Page 7 of A Taste of Christmas Magic

Chloe huffed out a breath and rapped again.

“Evermore,” she misquoted. Rustin Wildish ignoring her wasn’t exactly news, but Chloe had stuffed both feet in her mouth tonight in front of Grandma Millie and her cousins, and now she had to own it. She was going to prove that she was a true Maye—giving and competent. Tackling the Movable Feast might be the one thing she could do to get her family and the town to finally see her as an adult. She’d be poised, no longer a goofy kid.

She dug in her small backpack she used as a purse for the key to the side kitchen door, as she often met the early morning delivery drivers for Grandma Millie. Hopefully, the locks hadn’t been changed during the remodel.

Palming her brass cleft–shaped key chain, Chloe searched for the right key.

“Ready or not, Rustin, here I come.”

Chapter Three

Rustin stared atthe kitchen’s side door as it spookily moved inward. Chloe walked through still wearing the ugly brown medieval costume that made her look like she’d been trussed up in a burlap sack from the feed store.

“How’d you get in?” He growled like some feral animal. Not polite, but the Mayes irritated him. Chloe rankled less than the others, but with her otherworldly vibe and unblinking blue-purple stare—the iris of one eye was darker, more purpled than the other—she’d unsettled him when they’d been kids. She’d followed him like a puppy as a kid, totally irritating him, and that was the seed of a lot of teasing. But he’d also felt protective of her, which had irritated him more.

Chloe was a Maye, even if she had a different last name. She’d grown up with Miss Millie in her elegant mansion, steeped in family privilege and tradition. Chloe didn’t need his sympathy or anything else.

She grinned infectiously. Her face scrunched—a little like a pug. Her slightly off-colored eyes light up, and her smiled stretched to reveal small, straight, white teeth, and more gum than it should. She didn’t have Jessica’s beauty, but she had something that drew him, but he resisted. Too much history. And Chloe still looked like she had as a kid: knowing, mischievous, inviting him in on the joke. And her smile invited him to smile back.

She dangled a key and swung it back and forth on a key chain shaped like a music note.

“Give it here.” He held out his hand. This was his kitchen. His home. He owned it. He was the boss, and no Maye could come and go as they pleased. He’d covered all the windows for a reason, even though he’d despised shutting out the light. No Maye could assuage their curiosity without his permission. He’d only discussed his plans with Miss Millie.

“Grandma Millie gave it to me a few years ago. I sometimes meet the early morning delivery vans before I head to the high school for work—or at least I did.” Her voice cracked with uncertainty.

“What are you doing here Clo Beau?”

She would not soften him. He’d get the key back tonight.

“Eeeeew.” She made a dead-on impression of the yuck emoji that nearly made him smile. “I can’t believe you remember that wretched nickname! I never looked like a boy! Never! Right? I didn’t? And that was thenicestthing people teased me with.”

He crossed his arms. Name-calling should be beneath him. He’d certainly been called too many unpleasant and often unwarranted names before he’d lit out of Belmont the day after he turned seventeen.

“Okay,” she acknowledged as if he’d spoken. “It was a bad haircut. And yes, I looked like I had a case of mange.”

He stared at her, astonished that she kept digging deeper. Mayes never admitted they were wrong.

“And no one let me forget it. But I waseight.”

“It’s late,” he said, unwilling to be amused. “I gotta close up.”

And that was all the explanation he’d give her, even though her eyes and mouth rounded, full of questions.

“Hand over the key and get on home to your glittering mansion in the park.” He could taste the bitterness and worked to dial it back.

“You can’t boss me around, Rustin.” Chloe stuck out her pointy chin, and that small act of defiance made him want to grab it. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t that tired, or desperate. Playing games with a Maye was suicide.

“And you can’t kick me out of Millie’s. I can close up for you if you have some hot date with a pillow or something else.”

He bit back a sigh. She’d never had a filter. Why should he think twelve years would have given her one?

“I need to think, and this is where I do my best—” She finally looked around the kitchen, her gaze ping-ponging. “What?” She moistened her bottom lip and turned in a circle, taking in all of the space. “I knew Grandma Millie was remodeling, buteverythinglooks so different.”

She reached out and touched the massive, distressed metal island that separated the open kitchen from the main dining room. The island was hinged so that it could form a bar for more seating.

“Wow,” she breathed, turning a slow circle, and he had the urge to grab her, throw her out. “It’s…it’s how I always imagined you.” She smiled at him. “But why…?”

“It’s not Millie’s anymore.” The words shot out of his mouth before his brain kicked in.

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