Her Mistletoe Bachelor

by Carolyn Hector

  While Donovan wasn’t a part of the marketing or branding teams, he would suggest they name their next shade of lipstick Mistletoe, because all he wanted to do was kiss her. Something about the bow shape of her puckered lips reminded him of the joy he experienced on Christmas morning. A thought occurred to him, wondering what her mouth would feel like against his.

  “I’ve heard of them,” said British. “I’m not completely out of touch with society. Are you one of their models?”

  The chuckle stemming from the back of his throat turned into a choke. British came around the countertop and patted him hard on the back.

  “You okay?” she asked, sincere concern in her onyx eyes.

  Touched, Donovan nodded and ducked out of the way of her next pat. “I’m good. So you said being a teacher is your part-time gig. Is cooking your other?” he asked and lifted his sandwich.

  “Okay, I believe it’s time I cleared up this misunderstanding.”

  A look Donovan was definitely used to crept across her pretty face as British bit the corner of her mouth and avoided eye contact. His lack of trust in women, especially after Tracy, set him on edge. Why had he lost sight for a moment and thought she would be any different? Since she hadn’t known who he was a few moments ago, Donovan wondered what her angle was. What did she want from him?

  “Why are you in my kitchen?”

  Before Donovan glanced around to see whose angry voice came from the arched entry into the kitchen, he watched British’s eyes widen in surprise.

  “So here’s the thing...” British began to confess, her eyes darting between the newcomer and Donovan. A grin spread across her face.

  “The thing is—” the other woman began, storming into the kitchen. She reached for the white apron around British’s waist. “I am Chef Jessilyn. I am the chef at Magnolia Palace and I don’t know why the hell this woman is in my kitchen.”

  Donovan sat up in his seat.

  “The thing is...” said British. “We had a bit of miscommunication when we first met.”

  “We met twenty minutes ago,” Donovan countered. Irritation and disappointment coursed through his veins.

  “I came here because I needed a favor,” she began.

  “Of course you did.” Donovan pushed his plate away. For one brief moment he’d thought she was different.

  “Jessilyn!” British exclaimed. “Might I have a word with you in private?”

  The newcomer, Jessilyn, jammed her hands onto her hips. She was wearing a pair of overalls rolled at the ankles and a pair of green flip-flops with the same-colored-green tank top under the bib. “Oh, you mean like five years ago, when you were the aide for my teacher who left you in charge of my senior class and I asked you for a moment of time to discuss my grade?”

  Donovan watched British’s eyes rise as if willing the chef to read her mind. He gathered she didn’t, or at least didn’t want to, when the chef folded her arms over her chest. The whole scene reminded Donovan of being younger and having his older brother, Marcus, hold information over his head. British was up to something.

  “You can’t possibly still be mad,” said British. “It’s not like you failed.”

  “But I did not graduate with a perfect 4.0.”

  Not sure if this was a private conversation or not, Donovan decided to leave—with his plate. He headed for the porch and sat on the front swing. Along with accepting he’d be alone for the rest of his life, Donovan figured getting involved at any level with another woman was a good thing to avoid.

  In three more bites, the tuna melt disappeared. Besides the bickering inside the kitchen, the rest of the property was quiet. Birds chirped in the afternoon sun. At least it had stopped raining. Someone nearby had a fire going. Donovan didn’t think there were any neighbors close to the hotel.

  Footsteps neared and squeaked on the black-and-white tiles of the foyer. The door pulled open; Donovan wasn’t disappointed to find British standing in front of him.

  “I apologize, Mr. Ravens, for misrepresenting myself. When you opened the door I was a bit confused myself. You thought I was the chef and you seemed starving.” British nodded her head. “I wanted to help.”

  Donovan set the plate on the seat beside him and crossed one leg over the other. “You said you had a favor to ask of me. I’m curious, what is it?”

  “How much of a fan are you of peace and quiet?” British asked with a half grin. Her heart-shaped face flushed with anxiety, probably from having been caught in a lie.

