Christmas at Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course. And I don’t mind helping you out either. You’re my first friend from New York City.”

  “I’m blown away. Thanks.”

  Penelope chuckled. “I’m looking forward to this, Deacon. Big-time.”

  “You rock. Really.” They clinked glasses again.

  “Hey, she’s here,” Penelope said, “and she’s heading our way.”

  Deacon turned. Sure enough, Macy was on the other side of the piazza.

  “Work with me when she comes over, okay?” Penelope asked him.

  “Will do.”

  “Hey, you two.” Macy squeezed in between them at the railing.

  “Hey, yourself.” Penelope bumped her hip with her own.

  “Now we’ve got ourselves a real party,” Deacon said. “Can I get you a drink, Macy?”

  “Not just yet, thanks,” she said. “Let me look at the boats.”

  So they did. The twinkling lights on the water, the people lining the Battery wall, it all added up to a spectacular, heartwarming sight.

  “I had to help my sister wrap presents for thirty-five teachers,” Macy said. “But I’m not gonna lie. I enjoyed every minute of it. I’m a good-cheer junkie.”

  “Me too,” said Penelope. “Life’s too short to live it any other way. What about you, Deacon?”

  “Sure.” He raised his glass of bourbon. “Cheers.”

  “Not that kind,” Macy teased him.

  “I like the other kind too,” he insisted. “The feel-good, Christmas kind that’s supposed to last all year. Like Charles Dickens said.”

  “I love a well-read man,” Penelope stage-whispered to Macy.

  Macy laughed. “He is, honestly. Ask him about any Shakespeare play.”

  “I’d love to,” said Penelope, “but I have to run. Hey, I’m bummed because I have reservations at FIG tomorrow night that I have to give up. My friend is too busy to go, and I am too, honestly. You know how hard those are to get, Macy. I had to book six weeks out.”

  “Yes,” said Macy. “FIG’s so good, it’s almost impossible to get in unless you plan way ahead.”

  “That’s too bad,” Deacon said.

  “How about you two take them?” Penelope looked between them both.

  Deacon wished he could laugh out loud. She was a fast mover.

  “I don’t know.” Macy sounded skeptical.

  “If it’s that good…” Deacon put down his bourbon. “I wouldn’t mind.” He tried to sound nonchalant.

  “I don’t know.” Macy’s forehead puckered.

  “Oh, come on,” said Penelope. “It’s always amazing. You’ll be at work all day, Macy. Won’t it be great to walk to FIG afterward for a glass of wine and a fantastic meal? The reservations are early. Six o’clock. They’re the only ones I could get.”

  Six o’clock was definitely not the dating hour.

  Macy’s shoulders relaxed. “Okay.”

  “Fine by me.” Deacon was playing it cool.

  Penelope grinned. “Thanks, y’all. I would have felt so bad cancelling. It’s FIG!” She bade her farewells, and that was it.

  Deacon had a date with Macy.

  “We need to talk,” Macy said.

  “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re going to tell me FIG isn’t a date. And of course, it’s not. I’m your client.”

  Macy relaxed. “Exactly.”

  “It’s only a six o’clock reservation.” He struck a casual pose against the balcony railing. “Nothing romantic about that.”

  “True. In fact, we’ll call it a practice date. I’ll check out your style.”

  “You saw it at Fast and French.”

  “But that was business. And daytime. This is dinner at a white-tablecloth restaurant. A different vibe.”

  “I don’t really need help dating,” he said.

  “I know that. But maybe we do things a little differently in Charleston. I could give you tips. And it never occurred to me to add Penelope to your dating list because she recently came off a bad breakup. But I think I should.”

  “You’re the expert,” he said.

  “She’s so smart and pretty. And nice.”

  “Yep.” She was selling Penelope hard.

  “I think she might like you.”

  “You think?” He had to fight to sound truly interested.

  “Sure.”

  “Too bad she’s not my type,” he said.

