Page 11 of A Taste of Christmas Magic

“And a miracle,” she said opening her eyes and continuing to walk, taking comfort in the solid feel of each bar.

“A miracle,” she repeated, nearly smacking herself on the forehead for not thinking before of Grandma Millie’s mini-home library.

Twenty-five years ago, the Belmont Library Society had gifted Grandma Millie with a small replica of her house, crafted by students at the high school woodshop, who’d also painted it to match. The cute library had three shelves. The bottom shelf was generally stocked with children’s books. The middle shelf held fiction and mysteries, and the top shelf had everything else: self-help, nonfiction, and…cookbooks!

Chloe had often borrowed from and donated to this small library over the years, and she’d never failed to find a book she needed or wanted. Growing up, the library had almost felt mystical in that it would answer her thoughts or soothe the fears storming around her brain. She placed her fingers reverently on the doorknob, closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.

Chloe eased the doors wide and breathed in the scent of wood, paper, and, she liked to think, a little magic.

She opened her eyes and stared, shocked. The shelves were empty except for one book leaning drunkenly against the side. Curious, she pulled it out, marveling at its buttery-soft leather cover with some kind of silky thick ribbon binding it all together.

She cradled the book in her arms and read the cover, barely illuminated by the waxing moon.

Food Is Love

Recipes for

Southern Love Spells

“Ask and ye shall receive,” Chloe said, loving the mystery of it all, the drama. Had Grandma Millie put the book here knowing that Chloe would be out of her depthandregularly perused the shelves of the mini library?

“The plot thickens…dum, dum, dum, dummmmm,” she hummed under her breath and opened the book. She could make out handwriting, ingredient lists, and even some sketches.

She leafed through a few pages, her heart hammering with hope. Surely it was a sign.

“You got this, girl.”

Chapter Four

This was theteam’s second run in the new kitchen, and though it was intense, they already had a good rhythm, and the sample menu was coming together as if opening night were weeks in the rearview mirror instead of weeks ahead.

Rustin looked at his main kitchen team—Clara Pond, Raul Rodrigo, twins Flannery and Hannah Marks, and his younger brother Lucas, who had aspirations of being a bartender and DJ.

Mostly to snag women, I bet.

Lucas hadn’t wanted to leave Charlotte, but even though his brother was twenty-two, Rustin had laid down the law. He wasn’t leaving Lucas alone in the city full of temptations. His assistant and restaurant manager Rebekah James also surveyed the team through eyes dramatically accented by thick black eyeliner.

“The team will still take you seriously, Chef, if you crack a smile before Christmas.”

“We got six weeks to prepare for our soft open.”

“You don’t do soft, Chef.” Rebekah raised her eyebrows suggestively, probably trying to get him to relax.

As if.

“I won’t smile until our first-quarter earnings hit.”

He had a grant and a no-interest loan from a foundation in Charlotte, along with an unusual mortgage with Millie Maye, and a more traditional investment from a Charlotte foodie and budding venture capitalist who’d followed his career for the past six years. But margins in the restaurant world were small, and the fan base could be fickle.

The Wild Side was his first solo restaurant and opening it in Belmont was not only him making a statement. It was a risk. Would young, trendy diners with a lot of jingle drive from Charlotte to Belmont for a dining experience?

“Easier to hit earning margins if we’d actually open,” Rebekah said drolly, tapping her new manicure—an eye-popping red with snowflakes on the tips. “We need to open for the holidays. We’re burning through cash with the remodel, and this town is like something out of a Christmas card. They need us.”

Rustin winced. He’d hated how Belmont went all out on Christmas. It had severely stressed his single mom who struggled to support four kids while two of his uncles cycled in and out of their former small mill house, supposedly looking after his family. From what he’d seen, they crashed on the couch, ate everything they could lay their hands on, and stole from his mom so they could buy booze and cigarettes. He’d always been happy when the cops would arrive and haul them off to jail for one infraction or another.

“There’s something called aMovable Feast.” Rebekah dragged him away from his memories, and he winced remembering his rough treatment of Chloe last night. “There’s also a holiday market, and Belmont’s near to some town called McAdenville that has so many lights it’s calledChristmas Town USA. People drive or walk around for the whole frickin’ month of December, Chef. I’m not all about Christmas, but people drive from all over, and we gotta get several slices of that.”

He’d hated Christmas because it reminded him of everything his family didn’t have, and he’d deliberately slated to open after the holiday rush to stave off the memories.

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