Santa's on His Way

by Lisa Jackson

  She turned around and Boden followed her into the kitchen. There was a broken flour sack on the floor and flour everywhere.

  “I’ll help you clean it up,” Boden said.

  “I don’t need help and you shouldn’t be back here without a hairnet.”

  Funny, because she didn’t have one on. Her hair was tied back and her cheeks were filled with color and all Boden could think about was taking her face in his hands and kissing her. But he didn’t think that would go over too well.

  “Come on, Rach. I know you’re disappointed, but—”

  She whirled around. “You don’t know anything, so please don’t tell me how I feel.”

  “Okay.” He held up his hands. “Could we at least talk about it?”

  She nudged her head at the mess. “Not now, obviously.”

  “When, then?”

  “When I’ve had time to process it and don’t feel like biting your head off.” She tried for a smile, but Boden could see it was strained.

  “Fair enough.” He started to leave and stopped. “I’m not Jeremy, Rach.”

  “No, you’re not, but this still feels like déjà vu all over again.”

  There was nothing he could do about that. He’d made an honest bid for the building and had been awarded the lease based on his proposal and projected revenue. The way he saw it, what happened at the Canadells’ Christmas Eve was totally separate.

  He left, frustrated. Two days later, he was angry. Rachel had done everything possible to avoid him, including holing up in Tart Me Up’s kitchen every time he went over there. He’d wanted to invite her to Old Glory’s New Year’s Eve party. Although he had to work the bar, he’d hoped to have a couple of dances with her. And after he closed . . . well, perhaps they could’ve started the new year together. Since the party was the next day, it didn’t look like that was going to happen.

  “What’s with the long face?” Colt pulled up a stool to the bar.

  “Nothing.” Boden assumed Colt was off duty because he wasn’t in uniform or wearing his sidearm and he filled him a pint glass. “Rachel Johnson’s a real piece of work.”

  Colt laughed. “You seemed to like her just fine the other day.”

  “That was before the city awarded me the lease on the Old Watermill House.” He wiped down the bar.

  “Yeah, I heard she was going for it, too. Her and about a dozen other people. So there’s some hard feelings, huh?”

  “She wanted it pretty bad.”

  Colt shrugged. “Only one business was going to get it. She had to know there was a chance she’d lose out.”

  Colt was right of course, but Boden still felt a pang of . . . not exactly guilt but something. “I wish there was another place she could get, but spaces the size of the mill house are non-existent in Glory Junction.”

  “That’s for sure. The last big building available that I can remember is the one my family got for Garner Adventure.” Colt took a swig of his beer. “You still looking for investors for the brewery?”

  “Besides you?”

  “A friend of Delaney’s might be interested. He lives in LA and is a big craft-beer drinker.”

  “If you and Delaney vouch for him I could make room for his money.” Boden wanted to keep the circle small, though. Too many investors equaled too many bosses. He was his own man.

  “I’ll talk to him and let you know. He’s coming up for New Year’s Eve. In fact, you’ll meet him; he’s coming to my show.”

  “It’s gonna be a full house, buddy boy.” Boden leaned over the bar and patted Colt on the shoulder. Half the town was coming, everyone but Rachel.

  Colt finished his beer and took off, leaving Boden in a nearly empty bar. He spent the time before the evening rush polishing glasses, mopping floors, and convincing himself to stay away from Tart Me Up. He’d made the first overture. It was up to Rachel to make the next one. She said she would as soon as she cleared her head and got over her disappointment.

  The problem was Boden didn’t want to wait. Something had clicked between them the night they were stranded together and he wanted to see where the two of them could lead. The feelings were new to him. He wasn’t usually overcome by a one-night hookup. But Rachel was different. For the first time since Gunny died, in her he had found someone he could talk to. Really talk and tell things to. And then there was the undeniable attraction he felt for her.

  By the way they poked at each other during catering gigs, he suspected she felt the same attraction. And the night they’d spent together . . . he didn’t think he’d imagined her reaction. Pure chemistry. But he’d miscalculated situations before and for all he knew she’d just been scratching an itch. Besides, whatever hope they had of starting something ended with him getting the Old Watermill House.

  He told himself to let it go and kept mopping.

  * * *

  Rachel shoved a sheet of already-baked buns into the oven. “What am I doing?” she chided herself aloud and quickly replaced the pan with the unbaked buns.

  It had been like that the last couple of days. Her head barely screwed on. She told herself it was over the disappointment of losing the bid for the mill house and having her grand plans derailed. But that was only half of it. The other half was six foot two with arms of tattoos.

  She debated whether to march over to Old Glory and apologize to Boden for her rude behavior. It wasn’t his fault that the council had chosen him. His proposal was simply better than hers and a brewery was a stronger revenue generator than a bakery. On an intellectual level, she got that. On an emotional one, she was a wreck and didn’t really want to explore all the reasons why. So she went with the easy one—the Old Watermill House. She’d wanted it and had lost it to the competition. Boden.

  It all felt vaguely familiar, yet different.

  “You still brooding?” Sam popped her head into the kitchen. “We’ve got at least twenty people lined up out here waiting to pick up their New Year’s orders.”

