Читать книгу Cozy Christmas - Valerie Hansen - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Whitney felt like patting herself on the back as she carried the pink bakery box from her car to the park Saturday evening. It had taken monumental self-control to keep from opening it at home and having just one or two tastes of the goodies within. Knowing herself well, she had refrained from breaking the tape holding the flaps closed. In her opinion, there was no such thing as having only one cookie.

Besides, it was the Christmas season. If a girl couldn’t break a few diet rules now, when could she?

That thought brought a wide smile, as did the friendly waves of others who were arriving early to set up for the event. Spotting Coraline standing at a long table next to the fence surrounding the snow-blanketed community garden plot, Whitney headed straight for her.

The decorating committee had outdone itself once again. Every tree, whether evergreen or deciduous, was festooned with twinkling lights, apparently powered by the library on one side of the park and Elwood Dill’s Everything store on the other. The lights decorating the gazebo where the carolers would soon gather were reflected off the glassy, half-frozen waters of the nearby pond, making the surface glimmer as if glazed with silver and dotted with diamonds.

In the center of the park, between the fallow garden and the playground, stood a stately fir. Whitney remembered it as being very tall when she was a child but of course she and the tree had both grown since then. The evergreen had been planted long before her birth by descendants of Bygones’s founders, Saul and Paul Bronson, whose legendary feud over a woman had led them to finally settle there and let bygones be bygones. Hence the town’s unusual name and its motto, Family First.

Coraline greeted her with a wide grin and reached for the bakery box. “Thank you so much, dear. I’m afraid my volunteer elves are planning on eating more than they pass out. We’re going to need every spare cookie.”

“Well, I didn’t nibble,” Whitney told her, “but I was tempted. Melissa’s place smells so much like Christmas it made me really crave a taste.” She scanned the park, noting that daylight was rapidly fading. “Where’s the hot cocoa going to be set up?”

“Looking for a certain handsome barista?”

Whitney scowled. “Of course not. I was just wondering if he’d need power and how we’d get it to him.”

“Ah, yes. I see.”

“Well, I was.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Coraline handed Whitney a tray of neatly arranged cookies. “Why don’t you put those over there on the end of the second table and stand guard so the kids don’t grab them ahead of time?”

“Over there?” Whitney inclined her head to point since she had her hands full.

“Yes,” Coraline said sweetly. “Right next to where I told Josh to park his van.”

* * *

Inching into the park with Matt Garman seated beside him, Josh leaned over the wheel to peer through the frosty windshield. He’d been to Bronson Park often enough, helping with the community garden project and other things, to know where he was going. Still, he didn’t want to damage the grass. There wasn’t enough snow to make traveling dangerous, just slippery going if he wasn’t cautious.

He flashed his headlights on high beam.

“Over there.” Matt pointed. “See? By the fence.”

“Got it.” Josh could see long tables decked with food, and people gathering around them. There was Coraline. And that looked like Melissa and Brian arriving, too.

At the closest end of the line stood an unmistakable figure wearing a familiar coat, scarf and gloves. Whitney Leigh. Josh gritted his teeth. If that nosy reporter was working with Miss Coraline, there was no telling what leading questions she’d feel free to ask before the evening was over.

As he eased the van to a stop at the end of the last table, Josh spoke to Matt. “I’ll keep the supplies coming. You’ll be in charge of serving.”

“Yes, sir.”

Josh bailed out and zipped his leather jacket, noting the misty clouds that his warm breath made when he exhaled into the frigid, evening air.

He circled the white van and slid open the door displaying the Cozy Cup Café logo. It was done in two shades of brown with a cup and saucer as the base. Rising from the cup, like wafting aroma, were ribbons of steam that connected here and there to spell out the name of his specialty coffee shop. Since he had designed the graphic himself, via computer, he was particularly proud of it.

Matt waved to Whitney and the others, then got busy setting up a smaller table containing stacks of foam cups and napkins.

Inside the van, Josh had warmers to keep large containers of rich hot chocolate at serving temperature. They weren’t going to offer their usual coffee menu, not even regular Kona coffee. It would be impossible to protect it from turning bitter if they brewed it ahead of time, particularly since he didn’t have enough special air pots to hold all they’d need.

Because he had done the prep work back at his shop, it only took him a few more minutes to get everything ready. The park was beginning to fill with an amazing number of celebrants; adults and children. Some were standing still and rubbing cold hands together while others, particularly the younger ones, were racing back and forth between the playground area and the cookie tables.

