6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

DUFFY

T he highs and lows from the company party filter back. My thoughts cling to the mistletoe kiss with Madeleine like the snow on the windowpanes of my childhood bedroom.

With three days before Christmas Eve, I’m lucky I beat the storm because it’ll be a whiteout at this rate. I could’ve done without Porsha’s unwelcome appearance. But meeting Maddie is a different story, one I don’t quite understand. There’s something familiar about her. It’s like we’re instantly comfortable with each other. Maybe that’s what happens when you start things with a kiss. I remind myself it’s fake.

But her lips on mine felt very, very real.

I check the virtual assistant portal to see if 00M added the meeting with AccuPlex to my schedule, but she’s offline.

When I get downstairs, the remnants of the party are cleaned up thanks to my muscles and my mother’s merry elves. However, she’s already in the kitchen, making my favorite: waffles with blueberries and fresh whipped cream. Every summer, I used to pick them on our property.

“You’re smiley this morning. ”

Usually, I’m nothing short of stony, at least until I have coffee. Goes with the name, I guess. Or so I thought. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You look cheerful, wistful . . . and in love.”

The coffee sloshes as I pour a cup. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Madeleine was lovely. The perfect future daughter-in-law.”

I pump my hands. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“After you went to bed last night, I polished your grandmother’s ring. It’s ready and available.”

“Mom! We only met?—”

She gives me a look.

“I mean, it’s new.” Very new.

“You have a certain spark and that kiss—” She fans her face.

“Mom!” I echo.

She slides a waffle onto my plate and pecks the top of my head. She spoils me and her affection is always appreciated. After seeing Porsha again, I can’t fathom a future with her. Maddie was right. I dodged that snowball.

My ex didn’t want a family. I do, but I’m afraid because I don’t want to turn out like my father. I picture him now, seated across the table, a waffle at his place setting and the newspaper in front of his nose. My mother deserved better than a cheater.

Last Christmas, instead of cheer, I found out he had another wife and a daughter in Ireland.

A thought breaks through the walls I’ve built around myself after learning of his mistress and brightens like the lights on the tree. Since I now know how devastating being cheated on was, it’s like an inoculation against turning out like him.

“An extra dollop of fresh whipped cream for your thoughts?” Mom asks.

“Thinking about Dad.”

“Not a day passes when I don’t.” She sighs and lowers into a chair.

“Mom, I want?— ”

Interrupting me, she meets my gaze. “I never wanted to have to discuss this. I knew.”

Of course, she did. My heart craters for her.

“We did our best to work through it. I couldn’t fully trust him again, but I did forgive him. Best of all, I got you out of it.”

The ache goes deeper.

“Duffy, it’s not your burden to bear. You’re not Cavell. You’re my son, and whether you settle down with Madeleine or—please not Lexus?—”

“You have my word,” I say.

We share a laugh.

“You’ll make a wonderful and loyal husband . . . and a father too?—”

In the past, I would’ve objected, however, a woman with silky brown hair, a warm gaze, and curves for days floats into my mind and lingers there like she plans to stick around.

“In the meantime, I don’t think we need Lexus to be the new face of anything. I have an idea,” Mom says, referring to the PR firm I asked my assistant to hire.

“I have Stone’s Coal Company under control. My VA has been digitizing everything. Soon, our office will be virtual, which will make it easier for me to manage things remotely.”

“I’m like a windup music box rather than one of your streaming devices. Old school. We need to keep Stone’s Coal in the community, so I signed you up for the Annual Christmas Charity Bake & Bazaar Auction.”

I nearly choke on a bite of my waffle. “You what?”

“You’ll contribute a baked good and go to the gala on Christmas Eve.”

I press my lips together to summon patience. “Mom, have you met me?”

Wearing a quizzical expression, she loads my plate with another waffle. “ Of course.”

“Then you’re aware the kitchen, no less baking, is not in my wheelhouse.”

“The Stones can do anything they put their mind to. Figure it out.”

And that’s how my mother always ends a conversation that’s not up for debate. My thoughts drift to Madeleine. Then I get an idea. Maybe she can help.

No sooner am I in the old pickup truck I’ve had since high school do I realize that I don’t know where to find Maddie. She mentioned baking and accepted my invitation to spend the holidays together. This brings up two additional issues: continuing to fake our relationship and being my guest at the gala.

I thought I was tangled up in tinsel before. Now I’m buried in it.

If I were an adorable, beautiful woman from out of town, where would I be?

Never mind. I spot Maddie in the town center by the massive Christmas tree with her little dog. She’s talking to Mrs. Hershey. Eyes bright, Maddie laughs. The sound of it filters toward me from last night. It’s a lovely tinkle. Not a cackle at all. She’s everything that Porsha isn’t.

I park and hurry down the sidewalk before skidding to a stop as Maddie waves goodbye to Mrs. Hershey.

She beams a smile. “I guess this is the corner to run into people. That was Cheryl Hershey, Sherry Hershey’s sister of Hewitt & Hershey fame—not the chocolate company.”

I scratch my head, not quite following.

“Pop Tart is wearing one of their custom collars.” She scoops the dog into her arms. “I work—” She cuts herself off. “I should probably get to work. Lots of baking to do.”

