A Saltwater Christmas (The Southern Isles #1)

Chapter Fifteen

I t wasn’t like Allie had taken an extra-long shower. It only took an extra five minutes to shave her legs. But when she walked into the hallway, she distinctly heard two male voices talking in the kitchen. It was becoming normal to sprint to her room from the bathroom. Not only was she a soaked rat, but Sam and Joey were clearly having a full-on conversation about something. What did they have to talk about aside from the weather and her?

She pulled on her underthings as quickly as she could and rifled through her closet for a clean sweatshirt and yoga pants. They wouldn’t mention personal things, right? Like making out on the couch? Men didn’t talk about that stuff. Oh, please, don’t let them talk about that stuff. The last thing she needed was for the only two men on her roster to band together and turn against her. Women may have made progress on the sexual freedom front, but in the South, there were still the girls you hooked up with and the girls you took home to Mama. She needed to hurry. She brushed her long wet hair, added a touch of blush, lip gloss, and mascara, and it was time to scurry into the kitchen and break up whatever happened to be going down.

They were standing by the Christmas tree. Sam was showing Joey an ornament Allie hadn’t even noticed. He had several special ones interspersed with regular red plastic orbs. It was a photo of Buttercup in an army green tactical vest. “Training is all about positive reinforcement,” Sam said. “But first I had to build a relationship with her.” He looked directly at Allie when he said the last part.

“Hi, Joey,” Allie said, walking up to them. “Looks like you met my roommate.” It sounded strange to say “roommate.” She should’ve called him by his name. Roommate felt diminishing. He was more than just a roommate. Just like Joey might be more than just a coworker.

“Hey,” Joey said. “Sorry for the unannounced visit, but I wanted to bring you your phone. Jessa said you left it at work.” He handed her the pink-cased phone with the dead black screen. “It’s not charged.” His voice quavered like he was nervous. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to open it or something.” Next, he handed her the brown bucket bag he had in his other hand—her purse.

“Of course not,” Allie said, happy to have her things back. “Thank you so much.” She bent to scratch Cuppie on the head, caught up in the relief of having her phone back. Normally, she couldn’t go half an hour without it or her anxiety would skyrocket. What if there was an emergency and she needed to dial 911? What if there was a weather alert? What if the country was under attack and she had no way of knowing?

“Is Buttercup a good swimmer?” Joey asked Sam. “Her paws are huge.”

“Very,” Sam said in his typical authoritative way. He didn’t appear to be in competition with Joey at all. “She’s fast. The wolf in her can swim forever.”

At the sound of Sam’s voice, Allie knew instantly why she’d been okay for an entire day without her phone. It was because Sam made her feel safe.

Joey seemed impressed. “Cool.”

Allie felt addled, a little shaken, or as her mother would say, a bubble off plumb . She was hyperaware that she was the only female in the house, and both men were, in different ways, dangerous. She had to say something normal, and be part of the conversation.

“Did you lose power at your place?”

Joey shook his head. “Some parts of Charleston went out, but not at my place.”

Allie didn’t know that he lived in Charleston. She’d assumed he had a place on the island. “You’re in Charleston?”

He nodded. “I rent an old kitchen house behind one of the historic mansions south of Broad.”

“That’s so cool!”

Joey seemed pleased with her reaction. “You busy? I can take you out there now, show it to you. We could grab dinner somewhere on Bay Street.”

Automatically, she looked over to Sam. He made intense eye contact but nothing else. His face was absolutely expressionless.

“My hair is wet.” It was all she could think of to say. Joey was asking her on a date, and just one day ago she would have been giddy. Now, she felt only dread.

“I can wait.” Joey moved to the couch and sat like he already had his answer.

That move seriously irked Allie. She hadn’t said yes.

It took a second, but just in time, Sam spoke up like she was supposed to know what he was talking about. “Fred will probably understand. But we did make a promise to him.”

She knew he was trying to help her, so she went along with it. “Right,” she agreed. “I would feel bad about going back on my word.”

Joey stood. “Oh, are y’all helping Fred today?”

Allie nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Maybe I can see Charleston another time.” She didn’t say with you on purpose. After her night with Sam, she couldn’t imagine going to another man’s home or having dinner with him at some fancy place on Bay Street. But the look on Joey’s face was her penance for changing her mind. He seemed genuinely disappointed. Which was strange, because he hadn’t seemed interested at all Friday night at the winery. She’d been wholly and obviously pursuing him, and he’d pushed her away.

“What does Fred need help with?” Joey asked.

Panic. Complete and utter panic.

“Christmas cookies,” Sam said easily. “Allie’s mama has a secret family recipe she promised to share.”

Allie nodded with a smile as she wondered how Sam knew that her mama had a secret family recipe for Christmas cookies. Of course, every Southern girl had a secret family recipe for something. The cookie part must have been a lucky guess.

It appeared as if Joey believed them. “Alright, y’all. I guess I’ll head on out, then.” Cuppie led the way to the front door like she wanted to help speed up the process. “See you at work tomorrow, Allie.”