Matt drew cup after cup of cocoa, adding a squirt of whipped cream as he served them. He even made a special effort to hurry over and present a cup to Whitney when he had a spare moment, although Josh did also see him exchange a handful of cookies for the drink.

He was so deep in thought about the enigmatic reporter he failed to notice Matt’s approach.

“Excuse me, Mr. Smith?” the young man said, poking his head in the door past the stainless steel warmers.

“Whoa! You startled me. What’s wrong? Are we low on something? Do you need more cups? More whipped cream?”

“No, sir. It’s the choir. My grandpa’s about to pray and start the singing. They’re real short of tenors. Would you mind if I sang with them like I do for church?”

What could Josh say? “Of course not. Go. I can handle this by myself for a while. Just come on back when you’re done, if you can.”

“Thanks!”

The wide, relieved grin on the youth’s face gave Josh a really good feeling. He might not be used to this kind of seasonal celebrating, but there were clearly plenty of others who were. Of course, a preacher’s grandson would be among them.

Josh slid out of the van and slammed the passenger side door. He’d left his gloves back at the shop and his hands were freezing now that he was fully outside, so he rubbed them together for warmth before stuffing them in his jacket pockets.

A feminine voice at his elbow asked, “Cookie?”

He whirled, expecting Whitney. It was Coraline, instead. “Thanks. I didn’t have time for supper.”

“Well, these aren’t good for you if you don’t eat anything else,” she lectured, adding a smile to prove she was teasing. “Take two. The oatmeal raisin ones should be filling.”

He did as she’d suggested. “Thanks. How much longer before the mayor lights the big tree?”

“Probably a couple of ‘Silent Night’s and a ‘Noel’ or two,” she said, gesturing toward the assembling choir. “Maybe half an hour.”

“Okay. Good to know.” He stomped his feet. “Man, it’s cold out here.”

“It’s not so bad if you keep moving. What were you doing? Hiding in the van?”

“No, ma’am. I was minding the hot cocoa supply while Matt served.”

“Where did he run off to?”

“The church needed a tenor, or so he claimed. I suspect he may have a girlfriend in the group.”

“Probably. He is sixteen.” Coraline was smiling benevolently. “Tell you what. I’ll loan you one of my helpers until Matt gets back.”

“That won’t be necessary...” She was already hurrying away. To Josh’s chagrin, she stopped next to Whitney and began speaking to her. He couldn’t hear their conversation but he did see her put down the plate of cookies and start waving her arms before pivoting to point right at him.

Of all the hundreds of people available in the park that night, Coraline was choosing to send Whitney! If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect some kind of devious, female conspiracy.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Whitney asked her former principal. “I don’t think Josh likes me very much.”

“Likes, shmikes,” Coraline taunted. “The poor guy lost his only helper and once the singing is over he’s likely to have so many folks wanting hot drinks again he’ll be snowed under.” She giggled. “Pun intended. I can’t remember the last time Bygones had snow this early in the year.”

“I think I was still in high school,” Whitney told her. “We got out of class early and ran around on the playground trying to make snowballs out of whatever we could scrape up.”

“I remember that day.” The older woman was grinning. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Go help the helpless, like the Good Book says.”

Whitney doubted anyone else had ever thought of Josh Smith as helpless. She certainly didn’t. He was so capable, so organized, it was uncanny. Almost scary, if she let herself dwell on it.

Admiring the man’s accomplishments wasn’t wrong, she reasoned, it was simply unnerving that she was unable to temper her burgeoning appreciation of everything he said and did.

Providing refreshments for an entire town, for instance. In the past, several service clubs and churches had banded together to prepare a couple of large batches of hot cider or cocoa, but it was nothing like Josh’s. He was serving the very best he had. And that had raised her opinion of him another notch.

She didn’t have to work to greet him with a broad smile. “Reporting for duty. Miss Coraline says you can use some help over here.”

“It was nice of her to worry about me but I’ve got this. Honestly. Once it’s set up it’s not hard to manage.”

“Then I’ll just hang around and entertain you while we wait and see if you need me.” The befuddled expression on his handsome face made her laugh. “Don’t worry. I promise not to cook.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“Oh, very good. I remember one time, when I was about twelve, I decided to make a special Christmas morning breakfast to surprise my family. After the fire department came, Dad took Mom and me out to eat way up in Manhattan. It was nearly noon by that time. We had to stay out of the house until they cleared it of smoke.”

“You’re joking, right?”

