Page 14 of Stuck in Christmas

Might as well start things off with a hearty breakfast.

I trudged downstairs and stepped into the crowded dining room. The aroma of sizzling bacon immediately enveloped me, making my stomach grumble in agreement. The diner buzzed with energy, with folks adorned in all sorts of festive attire—Christmas sweaters that looked like they were plucked straight from an ugly sweater contest, Santa hats perched jauntily on heads, and jingle bells chiming at every movement. It was as if the entire town had collectively decided that the Christmas spirit was not a suggestion but an obligation.

I caught sight of Bonnie speaking to customers at the cash register. She wisely sat on a stool, her cane at the ready.

“Miss Renee. How’d you sleep?” Bonnie beamed. The lines on her face only made her more beautiful, as if to accentuate the wisdom she’s gathered over her years on earth.

“Pretty well,” I replied. “I finished my story for the magazine but couldn’t file it—you know—no internet. Then, I drifted off to sleep and did NOT wake up in a snowbank. So that’s a good start to the day.”

“Oh, I’d call that a great start,” Bonnie said enthusiastically. “Can I get you some eggs? Bacon? How ‘bout some buttermilk biscuits?”

The very thought of those biscuits made my mouth water. “That all sounds wonderful.”

“Coming right up.” Bonnie grabbed her cane and shuffled toward the kitchen. She didn’t get very far before the people at a nearby table stopped her to talk. Then, she stopped at the following table. At this rate, I might get my breakfast in time for lunch, but I understood the desire to talk to Bonnie. She was so warm and friendly, you couldn’t help yourself.

I glanced around, absorbing the cheerful chaos. The townspeople continued their conversations, laughter mixing with the clattering of forks and those infernal jingle bells. I felt like an outsider plopped right into the set of a beautiful holiday movie. They were all going about their snow angel making/holiday shopping/popcorn stringing day while I was cursed to spend the rest of my life stuck in a holiday time loop. I wanted to have more fun with it, but I didn’t know where to begin.

My idea of fun was going home.

“Morning. You here for the Christmas Carnival?” a loud voice broke through my reverie.

I turned to see an older gentleman with a grin as wide as the horizon.

“No, I’m just passing through. But tell me about the Carnival.” Joe had mentioned the Carnival in one of my loops, I can’t remember which one, but I was too freaked out to ask about it at the time.

“It’s a great celebration of Christmas,” the man’s wife said. “We have a Gingerbread House competition, a tree decorating contest, milk andcookies with Santa, reindeer sleigh rides—and it’s all for a great cause.”

“Toys for Tots,” the husband chimed in, nodding vigorously.

“Oh, that thing the Marines do?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am. They collect brand-new toys for needy children all year round to ensure no child goes without presents at Christmas.” The wife reached for a tissue to dab at her eyes. “It’s such a beautiful thing when the children open their presents at the carnival.”

“That sounds like a great story. How’d it get started here?”

“Well, that is a great story,” the husband began, but before he could continue, a familiar voice interrupted.

“I understand you ordered eggs and bacon with a side of buttermilk biscuits,” Eli said, stepping in front of the couple and wiggling a plate toward me. My breath caught in my throat as I took in Daylight Eli. If Nighttime Eli was full of dark shadows and mysterious secrets, Daylight Eli was so stunning he was almost too beautiful to look at.

His black hair was tousled, making it seem effortlessly stylish, and his striking blue eyes sparkled from the light through the front windows. Dressed in a snug flannel shirt highlighting his broad shoulders, he exuded an earthy charm that was hard to ignore. I wasn’t the only woman to notice the rugged handsomeness that made him look as capable with a spatula as an axe.

He raised a dark eyebrow and then nodded toward my table. “Sit. Eat. This is a special recipe, besteaten hot.” He placed the steaming plate in front of me.

My mouth was watering, and it wasn’t for the eggs. “Can I put butter on those biscuits?” I asked, glancing at the fluffy, golden treats.

“I wish you would,” Eli said, his smile widened as he passed me the butter dish.

I nearly dropped the dang thing, staring at him. And I barely noticed the husband and wife leaving as I took a bite of the special eggs. My eyes widened. I dropped my fork. “This is delicious. What’s in these eggs?”

Eli leaned over me and put his hand on the table, boxing me in. “Special ingredient. But not my recipe to tell.”

I fanned my face. It was hot in here. Maybe I needed to stick my head in a snowbank.

“How do you like it?” Bonnie appeared at the table before I made an absolute fool of myself.

I could hardly contain my glee. “Oh, my goodness. I think these are the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever eaten. They’re so light and fluffy but also so rich. Tell me, what’s the secret ingredient?”

“I’ll never tell,” Bonnie laughed lightly.

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