  Macy’s grin faded. “She’s not?”

  “Nope.” He kept his eyes on the long line of festive boats.

  “Do you have a type?” Macy asked.

  “Sure.” He drained his glass. “Likes to bake cakes. Asks too many questions. But she’s sexy and sweet, so she can get away with it. We’ll go from there.” He was going faster than he’d planned. His Christmas drinks had loosened his lips.

  “I have no idea which of the women on your list like to bake.” So she was going to pretend she didn’t know he was talking about her. “But all of them are sexy. And to heck with sweet. They’re reasonable, friendly, and mature.”

  “Those are great qualities. But let me clarify sweet. I actually mean she’s got to be flexible about kissing.” He knew it was high school talk. But he had a crush. A big one. “I’ll want to kiss her in front of her parents. Or at a football game. Or when she’s coming out of the shower.”

  “Hmm.”

  His body was begging him to get close to Macy Frost. His mind couldn’t stop thinking about her. And his heart was clamoring for her attention. He wanted to put his arm around her badly, to pull her close, to kiss her temple, murmur sweet nothings in her ear.

  But he knew that he’d not want to stop there. He’d want to kiss her mouth. Run his hands down her sides, relish the curve of her hip. Lose himself in her body.

  “You ready for that drink yet?” he asked her.

  “Sure. But I really just want a Coke.”

  But George was out of Coke.

  “No worries,” said Macy. “I have some at my house. Let me go get it.”

  “Thanks, doll,” said George.

  “I’ll go with you,” Deacon said.

  “Great.” She gave a lighthearted shrug.

  They chatted easily down the stairs about nothing special. But when he opened Fran’s front door for her, and she passed beneath his arm, he wanted to reach out, pull her close, and kiss her.

  Not yet, though. He wanted to be mature about it—and cool, and respectful—but waiting was driving him crazy.

  Outside on the sidewalk, she wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s getting colder.”

  “I love it.” He liked walking with her to her house. And there was no place he’d rather be when he followed her onto her piazza, through her foyer and dining room, and into her kitchen.

  She grabbed two liters of Coke from the pantry. “Here we go.”

  “Let me,” he said, and took them from her but put them down on the countertop.

  It was time.

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “A kiss is coming, isn’t it?”

  “I want it to.” He tugged on her hands. “Do you?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Oh, why not?” she said, and put her hands on his chest. “It’s a party.”

  “It’s always a party being around you. Did you know that?”

  She blushed. “I was talking about your aunt’s party.”

  “I’m talking about you,” he said. “Not that damned piazza and George behind the bar and all those people Aunt Fran is trying to charm.”

  Macy gave a slight shake of her head.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, just before lowering his mouth to hers.

  The kiss was searing hot. And it went on. And on. Macy’s hourglass figure fit perfectly within his arms. Her mouth was perfection. He wanted her badly. She was a hot kisser, giving as good as she got, so maybe she wanted him too.

  “Wow,” she said, finally pullin
g back.

  He would like nothing better than to pick her up and lay her down somewhere, strip off her clothes, and make love to her.

  “We can’t,” she said. She always knew what was on his mind.

  “I want,” he said.

  She groaned. “No. I was stupid to kiss you.”

  “You’re not stupid.”

  “You’re so cute. And … and sexy.”

  “So are you.”

  She backed up a step. “We just can’t.”

  “Tell you what.” He tugged on her hands and pulled her close again. He couldn’t tell if she was acting shy or wary—or both. “You’re fired. You can keep all the money, but this arrangement isn’t working.”

  Her eyes widened, but she quickly recovered her professional cool. “What about your aunt? Your promise to her?”

  “Here’s a compromise that will satisfy her: You and I go out. I don’t want to see those other women.” He squeezed her hand. “You feel it, don’t you? I want you in my bed.”

  To hell with playing games, using Penelope and the other women to help him win Macy over. He could do it himself. And in a lot less time.

  He believed in honesty.

