Snowflakes and Coffee Cakes (8 page)

“We could get robbed,” Derek warns Sam, “leaving the place practically empty like that.”

She pulls a maple-frosted doughnut from the box and sets it on a napkin in front of him. “He’s nicer after he eats,” she calls to Vera while heading toward the back office.

Derek watches her go, then turns to Vera. “What do you need?”

“Oh.” She adjusts her shoulder bag strap. “Well I didn’t know if you maybe carried pet bowls. And a cat bed. I guess that barn cat’s sticking around, so I thought I could at least make him comfortable and give him some decent food. You know,” she adds while raising an eyebrow, “besides mice.”

Derek picks up the wet gloves and walks over to the far side of the store, stepping around the yellow lab sleeping in front of the electrical aisle. “Watch out for Zeus,” he says over his shoulder. “He’s my father’s dog.”

“The store mascot?” Vera asks from behind him.

“Something like that. He pretty much overlooks his kingdom, which
is
the store,” Derek explains. He heads down an aisle of leashes and collars and catnip toys, with pet beds and bowls at the end. “There you go,” he tells her while shoving the wet gloves in his cargo jacket pocket. Vera stands beside him looking at various silver bowls and ceramic dishes when he checks his watch. “You should be all set now. You and your cat.”

“Derek,” she says. “I was thinking.” She takes a quick breath, then goes on. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Make what up to me?”

“The whole birthday thing, from a couple weeks ago. Because when you saw me and Greg at Cedar Ridge Tavern, well, it wasn’t what you thought it was.”

“And that would be?”

“I don’t know. That I’m seeing him or something and stood you up. Because I didn’t.”

He rubs his knuckle along his jaw, looking at the cat bowls in front of them. “Yeah, sure,” he finally says. “Okay.”

“Really? Because I could so go for some pasta and Bella’s is running a special. Are you free tonight? My treat?”

“The Italian place?” He pushes up his jacket sleeve, which is damp still from washing the boat, and checks his watch again. “I’ll be done here around five. Pasta sounds good, Vera. On one condition, though.”

“What’s that?” she asks as her hand reaches out from beneath the poncho and picks up a cat bowl.

“It’s on me, seriously.”

“But I owe you one, for showing up at my nonexistent party.” She drops the bowl into a small store basket hooked on her arm. “Which I’m still sorry about.”

“Forget about that, okay? My treat, or no deal.”

“Fine, then.”

“Okay. I’ll pick you up, Vera, after work. And stick with the shallow bowls.”

“The what? Shallow?”

“For the cat.” He walks away, headed toward that maple-frosted, his wet work boots squeaking on the wood floor. “They like the shallow bowls, it’s easier for them to eat out of.”

*  *  *

Joel’s Bar and Grille is on Main Street, not too far from the firehouse and a few blocks past The Green. A nursery, small shops, the historical society and a pizza place are close by, too. Derek’s always thought that its location gives it an intimate neighborhood feel, the way it’s within walking distance of so many places. The bar is tucked into a low brick building and you could almost pass by it unnoticed if it weren’t for the changing neon signs that management switches up in the front window, depending on the event, the season. They park near The Green and Vera walks beside him with a soft brown scarf tucked into her cropped tweed jacket, brown suede gloves on her hands.

“Wasn’t that good?” she asks. “Bella’s food is just like homemade.”

“Never had a better penne with sausage and peppers. A little wine now, with some nice company, what more could a guy want?”

“Ha, check it out,” she says when they get closer to the bar and its red neon Christmas bells blinking on and off as though they’re chiming a happy song.

“Getting a jump on the season.” Derek opens the door and steps back for her to go in ahead of him. The commotion and festivities inside are infectious, with waitresses stringing silver garland and colored twinkly lights throughout the bar. Another is stacking Christmas records in the old jukebox, and the rock and roll carols are already playing.

“Hey guys, we meet again,” Samantha says as she pulls her coat on and nears them. A couple of her friends walk beside her, bundled up and ready to leave. “What’s up?” She eyes them with a mischievous grin while pulling her thick black hair from her coat collar.

“Not much,” Derek answers. “Just having a drink.”

