“Whiskey or Kahlúa, young people?” Joe Sacamano calls out, approaching with a bottle in each hand. “Whiskey’ll give it a bit more of a kick, but Kahlúa will sweeten things right up,” he says with a crooked grin, his snowy white curls peeking out from under his lopsided Santa hat. Rather than a Christmas-themed sweater or a red and green shirt, Joe’s got on his famous holiday Hawaiian shirt.
“I’ll go with whiskey,” River says, holding out his coffee cup and popping the lid off. “And I like your shirt, man.”
Joe tops off River’s coffee with a splash of whiskey and glances down at his own shirt. It’s covered with white-bearded Santas in swim trunks and youthful-looking Mrs. Clauses in red bikinis. “This shirt is as much of a tradition as this little gathering you see here,” Joe says, holding the whiskey bottle out to indicate the knot of villagers mingling on the dock. “We’ve been doing this since these girls were knee-high to an elf. They’d come out here every year and fall asleep long before the festivities ended.” He nods at Holly and looks over in Emily’s direction.
“We never fell asleep, Joe!” Holly argues, taking the lid off her coffee so he can add a swig of Kahlúa.
“All right, sugarplum. You never fell asleep trying to spot Rudolph’s nose in the sky while he took a test run around the planet before Christmas Eve.” Joe splashes some liquid into her coffee with a wink. “I’ve got my story straight now.”
“You have a lot of history here,” River says, watching as Joe moves on to the next group and offers to top off their coffees. “I guess I forget sometimes just how entrenched you are in this place. It’s really who you are,” he says wistfully.
“And Oregon isn’t like that for you?” Holly blows on her coffee before she puts the lid back on.
“Oregon is home, but it’s not who I am,” he clarifies. “I love it there, but I don’t think it’s shaped me the way this place has shaped you.”
Holly is about to answer when she sees Emily waving her over to get things started. “Will you hold this?” She hands River her coffee. He takes it, clutching both cups in his hands as he watches her blend into the crowd with ease.
“Okay,” Holly says with a laugh, holding her hands out to quiet everyone down. “Welcome to our annual decorating of the sign.” A happy cheer and a smattering of applause break out around the dock. “You all know how much my grandparents loved this part of our holiday festivities, and most of us have seen the sign lit up from the water,” she says, looking around at her neighbors.
“It’s a thing of beauty,” Cap calls out. Holly makes a mental note that (for the first time in recent memory) he has no drink in his hand. “It makes this island look like a real port in a storm.”
“That it does,” Holly confirms. “There’s something about plugging in the lights on this sign that signals Christmas for a lot of us, and I’m pleased to kick off the festivities for this year. You all know how this works: grab some tinsel or an ornament and a rubber band, and when it’s your turn, just make sure whatever you put on the sign is secured. We don’t want any of this blowing off into the water and hurting our wildlife—”
“Here, here!” Ellen shouts, holding her coffee cup in the air like she’s seconding a motion.
“So, without further ado, let’s decorate this sign!” There is a full round of applause this time as people step up to the pile of decorations and start sifting through the ornaments and lights.
“You want to put something up?” Holly asks River when she walks back over to him and takes her drink.
“No, I’m good—you do your part.” He taps his paper coffee cup against her own in a toast. “The mayor has official duties here, and I am but a humble servant to this whole operation.” His tone is joking, but there’s an edge to his words that nags at Holly. She sips her coffee quietly, thinking.
“You sounded like Jake when you said that.” She watches her neighbors wrapping the wooden sign in tinsel and lights like a Christmas tree in a village square. Cap drags the cord from the lights across the sand and shoves its prongs into the outlet of the power cord; the navigational sign glows with red, green, pink, yellow, and blue lights, and everyone cheers. Everyone except Holly and River.
“Yeah, well, I’m starting to see what he was up against.” River drinks his whiskey and coffee, watching as Bonnie ties an ornament firmly around the westward-pointing wooden slat that says “Santa Barbara, CA—2,352 miles.” Wyatt Bender is standing behind Bonnie with an ornament in one hand and his coffee drink in the other, taking in the view of her curvaceous backside.
