It Started with Christmas: A heartwarming feel-good Christmas romance

by Jenny Hale

  Joe opened the door for them just as a gust of frosty air blew in, turning Holly’s nose to ice before she’d even stepped foot onto the porch. Wincing, she walked into it, Joe following without even a flinch. Although, she sure flinched when he placed his hand on her back to keep her steady down the frozen steps. It gave her a tingle all the way down her spine.

  “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t remove his hand. She could tell by his expression, though, that he knew why she’d jumped, and she thought perhaps their unexpected night on the sofa and easy conversation had been just as significant to him. Her mind whirred with the thought of it…

  When they got to the bottom, the cabin caught her eye. “Oh!” Holly said. “I’ve never seen it like this.” The two dormer windows that jutted out from the snow-covered tin roof were draped in a blanket of white, every railing on the long country porch outlined in fluffy, billowing snow. Drifts of powder stuck to the stone chimney, the red door, and the logs that formed the exterior walls. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Joe smiled, but his eyes were on her rather than the house. The way he was looking at her, he probably thought she’d never seen snow before—which was somewhat true, as she’d never seen snow like this here in Tennessee.

  Holly turned around to look at the woods obscuring the road down the hill below. The only way she could see the driveway was by the tiny strip of white that meandered between the trees. She hadn’t gotten around to changing that yet, but it was on her renovations list. The pathway was still just the way Papa had originally dug it. The trees looked like dark pencil sketches against the white sky, their barren branches holding up the snow that had settled on them. Holly stumbled but caught herself. It was steep and, even in her snow boots, she was struggling to get traction.

  Joe slowed down to keep pace with her and she lost her footing again. Her boots were no match for this amount of snow, the bottoms slipping as they made contact with the earth at every step. She turned sideways and marched, but that didn’t seem to help much so she turned back around.

  Holly only got a few more paces before she unintentionally stepped into a small hole that was covered with snow. Suddenly, she felt herself falling, the ground coming toward her face faster than she could process what to do, and the shooting pain in her ankle was clouding everything. She reached out for the ground to stop her fall but never felt it because Joe had scooped her up in a flash. She held onto him, putting her weight on her good ankle and trying to clear her mind enough to realize what was happening, but it was difficult with that spicy scent of his wafting toward her, his arms around her, keeping her from falling again.

  “I guess my boots aren’t that great,” she said.

  Joe was inspecting the path, and she remembered exactly what it was she’d stepped in: the little area just under the trees, where the rain had made its own trail across the drive on its way down the hill, carving out a large chunk of earth. After the first year of interior remodeling, she’d saved enough of Papa’s renovation money to hire someone to install a drainage pipe, fill it all in, and pave that enormous drive. She knew she should’ve done it sooner but she was focused on the inside. Now, she’d have to wait for warmer weather. Thank goodness no one else had fallen there or she’d be looking down the barrel of a lawsuit. Nana certainly didn’t need to deal with something like that.

  Still holding one of Joe’s arms, Holly tried to take a step, the pain zipping up her leg, making her whimper before she could suck it back in.

  Joe turned with concern. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” she lied.

  With another step, the pain made her knee buckle. She bit her lip to keep from yelling out in anguish.

  Joe looked back at the house, but they were about halfway, and she knew what he was thinking: they needed food for the week and if they had gotten this far, they might as well keep going.

  They’d be in Buddy’s tractor soon and she could sit down and rest her ankle.

  “I’ll take you up to the house and go alone,” he suggested, his brows pulling together as he glanced down at her foot. “Why don’t I give you a piggyback ride?”

  “Because we’ll fall backward and tumble head first until we’re nothing but a giant snowball, hurling our way down to the bottom.” She took another few excruciating steps and faltered again, lurching forward. Joe caught her. “And I’m not going back up to the house. I’ll get Nana’s groceries for her; I know what she likes, and she’s particular.” She smiled up at him, but it didn’t seem to lighten his apprehension.

  “We’ll just go very slowly then,” he said, taking her arm carefully.

  Holly let him, feeling secure in the fact that he wouldn’t let her fall.

