“Too many cooks in the kitchen!” Marla shuffled toward Joshua and Cody, swatting her hands to shoo them along and into the family room. “Let’s let Kate and Deacon finish up in here on their own. They don’t need us milling about and getting in the way.”
Kate didn’t have to look to confirm Marla’s eyes on the sprig of greenery dangling directly above them.
Joshua stole a handful of cookies before trailing the others out of the kitchen, but not before he shot Deacon a wink of encouragement that had Kate suddenly flushed with nerves. Between her heated palms and her fuzzy brain, her entire body had gone utterly haywire.
“What was that all about?” Deacon tore off a section from the paper towel roll and passed it to Kate. He stood by, arms woven across his chest as she dried her hands.
“Umm.” Kate eased her gaze toward the ceiling.
“Oh.” Deacon jumped out from under the spray of green. “I’d forgotten that was there…”
“Yeah. Same.”
They stared at one another, immobilized like two frozen ice sculptures.
“Your mom is sort of relentless,” Kate teased.
“That, she is.” Deacon chuckled, but it was nervous laughter, not the genuine sound she grown used to hearing from him lately.
“Do you think maybe we should just give in?” Kate’s finger wound in the paper towel, wringing it until she could feel her pulse beating in just the tip.
“Give in?” He took a step toward her. “As in…?”
She paused. “As in, maybe we should just kiss and get it over with.”
A look of shear disappointment moved across Deacon’s face, causing insecurity to sweep through Kate’s belly. Evidently, they weren’t together in that same line of thinking. She could have sworn they were both talking about the silly mistletoe that teased and tormented them to no end.
“Kate Carmichael.” Deacon moved even closer still. Kate retreated, surprised by his sudden advancement. Her backside collided with the counter. Trapped there, Deacon’s body was nearly flush with hers and his arms bracketed on either side, hands gripping the tile, locking her in. Their faces aligned and when he parted his lips to speak, she could feel the warmth of his cinnamon tinged breath rush across her mouth. “When I do finally kiss you, it’s not going to be something that I just want to get over with.”
“Oh.” All of Kate’s air left her in a whoosh.
“I want to take my time. I hope that’s okay with you.”
She nodded, a bunch of little nervous nods in a row. “Yeah, that’s definitely okay.”
“Good.” He smirked before he pushed off the counter. “Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
“Same page.” Kate couldn’t collect herself. She was as dizzied as a spinning top about to teeter over. “Totally same page.”
Deacon
He’d had two clear opportunities to kiss the woman of his dreams and passed them both up. What sort of man did that? A man who doesn’t know the first thing about falling in love, Deacon thought to himself as he sat deeply in the driver’s seat, the sharp flare of sun forcing him to squint into the rays that flooded his truck cab with brilliant, morning light. He’d been so frustrated with himself that he almost overlooked the mountain beauty around him, focusing instead on the movie real of memories from the night prior. The night where Kate had suggested they kiss and he—like the fool he evidently was—said something along the lines of, “Not now, thanks.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Why couldn’t he be a “seize the day” sort of guy, like the one who had the boldness to ask Kate out in his mother’s farm store, with an audience, no less? In another life, Deacon could be that man. In fact, even in this life he could’ve been him. All he would have to do is rewind five years and erase the one relationship that made him question everything about love, his farm, and his future.
But life didn’t come with a remote. You couldn’t rewind. You couldn’t pause. And you certainly couldn’t fast forward. Deacon had tried and failed too many times at that. Life was meant to be lived and felt. Every minute, every second.
Deacon’s emotions fell in step with his thoughts as a fresh wave of regret swept through him. Why did he feel like Kate was already fifty miles down the highway, headed in the opposite direction? He couldn’t let her go that easily, not without telling her what she meant to him. In that very moment, just as he flipped his turn signal on and coasted into the lot of Al’s Grocery, he made a vow that before the sun slipped behind the mile-high trees on his property nearing day’s end, he would make his feelings known. One way or another.
