Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

N ext stop on my last-minute shop-till-I-drop spending spree is Lather and Light, my sister Macy’s soap and candle shop.

My menagerie of cuteness and I head across the street and take a moment to peer at the window display. Everything about it is impossibly charming, from the twinkle lights making the place glow like a dream to the tiny gold bottles of luxurious soaps, and, of course, the candles in all shapes and sizes. There’s a sign that reads, “Christmas Special—Buy 2, Get 1 Free on Everything in Stock!” and I already know I’ll be stocking up for sure.

You’d think because I have an in with the owner, I’d get a massive discount or the occasional freebie. But this is my sister we’re talking about. I’m lucky she doesn’t charge me double just to warm her sooted little soul.

I’m not sure why, but she seems to take pleasure in poking and prodding me at every turn. It’s all in fun. I think.

I push the door open and we step inside, ready for a little more holiday magic.

The moment we step intoLather and Light, it’s like being wrapped in a warm, fragrant hug. The air is filled with the scent of peppermint and spiced cider—I’m sensing a theme, and yet something else entirely—and I swear it smells like gingerbread cookies.

I give a quick glance around at the cute dimly lit shop with wooden tables scattered around, each one brimming with soap or candle displays, with products stacked on acrylic shelves at least two feet high. Personally, I’m shocked she has any inventory at all with the huge sale she’s got going on.

There are brightly colored bars of soap wrapped in thick red ribbons, candles in every shape and size—the three-wicks are my kryptonite—and jars of bath salts glittering like Christmas ornaments. And don’t get me started on the entire back wall that’s home to bath bombs of every variety.

I haven’t always been a bath girl—hence my fear of large bodies of water—but once Macy introduced me to those balls of fizzy fun that have the power to make the entire house smell like heaven, I’ve been stocking up on bath bombs as if I needed the ammo for an upcoming war.

The war being waged right now is against my free time, which is quickly dwindling as Christmas Eve approaches. And I suspect it will be non-existent once the baby arrives. In that case, I’d better buy the bath bombs by the pallet. I’ve got some serious me-time to soak in before my due date arrives.

Fish gasps from her perch in my bag. Do I smell sugar cookies? This place might be more dangerous than I thought. She sniffs the air again and pretends to faint. Quick, Bizzy! I need to be revived via something sweet, stat!

“Someone has been watching too many medical dramas.”

I can’t help it, she counters. And you have to admit, those cookies smell McDreamy.

“You’re not wrong,” I say. “Except I have a feeling those are just candles that are making our stomachs growl. But don’t worry. We still have four cinnamon rolls left.”

Sherlock trots over to a display of three-wick candles sitting in a basket on the floor, an overflow from the bigger display taking over the table like Godzilla about to crush Manhattan.

Those aren’t sugar cookies, he says with a woof. It’s... a Santa’s Kitchen candle! He reads the label aloud with a bark of delight. And it smells just like holiday baking! But not your baking, Bizzy. I’m pretty sure they don’t have a candle for that.

Fish chitters out a laugh. But if they did, I bet they’d call it Burnt Toast and Regret.

“You’re both hilarious,” I say flatly while picking up a candle and manage to grin as I browse through the quirky names attached to these three-wick cuties.

Sure enough, there’s aSanta’s Kitchencandle, which smells exactly like a fresh batch of cookies, and next to it, a candle labeledNaughty Nog, which somehow manages to capture the essence of spiked eggnog in wax form. There’s alsoSleigh My Namewith a piney, woodsy scent that makes me think of Jasper in unholy ways,O Christmas Treat, which smells like candy canes, and then my personal favorite,Frosty’s Flannel, a cozy mix of cedar, vanilla, and just a hint of cinnamon. It sort of reminds me of Jasper in a far more wholesome sense.

Jingle prances up to a display of soap shaped like tiny Christmas trees. Check these out, Bizzy. These smell like the forest! He looks over to Sherlock with wide eyes. Do you think we can bring the forest home with us?

Before I can respond, a familiar voice rings out behind me.

“Well, well, well, look who we have here, sneaking around and buying overpriced goodies supposedly marked down to give the impression of a discount,” Mom teases and I turn around to see Georgie stepping up beside her. And they both look far too pleased with themselves.

“I’d laugh if I didn’t know that was true,” I say, pulling them into a group hug as best as I can. “Let me guess. You ladies are whittling down your Christmas list, too?”

Georgie waves off the thought. “More like making a wish list. I plan on emailing a copy to everyone on my friend list. Expect to get it by morning. I do my best work at midnight.”

“Is it too late to ask you to lose my email address?” Mom spots Sherlock and Jingle and coos as she gives them each a quick scratch behind the ears while dressed in one of her signature fur-trimmed coats. It’s red and white and she has that whole Mrs. Claus thing down pat. She straightens and spots Fish as well. “Oh, come here, you furry little princess,” Mom coos once again as she steals Fish from my bag, and Fish promptly snuggles up like a pro in her grandmother’s arms.