Allie said goodbye, then yelled another thank-you for bringing her purse and her phone. As soon as she shut the front door, she realized she hadn’t apologized for her drunken flirtations. Oh, well, waiting until Monday probably wouldn’t hurt. She plugged in her phone and set it on the table next to the couch. “Well,” she said to Sam, “you said it, so now we have to do it.”

“Calling Fred now,” he said, putting his phone to his ear.

An hour later, Allie’s hair was blow-dried and pulled up in a ponytail. Fred handed them both candy-cane-striped aprons, and Sam got busy chopping Hershey bars to mix with unsweetened chocolate chips. The secret part to Allie’s mother’s chocolate pinwheel cookies was the mixture of the sweet and unsweet chocolates, plus the tiniest pinch of salt. The rest was like most cookies—butter, flour, sugar, eggs, and vanilla. The pinwheel part came with two batches of dough, one plain white and one made brown by mixing it with the melted chocolate. They were rolled out, stuck together, rolled up, chilled, sliced, and finally, baked, resulting in a cookie that looked like a whirly pop.

Allie’s eyes kept going to Sam’s hands as he worked. They were thick with callouses—a working man’s hands. She remembered them so vividly on her cheek, in her hair, on her lower back. Fred hovered around them in his navy blue jumpsuit, his toothpick getting shorter and shorter as he flipped it and chewed. Country music crooned loud from ceiling speakers and, according to Fred, not one person had come into the store that morning, but they should brace themselves because the after-church crowd was due to hit soon.

Something about the cookies made Allie feel nostalgic. As soon as she put two more trays in the oven, she pulled out her phone to text her mother. She’d been in such a hurry to get ready to drive over to Fred’s gas station that she’d barely looked at all of the unopened texts since Friday. There were at least fifty from Jessa and Joey. And one from her mother.

She clicked on her mother’s text first. “I love you, sweet girl. I will miss you this Christmas.” Immediately, Allie’s stomach hurt. The ball was always in Allie’s court. Why was Allie the one who had to travel? If her mother really cared, she would make the effort. And if she really cared, she wouldn’t have thrown out Allie’s things. And if she really cared, she wouldn’t have immediately replaced Allie’s dad with some other man. And, if she really cared, she wouldn’t send her daughter guilt-inducing texts. So, no. She would not be going there for Christmas.

Next, she clicked on Jessa’s texts, which consisted of varying versions of “Are you okay” and “Call me, please.”

Then she clicked on Joey’s. The man had practically written a book. “I don’t blame you for ignoring me,” read the most recent. “But if you’re still interested in dating me, there are things you need to know.”

Oh, no. Allie cringed. Dating him? Oh, no, no, no. What had she done? She made sure Sam wasn’t looking over her shoulder before she read on, knowing intuitively that whatever was coming wasn’t going to be good.

According to Joey, it was time for him to invest in a woman again. He’d been trying to get over the breakup with his ex-girlfriend for the past two months. Rachel had been smart, sensitive, and feminine, and apparently, these and other things about Allie had reminded him of her.

It was like getting slapped in the face by her own hand. The whole reason she’d been attracted to him was because he reminded her of Mark. Now, there he was saying that she reminded him of Rachel. But instead of pursuing her because of their similarities, he had immediately friend-zoned her. Which was exactly what she should have done with him.

His texts were filled with regret. He shouldn’t have bought her coffee or asked her to lunch. He’d been trying to be a good coworker. But when he was doing all of that, he had no idea that she liked him in that way . And now he was rethinking everything. He found her attractive and would like to see where things led, as long as they agreed to keep their work lives professional. And, maybe by being with someone who reminded him of his ex, he would be able to deal directly with that past pain and let go faster. His wordy, stream-of-consciousness paragraphs went around and around. It was like he was trying to convince himself of something, but was desperately unsure. The twenty-odd paragraphs he sent were absolutely the least romantic things she’d ever read. As a matter of fact, his words made her feel dirty—like she’d been trying to convince a reluctant virgin to have sex.

The buzzer on Fred’s commercial oven brought her back to the present. Sam slipped mitts on both hands and pulled the large trays from the oven. “These might be the prettiest cookies I’ve ever seen,” he said.

Allie didn’t realize how much she needed Sam’s positivity in that moment—how much she needed his approval—until she realized that with each word he spoke, she felt better.

“Your mama must be a good cook. These look like a pastry chef made them.” He pulled off the mitts and popped a steaming-hot corner of a cookie into his mouth. “Mmm. They do not disappoint. You should definitely keep this recipe a secret. You might be onto something here.”

Fred was like a giant brought in by the smell. Fee fi fo fum . “Good Lord, Miss Allie. These are mighty pretty. And they smell better than gingerbread.”

“Thanks,” she said, no longer feeling off-kilter. “They smell like the Christmases of my childhood. Mama said these were the best plate fillers.”

“I tell you what,” Fred said with a mouth full of cookie, “the good people of Goose Island are gonna thank you. These might not last a day.”

“You’re supposed to let those cool first.” She laughed.

They both shook their heads at her, Fred with crumbs in his beard.

“Y’all got plans for Christmas?” Fred asked.