  When they got down the drive, her cheeks were numb, her ears cold inside her stocking cap, and she was sure that her nose would be a dark shade of purple by now with the frostbite that must be setting in. And if she didn’t sit down, she might pass out from the ache in her ankle.

  The growl of Buddy’s engine filled the air as it pulled up just in time, the old green tractor still alive and well. What little heat it might have was a beacon of hope. Buddy waved from inside the cab, and Holly relished the familiarity of his weatherworn face. He was always so kind when she visited Papa. While Papa’s other friends talked football and the disconcerting state of the world, Buddy would ask her how her day was and he’d clap when she showed him her one-handed cartwheels.

  Buddy reached over and unlatched the door, the thin metal swinging open with a rattle as the engine shook it on its hinges.

  “Good grief!” Buddy said, his eyes sweeping over her. “You’re a spittin’ image of your mama!” He had an old Budweiser baseball cap on and a thick brown coat with snaps as worn as the old planks from the warped barn wood her papa piled up for firewood after he had to replace it. Buddy was grinning from ear to ear, deep lines across his face showing how often he smiled, which warmed her.

  Holly crawled in first on her good foot, taking Joe’s hand as he helped her up. She was immediately disappointed that the interior temperature wasn’t much better than outside, but the relief on her ankle made it all fine. Joe slid in after her and shut the door.

  “You all right?” Buddy asked in his thick southern accent, glancing down at her foot.

  “I’m okay, Buddy. I just twisted my ankle, but I’ve got a ton of snow to put on it once we get home.” She shifted uncomfortably. “How are you?”

  “I’m just fine, Miss Holly. I heard you was down here sprucin’ the place up. Your papa always thought he could rent to those fancy folk.” Buddy offered a wink in her direction before his gaze settled on Joe. One good look at him and Buddy fell silent, clearly realizing that they were in the presence of one of those fancy customers right now. He cleared his throat and put the tractor into gear. “Y’all headed to Puckett’s?”

  She nodded.

  “I went past it earlier. It’s open, which says somethin’, dunnit?”

  Joe peered over at him questioningly.

  “People ’round here watch out for each other. Things need to be open if they can be. We ain’t used to all this weather. I’ll bet there’s not a soul in Leiper’s Fork that has enough buttermilk to get ’em through.”

  Holly caught Joe smiling out of her peripheral vision. He was enjoying himself.

  “I don’t mean any harm in asking this,” Joe said. “I’m quite interested. I know Holly’s grandmother makes biscuits with it, but what else would you use buttermilk for?”

  Buddy’s tractor swerved slightly when he gave Joe a look like he’d just lost his mind. He offered a consoling smile right before a disbelieving chuckle. “Holly, your nana’s got some cookin’ to do for this one!” He leaned forward just a little bit, both calloused hands still on the wheel as they bumped along down the snow-covered road, passing old barns, their burgundy painted wood and large spruce Christmas wreathes in the center peaks contrasting against the white hills.

  “My wife Freda uses buttermilk for
lots of things: cornbread, pancakes, marinade for her fried chicken, mashed potatoes, muffins, salad dressing… But I’ll let you know what it’s best for and you can tell all your friends this secret.”

  Holly knew exactly what he was going to say because he’d told her before. “One cup at bedtime makes you healthy as an ox and sleep like a rock—it takes all your stress away. It’ll do you right!”

  “Really?” Joe said, showing interest.

  Buddy nodded definitively. “It’s how old geezers like me live so long.”

  He pulled onto Old Hillsboro Road, the main thoroughfare in Leiper’s Fork.

  “Ah,” Buddy said as they approached the handful of buildings that lined the narrow lane before it stretched back out into countryside. “Civilization.” He changed gears on the tractor to slow down. “But don’t blink. You’ll miss it.” Then he laughed at his own joke.