Just that bit of resolve added a pep to Deacon’s step that had vanished in recent years. It felt good to have a plan. He strolled the cart up and down the aisles of the quaint store, feeling lighter than he had in a long while, and he hummed along with the instrumental score of Christmas carols that ran faintly in the background. To his delight, there was a display of discounted Santa hats at an end cap and he collected a handful for the crew back home, shoving one onto his head to wear while he scoped out the items on his list.
Chicken pot pie, no peas. That was the menu for tonight. He’d spent a generous amount of time combing through internet recipes and landed on one that looked similar to the dish served at the restaurant they’d frequented that week. It didn’t take long to locate the ingredients he needed for the meal, but before Deacon meandered his way to the checkout stand with his bounty, he took a turn down the wine aisle to peruse the small section of bottled beverages. He rarely drank, but he knew from Kate’s sommelier episode that she often enjoyed relaxing with an after dinner glass. But choosing the appropriate one—even from the limited mountain store selection—was not in Deacon’s wheelhouse. He stood there, gaze blank and knowledge nonexistent, playing a game of eenie, meenie, minie mo with the four nearest bottles.
“Need some help?”
The voice at his back made all of the hairs on Deacon’s neck stand on end, like the wary hackles on a threatened dog. He whipped around and the fluffy, dangling ball at the tip of his cap smacked him right in the eye. Even with the now blurry vision, Deacon could make out the woman before him as plain as day. His stomach lurched.
“Jenny?”
“Deacon?” Her eyes rounded in matching surprise. “I didn’t realize it was…I didn’t know that was you,” she stammered as she flapped her ski gloves against her palm, her feet shuffling on the ground, shaking off loose little bits of unmelted snow she’d tracked inside. “The hat and all. Not your typical cowboy one.”
She flicked a finger toward the felt cap. Deacon swiped it from his head and tossed it into the cart. “It’s my winter disguise,” he said, feeling more stupid than ever. “What are you doing here?”
“Grocery shopping,” she answered. Evidently sarcasm was still her trusty go-to.
“I mean here, as in the Sierras.”
“I’ve been back for a while now, Deacon.” The funny look she gave him made Deacon feel like he was missing something. He probably was. But when things had ended between them, he’d pledged never to look Jenny up. He made it a rule not to follow her on social media. He didn’t text her on lonely nights when he wondered if they could’ve made things work had they just given it another shot. He did not wish to turn into one of those pathetic guys who followed their ex’s every move, always keeping tabs and never really cutting ties.
No, with Jenny it had been a clean break, both with his heart and their relationship.
She stepped closer to the wall of wine. “I’d go with the 2017 Cabernet. Oaky with hints of black cherry and hazelnut. It’s my favorite. Warm and spicy. The perfect winter wine.”
The price tag on the suggested bottle sure fit the bill when it came to Jenny and her lavish tastes. Deacon stooped down and grasped the neck of the bottle directly beneath it, not even bothering to look at the blend, vintage, or cost. “This is the one I was actually looking for.” He swung the wine bottle between them like a pendulum befo
re placing it into his filled cart. “I should head to the checkout stand. I’ve got a tub of whipped cream in the cart and don’t want it to melt.”
Jenny nodded but there was something strained behind her gaze he couldn’t quite interpret. “It’s good to see you, Deacon.” She smiled but it didn’t lift high enough to touch the corners of her eyes. “I’ve thought a lot about you over the years and always kind of hoped we’d run into one another like this. I guess it’s serendipity.”
“It’s something,” Deacon muttered. He wasn’t about to get pulled into a painful session of reminiscing about the ‘good ol’ days’ with Jenny. He had no room in his head or his heart for that right now. “Take care, Jen. Merry Christmas.”
Before he could process what was happening, Jenny marched forward and wrapped Deacon in a startling hug. His straight arms were pinned at his sides as she constricted him with a squeeze that felt close to suffocation.
“Merry Christmas, Deacon,” she said with her face smashed against his chest. She pulled back quickly and tugged on the hem of her coat, readjusting her composure before adding, “Happy New Year to you, too.”