  She stared at their interlocking fingers, hesitated, then pulled her hand away and looked up at him. Her eyes held a glint of shock. But he saw regret there too, which made the flame of his crush hotter than ever.

  “Deacon”—she had the grace to hesitate again—“you’re tempting. I gave in to a kiss, and it was worth it. Believe me. But I don’t want to get involved with a guy who doesn’t even live here and who has said he’s emotionally unavailable.”

  She was smart. Of course she was. Smarter than he was. “Maybe this isn’t practical,” he said. “But we could have a lot of fun. And I’m not heartless, you know. I like you. I like you a lot.”

  “I like you too, but I’m not into Christmas flings,” Macy said simply. “Neither am I necessarily interested in getting into a relationship. I’m a busy woman. I’m happy. Fulfilled. It would have to take a heck of a situation for me to change course—I mean, love with a capital L and all that it involves. You get that as an entrepreneur yourself. Don’t you?”

  “Of course. But I don’t have to like it.”

  “Look.” She smiled softly. “Our business arrangement will work if you give it a chance.” She picked up the two liters of Coke. “Please? For your aunt’s sake?”

  “Okay,” he said, and took the Cokes from her again. This time he held onto them. “The arrangement stands.” He had no desire to continue with their agreement. But he would. To keep her and his aunt happy. But if he was going to have to jump through a million hoops to do so, he refused to feel guilty about trying to make the experience a lot more enjoyable for himself. He’d go along with Penelope’s plan. What Macy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  And maybe, just maybe, it would work.

  * * *

  So Deacon was completely into her, Macy realized. That was the problem—and the delight of her heart. She was an evil, wicked, terrible matchmaker. But she couldn’t think about how amazing that kiss was or dwell on her own shortcomings for long.

  She had a phone conference to get through with a client on business in Jamaica. He really wanted to talk to her about one of the women she’d set him up with. He was starting to fall for this woman, he told Macy, but he had reservations. He didn’t like her dog. It was too small. Yet this potential soulmate of his was obsessed with it. What could he do? He only liked big dogs.…

  All in a day’s work for Macy.

  After convincing him to give the woman and her small dog at least another week’s try when he returned home, Macy popped her head into Greer’s office. “Heading out to Roastbusters and then to pick up a new skirt I bought at Nancy’s on King Street. I had to get it altered. Wanna come?”

  Greer pushed up her glasses. “I wish. I’m too busy. Thanks, though.”

  Macy wasn’t ready to tell anyone she’d kissed Deacon, but she was dying to talk to Greer and Ella about her fake date with him—What should she wear? Was it okay to spray on a tiny bit of perfume when this was only a practice run?—but she didn’t want them to know she was actually excited. She was a professional, right? She was all about that.

  Macy found Ella’s office door shut with a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob. Loud noises she couldn’t decipher emanated from within, something like a hammer pounding. Or two blocks being hit together. And then a mysterious whining noise, followed by a thump—and another thump.

  She sighed. Ella was apparently off-limits at the moment.

  She went to Miss Thing. She wouldn’t dare talk to her about the date. Their office manager saw through Macy every time she tried to hide something—and darned fast. Oscar sat on a chair next to Miss Thing, his tail flicking relentlessly. He was obsessed with her pink feather duster, which he knew was hidden in her lower desk drawer.

  Miss Thing was resplendent in a nubby yellow Chanel wool jacket and skirt finished with white stitching on the sleeves and breast pockets. At the moment, she was updating the December calendar on Two Love Lane’s website. Each day, she added a holiday dating tip.

  “What’s going on in Ella’s office?” Macy asked.

  Miss Thing lowered her crystal-studded reading glasses. “Some secret Christmas activity.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Have you heard anything more from that young man, Deacon Banks?” The sharp gleam in Miss Thing’s eye didn’t bode well.

  “Sure, I’ve seen him.” Macy braced herself. “He’s my neighbor.”