  “Humor me and ask.”

  “Well, now, that’s mighty cocky of you, Mr. Ravens,” said British. Both hands went to her hips. The stance put Donovan at an even eye level with Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky, Mike and Ralph of New Edition. The next time the band got together for a concert, Donovan was going to have to tell them how close he’d been to them. Realizing she misread his gaze, British folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t realize you weren’t a gentleman,” British drawled.

  “Not a nice thing to say when you’re asking for favors.”

  British pressed her index finger against the dimple of her right cheek. “Perhaps I was wrong in stating I needed a favor. It is more like a warning.”

  Amused, Donovan came to his feet. He stood a good foot taller than her. “I don’t respond well to threats, British.”

  “It’s not a threat. I came over here to warn you that your peace-and-quiet vacation is about to be disrupted by my GRITS.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Donovan said, enjoying the way she spoke. Who was this woman? Chef? Teacher? Mad scientist?

  “Girls Raised in the South.” British added an annoyed sigh. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand the importance of women and science and math.”

  To the contrary, he knew. His family’s company succeeded due to the efforts of women in chemistry and accounting. Great-Grandma Naomi Ravens owed her success to the cosmetic products she’d helped develop, combining natural ingredients with science. For the last fifty years the family has partnered with chemists to create bright quick-drying nail polish, products to keep hair healthy and long-lasting lipsticks.

  With her hands on her hips, British took a step backward. Her foot kicked the basket he’d forgotten she’d left on the porch. “You sell makeup.” The way she said it made his job sound like a dirty deed.

  “I am having a hard time understanding what is wrong with cosmetics.”

  “Nothing,” British said through her gritted, pearly white teeth. She really had an untouched beauty, something he didn’t see in the industry. Donovan crossed his arms and listened. “Makeup is fine and all, I just want my girls to realize there’s more to life than lip gloss and mascara.”

  “Okay?” Donovan responded slowly. “Why are you mad at me all of a sudden?”

  “Because I know your type.”

  And before Donovan had a chance to form the thoughts to defend himself, British bounced down the stairs toward a pink bicycle. “Unbelievable.”

  * * *

  “So how did it go today?”

  Before looking up, British swiped her index finger along the rim of the white paper liner of her sweet potato pecan pie cupcake to savor the rich vanilla frosting oozing on the side. A moan escaped her throat. She loved being a taste tester at the Cupcakery.

  “I have no idea how or where to start, Maggie,” British said to her friend, who waltzed over with a pink-and-black polka-dot apron draped around her tiny waist. For the life of her, British had no idea, one, how Maggie Swayne stayed so skinny working here and, two, why she was even here at all. The social butterfly flitted from fashion week to fashion week yet for the last month she’d resided here in Southwood, her hometown.

  “That bad, huh?” Maggie set her round serving tray on the new bar, recently installed. Maggie propped her elbows on the counter. “Want to tell me about it?”
>
  “Are you like the shrink-bartender?”

  “Consider me your friendly cupcake-tender.”

  “I am good,” said British.

  “I know I am not Kenzie, but you can talk to me.”

  More pity, British thought. “Trust me, Maggie, I am perfectly fine.”

  “If you say so. I just know you came by this morning for cupcakes and here you are now.”

  “Those were for the guest at Magnolia Palace.” British cringed just as the words left her mouth, remembering how the hotel once belonged to the Swaynes.

  Maggie picked up a white rag and began wiping the clean counter.

  “Don’t worry about me,” said Maggie with an indifferent shrug. “Once Kenzie and Ramon tied the knot last summer, the house basically returned to the family.”

  “I am not sure that’s exactly how it works,” laughed British. “It’s still a hotel.”

  Accepting that, Maggie stopped her cleaning and leaned against the counter, close to British. “So who is the guy renting the room for the month?”