  The tiny slip of road was something out of a small-town storybook. Little clapboard cottages, their natural wood painted in varying colors, their roofs topped with snow, were the only color on the street. Each one had its own Christmas wreath on the door and rocking chairs outside for visitors. The old porch paddle fans, which did nothing more in the summers than push the hot air around, were stilled today in the silence of winter. The local art gallery, framed by the bare branches of old oak trees, had a pile of frosty wood outside and a fire going in the fire pit with a few skewers and a glass jar of marshmallows on offer for anyone who could get out in this mess. Holly caught Joe’s inquisitiveness as he eyed them.

  Buddy pulled the tractor to a stop outside Puckett’s, the parking area indistinguishable from the road. The only way she could tell where the patio began were by the barbeque pit and the snow-covered Christmas trees that protruded from the mass of white. Both men got out and helped lift Holly down onto the snow.

  Buddy threw up a hand to the young lady working the front register as she opened the door to greet them. Holly broke out in the biggest grin when she saw who it was. The woman was waving, her long, blonde hair in a single braid down her back, dropping from under her Puckett’s baseball cap. “Hey there, Tammy!” Buddy called. “Been busy at all today?”

  “No, not a soul till y’all stopped by.” She waved like crazy at Holly. “Hey, Holly! Ain’t seen you in a month of Sundays! Y’all come on in! I’m offerin’ free coffee.”

  “I got one needs a chair,” Buddy said, his thumb pointed at Holly.

  “We’ve got plenty of those too.” She held the door open for them as they came in, the heat wrapping its way around Holly, causing her to shiver. “Girl, what have you done to your foot?”

  “I stepped in a hole,” Holly said, giving Tammy a hug. They’d spent many summers together growing up, running through the fields, climbing trees, and catching caterpillars on the side of Johnson’s bridge.

  “It’s been too long… I haven’t seen you since we planned my wedding! You did such a beautiful job—made me feel like a princess.” Tammy ran her long thin fingers down her braid before putting her hand on her hips. “Who you got here?”

  “Hello. I’m Joseph Barnes,” Joe said with a friendly nod, taking a step forward. He held out a hand in greeting, but Tammy grabbed it and yanked him toward her. She threw her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug as she gave an excited look to Holly over his shoulder.

  Tammy pulled back. “Well, Joey, glad you’re here for Christmas with Holly! That’s so cute! Joey and Holly…”

  Holly tried to tell Tammy with her facial expression that she was mistaken about the situation, but her face was heating up from embarrassment and she turned away. When she finally got herself under control, she tried to clarify for Tammy. “Actually, it’s—”

  “It’s nothin’ but adorable!” Tammy said, finishing her sentence. That wasn’t what she was planning to say. Tammy started dragging chairs over to one of the tables. “Y’all get your things and I’ll make us all some coffee.”

  Puckett’s was a concept as unique as Leiper’s Fork itself. At the front was a stage, with four microphones and a drum kit that sat empty today. But every Thursday at six p.m. was open mic night, and the place would be standing room only, apart from the group that gathered in a circle of chairs around the fire pit outside. An American flag, a bunch of memorabilia, and a few guitars covered the old wooden walls, painted the same barn red and nearly camouflaging the vintage Coca-Cola sign just next to a large wooden plank of wood with the original lettering faded and slightly yellowed that said: “Puckett’s Bros.” At the back, behind the mass of mix-and-matched tables and chairs, next to an olive-green jukebox featuring the likes of B. B. King, Elvis Presley, and Hank Williams, was a small grocery. And using the word “small” was being generous. It was three aisles about as long as Holly was tall.

  While Tammy filled four white foam cups of coffee at the spot along the counter that usually had all the hot food like scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and biscuits, Holly pulled the crumpled list Nana had made from her pocket and hobbled to the back, shooing off Joe’s protective gestures to have her sit. She grabbed a bag of flour, brown sugar, a container of oatmeal, and a couple cans of vegetables. At the back, next to the beer, she pulled a jug of milk and a second container of buttermilk from the refrigerators. Joe, who was setting Holly’s things on the counter in front of Tammy as she pulled each one off the shelf, came back to look around, clearly unsure what to get.

  He leaned toward one of the bags on display. “Old South Fish Fry Meal,” he said, his brows pulling together. A small smile played at his lips, and she couldn’t help but think again how he seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “What’s making you smile?” she asked as they browsed.

