by Jenny Hale
“Is it a house?” She tried to keep her focus on the pie.
“Ha! No.” He squinted as if he were trying to make out the house she’d seen. “It’s not obvious?” When he tipped his head to the side to make eye contact their faces were close, that natural grin making her forget all about her hunger.
“A pencil?”
Little huffs of laughter escaped him, and he shook his head.
“Tell me,” she said, completely stumped.
“How could you not guess it? It’s a Christmas tree! It’s a perfect representation, if you ask me.”
The late hour and the sugar were making her punchy, and she laughed out loud. “Sorry. I should’ve guessed,” she said, looking down at his pencil-slash-house. “I totally see a tree now,” she lied. Holly leaned in to look at it again, his fingers resting close enough that she could brush them with her own. She wanted to.
Without warning, he stood up, clearly pulling away and taking the moment with him. Holly mentally scrambled to figure out if she’d said or done anything to cause the abrupt change. She searched his face for an answer, but he didn’t give her any.
“We’ll never get to sleep if we don’t finish decorating that tree.” Joe kept talking as he paced into the living room.
It was only then that she realized she’d been keeping him up. Perhaps he had things to do tomorrow—she hadn’t even asked.
“Please,” he said. “Finish your pie. I’ll start unwinding more lights.”
Holly looked down at the heart she’d made, suddenly wondering why she’d drawn it. It stared back at her like a little ray of sunshine from behind the clouds. She had been surprised at every turn tonight and after it all, she could swear she felt a little Christmas magic in the air.
Four
Ah hem.
The sound came filtering through Holly’s dreamlike state, and she couldn’t open her eyes no matter how hard she tried because she was so comfortable. She’d stayed up entirely too late. It felt like it must still be the middle of the night; there was no way it could be morning yet.
Ah hem!
It was definitely Nana clearing her throat the way she did when she wanted Holly to look at something important, but she was trying to be subtle. Holly attempted to wake up to find out what she needed, but her eyelids wouldn’t budge. Her limbs were dead weight. She was so exhausted that her brain couldn’t even locate the nerves in them; all she could feel was their heaviness. She just wanted to stay in bed a little longer…
But then, as her mind began to work, she struggled to recall the moments when she’d brushed her teeth, changed into her pajamas, and climbed into bed with Nana. The last thing she could remember was decorating the tree. Joe had dropped down onto the sofa, facing it, and patted the cushion beside him. With the room completely dark except the white twinkling Christmas lights, they’d stopped to admire their work, daylight only a few hours away. But no matter how hard Holly tried, she couldn’t get her memory to move past that point.
Suddenly, she was aware of an arm behind her head, supporting her neck, a strong leg entwined with hers, soft, even breathing at her cheek. This was not Nana.
Holly willed her eyes to open, using every ounce of strength she had. When she’d finally been able to get her lids to move, it took her a minute, but as the image became clear, she saw Joe’s gorgeous face right in front of her, his eyes closed, his peaceful expression, and behind him, out of focus, was Nana, standing in the center of the living room. She had her arms crossed, her lips pressed together, but Holly couldn’t budge.
She shifted just slightly to make eye contact with Nana and was immediately met with her disapproving glare. Holly knew what it looked like: Joe was handsome and kind. He was just the sort of guy Holly would flirt with, given the chance. But she’d done no such thing; she’d been a complete lady, and Nana should know that. Holly wouldn’t mention the fact that she’d moved beyond the flirting stage anyway. Last night, she’d had real, honest conversations with Joe and she liked him.
The idea that Nana would think negatively about either of them made her feel tense, and she wanted to spring right up from the sofa to explain, but exhaustion and fear kept her rooted where she was. She didn’t know what to do because she was sure that the complete mortification of falling asleep together and then cuddling all night would immediately descend upon them both the minute he woke up.
Joe changed positions as he snuggled down into her neck, sending a fiery sensation through her face. This looked so bad… Holly didn’t want Nana to think that she’d shacked up with some guy on their first night in Leiper’s Fork. This holiday was about family, and making Nana feel comfortable.
Joe inhaled, relaxed and contented. He opened his eyes and then, when the situation obviously registered, he rolled backwards onto the floor with a thump.
While he struggled to stand and regain composure, he regarded Holly with wide-eyed shock. “I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, his breaths short and tense. She willed herself not to look at the chest she’d been so comfortable against only seconds ago.
Holly stood up to face him, nervous energy shooting through her veins and making the movements easier than they should be after such little sleep. “No,” she said anxiously. “It’s totally fine.” Her last statement came out as almost a squeak and she coughed to try to cover it up. It’s totally fine? What in the world had she meant by that? Curling up with him on the sofa the first night she’d met him was totally fine? She didn’t want him to think this was a common occurrence for her. What a stupid thing to say.
“The tree looks nice.” Nana’s words held no emotion. She followed Joe’s every movement with disdain before finally padding to the other side of the room and walking into the kitchen, only the bar separating them in the open floor plan. “Anyone want me to make breakfast?” she asked, opening a cabinet door and then nearly slamming it shut, the sound of it rattling Holly more. “I’m assuming coffee is in order.” She opened another cabinet door and it smacked against the frame as she shut it.
