by Kacey Linden
Willow sucked in a breath and held it, annoyed by his logic but able to see the truth in it. When she let the breath go, she tried to let go of her worry along with it. After all, if it didn’t bother Cale, why should it bother her? She would be gone soon enough and he would be the one who had to deal with the questions and the condolences.
“If you say so,” she said, shrugging and pulling her hands inside the sleeves of her black sweater. “How long till our next round?”
“Not long,” he assured her. “Probably just long enough for some hot chocolate if you want some.”
“Best idea ever,” she proclaimed fervently.
He found her a spot to sit beside the stage and brought them each a steaming styrofoam cup, along with two chocolate chip cookies. Willow was half done with hers before Cale broke the silence to ask: “So how did you learn to play pinochle so well?”
Willow considered what might be safe to tell him, but couldn’t think of anything incriminating about the truth.
“My brother and his friends,” she told him. “We would play in Elliot’s room whenever Dad was drunk and we didn’t want to go downstairs. His friends would sneak into the house and we would pass the time with card games.”
“Did they ever let you win?”
“No.” Willow stared into her hot chocolate as she remembered those cold nights, sitting on the floor wrapped in blankets. “I learned the hard way how to beat them. Most of Elliot’s friends eventually refused to play unless they were on my team.”
“You’re good,” Cale said admiringly. “Even when the cards are against you.”
“I feel like it’s more about understanding your opponent than it is about having the right cards.” Willow’s lips twisted with the weight of her memories. “When you have an alcoholic dad and a moody, absent mom, you learn to watch for tiny little emotional cues. I don’t think I’m that good at cards—I’m just used to watching people.”
He held her gaze for a moment and what she read in his eyes made her blush. Even if she hadn’t earned what looked like his admiration, at least it wasn’t pity.
“I wish your skill hadn’t come at such a cost,” he said earnestly, “but what do you say we go finish this and show them what real pinochle looks like?”
“I say you’re all a bit obsessed,” Willow proclaimed dryly, “but it’s not like I’m going to quit on you. Though we may regret it. If the gossiping and winking is bad now, these people are definitely not going to leave us alone if we manage to win this thing.”
“Will that bother you?” he asked. “If you want, if this is all too much, we can walk away right now. We don’t have to play any more.”
He was completely serious, she realized. He would have walked away from the whole thing if she asked him to.
She snorted and jabbed him with her elbow. “I should probably acknowledge that I’m a little too competitive for that. If you can handle the rumors, so can I.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he said, before taking both their empty cups and going to throw them away.
The fifth and sixth rounds went by quickly. Willow hardly even realized what was happening until the defeat of their sixth-round opponents was greeted by a deafening round of applause. She looked around and realized there were only two tables left. They had reached the championship game.
Her surprise must have been obvious because Cale laughed and pulled her up from the table before enveloping her in a spontaneous celebratory hug.
“You were amazing,” he said in her ear, but she barely heard him. She was too busy adjusting to the feelings he’d created simply by wrapping his arms around her.
He probably meant the embrace to be warm and friendly, but instead it provoked a blazing onslaught of sensation from every nerve in her body. She felt everything with heightened senses—from the rasp of light stubble where his jaw brushed against her forehead to the firm strength of his shoulder beneath her cheek. And dear heaven, he smelled so amazing she almost forgot to breathe. The moment became simultaneously miraculous and terrifying when she realized that not only was Cale hugging her, she didn’t want it to end.
She didn’t have a chance to respond before he pulled back, still smiling. “We should find out who our final opponents are. Are you hungry? Need any more cookies?”
Willow shook her head, not quite ready for words yet.
He’d hugged her.
And she hadn’t wanted him to stop.
While she was still trying to wrap her mind around the implications of that, the crowd parted to reveal the winning team from the other table.
Uncle Pete. And… “Mrs. Dillon?” Willow said, stunned. “I didn’t even know you were playing!”
The older woman reached out and wrapped Willow in her third hug of the night.
“Pete talked me into it,” she confided, her eyes shining and her cheeks bright with color. “And I’m so glad he did. I can’t remember when I last had this much fun.”
“But…” Willow didn’t want to have to compete against someone she knew and liked. Even if she won, it would feel like losing.
The squeal of a microphone cut through her discomfort.
“Hello, Echo Creek!” A middle-aged man in a blazer, jeans and cowboy boots stood on the stage. “We’re just about to start our championship round, so load up on cookies and fudge while we move the table up on stage!”
Horrified, Willow watched while a table was placed right in front of the enormous tree.
“That’s Dave Gentry, the mayor,” Mrs. Dillon whispered in her ear.
“We have a special surprise,” the mayor went on, “for the winners of tonight’s tournament. Myself and the city council have agreed that as this year’s prize, the members of the winning team will receive the honor of being named Mayors for a Day!”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
“Now we definitely need to win,” Cale said, grinning down at Willow. “I could institute thousand-dollar fines for the no-parking zones on Main Street.”
“And I could recommend that a certain know-it-all deputy spend twenty-four hours in jail,” Willow retorted, striving to sound normal.