  He looked up from a can of beans he had in his hand as if he’d been caught in the act of something. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay to smile, you know.”

  He set the can back on the shelf. “I suppose this is so different from anything at home that I find it… fun.”

  “Fun.”

  Joe gave her that grin of his, this time not hiding a thing about how he felt in that moment. “For instance, do you use this?” He grabbed the fish fry meal.

  Holly laughed. “When I’m not watching my calories. You roll your fish in it and fry it. The summers we used to go to the river, we’d fish for catfish and bring it home. Papa would filet it, clean it all up, and we’d roll it in that before we cooked it in an old iron skillet on a bonfire out back. I can still remember the smell of the oil as it heated up.”

  That curiosity had returned, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t you just love those kinds of memories from childhood? A whole season of spending all day barefoot, swinging on old tire swings, and staying out until the mosquitoes got so bad you had to go in?”

  Joe pursed his lips and slowly shook his head, the absence of understanding in his eyes. “I went to a year-round boarding school. Very strict rules.”

  “Y’all come on over and drink your coffee before it gets cold,” Tammy called. She’d sat down at one of the tables with Buddy, her eye on Joe as she patted the seat next to her.

  Joe gave a playfully wary look to Holly, making her laugh. The music was on low—country music. Tim McGraw was playing quietly above them, and it occurred to Holly that the normal things about her life weren’t so normal to Joe. She was willing to bet his life was a world away from hers.

  Six

  “You can’t pull me and all the groceries up this hill,” Holly said with uncertainty as she sat on the old crate panel Buddy had loaded into his tractor at Puckett’s.

  She had her legs stretched out straight, with the grocery bags piled in her lap, while plopped down on part of a giant produce crate that Puckett’s had put aside for trash. Tammy and Buddy had had the brilliant idea to break off the side of the crate and tie a rope to it so that Buddy and Joe could pull Holly up the drive when they got home, giving her sore ankle a rest. It was starting to swell now and she wondered how she’
d get her boot off.

  Before he left, Buddy parked the tractor and helped set up the makeshift sled, but Joe had insisted that he could do it and sent Buddy and his tractor back down the road with a friendly handshake and a sincere thank you. So Joe stood in his trench coat, the rope wound around his leather-gloved hands. His cheeks were pink from cold, but the temperature didn’t seem to bother him.

  “You don’t have faith in me?” he asked, clearly amused.

  Holly suppressed an eye-roll. Even though she liked his lighthearted banter, she didn’t want to be the girl who batted her eyelashes while he saved her. She considered trying to get up and walk, but her ankle was aching so badly, she knew she’d never make it.

  “It’s not against the law to let someone help,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “If it were Buddy on that sled, I know you’d pull him, right? It wouldn’t make Buddy weak by any standard if he’d hurt his ankle and needed a ride, would it? You’re not giving up any control.”

  Holly hadn’t had the opportunity to meet a great guy in a long time. Working all hours and hanging out with Nana didn’t give her many occasions for meeting people, and even when she did get the chance to go out, she’d never found anyone like Joe. He was someone with whom she could picture herself having long conversations, moving from one topic to another with ease, not realizing they had talked long into the wee hours of the morning—like they’d done last night. She didn’t have to pretend with him; she could already be herself, and he seemed to enjoy being with her. His curiosity made her feel interesting, and she was just as curious about him.

  “Hold on,” Joe said, walking around behind her, just as she felt a huge jolt under her bottom, sending her arms frantically grasping for the bags of food.

  Holly hugged the groceries to her as they started to make their way toward the cabin. So she wouldn’t roll off, her back was to him, her eyes on the track they were making in the newly fallen snow behind the sled. She kept looking over her shoulder at Joe, as his muscles worked to move her. She’d only just met him and without a word he’d personally pulled her up this hill—who does that for someone they’d just met? He could’ve easily let Buddy do most of it. She could feel the kindness seeping out from every choice he made, and she was excited to spend more time with him. The prospect of being snowed in wasn’t so uncomfortable anymore. Not with Joe.