Page 40 of A Taste of Christmas Magic

“I saw it in the book,” she said.

“I’ll have to check it out.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I’ll need a taste tester. Original recipe first and then I play.”

Rustin made the wordplaysound dirty, and even though Chloe knew she might be punching above her weight, she wasn’t going to let those three bitches—fear, caution, and doubt—push her aside.

Chapter Ten

“Order up forCarl,” Chloe sang out, sticking her head out the window of the tricked-out Airstream. She grinned back at Rustin. “That was my favorite part of hanging out at Millie’s. Saying it at the Christmas Market is even cooler.”

He’d forgotten how she would sing outorder upin the voice of different singers or in different music genres. Chloe was a wicked, on-the-mark mimic.

How had I forgotten that?

Because his life had been a grind, and he’d been an angry, desperate, and resentful punk, determined to squeeze the sour out of every moment.

Was he different now? Could he relax enough to enjoy himself?

Again, his fascinated gaze settled on the smiling Chloe, who handed the food to Carl and his date, then propped her slender frame up on the tiny counter and stuck her body half out the window, her tongue curled out of her mouth.

“It’s so cold. I think it’s going to snow.”

She launched into “White Christmas,” and even though Rustin had done his best to avoid Christmas his entire life, he had to fight the urge to smile and join in singing the few lyrics he knew.

Chloe had been correct in her suggestions for the pop-up menu: Southern comfort food in easy-to-carry The Wild Side recyclable containers.

Using theSouthern Love Spellsbook as inspiration, Rustin had three versions of hush puppies: savory, crab and shrimp, and traditional. He also offered lightly fried chicken strips with a small waffle and a variety of drizzle sauces. Not the most inspired offering considering how his signature dishes were creative fusion blends. But he’d put his own personal spin on traditional, just a step off the path, considering his audience of small-town folk and families out to enjoy the local arts and crafts market selections. The small downtown lot was decorated, and artisans had red awnings in case of rain, but the night was clear and had dipped below freezing.

“Hey.” Chloe’s soft comment captured his attention. “Look at you. Look at this,” she encouraged, her proud gaze taking in Lucas—serving as his sous chef—and The Wild Side head bartender, Clara, serving two original Christmas-themed cocktails and mocktails as well as homemade hot chocolate, mulled wine, and Southern spiced coffee.

“You and your team have created an experience. Holiday memories for friends and families. Savor this moment, Rustin. You’ve accomplished so much.”

Her words hit him in the center mass of his chest, and it was all he could do to not walk away from his station and gather her in his arms. In the crush of the moment, he wanted to uncage his feelings, his thoughts, his belief that she, too, was part of The Wild Side and the pop-up she’d jokingly calledMore Wild. He, Rebekah, and Lucas had run with it.

She was so beautiful and full of life. Her enthusiasm and kindness were infectious. Goodness and light radiated from Chloe like a heat source.

He’d fought the pressure of his feelings for the past two weeks—preparing for the Movable Feast, seeing Chloe every day as she practiced her cooking skills, timing, focus, and organization. And then she’d thrown herself into helping trick out the Airstream after work every day.

She fit in with his crew now, and it felt like she’d always been a part of them. He no longer blamed the book, black magic, her rumored gypsy genes, or his bone-deep loneliness. Instead, he was grateful. For the first time in his life, he was enjoying the journey, not just focused on his next goal.

Seeing her shining, slightly mismatched eyes, wide smile, and general golden doodle enthusiasm about everything—the menu, the food, the absurd custom-made red beanies she’d knitted for the More Wild crew—had crushed to dust the last of his resistance.

Chloe was so warm, so sweet. His fascination was a battle born to be lost.

He didn’t want to be angry anymore, proving something to people who likely barely remembered him, judging by the way the mayor had brought his family by the More Wild and ordered three styles of hush puppies and hot chocolate for his grandchildren and then welcomed Rustin back to Belmont, congratulating him on becoming the first anchor for the Riverfront development. The mayor introduced him to his wife and family, shook his hand, and acted generally pleased to see him.

Chloe had fist-bumped him and made the cutest exploding sound, then hummed the theme fromThe Twilight Zoneand intoned, “In a world where the past no longer has power, one man is freed to…” she’d giggled. “Finish the sentence, Rustin. It’s your world.”

And as he cooked and was entertained by Chloe’s happy greetings to customers—she knew most of them—he contemplated the new world he wanted to build so he could complete Chloe’s teasing fill-in-the-sentence challenge.

*

Chloe felt sohappy she could burst. She and her small acapella choir of South Point Abbey students had finished their thirty-minute slot to sing their own arrangements of Christmas carols as they walked around the market and down Main Street.

“Y’all slayed,” she cheered the group of twelve students decked out in red with the knit hats with musical notes she’d made for them. “I’ll treat you all to a hot chocolate and some hush puppies. I know just the place.”

“Where the hottie chef works?” A couple of the girls perked up.

“Yum, I saw him too,” Lorelei and Shevawn said at the same time. They each licked one finger and made a sizzling sound.

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