“Please, Ms.…” Joe said, striding over with purpose, his face flaming red.
“McAdams,” Nana spit the word at him.
“Ms. McAdams…”
While he was clearly trying to be adult about the situation, the look on Joe’s face gave away his embarrassment. Holly could see the same look he might have had as a child when he’d eaten the last cookie that his mother had been saving and he hadn’t wanted her to find out.
“Allow me to make everyone coffee,” he said. “It’s the least I could do.”
Joe was still blinking, stifling a yawn, and not making any further attempts to look over at Holly. She was glad for that because she’d never been so mortified in her life. She dragged her fingertips through the tangles in her long brown hair, wishing she could run a comb through it. She didn’t even want to think about whether she had mascara down her face or not. But more than that, she knew, without a doubt, that if Joe met her eyes, he’d be able to see the effect he had on her.
Nana squinted at him. “The least you could do?” she said slowly. “That sounds like you’re guilty of something. Is there anything for which you need to make amends?”
His eyes finally fluttered over to Holly again, sending her pulse into a panic. Why was he looking at her when Nana mentioned the word “guilty”? A tiny fizzle of a thought swelled in her mind: had he felt just as comfortable next to her? Or was it something else? Perhaps he felt guilty making Holly blush the way she was.
Suddenly, Holly realized she should intervene here. She knew Nana best, and she should be the one on the other end of this conversation. “Nana,” she said, walking over and stepping up next to him, “Joe didn’t mean a thing by his offer, I’m sure.”
“Joe?” Nana turned away from them and started rooting in the cabinets again. “The last I heard he’d introduced himself as Joseph. Are you two on a nickname basis already?”
“I always introduce myself as Joseph… but I usually go by jus
t Joe. Since I was helping Holly for a considerable amount of time with the decorations last night, I suggested she call me Joe. You can too.”
“Nana’s name is Jean,” Holly said to try to steer the conversation to a lighter thought. Papa had always called Nana Jean except when he needed her help with something. Then he’d call in a sing-songy voice, “Jeany-Lou!”
“Well you can call me Ms. McAdams. Where is the coffee?” she asked with frustration as she opened another cabinet. Bang! It slammed shut.
“I moved it to the corner.” Holly came up behind her and reached around Nana, opening the cabinet and pulling out the bag of coffee grounds. She’d noticed last night that it was nearly untouched after the week and only now in the reality of morning did she consider that Joe might not have coffee on a regular basis.
“Are you a regular coffee drinker?” Holly asked Joe, so relieved to have a complete change in the conversation. She pulled her eyes from him, not waiting for a response, his smile making her unexpectedly nervy, last night feeling like a dream. She filled the carafe with water and scooped out the coffee, dumping it into the machine.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joe sit down on one of the barstools. “I usually don’t drink it. I don’t sleep well as it is, remember? The last thing I need is coffee to keep me awake, but I’ll make an exception this morning. I’m beat.”
“Seems to me that you sleep just fine,” Nana said, her gaze dancing over to Holly, sending her brain on a loop like an old movie, clips from last night running over and over.
She kept thinking about the warmth of his body, the way he fit against her, how absolutely perfect it had felt, his scent filling her lungs with every breath. It was intoxicating in the very best way. Holly met tons of people every night at work and in the city, and she’d never come across someone who she felt so comfortable with so quickly. It was just a sort of feeling she got from him—their reactions to each other were so natural. He relaxed her without even trying. She knew it was too fast, her feelings getting away from her too quickly, but she couldn’t stop it.
Nana leaned down and peered under the cabinet. “You’ve moved the pans as well?”
“Yes. Sorry. They’re over by the stove. I reorganized everything based on proximity to the appliances. It just made sense.”
Nana gave an exasperated huff. Perhaps it was the bright light of day reflected off all the snow coming through the windows, but Nana looked so much older right now than she’d appeared even days before. It was so obvious that it worried Holly. Nana looked tired, the laugh lines at her eyes now turned down, those lips set in the scowl that had seemed to be there more these days than the smile that Holly had loved so much as a girl.
“Or,” Nana said in a clipped tone, as she retrieved a pan and set it on the burner of the stove, “the renters could simply learn where everything is in about five minutes and use it where it has always been.” She threw open the refrigerator and grabbed the eggs.
It was pretty evident that Nana was not in good spirits. Today she was particularly irritable. Holly had only been trying to help by bringing her here—after all, it had been Nana who’d suggested it. Neither of them could’ve foreseen what had happened when they’d arrived, but they had to make the best of it.
Holly also worried about what Joe thought of Nana. She didn’t want him to think that Nana was anything other than wonderful, because she was wonderful.
Before Papa died, she’d been full of life. She’d bopped through the house, playing music on the old record player they had, while she cooked. She constantly had something cooking: stews in the winter, seafood in the summer, and always a sweet treat. Holly’s favorite was her apple pie. She’d get her apples from the local orchard in the fall. They made the most delicious pies with just the right amount of tart. And no one could do the braided crust like Nana. She’d cut a big wedge of pie with that golden, flaky crust and place it on a plate next to a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. Some of Holly’s favorite memories were those times she sat around the table with Papa and Nana, laughing and telling stories over that pie.