  They were closed Sunday and customers were anxious to get their errands done so they could begin their New Year’s Eve revelry. Everyone was celebrating at Old Glory tonight. Colt’s band was playing and Boden was serving specialty drinks to ring in the new year. Friends had invited her to go with them, but she planned to avoid the bar and spend a quiet night at home in front of a fire.

  It wasn’t because she didn’t enjoy a festive crowd; it was because she was avoiding an inconvenient truth. She felt something for Boden that she didn’t want to feel. While she wanted to slough it off as reading more into a night of hot sex than the act deserved, she and Boden had been dancing around these feelings for some time. The juvenile jabs they took at each other during catering jobs, the way she pretended not to notice him when he came in for his morning coffee, the way he pretended not to notice her when she’d go to Old Glory for happy hour with some of the locals. Classic denial.

  But after their snowbound night together . . . well, a lot had changed.

  “I’ll be right out,” she told Sam. “I just have to pull the buns out of the oven.”

  “I did it.”

  Rachel stared at her quizzically. “You did what?”

  “I filled out my application for CalArts. Just have to drop it in the mail.”

  Rachel had been so wrapped up in herself, she’d forgotten all about Sam and art school. “Oh, Sam, that’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Will you do it with me?”

  “Go to art school?” Rachel asked, flummoxed.

  “Walk to the post office with me . . . for luck . . . and moral support.”

  “Of course. I’d be honored to.” She pulled Samantha in for a hug. “This is going to be a great year for you, Sam.”

  The thought of losing her, though, almost made Rachel cry. Despite the age difference, they’d become close, and Sam was the best employee she had.

  “For you, too,” Sam said. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I think things work out for a reason. Maybe you’ll
find something better than the mill house, something that will be hugely successful.”

  Rachel didn’t think there was anything out there better than the mill house—Lord knew she’d searched—but she nodded, trying to put on a good face. There was no need to bring Sam down, not when she had such exciting prospects for her future.

  “Let’s finish up here and go mail your application.”

  By the end of the day, Rachel was exhausted. She kicked off her shoes, flicked on the gas fire, and headed to her bedroom to change into something warm and comfortable. At least the holiday rush was officially over. And without a new venture in the works she was no longer desperate for capital, which meant she could cut back on catering. She tried to tell herself that was the silver lining of not getting her dream. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine and decided to get shitfaced. Why not? It was New Year’s Eve and she didn’t have to drive.

  Two hours later, she was startled awake on the couch by the sound of gunshots. Jolted upright, she searched the coffee table for her phone to call 911. When the explosions went off a second time, she jumped to her feet, ready to take cover. That’s when it struck her that the loud noises weren’t gunshots but fireworks.

  She glanced at the clock on her wall. Midnight. Awesome. Let the new year begin, she said to herself without much enthusiasm, and padded into her bedroom to go back to sleep.

  The next morning, she got out of bed with a hell of a headache and tried to cure it with a hot shower. When that didn’t work, she downed two cups of coffee, looked at herself in the mirror, and made a couple of gagging noises. Thank goodness Tart Me Up was closed today.

  But it was time to make amends for acting like a petulant child, so she grabbed a concealer stick and tried to work some magic. An hour later, she looked presentable and drove the short distance to Old Glory. She checked her reflection one more time in the rearview mirror and got out of the car. A combination of nerves and anticipation pooled at the pit of her stomach. It was more about seeing Boden again than it was about making an apology. She’d behaved like a spoiled brat and was willing to eat crow. The hard part was navigating her feelings—or whatever this was—when it came to Boden.

  It was still too early for the bar to be open, but she knew Boden got there in the morning to prepare for Old Glory’s lunch service. She’d taken a chance that the place would be open at all on a holiday. But sure enough, the jukebox was on and Ingrid was stocking the shelves.

  “Hey, Happy New Year.” Ingrid waved.

  Rachel scanned the dining room. It looked like there’d been a heck of a party and they’d only half cleaned up. “Big night, huh?”

  “It was crazy. I think everyone in town was here, including the fire marshal.” She laughed and followed Rachel’s eyes around the room. “We’re still recuperating.”

  “Where’s Boden?”

  “He’s over at the new place . . . said he had something to do there.” Ingrid shrugged. “How come you didn’t come by last night? Did you have other plans?”

  Rachel’s eyes dropped to her shoes and she let out a breath. “Oh, you know, the holidays knocked me out.”

  “I think the boss was disappointed. I was in charge of the door, and between you and me, he kept asking if you’d come in.”

  “He did?” Boden hadn’t specifically asked her to attend. Then again, the whole town was coming, so he’d probably assumed that she would, too. But disappointed?

  “I know, right? I’ve never seen him that way before. It was sweet. So are you two an item now?”

  “Uh . . . no.” Since that night, they’d barely said two words to each other. But that had been her fault, not Boden’s. “You said he was at the Old Watermill House?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thanks, Ingrid. And Happy New Year.” Rachel dashed out of the bar and back to her car.

  When she pulled up in front of the mill house five minutes later, Boden was up on a ladder, hanging something on the front of the building. It was too windy to be up that high and Rachel feared that one good gust and Boden would get blown down.