“Still nothing?”
Deacon doubled at the waist to flip on the oven light, liking the sight of the flaky, golden texture on the rising crust of his pot pies. The hearty aroma alone was enough to make his stomach growl in anticipation. The fact that the pies looked as good as they smelled was just a pleasant added bonus.
Kate scooted out a barstool from underneath the island and flopped down, expelling a breath with the motion. “I got another voicemail this afternoon,” she said. She perched her elbows on the tiled counter and cupped her face in her hands. “At this point, we are playing the longest game of phone tag known to man.”
“And you can’t just text her?” Deacon adjusted the time on the stove, adding five more minutes to the countdown before rotating around to face Kate. Disappointment tugged at her typically happy expression and Deacon wished there was a way he could alleviate some of that frustration. He hoped the home cooked feast currently in the oven might take the edge off. A good meal usually did that for him, but he figured men and women were wired differently when it came to things of that nature.
“She says this information is too good to be typed out in a text. That it needs to be delivered over the phone.”
“Well, that’s promising, right?”
Kate waggled her shoulders. “Hard to say. Courtney’s idea of good is all over the map, but I suppose that’s to be expected in our line of work. I mean, for everyone else, a twenty car pile up on Interstate 80 is a disaster. At the very least, a huge traffic inconvenience. For us, it’s five o’clock news.”
“Fair point.” Deacon hated how unsettled Kate had seemed since yesterday’s missed call. She was a swirl of emotion, like a snow globe tipped upside-down and shaken about. “Hopefully you two can connect tonight.”
“I sure hope so. I honestly don’t think I can spend another night with all of this not knowing nonsense. I have half a mind to just drive myself down to the valley and show up at her door, demanding answers.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that.” While it wasn’t presently storming like it had been earlier in the day, roads would be slushy and black ice could be a very real threat. Even the most experienced driver would be challenged in these unsafe conditions.
“You’re right.” Kate twisted an errant strand of hair around her finger and screwed up her mouth into a pout. “Employees usually aren’t in the best positions to demand much from their employers.”
“I wasn’t referring to that, but I do think that’s a wise revelation. I just meant that I wouldn’t recommend being out on the roads tonight, especially if you haven’t driven in the snow much.”
“Agreed. I guess that’s something I should practice if I plan to make the drive back and forth from Sacramento more often. Maybe I can do an On the Job with that snow plow friend of yours. You think you could introduce us and possibly help line things up?”
She said it so casually, like it wasn’t this perfect little gift she’d given him with her candid statement.
“You’re planning to make the drive back and forth from Sacramento?” He repeated her exact words, as though somehow saying them in his own voice could aid in understanding their true meaning. It didn’t work. He remained dumbfounded.
“Well, yeah.” Kate stopped hair-twirling and leveled Deacon with a look that had his heart bottoming out. “I mean, how else am I going to see you once this job is over? I suppose I could get myself a sleigh and some magic reindeer that could fly me back and forth…”
Deacon didn’t answer that, nor acknowledge her obvious joke, and the oven timer that suddenly trilled as her words trailed off nearly shot him sky high.
“Maybe I’m thinking too far ahead…” Kate slid off the stool and paced the kitchen to join Deacon. Like she’d lived there all her life, she opened the drawer next to the stove to locate another pair of mitts, slipped them on, and helped him pull the delectable pot pies from their racks.
“You’re not. Thinking too far ahead, that is.” Deacon had planned to have this conversation. In fact, he’d been ruminating on it all day long. He just didn’t think Kate would be the one to broach it. Once again, she had caught him off guard in the very best way. “We’ll make you a snow-savvy driver in no time, Kate Carmichael. That’s a promise.”
Kate
Chicken pot pie was entirely underrated. Maybe the idea of consuming chicken in pie form wasn’t all that appealing for some, but to Kate, the meal she’d just devoured easily made it onto her list of top ten favorites. Admittedly, that might’ve had a little something to do with the man who prepared it for her.