That question brought more laughter. “Nope. Totally serious. I was trying to bake a coffee cake, hit the wrong button on the range and locked the door on the self-cleaning oven. There was no way to get it open early and that coffee cake was a cinder by the time the system finished its full cycle. Pretty much ruined the baking pan I’d used, too.”

She was delighted to see that her true tale had amused the barista. He took his hands out of his pockets, sidled behind her and dramatically blocked access to his van with his body and outstretched arms.

“In that case, maybe it would be best if you just handed out napkins and I did the rest,” Josh said with a melodramatic smirk.

“My thoughts, exactly.” Whitney loved to tell stories, making her perfect for her chosen profession. The more she mulled over her past Christmases, the more her spirits rose.

“Most of the time, Mom kept me out of the kitchen,” she said. “I must admit it was a relief.” She slipped off one glove, held out her hand and pointed to a faint scar on her index finger. “This is from the time I was helping slice tomatoes and I didn’t know Dad had sharpened Mom’s knives.”

Josh just shook his head.

“And this one,” she added, choosing another small scar, “is from trying to chop kindling wood at summer camp when I was about eight. That was in my pretend pioneer phase. Only I wanted to be the one out hunting buffalo, not the one staying behind at the covered wagon to bake biscuits.”

To her surprise, Josh reached for her hand and cradled it gently. His touch was light, yet Whitney felt the effects of it all the way from the top of her head to her toes.

With the fingers of his opposite hand he traced the scars as if the injuries were fresh and he was seeking to heal them. “Sounds like you were as fearless back then as you are now,” he said softly.

Whitney was rendered speechless. She opened her mouth but no sound escaped. The timbre of his voice was low, enthralling, and when he raised his gaze to meet hers she felt shivers dance along her spine. Was she truly fearless? If so, she was selective in her courage because right now, at this precise moment, she felt as if she might keel over in a dead faint.

It was the thought of that kind of embarrassment that brought her to her senses. She pulled her hand from his. Stepped back. Managed a smile, although she was unsure whether it was convincingly constructed or ludicrous.

“Thanks, I think.” Pivoting to face the music, she urged him to do the same. “Listen. You can hear Matt’s voice. It’s beautiful.”

When Josh didn’t comment she turned back to him and was startled by his strange expression. He was staring, not at the gazebo where the singers were massed, but at her.

The icy night air was so electrified between them, Whitney half expected to see real sparks arcing like the impressive emissions of lightning from a Jacob’s ladder in a physics lab.

The park and its occupants faded into the background.

The sound of the music drifted away.

Twinkling lights in the trees blurred until they were nothing more than a faint glow.

Whitney saw Josh take a purposeful step toward her. She held her breath, wondering what he was planning to do.

He slowly raised one hand and drew his finger down the side of her cheek as if he were tracing her portrait and needed to outline it perfectly.

She trembled but stood her ground.

Their eyes met. Gazes held.

Josh’s quirky, half smile was only for her.

“Matt’s voice isn’t the only beautiful thing,” he whispered. “There’s something about you tonight that I’ve never noticed before. Something very special.”

So nervous she could barely think, let alone come off sounding lucid and intelligent, Whitney employed her usual method of self-defense. She resorted to humor.

“Must be the cookies,” she quipped. “I am so full of sugar I should be climbing the walls.” She offered a playful smile. “Except we’re outside and there aren’t any. Walls, I mean.”

Josh’s laugh sounded uneasy, as if he were just as glad as she was to end their extraordinary moment. “In that case, see if you can find me a couple of the same kind you ate, will you? I suspect I may need all the energy I can muster to keep up with the workings of your brain.”

“Cookies won’t help,” Whitney told him with a wide grin. “I may be a lousy cook but I have a mind like a steel trap.” She was chuckling. “Of course, there are times when its jaws snap shut for no reason and I forget to reset it.”

Josh was shaking his head in the wake of the inane analogy. He turned away and climbed back into the van, ostensibly to check the warmer, leaving Whitney standing alone by the serving table.

Why had she made a silly joke about a very nice compliment? Why was it so hard to accept one coming from Josh? Was it because their previous encounters had been so fraught with tension? Or could it be because she was starting to like him far too much and realized how little she really knew about him?

Either was possible. Only one had a solution. If he continued to hide his past she would have to start digging deeper and casting a wider net, excuse the clichés.

The hardest part of her plan would be accepting whatever she discovered, when all she really wanted was to return to the moment when he had touched her and relive it, over and over and over.