by Kate Kisset
“Let’s see, we had to wear our miner’s lights for our walk, so it must’ve been—”
“—four,” Cha-Cha clarified for her sister. “We kept the music down low. I hope it didn’t wake you.”
“But you haven’t missed anything, darling. We only put the first batch of loaves in the oven three minutes ago.”
Lilly broke into a grin. How could she not? The two sisters were having so much fun, there was no way she would burst their fruitcake bubble by telling them the truth. But perhaps if she worded it just right, maybe she could steer them in another, more edible direction,
“You should’ve seen the grin on Mrs. Laughlin’s face when she sold out of her truffles on Sunday.” Competition was like catnip for ChiChi.
Lilly casually surveyed the remodeled kitchen while she waited for one of the sisters to take the bait. White subway tiles adorned the walls, and Carrara marble covered every surface, including the massive island. Petite Christmas wreaths festooned the heavy, carved cabinets.
The wall of casement windows, original to the house, remained. ChiChi wouldn’t dream of tampering with the architectural integrity of St. Helena’s oldest mansion. Outside the windows, ornate, terra-cotta planters were crowded with red poinsettias, and fairy lights twinkled from the trees in her great-aunt’s award-winning garden.
Lilly sipped her coffee and sneaked another peek at the grannies. Who doesn’t like truffles?
ChiChi’s boyfriend, Charles Baudouin, his clan, and most, if not all, of the Ryo-DeLuca-Martelli family—including the third sister, GiGi—would celebrate Christmas here at the mansion. And from the number of loaves going into the ovens, everyone would be treated breakfast, lunch, and dinner to fruitcakes hard enough to put a hole in plaster.
Lilly set her cup down. “I thought I might try my hand at chocolate truffles today.” She held her breath.
Without a word, ChiChi sashayed to the pantry.
Her unflappable nonna waltzed to the double ovens and stared through the glass doors. “These need about seven more minutes.” She abruptly pivoted back to Lilly. “You’re aren’t suggesting we,” she pointed to the pantry, “make truffles, are you? We already have a winning recipe. You saw it yourself this weekend. We sold out.”
“Exactly right, Sister.” ChiChi came out of the small room clutching two gigantic packages of flour. She nudged the door closed with a delicate toe-flick and plopped the ingredients on the island with a thud. “The Ryos are known for our fruitcake. We wouldn’t think of letting the town down at Christmas.”
“My darling granddaughter wasn’t suggesting we would…” Cha-Cha gave Lilly’s shoulder a squeeze on her way to the island.
“Of course not.” ChiChi sniffed, and began chopping a pile of green and red candied cherries.
Mission fail. With seventy fruitcakes stowed in the trunk of her car, and three more weekends to go, the Santa Paws Crafts Fair, Bake Sale, and More would end up costing her a small fortune, never mind the hormonal toll of working with Brett Benning.
Lilly refilled her cup and stayed near the coffee maker, keeping her back to the grannies. “What made you choose Brett as the backup co-chair?”
“I didn’t,” ChiChi answered. Lilly didn’t dare turn around. “Brett volunteered. He works with Jessica’s husband at the fire department. And, being the good man he is, he offered to help.”
No need to rouse ChiChi and Cha-Cha’s curiosity, but Lilly couldn’t help digging for a little dish on him. “How is—”
“Brett is Mr. July, darling,” her nonna offered.
Lilly turned from the coffee maker to find her nonna’s grin-covered face.
“The St. Helena Hotties Fireman’s Calendar,” Cha-Cha clarified, as if Lilly should know, while she unloaded five fruitcakes from the bottom oven. She placed them on a cooling rack on the counter, then removed her jingle-bell oven mitts like a doctor after surgery.
Looking a little sneaky and very guilty, she tiptoed closer to Lilly. “All the firefighters are holding the most adorable little puppies,” she whispered. “And the proceeds go to St. Paws Rescue. Let me show it to you.”
“Oh, no, no, no…”
“Get comfortable,” Cha-Cha commanded, giggling. “You won’t believe your eyes.”
“Nonna, please. It’s okay. I don’t need to see Mr. July, or any other mister without his clothes on. Honestly, I don’t—” She’d do it in private later.