“Now that you all know the stakes,” the mayor proclaimed, “we’ll take a ten-minute break before we get this game started, and may the best team win!”
Willow’s feet seemed rooted to the spot. She didn’t want to get up on that stage for the whole town to stare at. She also didn’t want to beat Mrs. Dillon.
“Cale, what if…” She stopped when she realized he’d just answered his phone.
“…eight?” he said. Listened for a moment. “And you’ve called in the guys from Bend?”
His expression turned serious as he walked away from the crowd, still listening. Willow followed.
“Okay. I’ll be en route in five.” He hung up just as he reached the doorway and turned to Willow. “I’m so sorry.” He pocketed his phone and running a hand through his hair, leaving most of it standing on end. “I’ve been called to an eight car pile-up with multiple injuries a few miles outside of town. They need more help and I’m the closest one.”
A wave of relief swept over her. “That’s okay, really,” she reassured him. “I’d rather Mrs. Dillon be named the winner anyway. She deserves it. And just think how much fun she’ll have being mayor for a day.”
“I think I’m a little scared of what my Uncle Pete might do with that much power,” Cale said with a mock grimace. “But I’ve got to get going, so I’ll let you break the news to them.”
“What news?” Marcia and Pete approached just in time to hear the last few words.
“I’ve been called in to work,” Cale said, sounding regretful. “Which is a shame, because Willow is the best pinochle player I’ve ever met, and I know we could have beaten you two. Looks like you got lucky for now.”
“Sounds to me like somebody is afraid to lose to his decrepit old uncle.” Pete winked at Willow.
“I’m sorry you can’t stay,” Marcia told Cale, squeezing his
arm sympathetically, “but don’t worry. We’ll take care of Willow.”
“I know.” He looked down at Willow once again, and the light in his eyes grew brighter. He opened his mouth, about to say something, when his uncle laughed and pointed to a spot over their heads.
“Look up.”
Willow looked. And felt her breath catch in her chest. Someone had hung a tiny clump of mistletoe in the doorway.
“Oh no,” she whispered involuntarily.
Cale looked up as well, and then met her eyes. “We don’t have to,” he mouthed silently.
At the same time, Mrs. Dillon said, “Oh, it’s mistletoe! I forgot they always hang it in the doorway.” She was smiling and Willow thought she looked just a tiny bit teary-eyed. “Stanley used to find some every year and hang it in sneaky places around the house. He would move it after every kiss so I never knew where it was going to turn up next.”
Of course, then she was watching them with an expectant look, and Willow felt her heart begin to pound. Was she really going to kiss Cale?
He was waiting. Not moving in or pressuring her. She wished she could read his mind. Did he want to kiss her? Was he hoping she would say no? Did she want to say no? Or did she want more than anything to know what it would feel like to kiss the man she was growing more attracted to by the day?
Cale forced himself to breathe as he waited for Willow, watching the uncertainty flit across her face.
What was she thinking? Was she hoping he would make the first move? Embarrassed by the attention? Was she hoping he would refuse and walk away so she didn’t have to?
Or did she want to kiss him as badly as he wanted to kiss her?
If only he could just ask.
Willow glanced over at Marcia, who was watching with a fond smile, and the sight seemed to firm her resolve. She looked up, took a deep breath and closed the gap between them.
A sense of relief swamped him. Maybe she didn’t find him completely repulsive. Determined not to mess this up and scare her completely, he met her in the middle, directly under the dangling sprig of pale green. Before either of them could rethink or second guess, he bent forward and pressed a brief, feather-light kiss to her upturned lips.
For the space of that brief instant, he felt everything at once. The light brush of her fingers on his shoulder. The smooth warmth of her cashmere sleeve under his hand. And the delicate softness of her lips where they met his.
That feeling lingered even after he lifted his head and gazed down at her. Her lips were still parted, and his own stunned surprise was echoed in her wide hazel eyes. Neither of them stepped back. Willow’s hand still rested on his shoulder, and before he thought much about what he was doing, his hand lifted to brush an escaped tendril of honey blonde hair away from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear.
“I should go,” he whispered.
“Be safe,” she whispered back.
Cale took a deliberate, painful step backwards. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded.
He left the Community Center, feeling like he’d had something a little stronger to drink than hot chocolate. He should have been furious, or at least disappointed by the circumstances. It was snowing again, and he’d been called in to work on his night off, when he’d been on the verge of a coveted victory in the Christmas pinochle tournament.
And yet he felt without question as though he’d been granted a gift beyond any he could have expected or wished for. He would have forfeited a thousand tournaments for the unexpected miracle of that single kiss.
If only he had the slightest clue where to go from here. Should he tell her what he was feeling? How much he wanted her to stay? He’d told Pete not to try to change her mind, but what if she was only waiting to be asked? That question remained at the forefront of his mind all night, as he directed traffic, took statements and helped file reports. It was still uppermost in his thoughts when he stumbled into bed around three in the morning, wondering how he was going to manage his shift the next day on a scant four hours’ sleep.
Probably with coffee. A smile drifted across his lips just before he fell asleep.