Allie looked to Sam.

“My old commanding officer is going to stop by,” Sam said.

Allie’s brow furrowed. “And I’m going to the beach.”

“You’re not celebrating?” Fred asked.

“Not last year, and not this year either.” For the first time, she added, “But I’ll get back to it eventually.”

“No presents?” Fred said. “No big meal? No family?”

She caught Sam watching her carefully as she spoke. “My dad died three years ago. Three years ago tomorrow, actually, and my mother reacted by going way over the top with the traditions. I just want to take it easy.”

Fred nodded, his bulbous nose highlighted by his fluffy beard and bookended by his twinkling eyes. “I noticed you didn’t have a stocking up.”

“Pretty sure Santa is not planning to squeeze himself down my chimney and fill my sock with goodies.” There was an exchange of some sort between Fred and Sam. It was just a glance, but Allie saw it. “Stop it, you two. I don’t need anyone to fill my stocking or rescue me. It is my choice to make, and I choose to do something else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Fred said with a mock salute. Sam copied him, his salute crisp and genuine.

After they’d cleaned up Fred’s kitchen and placed the cooled cookies in the glass display, Sam led Allie to the car. “So, tomorrow is the day, huh?”

She knew immediately what he was talking about. “Yes, and when I get home from work, I will probably go straight to my room, so don’t worry about me or anything. I’ll just want to be alone.”

“I’ll bring you some dinner.” He held the passenger door open for her.

“I won’t want to eat it.” She climbed in, and he shut the door and ran around.

“How do you know?” he asked as he buckled.

“Because just thinking about tomorrow makes me lose my appetite.”

He was quiet as they pulled onto the road leading home. Then he suddenly broke the silence. “How’d he die?”

“Cancer.”

“How long did he fight?”

“More than two years.”

He nodded like he was deep in thought. “Have you heard of anticipatory grief?”

“No.”

“Can I tell you?”

She nodded, noting how careful he was with her.

“Well, grief doesn’t actually start on the day a person dies. It starts on the day you think there’s a chance it might happen. You’ve actually been grieving your dad to some degree for five years.”

Allie sat with that notion. “But it’s worse when he’s gone, and I can’t even talk to him about it.” Something burned in her stomach and chest. She wasn’t mad at Sam. But the burning felt like anger and self-pity and sadness and a desperate need for something she couldn’t have. “I’ll never, ever see him again. Do you know how final that is? My eyes miss his face. My ears miss the sound of his voice. Have you ever reached desperately for the hope that you once had, and it’s out of reach forever? There’s nothing you can do. No one you can beg or bribe or trade. You can’t wish or pray or negotiate your way out of it. It’s the emptiest, darkest thing.”

“I know,” Sam said simply.

She turned to the window and wiped tears from her eyes. Sam reached out and took her hand, steering with his weak left arm. He held her small hand in his large one until they parked in front of their cottage. “Hey,” he said before she opened her door. “If you change your mind, you’re invited to spend Christmas with me. Right here at home. No need to buy presents, sing songs, or watch any Christmas movies. You can just be with me.”

“But your commander is coming over.”

“It’ll be brief. I promise. It’s just a quick visit.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can.” She opened her car door and climbed out.

“What about giving up the pain for just one day? What about taking a break?” he asked from the other side of the car.

She thought about it for a moment. “I’m too mad. At God, at my mom, at myself. I guess you could say that I’m mad at everything and everybody.”

“Well, folks,” he joked, “it looks like we need ourselves a Christmas miracle.” They walked up the steps, and he unlocked the front door while Cuppie barked on the other side.

“Now you sound like a Hallmark movie.” She attempted to open the front door, but he held it closed.

“Hey,” he said. “Come here.” It was becoming a normal thing, the way he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her, resting his lips on the top of her head.

She began to pull away, but he held her tighter.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

Once again, the longer he held her, the more she relaxed. Even Cuppie must’ve sensed something good was happening on the other side of the door because she quieted. He was warm and solid, his heartbeat steady, and his T-shirt smelled like cookies. She melted into him, and without thinking first, raised her chin, needing his warmth, his strength, and the soft diversion of his lips on hers.

The door became a bulwark as they leaned into it, no worry for the strength of the hinges or latch, just an urgent need for connection. There was no trepidation, no thoughts of Joey, just a primal, pure, chemical attraction let loose once again. Every inch of her was on fire. She didn’t care that they were on the front porch and someone could walk up at any point and see them kissing. Nothing mattered but this man whose hands had made her mother’s Christmas cookies. The man who took her grief seriously and hugged her like he genuinely cared.

She pulled away to look at his face. He was flushed, his eyes glassy with desire, and he looked back at her in a way she’d never experienced before—like she was precious, like her kisses were special gifts, and her attention was all he wanted in the world. She started to question how he could like her so much so soon. He’d seen her at her worst. She’d been sassy and mean. Then she captured those negative thoughts and threw them away. Cherophobia . She would choose happiness, even if just for a moment. No thinking, just feeling. On her tiptoes, she kissed him again.

His lips were ready to receive her.