“Meaning?”
River is about to say something but stops. His strong jaw clenches and unclenches a few times. “Meaning…nothing.” He looks at her directly. “Never mind. It’s Christmas, and I’m being dumb—ignore me.”
Holly gives him a long look before she speaks. “I’m sorry—for everything.” She sips her coffee. “This ended up being a hard time for you to come down here. It’s not how I wanted it to be. I’ve been preoccupied, and that’s not fair to you.”
River shakes his head. “You have your life. It wouldn’t be fair to you if I showed up here and expected you to drop everything for me.”
“Well, that wasn’t very Jake-like,” Holly says. Spontaneously, she lifts her heels off the ground and holds onto him, kissing the side of his jaw.
“Whoa, whoa—hold up there.” River takes the coffee from her hand and sets both of their cups on the ground next to his feet. “We can do better than that.”
Holly laughs in surprise as River grabs her around the waist and lifts her off the ground. She puts one hand on her Santa hat, holding River around the neck with her other arm as her feet dangle several inches above the sand.
“Nice work, slugger!” Bonnie shouts, giving a little whoop. Wyatt, who is standing next to Bonnie with their shoulders touching, gives a forward tip of his cowboy hat in Holly’s direction.
The momentary snag in River’s visit is all but forgotten by the time he finishes kissing her and sets her down on the ground again, a happy smile on his handsome face.
Monday morning is about as welcome as a visit from Coco. Holly wakes early to the sound of Pucci nosing around the bedroom, whimpering quietly to let his mistress know he needs to go out.
“Come on, boy,” she whispers, yanking on the jeans she’d tossed over the chair in her room the night before. River is still buried under the duvet, his head lost in a sea of pillows.
In the front room, Pucci is running in circles, his tail wagging in anticipation. “I know, I know,” she says, not bothering to clip a leash on him. “Let’s take a drive, okay?” Without further coaxing, Pucci runs onto the patch of grass in front of Holly’s bungalow and does his business, then bounds across the lawn and onto the front seat of the golf cart. “You ready?” She waits while he finds a comfortable spot, his back wedged firmly against the seat, paws dangling over the edge.
Holly puts the cart in reverse, and with her fur-lined slipper-boot, she punches the gas pedal and pulls out of her driveway.
Things are still quiet on Main Street when she gets to Mistletoe Morning Brew, and Pucci follows her when she leaves her cart by the curb. There’s no point in avoiding Cap anymore; they’re forty-eight hours away from the election (give or take) and Holly is resigned to the outcome—no matter which way it goes. But she casually peeks through the painted front window and does a quick scan of the coffee shop anyway. “Stay here, Pooch,” she says to her dog, pointing at a spot under the table by the front door. He sniffs around, turns in a circle, and sits under the table obediently.
The speakers inside the coffee shop are blaring a rousing, gospel-tinged version of ‘Joy to the World’ as Holly approaches the counter.
“Mayor,” booms a gruff voice from the far corner of the shop. She turns to see Cap. “Hoping you wouldn’t run into anyone this early?” He gives her an amused look over the top of his newspaper, taking in her messy hair and slipper-boots.
She was hoping wouldn’t
run into him, of course, but instead of saying so, she smiles politely. “I’m just out on a coffee run before I get ready for work,” she says, holding up her wallet as if to prove her mission.
Cap nods. His rough hands grip the sides of last Thursday’s Miami Herald. Most of the islanders are accustomed to reading their papers a few days late, given the delivery schedule, and those who prefer their news in real time watch the evening news or, less frequently, catch up online. But Cap is always a holdout, preferring to wait on his news until the real paper arrives.
“Grab a cup and come sit for a minute,” he says, shaking out his paper and looking at the page in front of him like he couldn’t care less whether she sits down with him or not. But it isn’t an invitation—it’s an order. Holly considers refusing before she realizes that this chance to sit down with Cap might not be a bad idea. She orders a Rose Maylie Mocha and carries it gingerly over to the table in the corner. They’re still the only customers in the shop, and Carrie-Anne disappears into the back room again once she’s sure they have what they need.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Holly starts nervously. She can’t make herself look into his eyes. “I shouldn’t have left it until this late, but…I wasn’t sure how to bring this up.”
