Page 15 of A Taste of Christmas Magic

He rocked back on his heels. “I guess I owe you.”

“What?Why?”

Man, hope is painful.

“Sophomore year. American Lit. Not my thing. Was nearly failing, and the poetry unit would have put me over the edge. Millie made me skip time at work to sit at the counter to write my ten poems, but all I could think about was that I needed the money, the dinner to take home. When I opened my notebook, they were finished. Printed out. Lyrical but incomprehensible to me.”

Chloe flushed. She remembered. Writing the poems had been a joy to her, a gift to him. She’d been more than two years younger but had skipped a grade.

“I didn’t think you knew it was me,” she said, suddenly shy remembering how she’d allowed her heart to crack open, her spirit to soar in those poems.

“Who else?” He shrugged, his expression dark. “I passed. Never thanked you.”

“But you still quit school at the end of sophomore year.”

That had hurt and upset Grandma Millie.

“Why?” She didn’t think he’d answer. He’d ignored her earlier questions.

“This is your thank you, Chloe.” He took the dish from her and put it off to the side of the counter. “Everything you see, hear, and taste today at The Wild Side stays in the vault.

And as he spoke, he walked a circle around her and mimed zipping her lips.

“I mean it. Don’t bring the three Ms here for a peek. Don’t tell them what you saw, what you heard, what you tasted.”

“And you’ll help me with a recipe?”

“Thought you were zipping.”

“But if we’re making a deal, if you’re thanking me, I should know what I’m getting.”

“A few lessons. That’s it.”

She nodded. That was more than generous, but she had a million questions. “Should I bring my dish for tasting?” She picked it up again off the counter.

“No. That’s for later.”

Probably to save her feelings from the critique of his team, she thought, humbled further.

“Lesson one,” he said. “Focus. Listen. Don’t talk.”

*

His crew’s shockwhen Chloe followed him into the main dining room was palpable. Hannah had swung out the long arm of the bar that separated the kitchen so they could eat and see the trees along the river. The mid-morning sky was clear, cold, beautiful, and light flooded the space. Finally. Maybe his need for secrecy had been a bit obsessive. He felt like a mole, and the mood of his crew was definitely brighter, more cheerful.

Clara instructed Lucas on how to make a cherry bounce in the bar area, and Rebekah, still pissed, her slim body radiating aggression, peeled the brown paper off the accordion doors in long strips.

“You’re just going to have to put it up again,” he stated, barely keeping his temper as tension hummed through him.

“Done with working in the dark and secret.”

“Becca…”

Chloe reached out, rested her delicate hand on the small of his back, and he felt her touch sizzle all the way to his spine.

“She’s right,” Chloe said quietly behind him. “Rustin.” She walked around him so she could face him. Her slightly mismatched eyes were wide and earnest, and the light streaming through one of the windows caught her creamy skin and high cheekbones, highlighting her in a dewy glow that looked otherworldly.

“You’re back in Belmont. You’re home. It’s time to flex. Show everyone who you are.” She smiled, sweetly. “You’ve worked hard. Taken risks. Won. Savor your victory and make your stand.”

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