  He twisted around at the sound of her engine and squinted. Her stomach dipped at the sight of him. A ski jacket hugged his wide shoulders and a pair of well-worn jeans rested low on his hips. And here she was ogling him when what she should’ve been doing was telling him to get down from the ladder before he broke his neck.

  He continued to look at her car, curiously. It was clear to Rachel that he was blinded by sunlight and was having trouble identifying who she was. She got out and walked closer. It was a beautiful building with an old-brick façade that had been weathered from more than two hundred years of rain and snow and the summer heat. The waterwheel had been cleaned up and refurbished by the city, the gears gleaming off the river. Rachel took in a breath, staring at what might’ve been, willing to concede that the place would make a gorgeous taproom.

  Obviously, Boden wasn’t wasting any time putting his stamp on the building. She stared up at where he was working and noted that he was attaching a sign to the top of the building. She couldn’t yet make it out. Something that said “Old Glory,” no doubt, though she wasn’t even sure that’s what he planned to name it. Perhaps Old Glory II or something after his mentor, Gunny.

  She pulled her coat tighter, trying to ward off the cold. At least it was clear and sunny. She yelled up, but from his precarious perch Boden couldn’t hear her through the sound of the howling wind. Or his drill.

  She stood there for a while, just watching, waiting for the seed of regret to bury itself deep inside her belly. But all she saw was Boden and how much it meant to him to carry out Gunny’s dream, and something in her chest moved.

  He continued to fuss with his tools, drilling and hanging, despite the wind. Twenty minutes later, he came down the ladder, giving her a clear view of the side of the building where he’d been working. And that’s when she saw what the sign said.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Buns and Beer?” She looked at him quizzically. What kind of name was that for a brewery? “You riffing on the whole Hooters theme?” Boden didn’t strike her as the type to sell T and A; at least Rachel certainly hoped not.

  He laughed, but it sounded kind of mirthless, like he was disappointed in her for coming to that conclusion. “No,” was all he said, and he watched her closely. “Didn’t expect you to show up here.”

  She stared up at the sign, shielding the sun with her hands. The marquee was made up of three-dimensional rusted steel letters that lit up. Very vintage and industrial, like it had been there forever. She wondered when he’d had time to have it made.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said. “Can we start over?” She stepped closer and stuck out her hand to shake his. “Congratulations, Boden. I wish you much success and happiness in”—she stared up at the sign again—“Buns and Beer. I’m sorry I acted like a sore loser. It was low of me and really cruddy. You’re carrying out Gunny’s legacy and I think it’s amazing.” She squeezed his hand.

  “Yeah?” He leaned against the door of his truck. “Why didn’t you come last night?”

  She hitched her shoulders. “It’s not because of this.” She nodded at the old building. “I’ve made my peace with it. You were the better candidate and I’ll find something else. The truth: I’m still trying to work out what happened between us at the Canadells’ Christmas.”

  “Are you having regrets?” He frowned and she swore she saw disappointment in his eyes.

  “No, not regrets.” Just the opposite, it was all she could think about.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Spoken like a true guy, she thought. “So we just move forward as if it’s business as usual?”

  He gave her a solemn look. “Those were your rules, sweetheart, not mine.” He gazed up at the sign and pointed. “You’re the buns.”

  “Huh?” she asked, confused.

  “I want to share the space with you.” He paused while Rachel let it sink in. “I’ll do my brewery and
taproom; you’ll have your bakery and restaurant. There’s enough square footage to do both and we’ll split the cost of the lease. It makes good business sense.”

  She looked at him, really looked, because giving her half the space would significantly reduce his profits. It would change his entire plan. As far as cutting costs, he’d never indicated the rent was an issue. So why would he do this for her? It was crazy.

  “Boden? What are you saying?”

  “What I’m saying is I think we’ll make a hell of a team.” He waited for her response.

  “It’s beyond generous, Boden. And it’s also insane. You were the city’s choice. I accept that and will figure out a way to do my restaurant somewhere else in Glory Junction.”

  “If that’s what you want to do . . . it’ll mean I have to get a new sign . . . but whatever.” One side of his mouth tipped up. “Come on, Rach. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I wouldn’t do it unless it made sense. Seriously, I’m not that nice. Think about it. Together, we can turn this place into a food and beer destination. With both of us, we’ll have twice the capital, twice the appeal, and can do twice the marketing as what we could’ve afforded on our own. It’s a solid plan.”

  She huffed out a breath, still trying to process the offer he was making. Yes, it made sound business sense. But how would it be working with him every day? Especially with all these new feelings she had for him. What if he didn’t share those feelings? “We can’t even get along at catering jobs. How do you propose we work side by side?”

  He chuckled. “Every time we get angry, we kiss?”

  “Be serious, Boden. This is a big commitment.”

  “You bet it is. It’s a partnership. A business partnership.” He emphasized the word “business” and a sharp prick of disappointment stabbed her in the chest.

  Ridiculous, she thought to herself. They’d barely had two kind words for each other before Christmas, let alone an actual date. And here she was wishing for more than the incredibly generous offer he was making her. A proposal she’d be a fool to turn down.