Christmas Wishes Part 3 - Diana Palmer Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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She said you were snuggled up, all cozy-like.” Her eyes twinkle with unshed tears.

      “Emma Mae’s a busybody. It’s not a date. We’re just going to the carols together. As friends. No one even mentioned the D word. Plus that phone of his started bleating out all over the place again. Makes me wonder what he’s hiding. Kind of puts a pall over things.”

      Knitting her brow, she glances over at the shop, as if she can discern from here what Damon’s secret is. “Surely someone knows something about why he suddenly back.”

      I follow her gaze. Damon’s gesticulating wildly to the local sheriff, probably about the boys attempting to shoplift earlier that day. Poor kids, trying to get their mamma a present on account of their daddy walking out not so long ago. At least Damon had a heart once he heard their story. He gave them a box of small goods to take home to their mamma, as long as they promised never to steal again.

      “I think,” CeeCee says, dragging her eyes back to mine, “he’s probably just tying up loose ends back in New Orleans. You said he had a shop there, right?”

      “CeeCee, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m just happy to go to the carols with someone other than myself. Plus, it’ll set tongues wagging, so that’s a bonus too.”

      She nods. “Sure as shooting will. Now you all ready for that fancy shindig tomorrow?”

      “I think so. I’m going to stay back tonight and do as much prep as I can, then Damon and I’ll head on over about lunchtime to set up. You sure you’ll be OK by yourself? It’s been busy these last few days.”

      “I’m sure. If I get stuck Walt said Janey’s just a phone call away. Folk ‘round here won’t mind waiting if there’s a queue. I’ll ply them with candy-cane coffee, or some such. You don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cept Damon.”

      “‘Cept Damon?” I copy, arching my eyebrows.

      CeeCee fusses with her hair, and tries to look innocent. “You know what I mean.”

       Chapter Seven

      “So far so good,” Damon says, setting down a tray of empty Chinese soup spoons that moments before had been filled with tuna and mango ceviche.

      “Wow, that was quick. Are we making enough?” We’re halfway through, and so far it doesn’t look as though people are slowing down with the food.

      Damon winks. “We’ll have plenty, don’t you worry. The noise level goes up every time I go out there, and I hazard a guess that the alcohol consumption is rising right along with that noise. People are starting to dance. I think I saw the mayor doing Gangnam Style…”

      “Oh, golly! I can’t wait to see pictures of that.”

      Damon’s right. If anything we’ve over-catered. I want to make sure we’re known for quality food, and plenty of it.

      “What’s next?” Damon says, standing so close I feel his breath on my neck. Goose bumps break out on my skin, and I blush at the thought of him noticing them.

      I clap my hands together. “OK, we need to slice the turkey and cranberry tart, and assemble the choux pastries—”

      “With rare beef and horseradish?” Damon interrupts.

      “Yes, good memory. Be careful with the choux…”

      “I know, I’ll treat it like I would a lady, gentle and lovingly.”

      I scoff and roll my eyes at Damon. “Can you get any cheesier?”

      He grins back at me and I notice when he’s really smiling he has these teeny tiny little dimples, which are inordinately adorable on a fully grown man.

      Damon takes the tart from the oven, and begins slicing it. The scent of roasted turkey makes my mouth water. Before I know it, Damon’s beside me again. “Here, try it.” He slides a small corner of the tart into my mouth. It takes me by surprise and, in a rush to close my mouth lest I stand gawping, I feel my lips brush his fingertips. He leaves them there for what feels like for ever.

      “Good?” he asks.

      I nod. Unable to speak and not only because I’m chewing.

      His expression changes, to something more serious. “You have to try new things once in a while, don’t you think?”

      I mumble agreement, and look down to the smoked-salmon blinis I’m making. Damon knows I always try my food before I send it out, so I know he isn’t talking about the canapés. He goes back to the tart, and I let out a breath I’ve been holding.

      The evening progresses so fast, I’m almost sad to think we’re just about done.

      Damon has a tea towel slung over his shoulder and is busy stacking the multitude of dishes into the industrial-sized dishwasher.

      “Glad to see you know how to work one of those,” I say. “You’ll make someone a mighty fine husband one day.”

      He takes the tea towel from his shoulder and hangs it on the oven rail. “Oh, yeah? A man who cooks and cleans — you think there’s a market out there for that?”

      “Depends — what else can you do that might satisfy a lady?” The words tumble from my mouth before I’m able to stop them. I spin on my heel and head to the bathroom before he can respond. As I reach the door, laughter spills from me. I can’t believe I just said that.

       Chapter Eight

      Christmas Eve and the excitement is palpable. The magic of Christmas never fails to amaze me. I bawled like a baby not two hours ago, when we delivered our gingerbread house to the children’s hospital in Springfield. Damon came up with the idea when we were musing what to do with it. Those courageous kids’ eyes went so wide when they saw four of us carry it in. We set it up nice and pretty in the games room. CeeCee made the kids gift bags full of treats, and they were so excited, it made my heart skip a beat. Just thinking of them being away from home at Christmas, and being so brave, made me appreciate everything I had in my life. I gave them all great big hugs before we left, and promised them we’d return for new year with some party supplies.

      It’s arctic out. I shrug down into my jacket as CeeCee and I close the shop, and breathe a sigh of relief. That’s work over for us for a few days. No more baking and no more late nights.

      “So,” CeeCee says. “I’ll see you tonight at the carols. I’m gonna make us a little feast, so you two lovebirds don’t worry about a thing. Just concentrate on getting yourself prettied up.” She casts a cursory glance from my head to my toes. “You not gonna wear jeans, sugar plum.”

      “Firstly, we’re not lovebirds. Secondly, I’m planning on wearing a dress, but not if you’re going to make it into something it isn’t.” I arch my brow, and try to stare CeeCee down, but I know from experience I won’t win this battle.

      “Most the girls in town would give their eye teeth to have your figure, and you hide it behind those old jeans, and scruffy sweaters. You got it, flaunt it, I say.”

      “Oh, please, CeeCee…”

      “There’s not a man gonna be able to resist you, especially the fine thing across the way, mmm hmm.”

      “You sound like you want to eat him.”

      She guffaws, her beautiful face crinkling up like paper. “You got that right — like gooey caramel, that boy.”

      Laughter barrels out of us, and I know we don’t sound very gentle.

      “You go on now, and get yourself ready. I’ll see you at the town hall.”

      I

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