Samantha wraps a wool scarf around her neck and sends a wink their way. “Make it a sweet one!” she says while breezing past, pulling the door open to the cold night.

Derek touches Vera’s elbow and points to the raised bar. “Let’s grab a seat.” He guides her over, saying a quick hello to a few familiar faces when they pass small, square tables clustered beside a dance floor. They sit at the far end of the bar, away from the mounted television where it’s a little quieter. “Wine?” he asks her, and when she nods, he orders two glasses.

“I talked to my mom today,” Vera tells him as she slips out of her jacket. He takes it from her and drapes it on the back of her stool. “The swelling’s gone and her foot’s feeling so much better.”

“Glad to hear it,” Derek says as the bartender sets down their glasses.

“Hey Derek, my man,” the bartender greets him. “How’s things?”

“What’s up, Kevin? I’m hanging in there.” Derek takes a sip of the wine. “Busy tonight, no?”

“Tis the season,” Kevin tells him as he moves on to take another order.

A couple waitresses continue decorating, one draping garland along the half-wall behind them, the other hanging silver and gold ornaments in the greens.

“So my mom? She wanted to stop by and help me clean out the barn this week, but I told her no way. Maybe in a couple weeks, when she can really use her foot easily.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Definitely. But I plan on getting in there tomorrow to sweep it out and toss some old stuff, now that I’m safe from wild animals, thanks to you,” she says with a smile, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “You know, catching that beast. Who, I must say, couldn’t be more gentle. He’s the sweetest barn cat.”

“You should probably take him to the vet for shots, keep him healthy.”

“Already done. With a clean bill of health. He’ll be good company while I’m working out there in the old Christmas Barn.”

“Hang on a second.” Derek starts to stand. “Speaking of the barn, I have a little something for you. It was for your housewarming party, but I didn’t have a chance to give it to you that night.”

“Oh that’s so nice, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s out in my truck, let me go get it.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “You’ll wait here?”

“Hey, you two.” They both look back at Kevin, tending bar and having a few laughs with the patrons. “Holiday cheer’s begun,” he says while pointing to the mistletoe hanging above them at the bar, raising an eyebrow.

Derek and Vera glance up together at the sprig of mistletoe with a red bow curled around it, and both laugh him off. “No, that’s okay,” Vera says, a little flustered.

“Just friends, Kev,” Derek adds.

“Right, Coop.” The bartender crosses his arms in front of him and eyes them until they have to look away from him and at each other.

Derek silently takes his seat on the stool beside Vera and now that he’s looking at her, he can’t take his eyes off hers. She gives him a small smile and starts to say something, but whatever it is, he doesn’t know. Because she stops when he raises his open hand to her neck, touching it alongside her face. “Come here, friend,” he whispers as he leans over and kisses her. But it’s what happens next that surprises him. Because he thought, really, he’d just keep the bartender quiet and give in, not wanting to hurt Vera’s feelings, either. And she starts to pull away, but then it all changes amidst the music and clamor of the bar and he feels her kiss him back, feels her smile beneath his kiss, and when her hand lifts to touch his hand, well, he can’t help it really. His other hand rises to cradle her face as he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in her thick blonde hair, the moment soft and festive and startling all at once.

“Just friends, like hell,” he hears Kevin say under his breath, followed by a low whistle as he turns and heads down the length of the bar.

Derek pulls away then, but not before kissing her again, briefly, once then twice. With his hands cupping her face, she says something softly. “What’s that?” he asks, tipping his head to hear her above the talking voices and music rocking the halls with songs of jolly and glasses clinking and chairs and bar stools scraping.

“I said,” Vera answers, “I guess you gave
him
something to think about.”

Derek looks down the bar at Kevin, then stands beside her, his hand moving a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah,” he says. “Me, too.” He shifts his fleece trail jacket on his shoulders and reaches for a long swallow of his wine. “Come on, it’s late. I’ll get you home.” When she stands, he lifts her coat off her stool and sets it on her shoulders, his arm staying around her as he walks her down around the tables and to the night outside. Okay, and he throws a quick glance back at that darn mistletoe, too.