Cap lays the newspaper flat on the table and folds it in half, then in half again. He pushes it away with one large hand. There must be something in the way Holly’s voice wavers, or in the slight shaking of her hands as she sets her mocha on the table, but Cap waits patiently, lacing his fingers together on top of the table. He says nothing.
“I know you’ve been a very vocal opponent of the things I’ve been doing lately, and I hate that you’re unhappy—”
“Listen, honey,” he says, reaching a hand across the table and clamping it over her own. “It’s not you I’m opposing; this isn’t personal.”
“Well, it feels personal,” Holly says, examining his hairy knuckles as his hand covers hers.
“But it isn’t.” Cap draws his hand away. “I’m going to be honest with you: part of what got me fired up was the drink. You know I’ve been on the wagon for several years now, but a couple of months back…I don’t know. I fell off the damn wagon like a ton of bricks.”
Holly nods. This is not news—to her or to anyone else on Christmas Key.
“When I drink, I’m not myself. But,” he waves a hand around like he’s erasing an old-fashioned chalkboard in front of his face, “that’s not even my point, it’s just what pushed me to be such a loudmouth about this whole thing.”
Holly reaches for her mocha.
“It’s true. But the real bone I want to pick with you is about the invasion of privacy here. You never really asked us how we felt about having this reality show come to our island, you told us that it was coming and expected us to fall in line.”
It’s easy to get her haunches up and to feel defensive about this harsh assessment, but deep down, Holly knows he isn’t wrong. She gives a slight nod, hoping he’ll go on.
“In the end, they’re not really in our business too much, and I can see that you’ve even had second thoughts about them being here, given this whole arranged marriage thing they’re planning for Jake.”
“I don’t know if I want to say that I’ve had second thoughts, but I have wished I’d found out more about reality shows before inviting them here and letting them kidnap one of our own.”
Cap’s smile is nearly beatific. “I guess that’s enough of a mea culpa for the time being,” he says. “So what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
Holly narrows her eyes. “Are you still going through with the election on Wednesday, or are you withdrawing from the race?”
Cap turns his palms to the ceiling and shrugs. “I’m a little curious about how many votes I’ll get. I probably won’t win—in fact, I’m sure I won’t—but I’ve enjoyed campaigning and raising some hell around this place.”
“I think you should bow out gracefully,” Holly says firmly. The voice of reason in the back of her mind is telling her to get up now and leave the coffee shop, but she ignores it. “If you aren’t going to win anyway, then it would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“I’m all for being a gentleman, Mayor, but we’re talking about an election here, not a debutante ball.”
Holly tucks her wallet under one arm and picks up her to-go cup from the table. “Fine,” she says, standing. “If that’s what you want. Maybe I can stop Bonnie before she prints the ballots this morning so I can make the necessary changes.”
Cap’s white eyebrows are pulled together and a deep, vertical line forms between them. “What changes?”
Holly takes two steps toward the door and then stops. “Given the circumstances, I think the ballot should give voters the choice of voting for Holly Baxter,” she pauses, swallowing her nerves, “or Caspar Braun.”
Chapter 26
“There is no way on God’s green Earth that man will win,” Bonnie says with fiery conviction, though her words come out mumbled. She’s standing behind Holly in the B&B’s office on the morning of the December village council meeting, two bobby pins held between her lips as she pulls a brush through Holly’s long, tangled hair. She spits the hairpins into her palm. “And why aren’t you over at Scissors & Ribbons having Millie do this for you, child?”