Cha-Cha tucked a stray curl back into her bun and strutted to the counter near the oven. “Sit, sit, sit…” She waved at her and pointed to the island, her red-beaded sleeves flapping. Lilly reluctantly slid onto her stool again. “Those hotties are in here somewhere…” Cha-Cha shuffled through a drawer.
ChiChi looked up from her gooey project long enough to give Lilly a sly smile.
“Viola!” Cha-Cha pulled a glossy package from the drawer. “I’ve been saving this for Mr. January. But at my age I might not be around, so why wait?”
“Please don’t say that, Nonna.”
“What God wants…” ChiChi volunteered. And at the mention of the lord above, the sisters simultaneously blessed themselves. “Name of the Father, the Son…”
Lilly took a deep breath. She couldn’t imagine the planet without her nonna. Life was difficult enough without Grandpa. Although her nonna kept her Ryo maiden name, like her sisters had, Cha-Cha Ryo remained head over heels in love with Edwardo Antonio Martelli until the day he died. He was the love of her life. So, as much as Lilly had zero desire to look at Brett Benning in the buff—with the grannies—she was tickled to see her grandmother so happy.
Cha-Cha tore the wrapping off the calendar and smirked, letting her know her dead-on intuition had picked up Lilly’s interest in Brett. Presenting the calendar like a fragile piece of china, Cha-Cha practically danced to her. “Wipe your hands. We don’t want to get anything on the pictures. Especially the good parts,” she chuckled.
“You didn’t have to unwrap it,” Lilly said, reluctantly wiping her hands on a bright red dish towel. “You could’ve left Mr. January in the drawer.”
Cha-Cha sidled next to her. “Okay.” She beamed, excitedly flipping the pages. Bare chests, rippling muscles, and gorgeous smiles flashed by at Mach one.
Lilly grinned. “On second thought, slow down.”
“Here he is…” Cha-Cha read the caption. “St. Helena’s Brett Benning, hotter than the fourth of July.” She pointed to his photo. “Now, tell me that’s not a fun-raiser!”
Lilly gulped, praying there wasn’t anything fun raised below his belt. Why couldn’t her grandmother act like a normal granny, for crying out loud?
Her nonna nudged her and jiggled the calendar. Lilly rolled her eyes and then cautiously glanced down.
Oh, God. There was that smile…and, sweet baby Jesus. She scanned his beautiful, strong shoulders and down past the adorable chocolate Labrador puppy in Brett’s droolworthy arms, down to his six pack abs, and down. Down to the muscles that formed a v below, leading down, down…
“Close it. I don’t want to see any more.” Thank God Brett kept his pants on. She’d need to take another peek later though, just to be sure.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, darling. There is absolutely nothing wrong with admiring the physicality of a gorgeous man.”
Lilly stopped herself from confessing she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him at the crafts and bake sale.
“He’s still single, too,” her nonna teased, playfully pinching her cheek.
ChiChi pulled her phone out of her apron pocket, grimaced at the number, and stepped away.
“Come help me check on the next batch.” Cha-Cha grabbed her arm, leading her to the oven. “I think this is our best so far.”
“Yes, Bob. No. Please don’t worry,” ChiChi said in a somber tone. Lilly caught Cha-Cha’s raised-eyebrow look, and they both turned back to ChiChi.
“You have enough on your hands. No. We’ll manage. Please let me know if there is anything I can do.” A
fter a serious goodbye, ChiChi’s stubby fingers flew over the keypad. Apparently satisfied with her text, she pressed a button and dropped the phone back into her apron pocket. “Ladies, we have a situation. We can’t use the Ladies’ Meeting Hall this weekend.”
“Was that Bob Barnes, darling?” Cha-Cha brushed several grey curls off her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m surprised he’d do that to us. It’s so last-minute.”
“Trust me, he didn’t want to.” ChiChi tottered back to the center island, picked up a knife and resumed her place in front of the cutting board piled with green and red bits. “He needs it for a shotgun wedding. His granddaughter just laid the news on the family, and the wedding is Sunday.” She anxiously chopped the bits, and Christmas-colored chunks flew off the board sticking to the counter top.
“So…the St. Paws fund-raiser is off?”