Holly noticed the rigidity in Nana’s arms and the tension in her shoulders as she whisked the eggs in a bowl, her face set in that unhappy position. She was focused on stirring, but Holly wondered what was going on in that mind of hers. She missed the Nana she’d had while Papa was alive. The one who would hum the lullaby Papa had written himself while she washed dishes, the one who would tuck her in at night and ask her which voice she should use for her bedtime stories—sometimes she’d read whole books in a cowboy voice if Holly asked her to. The sparkle that had been in Nana’s eyes was absent now, her spirit suppressed. Holly wanted so badly to bring her out of the depression she was in, but she feared that the only thing that could do that was bringing Papa back.
“Do we have any milk?” Nana barked, breaking Holly’s train of thought.
Joe got off his stool and headed for the refrigerator when Nana whirled around, the bowl still pressed in her bosom. “Sit!” she thundered. “Down.” She ground her teeth and then said more quietly but still just as upset, “I can get it. I was just making sure we had some.” She opened the refrigerator and retrieved the carton, shaking it back and forth, the sound of the tiny bit left in the bottom revealing they were nearly out. “We need to get to the market,” Nana said. “If we can’t get the car out, try to call Buddy. He might be able to come get you on the tractor.”
Buddy Lane was a good friend of Papa’s and he’d spent many a night on the porch with the rest of them. He had a small farm a few miles down the road. Holly knew Buddy would probably do his best to come out and pick them up, but it was freezing out there. They couldn’t drive all the way into town in the cab of that tractor—they’d be frostbitten by the time they arrived. She didn’t share any of this with Nana, though. Holly just nodded and slid the cream and sugar, still on the counter from last night, over to Joe where she took a seat beside him.
“Toast will have to suffice until I can get enough milk for my biscuits,” Nana said, turning the heat on the eggs down so they could finish cooking, and locating the toaster.
“Nana makes the best buttermilk biscuits,” Holly told Joe, hoping to lift Nana’s mood. What was wrong with her grandmother this morning? “I’ve never had another biscuit top hers.” She looked over at Nana, but she was unmoved. Nana clearly wasn’t happy at all with the situation she’d found herself in. Had she actually made things worse by bringing Nana here?
Five
Holly peered out the window, getting warmer by the minute. Nana had the fire going, and the fur hood was up on Holly’s winter coat, a stocking cap underneath it. She had on a scarf, her gloves, layered with a pair of mittens overtop, the yoga pants she’d brought, thinking she could get a TV workout or two in every morning, jeans, two pairs of socks, and her snow boots. Bundled like she was, she’d die of heatstroke if she didn’t get outside soon, but just the thought of being out in that cold made her want to forget the whole thing.
“You’re going to have to walk to the bottom of the hill, Holly,” Nana said. “Buddy won’t get his tractor up the drive with the ice on the ground.”
Holly knew that Nana was right. Trudging down the drive that stretched at a steep incline to the road would be no easy task. The car had barely made it last night; she’d feared that she would have to get out and push it. She was so happy when the tires caught the snow and ground their way to the top. And now, having snowed another six inches overnight, it seemed a daunting task to make it down. She could see the street through the trees and there was no sign of a snowplow. No salt had been put on the roads. They’d be lucky if they saw anyone at all out in this mess.
Buddy had been delighted to help them get to Puckett’s to buy some groceries to make it through the next few days, but Holly did worry that the stores would all be closed. They didn’t usually get snow like this and they weren’t prepared for it. Everything shut down when they had even an inch, let alone this type of blizz
ard. A front had moved in and the conditions were perfect for the kind of white Christmas that the Nashville area had rarely ever encountered. The closest they’d come to snow of this magnitude on Christmas had been all the way back in 1963. Holly had never seen it in her lifetime. Until now.
Joe came out of his room, donning a flawlessly tailored navy trench coat with a matching scarf and black leather gloves. His thick crop of dark hair was perfectly combed and he’d shaved. He looked like he was ready to walk the streets of Manhattan with the exception of the heavy-treaded snow boots he was wearing peeking out from his jeans.
“Will you be warm enough?” she asked, her concern manifesting itself in the form of a question.
“I’ll be just fine,” he said reassuringly. His eyes moved from the top of her head to her feet. “I’m acclimated to this sort of weather.”
That might be true, but he’d never had to make a journey in Buddy’s tractor. Holly had fuzzy memories of it as a girl, and that was when it was a much younger machine. She’d been in it one summer in the fields. It was drafty and loud, the heat pouring in, making the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail stick to the perspiration on her neck. She could only imagine that heat turned ice cold, and it gave her a shiver just thinking about it.
“Shall we walk down to the road to meet him like your grandmother advised?” Joe asked.
Reluctantly, she nodded. Holly had suggested going shopping alone. After barging in on him last night, she didn’t want to disrupt him any further. But he insisted on taking care of the grocery bill since he’d inconvenienced them, and he said there were a few things he wanted to pick up from the store too, so they both ended up getting ready, and Nana called Buddy to pick them up.
