face slid back into worry mode much too soon. "I'm so sorry, Andy."

  I patted her hand. "Hey, have a little faith. It is the season for miracles after all. Now we better get to work before Aunt Cecily comes in and finds us lounging around."

  Mimi nodded and took her cup back to her work station. I rose, and Jones followed me over to the pantry door.

  "Crap," I said and then relayed what Mimi had told me.

  Jones nodded thoughtfully. "It doesn't sound like a crime of opportunity, more like someone knew Mimi's schedule and waited for their chance."

  In a previous life, Jones had been a private investigator, though he'd mostly given that up to focus on his professional photography.

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose to relieve the tension headache building. "Why though? The book isn't valuable outside of the family."

  "It seems more of a vengeance thing. Does your aunt have any enemies?"

  I snorted. "You mean other than everyone who's ever met her?"

  "I'm serious, Andrea."

  "So am I! She's the terror of Beaverton and has been since she landed here. She threatened to give the whole town the Evil Eye. I'd say that speaks to motive."

  "Yes, but that was after the book went missing. She may be a little unorthodox, but people hold her in great esteem. She's been feeding them for more than fifty years and is an active member of her church."

  He had a point. I collected the containers housing the fresh pasta and carried them to the counter. "Okay, so I really can't think of anyone…" I trailed off as a thought occurred to me. "Mavis Humphries."

  "Who?" Jones asked.

  "She's an old busybody, works for the post office. She had her sights set on Pops before he and Aunt Cecily went public with their relationship. I overheard her saying some pretty rude stuff at the last town meeting about our family. You know, a few incest allusions, crap like that. Never mind that they aren't related by blood."

  "What about opportunity?" Jones asked.

  "I know for a fact she and her gaggle of crones go power walking through town early in the morning. I almost ran over her jaywalking hide last week. If she'd seen Mimi sitting in the restaurant she might have figured out what she had and then waited for her chance."

  "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Jones quoted, his expression grim. "That doesn't bode well for the book's survival."

  "We need to go talk to her. If we leave now I bet we can catch them on Green Street." I was halfway to the door when Jones caught my arm.

  "Let me go. You have work to do here."

  He was right. We were catering a big holiday extravaganza that night at the community center. "Are you sure?"

  He nodded. "I'll get the truth out of her."

  "Just don't get arrested," I warned him. "I spent all my money on your Christmas present, so there's nothing left over for bail."

  "I'll keep that in mind." His tone was dry, but he gave me a sweet kiss before he left on his mission.

  * * *

  Between our regular workload and the party, Mimi and I spent the morning working our butts off. Aunt Cecily didn't show up, which was h
ighly unusual for her. Fearing she might have confronted Mavis herself and was currently sitting in county lockup, I bit the bullet and moseyed over to Kyle's lunch table. It addition to being my dreaded ex, he was also the local sheriff, which placed him squarely in the category of necessary evil.

  "Hey, little bit!" Kyle's lunch companion, Billy Ray Denton greeted me.

  "Billy Ray, you know I hate that nickname."

  "Why?" Billy Ray asked, visibly surprised.

  I rolled my eyes. "Because your accent is so thick, and it sounds like you're calling me 'little shit.'"

  Both he and Kyle laughed, and I sighed, accepting that you couldn't teach an old hound dog new verbiage.

  "The place looks great, Andy." Kyle waved to the frosty Christmas cling-ons I'd pasted inside the glass cases and on the clear roof of the pasta bar. Twinkle lights were strung from the ceiling in big scallops and wrapped around the poles. Even the ugly ceramic angel flying over our front door had a festive red bow in her spaghetti yellow hair.

  "Thanks. Business has been good, what with Aunt Cecily no longer in charge of public relations."

  Both the guys laughed, and Billy Bob excused himself to go back for round two on the buffet line.

  "So Andy, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about." Kyle waved at Billy's vacated side of the table.

  I'd been collecting the dishes, but the expression on Kyle's face had me setting them back down. "Uh-oh."

  "It's not bad."

  "Kyle," I said, not uncaringly. "Everything we ever discuss is bad. I don't like Lizzy, and you can't appreciate Jones. I think your parents suck, they hate me, and you're scared witless of my grandfather."

  "He pulled a shotgun on me!"

  "You gave him every reason to, what with the knocking up his granddaughter and all."

  Kyle leaned back against the booth and closed his eyes. "This isn't going well. Nothing ever goes the way I plan with you."

  "And now you see why I turned down your marriage proposal. We would have killed each other." I studied the face of the man I'd once loved, looking for whatever it had been that had made my heart pound and made me ignore my typically stellar judgment. He was still good-looking, with sandy blond hair and blue-green eyes. Kind, compassionate eyes. But there was no spark between us anymore. All I saw was a handsome and tired looking-man who happened to be the father of my child. All my romantic feelings were firmly settled on Malcolm Jones.