Cozy Christmas

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.