ChiChi gave Lilly a blank stare. “I’m holding out for a plan B, or C, or…” ChiChi’s big brown eyes warmed. “Those poor little animals need us. This is the biggest fundraiser of the year. The proceeds from this event allow our pet rescue to remain a no-kill shelter.”
Either adrenaline or caffeine kicked in with a rush. “I’ll find another venue,” Lilly volunteered. There would be no kittens, dogs, cats, or puppies, killed on her watch. “I’ll just throw on some clothes.” Lilly slid off the stool and started for the door. “And as soon as we know where it will be, I’ll need to distribute flyers around town.”
“Not so fast.” ChiChi put her knife down and pulled her phone out of her apron.
“I texted Brett to get his input.”
“Why?”
“He is your co-chair, dear, and I would think you’d be grateful for the help, especially now.” ChiChi scanned her phone. “He’s picking you up at ten tomorrow morning to scout locations.” She winked. “Be ready.”
CHAPTER THREE
Brett
Brett Benning took the steps leading to ChiChi Ryo’s front door two at a time.
He’d been here before. A couple of years ago, one of her garden parties got out of hand and a spark from the barbeque hit a patch of grass, but the fire was out by the time Engine One arrived.
He rapped on the door and stepped back, waiting for Liliana. The shotgun wedding might not have been the best of plans for Bob Barnes, but Brett wasn’t the least bit upset about having an excuse to have Liliana to himself.
Footsteps padded to the door, and he cleared his throat.
“Let me answer it.” An elderly woman demanded on the other side.
“Don’t be silly, it’s my house. I’ll let him in.” he recognized ChiChi’s voice. After another second of bustling, Cha-Cha, wearing a bright pink robe-dress and chunky white orthopedic shoes appeared at the door.
“Why, Mr. July! I’d recognize you anywhere.” Her blue eyes twinkled.
“Don’t let my sister get to you, Brett.” Smiling, ChiChi edged in front of her sibling. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” He stepped into the foyer. The house was bigger than he remembered. A glittering Christmas tree smothered in ornaments sat next to the staircase, its top reaching the second-floor landing.
It didn’t smell like pine, though. Which was odd. Instead, the house smelled strange. It wasn’t a musty kind of odor. Brett turned his head to the side and secretly sniffed. Was it booze?
“Come, make yourself at home.” Cha-Cha looped her arm through his, leading him down the hall.
“We were just taking another batch of fruitcakes out of the oven.” ChiChi sidled next to him so he was cozily flanked by both women.
The faint rum-and-mysterious, pungent smell he detected when he entered the house was impossible to ignore in the kitchen. Cha-Cha offered him a seat at the island in the middle of the room.
“Lilly will be down in a moment,” ChiChi explained. “But you have time for a nice slice of cake.” She deposited a plate laden with a green- and red-speckled, shiny mound in front him.
The overpowering odor wafted up from the dish, making his eyes water. “No, I couldn’t.” He gently pushed the plate away. ChiChi pushed it back.
“You can’t expect him to eat with his hands, Sister,” Cha-Cha chuckled, passing a fork to him. “Go ahead, darling, while it’s still warm,” she coaxed. “Dig in.”
He could swear the mound moved, but couldn’t trust his vision through the tears. What is that smell? “I had a very big breakfast at the station.” Brett eyed the doorway, praying Lilly was ready to leave and would walk through the door and save him.
ChiChi brought her hands to her hips. Her expression conveyed in no uncertain terms that she was having none of it. With perfect posture, Cha-Cha took a stance next to her, her blue eyes flicking from the blob on the plate to his mouth. Brett glimpsed at the doorway again. No dice.
“Had I known I-I- would be in for such a treat,” he explained, knowing his excuse would have zero effect, “I would’ve saved room.” He waited a beat, hoping for a miracle, but it was no use. The sisters weren’t taking no for an answer, so he sliced into the cake with his fork and took the tiniest possible bite.
The texture was thick, gelatinous, and chewy at the same time. Little knobs of hard bits rolled over his tongue, and he tried not to wince. It was even worse than he remembered, which he would have thought impossible. The flavor was as revolting as the smell. “Hmmm.” He muttered while swallowing hard to force the cake down, but the slippery hunk caught in the back of his throat. He’d never given himself a Heimlich before, but right now he was glad he at least knew how.