“Ouch,” Holly says under her breath as Bonnie’s brush catches a snarl. “Because I’m here now, and I don’t want to leave until this is all over.” Even though Bonnie is several inches shorter than she is, Holly stands and faces the window while her assistant smooths her hair into a low ponytail. She’s wearing a stretchy, peach-colored shirt with long sleeves, and a pair of low-waisted black pants. When she arrived at the B&B, Bonnie had tsk-tsked over her flip-flops until she’d agreed to drive home and trade them for the black sandals she’s now wearing.
“Silly girl,” Bonnie says, using one of the bobby pins to anchor the twist of hair she’s making at the nape of Holly’s neck. “Sounds like you and Cap already had your pre-election run-in, so I doubt he’d confront you even if you ran smack into him on the sidewalk.”
“I know. But I’m still afraid of what’s going to happen today.” Bonnie jabs the other pin into Holly’s hair, scraping the skin of her scalp as she does. “Owwwww,” Holly complains. She puts a hand to her head protectively.
“Well I never did have a daughter, sugar. None of my boys had much use for hair-brushing and bun-making, so I did the best I could here.” She licks both palms unceremoniously and runs them along the sides of Holly’s head so the stray hairs will lay flat. “You look pretty as a September peach.”
“Thanks, Bon.” Holly sits at her desk and places one hand on her lower back.
“You okay?” Bonnie opens the office’s mini-fridge. She pulls out a bottle of water and hands it to Holly.
“I slept wrong, I think. River takes up most of the bed, so I keep waking up hanging off the side. My back hurts today.” Holly cracks the seal on the water bottle and drinks. “Thanks for this.” She lifts the water in the air.
“Drink up. I don’t want you getting all dehydrated and fainting dead away in the middle of this meeting. That just won’t do. ‘Course, in my humble opinion, I think Cap either needs to fish or cut bait with this whole mess, but Lord only knows what motivates that man. Truly.” Bonnie holds her hands to the sky like she’s sending an amen up to the Big Guy.
“I can’t even imagine how this is going to go today,” Holly admits.
“Then let’s not.” Bonnie pats the desk firmly with both hands. “We’ve got an hour to kill until the meeting starts, and there’s still work to be done.”
Holly puts her hands around her neck and makes a gagging face. “Why can’t we just close down for the whole week of Christmas and not work at all?”
“Because we aren’t teachers, doll, and we don’t get to send the kids home for the holidays.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Hey, are any of your boys coming down this year?
” Holly takes off her sandals and pulls her feet under her on the chair, moving around until she’s sitting comfortably.
“No, not this year. Davey wanted to bring his girls down, but his ex-wife gets them until six o’clock on Christmas Eve, so…maybe next year.” Bonnie’s eyes go soft and Holly instantly regrets asking.
“Hey, let’s do Christmas Day at my house!” Holly says, reaching into the candy dish on the desk between her and Bonnie. She pulls out a mini candy cane and takes off the cellophane wrapper.
In an instant, Bonnie’s sadness is gone, replaced with the spark that Holly is used to seeing. “That would be wonderful, sugar! What can I bring?”
“Just yourself,” Holly assures her, sucking on the straight end of the candy cane and holding the hook between her fingers.
“A pumpkin pie? Scalloped potatoes? I’ll think of something, don’t you worry,” Bonnie promises.
They both go quiet, and the hum of the mini fridge fills the small office.
“We still have about fifty-three minutes until the meeting,” Holly points out.
“We could talk about Coco?” Bonnie offers, tapping her pencil against a thick notepad.
Holly levels a gaze at her from across the desk. “I’d rather shave my legs with a machete and rubbing alcohol.”
“So then that’s a no, right?”
“How about the show’s finale—we should probably be talking about what the network wants us to do.” Holly studies the cuticles on her right hand.
“About that…” Bonnie coughs delicately.
“What?”
“That Leanna creature stopped in on her way out of the B&B this morning—it was while you were running home to put on a decent pair of shoes—anyway, she left you this.” Bonnie pulls a sheet of paper from under her laptop and slides it across the desk.
“What is it?” Holly frowns, reaching for it.
“Looks like details on the party to me,” Bonnie says innocently.
“Why weren’t you going to give it to me?” Holly asks, scanning the page.
Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two Page 22