Grandma hugs are just as good as sugar cookies, she purrs.

Yeah, but I still like sugar cookies, Sherlock insists.

“Don’t worry, kids,” Georgie says to the furry among us. “I know what you’re really after and I’ve got you covered.” She plucks a handful of bacon from her coat pocket and neither my mother nor I am surprised.

Georgie has made a habit out of toting salted meat around with her for years. And to my surprise, my mother swipes a strip of bacon out of Georgie’s hand and takes a bite out of it herself.

“Don’t judge,” she says to me. “I’ve been shopping for hours and I’m about to drop in a hole at the cemetery because of it. Georgie’s salty stash is the only thing that’s kept me going.”

“You’re welcome,” Georgie says, quickly giving each furry cutie a few strips as well and she hands one my way, too.

“Thank you,” I say, taking it from her a touch too aggressively. “I’m half-starved. Heck, I’m half-starved all the time now.” I don’t dare confess that I wolfed down a cinnamon roll the size of my head less than twenty minutes ago. Come to think of it, my appetite has been renewing itself at about twenty-minute intervals so that sounds about right.

Once I’m through, I grab a handheld basket and load up on a few candles as we move along—Naughty NogandFrosty’s Flannelfor myself andReindeer Romance for Jasper.

“Ooh, this one smells like Jasper in a bottle.” I hold it out their way for the two of them to sniff. “It has a woodsy, masculine scent with just a hint of spice.”

And just like that, I have a rather spicy craving for my husband.

Darn hormones.

They always seem to kick in when Jasper is nowhere to be found.

Here’s hoping I can reprise the effort later tonight.

“That does hold his scent.” Mom nods approvingly at the candle. “You know, the two of you have something very special. In fact, Jasper is as crazy about you as he is about these fur babies of yours. The entire lot of you has got him wrapped around your little finger—and paws, apparently.”

Georgie leans my way. “Speaking of men, how’s he handling all the Christmas chaos, Biz? And I’m not just talking about the decorating—how’s Mr. Hotshot Detective dealing with the baby news?”

“Surprisingly well,” I admit with a laugh. “He’s even offered to go crib shopping together, twice already. I think he’s more excited about getting all the baby gear in the house than I am. And I’m pretty darn excited.”

Mom laughs just hearing it. “Of course, he is! Men always act tough, but the second you mention a baby, they turn into marshmallows.”

“Speaking of marshmallows.” Georgie chuckles. “How’s Hux holding up with Mackenzie? Still pretending he’s in charge of anything?”

Mom rolls her eyes. “ Please . They’re like fire and ice—which is perfect for the holidays. And strangely enough, perfect for each other.”

“I agree,” I say. “Hux will do whatever Mackenzie says. We all know who holds the diaper bag in that family.” I bite down on a smile. “Though I think Jasper might beat him in the caring for the baby department. He’s been a saint through all of this.”

Georgie grunts, “Watch out, Bizzy. Men are great when you need them to knock you up, but once those late-night cravings hit, they’ll be sending you out for pickles and ice cream yourself.”

“Maybe your ex did,” Mom chuffs to her bestie. “But Bizzy is right. My son-in-law is a saint.”

“You mean one of my many exes,” Georgie grunts again. “None of them catered to any of my cravings. And that’s exactly why they’re exes. Bizzy, I didn’t hesitate cutting anyone loose who so much as denied me a latte.” She points my way with a single wick candle. “Take note.”

Mom shakes her head at the two of us. “Don’t you dare scare her, Georgie. Jasper will be just fine. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing him running around at three AM for gingerbread lattes.”

Fish gives an indignant flick of her tail. If he does, do you think he could bring me back a dozen or so donuts while he’s at it?

I offer a covert nod her way because I know for a fact he would. And, ooh , a glazed donut with a raspberry jelly filling sounds amazing right about now.

The three of us keep our heads down and get back to work, collecting candles, bottles of foaming soaps, and bath bombs alike.

Mom looks over the stock I’ve accumulated in my arms. “You’d better save one of those candles for yourself, Bizzy. You’ll need something cozy to light when you finally get five minutes alone.” Not that she’ll ever get five minutes alone again, Mom cringes as she thinks to herself. At least not in a few short months, but I won’t be the one to point that out.

Little does she know, she already has—and that she didn’t have to. I figured that part out on my own.

“Gingerbread Dreamcandle,” I say, holding up one as evidence. “I’ve got it covered. It’s perfect for after the Christmas chaos dies down.”

Georgie snaps one up for herself. “Well, if anyone can handle the madness, it’s you, Bizzy. Let’s hope the rest of the holiday is body-free.”

Mom grunts hard. “Let’s not drag the dead into this.”

I’m about to agree when suddenly a voice booms from behind.

“STOP, THIEVES!”