Chapter Ten

THE TREES BEYOND HER BARN are stark against the blue sky, their branches bare now. Vera imagines the cove water is just as stark, crystal blue and cold this blustery November morning. That’s what she notices when she steps back after hooking her new barn star on the plank of wood right beside the barn doorway—the blue sky stretching above the barn first, then the deep burgundy painted barn star.
Every barn needs a star
Derek told her when he gave her the housewarming gift last night. And now, after a long second standing there admiring it, a second when her fingers reach up to touch the side of her face remembering his mistletoe kiss, she whispers, “Perfect.”

A gust of icy wind moves her to open the red-painted door and hurry inside. She needs to make serious progress on getting the space ready for the Marches. The floors had been swept in the past few days, with a particular gray tabby cat chasing after her swooshing broom. The many, many wall shelves were damp-wiped as well. There is no telling how much space the Marches need, but the shelves make for great storage of smaller items.

In the back, a lean-to was once tacked onto the side of the barn. She hadn’t ventured in there yet, but with everything else done, that’s where she heads now. The door sticks until she puts both hands on the doorknob and wrenches it toward her. “Oh, no,” she says, reaching up for a string hanging from a bare bulb light fixture. Boxes upon sealed boxes are stacked, floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall. “What the heck.” With her gloved hand, she swipes a layer of dust off one, then wipes it on her old flannel shirt while reading the yellowed shipping label still affixed to it. It’s addressed to the Christmas Barn.

“Huh.” The box flaps are tucked inside each other, so she pulls them open and takes a look, lifting an envelope left on top first and reading the letter tucked inside. Then, brushing aside crumpled paper in disbelief, she finds a bright red and gold decorative sleigh with a soft layer of artificial snow. “How do you like that?” she asks while lifting it all out and setting it on one of her recently-cleaned barn shelves. There’s more in the box, off to the side: a lamppost, and pretty little gift boxes festively wrapped, meant to fill the sled.

She pulls another box off the stack and brings it to the center of the barn where the lighting is better, setting it on a small table. This one holds hundreds of dangling gold snowflake ornaments, which she begins to gently hang from random hooks and nails on the walls, and climbing up to the loft, from ceiling beams too. “This can’t be.” Shining snowflakes glimmer in shafts of dusty sunlight coming in through the paned windows.

But if she’s learned anything these past few months, it’s that
anything
can be. She can be a local town paper part-time reporter; she can be the owner of a drafty, historic house; she can watch the skies from her own widow’s walk;
and
she can be the proprietor now, apparently, of the complete Christmas Barn inventory left behind and long-forgotten.

Another box is filled with an assortment of sleigh bells and she strings a miniature set along the red sleigh on the table, jumping when more bells ring behind her. The big tabby cat is crouched inside the box, pawing at the bells over and over again, sliding them out onto the floor, pouncing on them and filling the barn with a melody of happy jingles.

She slowly turns around, taking in the sight of the few decorations she set out, then laughs when the gold sleigh bells ring again. “Oh those jingles!” she tells the barn cat as his two front paws bat a large bell across the freshly-swept floor. “Jingles, jingles, jingles,” she says again, smiling as the cat runs past. “I guess you’ve got a name now.”

*  *  *

“Holy cow,” Brooke says when she arrives with fresh-brewed coffee and a cinnamon coffee cake two hours later. “I am so time travelling.” She sets down the food delivery and walks through the barn, her cowboy boots clomping on the floor.

“It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Vera asks. What started with a few gold snowflakes and one red sleigh has turned into nutcrackers with rosy cheeks and wreaths with red bows and Christmas lanterns and twinkling lights and red-feathered cardinals and Santas and snowmen. “And I haven’t even made a dent in the tons of decorations, which are stacked right up to the ceiling.”

Brooke walks over to the storage room with Vera standing behind her, peering over her shoulder at the boxed inventory.

“I took out everything you see already just from sheer disbelief,” Vera explains. “Don’t touch anything, because I’m telling you it’s like some sort of Christmas magic takes over and you have to open another, then another.”

“Wow!” Brooke looks the room up and down, surmising the cartons lined against the walls. “The whole Christmas Barn must be in here.”

“It seriously is. And check this out.” Vera hands her a folded piece of paper. “I found it in an envelope in the first box I opened.”