Chapter 3
Chapter three
Snow had begun to fall as Caleb navigated the narrow streets. Fanciful designs in Christmas lights were strung overhead between the tall evergreen, maple, and oak trees lining the sidewalk, lampposts were wrapped in festive garlands, and wreaths hung on nearly every door.
He wanted to love it.
Christmas had always been Caleb’s favorite holiday, but this year, he was dreading the upcoming Masses he would need to lead.
How was he meant to stand in front of all those people who had known him since he was a child, who looked to him for spiritual guidance, when he had never felt so disconnected from the Church?
How could he face it when, until that email the day before, he’d been certain this would be his last Christmas Mass?
“Is that—” Molly broke off, pointing ahead to the little patch of grass at the corner of the intersection where giant cow statues had been draped in fabric and arranged in a manger scene, a baby calf swaddled in the cradle.
“I think so,” Caleb said. “Bruce said this town is known for its Christmas spirit.”
“Is it Christmas spirit if it’s moderately disturbing?”
Caleb bit back a grin, allowing his more conflicted thoughts to drift away on the tide of Molly’s cynicism. “Are you not a fan of Christmas?”
“Who doesn’t love Christmas? I’m not a fan of whatever that is,” she said, pointing again.
On top of a fish market, another manger scene had been erected consisting entirely of giant inflatable lobsters wearing Santa hats. This time, Caleb couldn’t contain his laughter, the sound flowing through him. “I think Nativity may be taking their namesake a little too literally.”
“You think? Lobster baby Jesus was wearing a Santa hat. The lobster wisemen were carrying tubs of butter.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror to catch another glimpse of the display. “They were not.”
“Oh, they absolutely were. Is it sacrilege to imply the wisemen are going to eat baby Jesus?”
“Well, it’s certainly not approved doctrine.”
“Do you think it’s like this all year, or only at Christmas?”
“With a name like Nativity, who knows.” Caleb tilted his chin towards a toy shop proudly proclaiming itself as the North Pole South. “But I’m inclined to think this is a year-round obsession.”
“It probably bodes well for the costumes. A town this invested in their nativity scenes likely didn’t skimp on the Christmas pageant.”
Up ahead, a rail car stood in a half-empty parking lot, the exterior strung with colorful blinking Christmas lights, a beacon shining through the beginnings of a passing flurry. A giant Christmas tree was strapped to the roof beneath an elevated, illuminated sign reading ‘Railway Diner.’
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I could eat. Do we have time?”
“We’re not meeting Father David for another hour. We have time.”
Caleb pulled his coat tightly around himself as he climbed out of the car, but snowflakes slid down his open collar and stung his neck anyway.
Molly didn’t seem to mind the snow, however.
She tilted her face up to the sky and caught a snowflake on her tongue, the tip of her nose already turning pink in the chill air.
His gaze lingered on the long line of her throat, the snowflakes falling in her hair and glistening as though she’d been sprinkled with glitter.
He wanted to press his nose to her hair, breathe in her scent and feel her laughter vibrate through him.
He spun away, clearing his throat, and led her up the metal steps to the door of the rail car. No good could come from indulging those fantasies.
Inside, the diner was cramped, made more so by the track suspended from the ceiling, a bright red toy train with Santa in the front car making a constant, slow circuit around the space.
Where train seats had originally been on each side of the narrow aisle, booths had been installed, each one aligned with one of the rounded windows overlooking the parking lot, bundles of silver balloons tied to the coat hooks at the end of each booth.
At the back of the car, a modest, open kitchen stood behind a half wall, the top of which was strung with garland and more of those blinking Christmas lights.
From some unseen speaker, Burl Ives’ rich baritone sang holiday classics extolling the virtues of snow and reindeer.
A petite woman with graying hair piled in a messy bun held together by multiple pens stood at the other end of the car, her arms loaded down with plates of steaming food.
She tilted her chin in their direction and gestured towards one of the open booths with a bowl of soup, broth sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the bowl.
“Afternoon, folks. Make yourselves at home. I’ll be with you in a minute. ”
They chose a booth not far from the door, Caleb shrugging out of his jacket and Molly unwinding her scarf as they took their seats. “If I’d known it was going to snow, I would have worn a thicker coat,” he said.
