Chapter 9 #2
“No problem. Let’s do it.” The tiredness left his face as he beamed down at me. I could tell he was happy I asked.
“The Bunger Farmhouse, as you know, burned down. Mrs. Bunger’s ex-husband ticked her off, so she got out the gasoline can. Divorces can bring out a lot of anger.”
“Sure can. We could say that her anger was on fire.”
“Excellent image. Thanks, Logan.”
“Of course. Happy to host.”
“Also…”
“Yes?”
“We’re going to need a stage and a catwalk for the burlesque performances.” I wrung my hands together. “I am so sorry to ask. It’s a ton of work. How about if we offer you free food at the bar until next Christmas?”
He laughed. “That is not necessary. I’m happy to build it. Still not clear about what a burlesque show is, but I do know how to get a stage and catwalk built.”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I knew you would. I’ll pay you for all the materials and the labor in addition to the free food.”
He shook his head, so generous. “I would never accept it. It’ll be my donation. Thanks for asking. It’ll be fun.”
Darned if he didn’t smile at me again. Warmed my heart.
Warmed other parts of my body, too. He always did that.
From seventh grade on, he gave me the zings and zaps.
Things got hot, heavy, and a bit out of control in high school.
I smiled, thinking of some of those…times.
I couldn’t help it. All the sudden, I was grinning like a Cheshire cat drunk on cream.
He grinned back.
I wanted to kiss him. My eyes dropped to his mouth.
His jaw was slightly unshaven. Gave him a darkish, sexy, bad-guy appearance.
His hair was a little longer, too. I saw him studying me.
I leaned toward him, a small step, a bit of a step.
His eyes changed; I saw it. I knew what he was thinking about—the same as me. He leaned toward me.
The door flung open, and five laughing people stumbled on out.
“Hey, Bellini! Hey, Logan,” they greeted us.
It was my cousin Beck O’Donnell, who was one of Logan’s best friends, and Colt Sanchez, also one of Logan’s best friends.
Plus, my cousins Jaxi O’Donnell and Helena Cruz O’Donnell, as well as Collins Aline, one of my friends from high school.
They held out their arms to greet us and pulled us into a goofy group hug.
I was chest to chest with Logan, and I did not mind at all.
I tipped my head up to see his reaction, and he started to laugh, so I did, too.
The opportunity for a kiss was gone. Thank heavens.
I thought.
Sort of.
On Sunday evening, I left the bar in Javier’s and Marco’s capable hands at about seven and went home to take care of my mother.
My aunt had left earlier to go to a Women’s Wine and Whine Party.
The town was bustling because the Christmas tree in the square was going to be officially lit up that night, colorful lights and all.
A local band would lead everyone in Christmas songs, free hot chocolate would be given out, and on and on.
It was like a Hallmark movie without all the cameras and a director frantically yelling at the actors.
As I wanted Christmas to quietly pass me by this year, as I had wanted every year for a long and cold time, I was glad to be in my truck and headed home.
My truck, nicknamed Alessandra, is an old, blue, rumbly behemoth I drove in high school that is built like a tank and totally reliable.
Logan and I used to roll around in the back on top of blankets.
“Mom, I’m home!” I called up the stairs.
I took time to pet all my cats, who purred and whirled around my legs.
Petunia wanted to be carried around my neck, and Mrs. Books shrieked at me since she wasn’t getting enough attention.
Sir Scott jumped from couch to love seat to chair, then stared at me, waiting for my exuberant praise of his athletic prowess.
My mom was in bed, a vanilla candle burning, staring at her Marry Me application. “I want to word this exactly right,” she told me. “Can you help me?”
“Yes. I’ll help you fill out an application so you can be on a reality TV show and scare the potential husband.
You know you’re going to be too much for him.
” I sat with her, the cats jumped up on the bed to help, and we filled out answers to different questions, discussing each one in depth as if we were planning a secret mission.
Her answers were outlandish and wild, because she had to “express myself fully.”
The doorbell rang at eight, and I headed downstairs. It was Jaxi, Helena, and Collins.
“Let’s go, Bellini,” Jaxi commanded. “We’re going to the Christmas tree lighting, and you’re coming with us, you shy elf.”
“No excuses!” Helena insisted. “La-la-la. My singing voice is ready.”
“Grab a bra and your coat!” Jaxi said. “Grab your Christmas courage!”
“No. Thank you,” I said. “Gee whiz. Cats and curses. Dogs and demons. I can’t go.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Collins said. “I don’t know about cats and curses and dogs and demons, but you need to get your little red-haired elf self into the Christmas spirit.
We know you don’t like Christmas, and we’re ignoring it.
The Christmas spirit wants you to open and inhale. ” She mimed opening up and inhaling.
“I am not going to inhale the Christmas spirit. That sounds like cannibalism. I smell like the bar. I smell like a hamburger. I smell like beer and wine and olives.”
“You’re going. And by the way, the Christmas spirit is not a body, so what you’re doing is not cannibalism,” Jaxi said, trying to sound wise. She mimed inhaling, too. Aren’t we funny?
“Logan is going to be there,” Collins said. “Beck and Colt told me. That’s why Jaxi told you to get your Christmas courage. They said they were going to force him to go. He hasn’t gone in years.”
I froze.
“Yes, indeedy,” Helena said. She snapped her fingers as if impressed with her own original thoughts. “I don’t know if Logan will have the Christmas spirit within him, but if he does, maybe you can eat Logan.”
I couldn’t unfreeze myself as I thought this through.
“I don’t think I’m going to eat Logan,” I said, very seriously, although I didn’t mean to sound so serious.
Jaxi, Helena, and Collins bent over double with laughter.
“Maybe we should bring ketchup,” Helena said.
“Or relish,” Collins offered.
I shook my head. “I didn’t mean I was going to eat him.”
“Sounds delicious,” Helena said.
“Get dressed and hurry up, Bellini!” they said, then pounded up the stairs to sit with my mother on her bed to talk and gossip.
I paused for a wee second. Should I go? Should I not?
I should stay home and finish my mother’s Marry Me application with her.
I should go and sneak peeks at Logan.
I should stay with my cats and meow back at them.
I should go and spy on Logan!
I envisioned him near the tree, lights shining down on the hard angles of his face, unshaved jaw, and… That did it.
I pounded up the stairs after them. I washed my hair in record time and scrunched up my curls so they wouldn’t frizz. I put on a little makeup. Not much. Mascara. Liner. Lipstick. A little blush so I wouldn’t look like a ghost and perfume so I wouldn’t smell like French fries.
I yanked on jeans and black knee-high boots and a red sweater and threw a red and green scarf with dancing reindeer around my neck that I dug out of the back of my closet. I found my red ski jacket. I glanced in the mirror. Better. I didn’t look ghastly.
“Bye, Aunt Whiskey,” my cousins said.
“Bye, Whiskey!” Collins said.
“Make sure you get into trouble,” my mom yelled back. “Now’s the time in your life to be naughty! Santa won’t care!”
I turned the heat up in Helena’s car and dried my curls while we sang raunchy Christmas carols we learned from my mother and The Sisters when we were little girls.
The moon was straight overhead, the sky clear and dark, the air brisk.
As we sped through the night to the tree lighting, something we’d all done since we were babies, I felt it—a tiny, little glimmer of hope.
Helena pulled me close and gave me a kiss-smack on the cheek. “I love you, Bellini. Thanks for coming.”
I hugged her back.
“Give me a kiss, Bellini!” Jaxi yelled over the music. “One kiss! One smackeroo!”