The next morning, Creekside Coffee Shop was even more crowded than usual. There were four customers ahead of Cale, which didn’t bother him in the least because it meant he got to watch Willow smile and exchange conversation with four other people before it was his turn and her smile sputtered and died.
“Cale. I… what can I get you?”
“A large latte,” he said. “And a promise that you’re not going to spend your day worrying about what happened last night.”
Her startled glance met his briefly, but she finished entering his order in silence. “I hate being that easy to read,” she said finally, sighing and leaning her hands on the counter. “So, you’re not upset?”
“Why would I be upset?”
“Because I… kissed you,” she muttered in a low voice.
“Is that what happened?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “From my perspective, it seemed a lot more like I kissed you.”
She seemed to consider that. “So should I have hauled off and slapped you for being an enormous cad and kissing me without my permission?”
“No,” he said softly. “I much preferred the version where you kissed me back.”
Her eyes went wide.
He handed her his card.
She swiped it, seemingly unable to speak. Handed it back.
“Thank you, Mr. Matthews. Your order will be ready in a moment,” she said mechanically.
He grinned and stepped aside, allowing Alicia Alverson to approach the counter.
“Caramel white mocha,” she purred, with a smile as fake as the fur on her fluffy white vest. “And do try not to ruin another of my outfits.”
Willow’s cheeks pinked, but she merely nodded and rang up the order.
“So I assume you heard?” Alicia turned to Cale and smiling even wider.
“Let’s assume I didn’t,” he responded easily. “What is it that I should have heard?”
“Marcia was sworn in as mayor for a day after you and Willow bowed out, and her first act as mayor was to reinstate the Christmas tour!”
Cale carefully contained his surprise. Marcia had been the first to agree when the tour had been cancelled after the competition had grown ugly. What could have been her reasoning for reinstating it?
“It’s going to be next Saturday,” Alicia gushed, “which is almost too soon. I don’t know how they’re going to plan for ballots and prizes by then.”
“Actually”—Willow spoke up—“there aren’t going to be any prizes. Mrs. Dillon wanted to remind the town of how much fun it was to walk around each others’ neighborhoods and enjoy the fun and the music and the treats without worrying about winners and losers.”
Alicia’s face froze. “But, they can’t have a tour without voting,” she asserted frantically. “What’s the point? Why would anyone walk that far in the cold for no reason?”
“I think Marcia believes that the real reason behind it is to enjoy the spirit of Christmas with your neighbors.” Willow tone was polite, but Alicia acted as though the younger woman had invented the idea merely to be spiteful.
“Of course, you would know exactly what Marcia is thinking, since you’re living in her house, sponging off her goodwill. Is that what the spirit of Christmas means to you? Taking advantage of an old woman who’s so blinded by grief that she can’t even see how you’re using her?”
Willow went white.
Cale took a hasty step forward, ready to defend both Willow and Mrs. Dillon, but it was Willow herself who stopped him.
“I believe you’ve crossed a line, Alicia,” she said. Her hands were shaking as they gripped the counter, but her jaw was set. “Rory told me very clearly that I do not have to accept abuse from any of her customers. If you have a complaint about the service I’ve offered you, I’d be happy to call her up here so you can discuss it with her. Otherwise, please step to the
side and wait for your order.”
“I most certainly will have a word with Aurora,” Alicia snapped, her eyes wide with offense. “She deserves to know what kind of person she’s hired, and how you’ve been treating her loyal customers.”
“As you wish.”
Cale shifted forward again, but Willow shook her head minutely. “Jess?” she called over her shoulder.
A petite woman with curly brown hair popped out of the kitchen in response.
“Could you run the counter for a moment? I need to speak to Rory.”
“Got it covered,” Jess said cheerfully.
As Willow disappeared into the back of the shop, Cale crossed his arms tightly, hoping it would help him resist the temptation to forcefully evict the catty, heartless woman in front of him. Fortunately for his rapidly fraying temper, Willow reappeared only a few moments later with Rory in tow.
When Rory spotted Alicia, Cale could almost see the invisible roll of her eyes.
“Willow, I think it’s about time for your break,” Rory said, casting a quick sideways glance at Cale. “Why don’t you grab some coffee and a pastry for yourself while I take care of this situation. Alicia?” She gestured towards the door next to the kitchen. “Would you like to accompany me back to my office while we clear this up?”
Alicia wore a poisonous smile as she followed Rory behind the bar, leaving Cale with a strong temptation to dump his latte over the top of her bleached-blonde head.
Jess slung an arm around Willow and put up her fist for a bump. Willow obliged, but not without a sigh.
“I say dealing with that woman earns you a cinnamon roll, all to yourself,” Jess declared. “Or maybe one to share with a certain handsome deputy who is clearly hoping you’ll join him?”
“He ordered coffee, Jess,” Willow scolded. “He’s waiting for his drink, not for me.”
“Offer me a cinnamon roll and ten minutes of your time and you might find out you’re wrong,” Cale said, grinning wickedly.
Willow shut her eyes and slapped her palm to her forehead. “Deputy Matthews, you are a plague upon my sanity.”
“Is that a yes?”