“Well?” Cha-Cha’s long sleeves fluttered as she crossed her arms, never taking her eyes off him. “We used a new ingredient in this batch. You’re our test monkey.”
“Hmmm.” The last gulp did the trick, and the gooey globule slid down. That’s when the explosion in his mouth happened. It felt like someone lit a match, and heat tore through his sinuses. His body couldn’t hold back anymore and tried to repel the substance with a cough, which led to another. And another.
“That’s the rum.” Cha-Cha nodded to her sister.
“We should’ve warned you, dear. It has a little kick,” ChiChi explained. “Oh, no. Are you crying?”
“Child-gag-hood mem-choke-or-cough-ies.”
“Are you all right?” Thanks to his coughing fit, he hadn’t noticed when Liliana walked in. She opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of paper napkins. “Here.” She passed a few to him.
“Thanks.” He gratefully used it to dry his mouth. When he dried his tears, Liliana’s beautiful face came in view. Light streamed through the windows, casting a shine on her long brown hair. Her leggings hugged every one of her curves, and the fluffy sweater made her look extra-adorable, and so sexy at the same time. Should he get up and hug her? After all, they were working together now. She probably smelled good, too. If his nose ever recovered from its beating, he hoped to find out…
Brett caught a glimpse of Cha-Cha checking out his reaction to her granddaughter and decided to stay put.
Lilly gave him a devious smile. Like everything else about her, it was pretty.
“Isn’t the fruitcake yummy?”
“A real treat.” He lied, jumping at the chance to leave. “Thank you so much, ladies,” he said, getting up. ChiChi and Cha-Cha beamed. Didn’t they taste their own food? “Lilly and I should get going, since we have a list of venues to inspect. I think we have a few good options.”
After saying their goodbyes, Lilly led him down the hall and back out the front door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brett
“Baby, it’s Cold Outside” blasted from his speakers.
Brett quickly turned it down. He glanced at Lilly in the passenger seat. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t take you for the Christmas music type.” She shifted in her seat, and he thought he smelled vanilla and summer rain.
“What kind of type do you take me for?” he asked trying not to stare at her. It wasn’t easy. Natural beauty like hers wa
s mesmerizing.
“No comment.”
Brett detected a little grin. “So, is it Lilly, or Liliana?”
She swiveled to face him, and he smelled vanilla and rain again. It must be coming from her hair… He studied her chocolate brown eyes, and then her flawless skin, and pretty mouth.
“It’s Lilly. You can call me Lilly.” She settled back into her seat.
“Well, don’t believe everything you hear about me, Lilly.” He turned the wheel, stole another look at her, and headed for downtown St. Helena.
“That’s going to be hard to do, Brett Benning, but I’ll try.” She dug into her purse and pulled out her phone.
“I hope you’re joking.”
She looked up from her phone and he detected a trace of a smile.
Brett wasn’t immune to the gossip about him. He thought long and hard about moving back to St. Helena after he injured his shoulder. Tiny towns come fully equipped with busybodies and, to make matters worse, most of his neighbors had known him since he was in diapers. Not good.
Although his shoulder injury wasn’t a career-ender, he took it as sign, or maybe a warning. Vince Pierce, their tight end, tore his ACL the week before Brett’s hit, and Tommy London was carried off the field on a stretcher with a head injury the month before. Brett wasn’t superstitious, and wasn’t afraid of pain, but when he got hurt the last time, the switch flipped. He’d accomplished more than he dreamed of while playing with the Seahawks, including the cash. Why not go out while he was on top?
Unfortunately, his notoriety as a player never left him, even though most of the rumors were lies. True, he’d dated a few high-profile actresses during his game days, and yes, he didn’t hide those relationships, or back off the subject during interviews. You’d think because of his honesty then, folks would believe him now, when he said his carousing days were over. But it wasn’t the case. The bad boy rep stuck to him like gum under the bleachers.
Plain and simple, Brett got bored dating in the shallow end of the pool. When he turned thirty he decided not to waste any more time with women who weren’t potentially The One. At thirty-one he still hadn’t found her. It made for lonely nights, but Brett convinced himself that wherever she was, she would be worth the wait.