  Small-town gossip spread like proverbial wildfire and if Maggie Swayne knew something, it’d only be a matter of time before everyone else did. But if Maggie didn’t know by now, perhaps it was meant to be a secret. A heated flash of memory struck British like the bolt of lightning she’d felt when she’d first laid eyes on Donovan through the fabric tunnel of her sweatshirt. Now that she was clear of the space around him, British was able to think.

  British recalled a time when she loved makeup just as much as the next girl. It wasn’t until college when she worked in labs that she realized how it served as a distraction for the other scientists. Men acted as if her perfect lipstick lowered her IQ. After a while she stopped wearing it as much. As a former beauty queen who’d often used cosmetics, she should have known. Ravens Cosmetics sponsored high-title pageants. Last year, one of the brothers had judged the big Southwood Beauty Pageant. And now that she thought of it, it had been Donovan. The family had also come to Southwood for Will Ravens’s wedding to makeup artist Zoe Baldwin. The Ravenses and their cosmetics were in every print fashion magazine as well as in ads on the internet. Donovan favored his brothers in photographs, but in person? The scar along the left side of his face gave him a dangerously dashing look. Well—British shivered—the man was larger than life.

  “Wow!” Maggie exclaimed. “You just got that totally faraway look women get when they’re lusting after someone.”

  British hadn’t realized her mouth hung wide open until she closed it. She shook her head and scoffed, “Oh, that is so not true. Whatever. Be quiet.”

  “What’s going on?”

  British’s eyes flashed Maggie a warning glare when the French doors to the kitchen opened. Out walked Tiffani Carres, British’s sister-in-law. Or was it former sister-in-law? Either way, the last person she wanted to find out about this was Christian’s younger sister. Since Tiffani’s birth, British had always been in her life. Christian had brought British to the hospital to meet her when they were in grade school. The idea of British getting involved with another man seemed like betrayal.

  “Nothing,” British quickly said.

  “Some man has British blushing.”

  Tiffani, now twenty-two and grown, smirked mischievously. Her dark brown eyes sparkled under her raised brows. “Anyone we know?”

  “Tiffani,” British said with a warning shake of her head.

  “What?” Tiffani blinked innocently. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about what I would think?”

  “We-ell,” British drawled.

  With a shake of her head, Tiffani rolled her eyes. “Please. Mommy and I were just talking about this the other day.”

  As if on cue “Mommy,” Vonna Carres, entered through the black-and-white French doors, carrying a cardboard box overflowing with green and red garlands. The only things visible other than her black apron with its pink-and-white trim of polka dots were her hands.

  “I hear my name,” said Vonna over the box, a gold, sparkled star poking out from the top. Her soothing, melodic voice warmed British’s soul.

  “British is interested in someone,” Tiffani announced.

  British cut her eyes to Maggie, willing her to understand the thankless, sarcastic smile she flashed. She missed Christian deeply. She still wore her wedding ring to secure his memory. British missed everything about him, from their silly fights to their deep philosophical conversations over ’80s vs. ’90s music. British accepted she’d never remarry and had never come close to falling in love since. But she missed the company of the opposite sex, still not something her in-laws needed to know. The last thing she wanted to do was let Christian’s family think British had betrayed their son’s memory by fawning over some random stranger.

  While British dated here and there, she never discussed seeing anyone else with her in-laws. Since she wasn’t looking to get married, she didn’t see the need to bring her dates around her family. Not one of the men she’d been out with had been special enough. No one could make British consider physical contact. But she had to admit, besides a good conversation over dinner every once in a while, the touch of a man’s hands might be nice, too. “No one said anything about my being interested in anyone.”

  “Well, it’s about damn time.”

  Now Maggie smirked at British.

  Sliding the box onto the counter, Vonna took a step back and rubbed her hands together. For a half second British thought her mother-in-law was in pain, but the excited smile spreading across her medium-brown skin told her something else. It annoyed British every time someone told her how much Christian had looked like his father. British saw Christian every time she looked at Vonna.

  “British, dear.” Vonna stepped up to the counter and reached across the marble slate to pat British’s hand. “It’s been five years. It’s about time someone, anyone, catches your attention.”