  “He is?”

  “Yes.” She did her best to sound dismissive and picked up some paperwork from Miss Thing’s desk. “What’s this? The bill from the landscaping company?”

  “They fixed the hose out back so it doesn’t leak anymore.”

  “Good. I see the equipment charge. But where’s the labor cost?”

  Miss Thing ripped the paper out of her hands. “Mr. Banks is your neighbor?”

  Macy sighed. “Yes. His aunt bought a condo in the house next to mine. I can see directly onto their piazza from my bedroom window.”

  “Oh my heavens.” Miss Thing started waving the landscaping bill in front of her face as if she were about to burst into flames. “So what’s happened? Have you been over there? Have they come over to see you?”

  “Yes, I’ve been there, several times now. And Deacon—”

  “You call him Deacon?”

  “That’s his name.”

  “Yes, but—my goodness. That was awfully fast.”

  “Not really. I tend to call all my clients by their first names within the first couple of meetings—unless they prefer a more formal interaction.”

  “Still.” Miss Thing blinked. Her mouth, lined in a deep fuchsia matte lipstick, tilted up in a tremulous smile.

  “Miss Thing. You must remember something.”

  “Yes?”

  “We are a business here. Deacon Banks is my client. Please don’t forget that. Our reputation rides on our commitment to our mission, that we are professional matchmakers who put the needs of our clients first. Whether I’m attracted to Deacon Banks or not doesn’t matter.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course!” Macy put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot on the floor. She was feeling quite … flustered. Yes, that was the word. “Let’s stop talking about it. Okay?”

  “Whatever you say.” Miss Thing’s tone was smug as she abandoned the landscaping bill and started polishing her white princess phone with a lace handkerchief. Oscar stood, his pupils widening, and watched that handkerchief wiggle all over the phone.

  Macy put on a brittle business smile. “See you in a little while. I have errands to run.” Of course, she loved Miss Thing, but gossip didn’t pay the bills. She escaped to the vast entry hall, where she inhaled a deep breath, put on her coat, slung her purse over her shoulder, and prepared to exit the house.

  “Oh, Macy dear?” Miss Thing called t
o her.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have somewhere to be tonight? Where you’ll see Deacon?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I can just tell. Have you kissed him yet?”

  “No!” she lied, slamming the door behind her.

  * * *

  Thank God for Roastbusters. Two Love Lane was equipped with a coffee machine, but there was nothing like the slow drip they made at the coffee house, and nobody beat Roastbusters at making peppermint cocoa.

  Macy had been getting it a couple times a week since Thanksgiving.

  “Extra hot, please,” she told Andy, the owner and main barista. “Extra whipped cream too, if you don’t mind.”

  “Right.” Andy winked.

  “And no lid, please,” she added.

  “Right, Macy.” He laughed.

  “Sorry. Oh, and—”

  He put both his palms on the counter. “Don’t you think I know your holiday order by now?”

  “I suppose you do.”

  He leaned closer. “You don’t want a lid so you can really pile on the whipped cream. You like it extra hot because you take it back to work and get so busy, you forget about it, and it cools down, and your microwave is broken and you refuse to fix it because your mother doesn’t believe in microwaves. You do, but you feel guilty about liking them.”

  “I’ve told you that?”

  “Several times.”

  She blushed.

  He went on. “You like half a pump of peppermint instead of a whole pump, and you like me to put a cherry on top, even though cherries and peppermint don’t go together that well. You tell me that too. You say, ‘Andy, they don’t go together well. But I don’t care. I like them.’”

  “Oh.” She could feel her blush deepen. “I guess I do say that.”

  Andy laughed. “We don’t do drinks with cherries on top, Macy.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Nope. I keep a jar just for you.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. And you know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you, that’s why. The first time you came in and asked for a cherry on top, I felt terrible telling you we didn’t have any. I pretended we normally stock them. And that night I went to Harris Teeter and bought a jar.”