Molly’s eyes lingered on his frame as he hung their things on the hook beside their table. His shoulders and biceps tingled with awareness as her gaze swept over him. The last time she’d looked at him like that…
Her voice was soft when she spoke. “I have to confess something.”
He held up his hands. “Uh uh, I’m off duty.”
“You’re wearing your collar,” she pointed out.
“I’m pretty much always wearing the collar.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not that type of confession. I’m not really a Catholic anyway.”
“You’re not?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise.
“I mean, I made my First Communion, but I haven’t considered myself a practicing Catholic in years. Don’t tell Bruce. He’d fire me so fast.”
Something irrational and wild thrummed through Caleb’s blood. “I wouldn’t let him.”
Were her cheeks pink from the cold, or was she blushing? Caleb wasn’t sure, but he knew he was far too fascinated by the changes in her skin tone for his own good.
“What’s your confession?” he asked.
She lowered her voice. “I kind of want to make my own ridiculous nativity scene now.”
He couldn’t help the surprised laugh bubbling up from his throat. “Yeah? What would you use for yours?”
“Hmm. I bet I could get Tessa to make nativity scene themed cupcakes, like those Barbie cakes with the doll in the middle.”
“Can’t say I’m familiar.”
“Well, then you are missing out, my friend.”
“What flavor would these cupcakes be?”
She tsked. “You really aren’t familiar. It's not about the cake. It’s all about the frosting. Gobs of it piped to look like ruffled dresses and with way too much food coloring mixed in.”
“Are you planning to put baby Jesus in a ruffled frosting dress?”
“No worse than a Santa hat and a tin of butter.”
“Fair point.”
The waitress arrived at their table, plucking a pen from her bun and a small notepad from her apron. “Can I get you folks something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“Water will be fine, thanks,” Molly said.
Caleb nodded in agreement as the waitress handed them each an oversized laminated menu.
“Today’s special is gingerbread pancakes with candied orange peel and powdered sugar. Oh, and a tuna melt with Swiss on rye. I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.” And then she was gone again.
“It’s like I’ve stumbled into a made-for-TV Christmas movie,” Caleb said as he perused the menu.
“Nope. If this were a Christmas movie, I would be a big city lawyer and you would be the sweet and humble, inexplicably unmarried bachelor who runs a Christmas tree farm and teaches me to believe in magic after an hour of cheesy run-ins and exactly one kiss.” Her eyes flickered down to his lips and then darted away again.
Caleb’s pulse jumped, and he forced himself to focus on the menu instead of the images running through his head at the mere idea of kissing Molly, of how his hands were fit on her waist, the way his fingers would sink into her hips when he pulled her closer—
This had been a bad idea. He should have made the trip himself, or let Bruce come with him. Why did he think spending the entire day with Molly would do anything but make him even more unreasonably drawn to her?
You didn’t. You knew that’s what would happen. And you did it anyway.
“Have we decided?” the waitress asked, reappearing at their table.
“Turkey club.” He handed the menu back, even though he’d barely looked at it. Surely a diner had a turkey club on the menu.
“Banana pancakes,” Molly said.
“Did you want whipped cream and powdered sugar?” the waitress asked.
“Just butter and syrup, thanks.”
“Suit yourself, honey.”
When the waitress was safely out of earshot, Molly leaned across the table, lowering her voice. “Do you think they put powdered sugar on everything here? You better watch out. Your turkey club might come with a dusting of sugar.”
Her whiskey eyes were so beautiful they made all his other thoughts drift away. And when she teased him like that, like they were any two people and not a priest and his sister-in-law's friend...
With that sparkle in Molly’s eyes and the way it made him want to reach across the table—this was why he should let himself be reassigned. Now. Yesterday. Before he did something he couldn’t take back.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as though she could hear his thoughts. Or maybe he’d just been staring.
“Molly—
She tilted her chin towards the bundle of silver balloons tied to the end of their booth. “Do you ever think about that night last May?”
His mouth went dry and his lungs burned, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. Unsure what to do with the restless feeling suddenly coursing through him, he clasped his hands between his thighs.