  British pulled her arm away, surprised at Vonna’s statement. Her shoulders slumped as relief washed over her. “Maggie is speaking out of turn,” she explained. “I gave her no information.”

  “But she did blush,” Maggie interjected.

  “Why are you even working here?” British half teased. “Don’t you have the world to dazzle via social media?”

  Maggie snarled and snatched her rag away. “Fine. Whatever. My job here is done.”

  Once Maggie stepped away to wipe off a silver-topped table in the corner, Vonna raised her left brow and, wordlessly, Tiffani took the box away. “Now that we’re alone,” Vonna began, “what’s going on?”

  British glanced to her left and right. The Cupcakery was full but not jam-packed as if there were a new cupcake debut today. There were enough couples at the tabletop and at the bar. When she glanced back up at Vonna, British shook her head. “Please don’t tell me you and Tiffani are on the same page about this.”

  “Sweetheart,” Vonna said with a sigh, “I know you’ve tried your hand at dating.”

  “Failed dating,” British blurted out. “Wait, how’d you know?”

  Vonna shrugged her shoulders. “I get my fresh ingredients all around Four Points. People will tell me anything for one of my famous cupcakes when they bring their deliveries here. By the way, what do you think?” She nodded her head at the empty wrapper on British’s plate.

  “Delicious, as expected.”

  “It just needs a name, just like you need a man,” Vonna continued. “You’ve been alone too long.”

  “I’m not alone,” British argued. “I have you, Tiff and my family.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “I have my students,” she boasted. “They keep me pretty busy.”

  With a skeptical eye, Vonna nodded. “Woman cannot live by the livelihood of children alone.”

  “Vonna.”

  Ignoring her, Vonna continued, tapping her shor
t-manicured finger on British’s wedding ring. “Do you think Christian would want you sitting around here for this long, pining away for him?”

  British wrung her hands together. The rock scraped against her palm, leaving her with an ache. Christian, being diagnosed with hydrotropic cardiomyopathy early on in life, had always made British reassure him she’d move on. His enlarged heart limited their time together. She’d said she would. When the time was right.

  British’s heart swelled at the mention of his name out loud. When he first passed away, her heart would seize and tears would flow. British looked away in shame for not crying right now. Did this mean she was she forgetting him now? “I hear you, Vonna,” mumbled British.

  “I don’t think you do. No one says you have to get married. Maybe a good roll in the hay?”

  “Vonna!” British gasped.

  “Whatever. But if what Maggie says comes to fruition, I’d like to meet this man at the dance in a few weeks. I promised the school board I’d donate cupcakes for the middle school soiree.”

  Her mother-in-law pushed away from the counter before British had a chance to deny what Maggie had said. “I promise you, Vonna, if and when I meet the second most perfect guy in the world, I’ll introduce him to you.”

  The silver bells over the front door jingled. British kept her back turned but knew a man must have walked through the door as Maggie swayed against the tabletop with a “Lord Sweet Jesus” sigh. Tiffani cursed when the contents of the box her mother had brought out spilled. Even Vonna straightened and smoothed down the front of her apron.

  British smiled and turned to excuse herself when a pink to-go box brushed her wrist. For some unknown reason she apologized then glanced up, only to find herself looking up at none other than Donovan Ravens.

  Chapter 3

  “Just so you know, your disappearing act is going to cost us a little over a million dollars.”

  The exaggerated brotherly badgering was not something one wanted to hear the first thing the next morning. It was a Monday. Donovan rubbed a hand across his beard. Since being on this hiatus from work, he’d considered shaving off the damn thing but the double honk of the caravan of cars outside Magnolia Palace reminded him of the visitors rolling into the hotel for the week. What had the hot teacher told him the other day? A couple of schoolgirls and their parents? He sighed and shook his head into the camera of his laptop. On the other end, down in his office in Miami, Donovan’s older brother, Marcus, chuckled.