Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

ZEVA

T he next call I make is to the bed-and-breakfast. I take a steadying breath as Francis answers the phone on the third ring. “Hi, Miss Francis,” I say after she gets through her greeting.

“Why, good morning,” she says cheerfully. “I hope my nephew is showing off his southern hospitality.”

“He is,” I assure her. “I don’t suppose a room opened up yet?”

“Sorry dear. I’m afraid not.”

I sigh. All hope for a room vanishes.

“Is everything alright, dear? Do you want me to have a word with Andreas?”

“Oh no,” I say quickly, biting my tongue. Perhaps Magnolia didn’t get my newspaper. Instead, I ask, “I was wondering if you get the South Carolina Harrold in Magnolia?”

“Don’t tell me you’re a fan of the columns, too.” Francis chuckles. “I have an entire scab book of recipes. I’ll never get around to trying all of them, but my friend Mavis has a soft spot for the little critters.”

Tears stung my eyes. I didn’t imagine anyone outside of the baking club reading, much less clipping the recipes. Some were my own creations and others were from the kind ladies of Clemson. My column features recipes; each comes with a heartwarming tale, the aroma of home cooking, and a touch of nostalgia.

“I like the columns,” I say, my throat tightening with emotion.

“I can’t wait to see what recipe Cinnamon gives us for Christmas.”

I whisper a soft thank you to the heavens. Cinnamon is the pseudonym that takes credit for my stories. Not that I know Francis reads the Harrold and like my pieces, I didn’t want her thinking badly of me.

“Is there anything else, dear?”

“Yes actually. Since I’ve nowhere to go, what do you think about me decorating the house? It’s the least I can do to thank him.”

“That’s a fabulous idea, and I’m betting the neighbors will approve.” By the time I got off the phone, Francis loans Andreas’s neighbors to me and directs me to the stockpile of decorations in the garage. I shake my head. The woman can arrange a presidential campaign, but she can’t manage her hotel’s registrations.

The decorations inside and outside are lit by the time Andreas’s car pulls into the driveway. There’s only one detail left and I climb a short step stool with a hammer in one hand and a tiny nail in the other to complete the task.

“Hi,” I say when he reaches the porch. “I’d give you my full attention, but I don’t want to lose the spot I plan to put this nail on.”

“Zeva, what have you done?”

“I didn’t do it all by myself.” I squint, but the spot over the door I mentally marked is fussy now. “Your neighbors helped too. Did you know you auntie knows them by name?”

“I won’t put it past her to know the names of their future children, too.”

I laugh. And instantly regret it when the stool wobbles. Before my feet leave the stool, Andreas’s hands are on my waist, steadying me. Unfortunately, it isn’t a cute stumble and my breasts end up framing his nose. I flush, trying to right myself, but that’s almost impossible with a hammer in one hand and a nail in the other.

“Ooof,” he grunts and I feel him go taunt beneath me.

“Are you alright?” I ease away enough to keep him from suffocating. When I glance down, his eyes are closed and the hands around my waist are rigid, as if he’s afraid to move. I’m balanced now,” I assure him.

“Woman, I’m not letting go until you either climb down or finish whatever you’re doing.”

“All right, hold still.” I cock my head to the side to locate the middle of the door frame again. With Andreas holding me steady, I took my time making sure I position the nail just right.

“I’m not planning on letting you go.”

I glance down to find his intense gaze on me. His breathing is shallow and I swear he’s clenching his teeth again, making me acutely aware of our intimate position. I decide we need a distraction. “You didn’t say if you like the decorations.”

“I don’t think you left any ornaments in the stores. But that’s okay,” he says sarcastically, “because all of Magnolia can window shop here before deciding on which inflatables to purchase. And I don’t suppose the Christmas tree on the front lawn is the only one you purchased.”

“Ah-ah.” I chuckle. “There’s one in the living room too.”

He mutters inaudibly under his breath. “Did you know I passed by my house twice?”

“If it makes you feel any better, a few neighbors asked if you’re moving.” I smirk. “I think you’ve earned a reputation as a grouch.”

He grumbles.

“Hold still,” I warn, driving the nail into the top of the frame. “Hand me the mistletoe, please.” I hand him the hammer.

“You mean this bunch of shrubs you found in the yard?”

“I’ll have you know that this is genuine mistletoe, gifted to me by Mavis.” I hang the short branches onto the nail, letting it dangle over our heads.

“Aunt Francis’s Mavis? The woman who thinks lizards are cute?” He chuckles. “How much did she shake you for?”

I ignore his skeptical jabs. “Do you know why this is the fourth best part of Christmas?” I ask, stepping down on the stool until we are eye level.

“Mistletoes remind you of the smell of pine?” he says, but his darkening eyes say he’s not uninterested in the custom.

I hover a hair’s breath away from his mouth. His breathing caresses my face, whetting my appetite for what’s coming. “Because kissing under the mistletoe is good luck.” I glance at his mouth before holding his gaze as I kiss Andreas. This time, the kiss doesn’t take me by surprise and lean into the adventure of it. The sweetness of his mouth moving against mine and his tongue exploring my mouth. My stomach flutters when he growls an instant before his hand grips my nape, deepening the kiss.

“Don’t I get a berry?” he whispers in a husky voice.

I glance up at the mistletoe and frown. “No berries mean no more kissing.” I try to ease away and he tightens his hold.

“Not a chance.” He grunts. “I’ll glue berries to your bush later.”