“About that, do you mind if we walk and talk? I have a question.”

“You’re a businessman even on Christmas vacation.” She seems vaguely disappointed .

“True, and that’s what this is about. I know my strengths. They do not include baking, but my mother signed me up—well, Stone’s Coal Company—for the Annual Christmas Charity Bake & Bazaar Auction.” I go on to explain the event.

She taps the air with her finger and then leans in. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I was hired to ghost bake for a local business for that very auction. If we’re going to have this conversation, I need chocolate. A hot chocolate,” she clarifies.

After Maddie drops Pop Tart off at the Sleigh Bell Lodge, we cross the street to Frosty’s Festive Flavors Bakery & Café. I hold open the door, imagining she welcomes the warmth after the North Pole chill.

Maddie orders a salted caramel mocha latte with chocolate shavings. I stick with my usual black coffee.

“I love how much the people in North Pole embrace Christmas.” She glances at my drink. “Almost everyone.”

“They wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You don’t count yourself as a North Pole-ian? North Pole-ite? One of Santa’s elves?” she laughs.

Even though I’ve heard all the North Pole jokes, I do too. Something about Maddie brings a smile to my face, chases away the shadows and doubts, and whatever keeps me in the dark—she’s like a human candle, bright and glowing.

We find a vacant table, and I pull out the chair for her.

As if surprised by my gentlemanliness, she says, “Thank you, Duffy.”

I take a seat and lower my voice, “My baking business proposal for you?—”

“For the Covert Cookie,” she corrects.

“The what?”

“That’s the name of my company. You can visit my website if you want to make an official inquiry.”

I tilt my head in question.

She nods, gesturing I pull out my phone. “In the spirit of keeping things professional, Mr. Businessman.”

When I find TheCovertCookie.com, I enter my information.

Moments later, her phone dings with a notification. She checks it and her eyebrows lift. “You want me to make cookies on behalf of Stone’s Coal Company for the charity auction. What’s your vision? You didn't fill out the questionnaire.”

She’s my vision. Giving my head a little shake, I say, “Cookies.”

“Can you be more specific?”

I wince. “I figured you could make some chocolate chip or oatmeal. The little bits look like coal, right?”

“The object of the auction is to raise money. You want your donation to go to the highest bidder. Although chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, or even a combo are undeniably delicious, I don’t think they’ll get the big bucks.”

“What do you propose?”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“We only have a couple of days until the event.”

“And I have to head over to work.”

“How about after you’re done? We can brainstorm or experiment.”

“It’s a deal.” She extends her hand to shake, then quickly retracts it. In a whisper, she asks, “If so, are we still a couple? It would be weird for people to see us shaking hands.”

Considering my mother spotted me the second I arrived in town, I don’t want the fake dating arrangement to get back to her via the Snowball Express. I nod and pat Maddie’s hand instead.

She laughs. “You’re terrible at selling this. Do you want to be a fake couple or not?”

I want to, but doubt peppers my mind.

Maddie’s eyes flash over my shoulder and she hisses, “Avalanche, incoming.”

Before I can ask questions or answer, Porsha saunters over .

Inside, I deflate.

“Look, it’s North Pole’s local love birds.”

“What a pleasure seeing you again, Mercedes, was it?” Madeleine asks.

I almost spit out my coffee from laughter.

“Porsha,” she corrects. “I was preparing myself for the charity auction. I applied to be a judge. I made a great impression on Richard Loomis last year.” She bats her eyelashes.

That old codger? “What an unpleasant surprise.” My tone drops with displeasure.

“Cavell-poo, I thought what we had was special, long-lasting, forever.”

Given Porsha’s appraising gaze, I sense she doesn’t believe that Maddie and I are together.

Madeleine lengthens her spine. “My sister recently found a cockroach in her shower cap.”

I frown because that’s downright disturbing.

Porsha’s brow furrows.

“She freaked out but then put on her big girl britches—not literally because she was in the shower. She washed that roach down the drain. Some things in life are like that. You have to say buh-bye.” Madeleine opens and closes her hand, waving goodbye.

Porsha staggers, likely never having been dismissed before.

While I’m not sure where Maddie and I stand, things are officially over with my ex. It’s been a year. As my mother said, I can forgive her, but I cannot forget nor can I trust her.

I say, “To put it another way, if you’d please excuse my girlfriend and me, we’re enjoying some time together, alone.”

Porsha lets out a whiny huff and stomps her foot, likely having realized what Madeleine meant about the roach as she stomps off.

We both stifle laughter. “I’m sorry if that was mean-spirited, but she was insulting me—and our fake relationship.”

“I apologize for not coming to your defense sooner. Our defense.”

“So, I’m your girlfriend?” she singsongs.

“I feel a little old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-four.”

“I’m newly thirty.”

“What else should I know about you Madeleine Tinsel, owner of the Covert Cookie?”

“About that, um, I have something to tell you. Or maybe I should show you.” She shuffles nervously.

I caught Porsha red-handed, er, in a skimpy Mrs. Claus suit doing a video call with her other boyfriend. I don’t think Madeleine is cheating on our fake relationship, but my stomach sinks because I fear whatever Maddie will reveal won’t make my spirits bright.