When she came into the kitchen after filming a video for an idea she’d conjured up that afternoon about tree stands and how to select the right one, Kate unknowingly entered into a culinary explosion. Deacon had holiday jazz music cranked to full volume and he gleefully danced about the room like a man leading a partner. From her concealed vantage point in the hallway, Kate took in the show as he chopped, sliced, and seasoned each ingredient with such attention to detail it was as though he’d be graded on the final outcome. Thyme and black pepper went into a ceramic mixing bowl already containing premeasured amounts of flour, cream, and broth. Diced chicken and a medley of root vegetables boiled on the stove. The snap of onions sautéing in melting butter with minced garlic made Kate salivate on the spot. She could already taste the rich gravy that this combination of ingredients would create and she knew her dependable freezer meals would never again satisfy her hunger.
Embarrassment, followed by an unmistakable radiance of pride, had washed over Deacon’s face when he lifted his eyes from his work and met Kate’s shameless stare. That same pride grew exponentially throughout dinner, and each time Kate complimented the feast—which was after every bite she took—she could sense Deacon’s appreciation swell within his chest.
He was detail oriented, not only in his ability to create such a delightful meal from scratch, but in the way he paid attention to the things many men might otherwise overlook. Kate had wavered on her dinner selection for just a moment at the restaurant and Deacon remembered. He had even committed to memory the fact that she didn’t like peas. Sure, vegetables weren’t often the subjects of great romances, but to Kate, these small, simple gestures meant everything.
Dusk had slipped into twilight and twilight into nightfall when Kate found herself at Deacon’s side, their hands elbow deep in warm, sudsy sink water. One would scrub the plate, the other would rinse and settle it into the drying rack, and they repeated this process until each dish, pan, and pot was scoured clean. It was methodical, yet relaxing, in a way Kate couldn’t exactly pinpoint.
Drifts of earthbound snow fluttered outside and Kate felt she could gaze through that kitchen window, enjoying the peace and the calm forever. Even dish washing was a chore she would gladly accept if this were the view and Deacon, her company.
“Any chance you’re up for a late night walk?” Deacon dried his hands with a terrycloth dishtowel and then passed it to Kate, his hip pressed against the counter, legs crossed casually at the ankles. “Or are you ready to call it a night?”
“A walk would be lovely, Deacon.” She folded the towel and slipped it back on the oven door handle, then hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “Just let me grab my coat real quick, okay?”
“Sure thing. Take your time.”
Kate had returned to her barn loft that afternoon as the stairs were now repaired and it was finally safe to utilize them again. Even though that dedicated space was hers, she realized she’d much rather spend her time in the main farmhouse with Marla. Kate chalked it up to needing to make certain Marla didn’t put any unnecessary strain on that wounded ankle, but in the end, Kate just didn’t wish to be alone. She preferred company over isolation. And the company the Winters family offered was unmatched.
Deacon was waiting for her several paces from the house, his footprints leading a path through the otherwise untouched layer of powder. Before joining him, Kate paused to fully absorb the sight. Deacon’s head was angled heavenward and the muted light from the crescent moon contoured the strong, distinct line of his jaw, making him as awe-inspiring as the creation surrounding him. His hands were shoved deeply into his tan, canvas coat pockets and if she stilled her breath and eliminated any other sound, Kate could make out the sweet, low hum of a well-known holiday song vibrating softly from his chest.
“Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” she acknowledged quietly when she took her place next to him. “That’s your favorite Christmas carol, isn’t it?”
Swinging his gaze to look at her, Deacon’s eyes sparked with joy. “You guessed it.” He kicked up a clod of snow, toeing his boot against the icy edges. “When I was little, I thought the song was actually called Walking in a Winters Wonderland. I thought it was so cool that someone would write a carol just for us. My dad had to correct me many years later and disclose that it was winter, not Winters. But it never changed the connection I felt with the song. Still hasn’t.” His focus fastened on Kate and behind it was a palpable energy, his chestnut eyes never blinking when he parted his lips and half-sang, half-spoke the lines, “A beautiful sight…we’re happy tonight…”
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