Molasses and Mr. Christmas (Christmas Kisses & Cookie Crumbs)

1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

CAROLINE

“ T his is so not what I meant when I said you needed to go out on a Friday night once in a while.”

I narrow my eyes at my best friend, squaring my shoulders as I lift my chin high, ready to prove that I’m doing exactly what she said when she commented on my lack of a social life last week.

“I’m out of the house, aren’t I? And I’ve got a sweet gentleman on my arm who has agreed to a photo shoot with yours truly. So, I don’t really get how this is any different than what you suggested.”

Brooke’s head moves slowly back and forth, eyeing the rows of bagged foods and treats all around us. “Caroline, you’re standing in the middle of a pet store, the gentleman you speak of is a dog, and I don’t think you can call pet photos with Santa a photo shoot.”

A rather large dog in line behind us barks, as though he’s agreeing with Brooke’s speech. But what do Marmaduke’s long-lost twin and Brooke know, anyway?

Animal House is a lovely store, Biscuit is the bestest boy in the whole world, and if he would just stop swatting at the pom- pom on my ugly Christmas sweater, this will be the cutest photo to hang on my mantel for the holidays.

“And nice rack, by the way.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as I adjust the headband antlers on my head. I will not give Brooke the satisfaction of making a joke at my expense. No matter how amusing it is. “Why, thank you.”

We move forward in line, one step closer to the poor soul who must have drawn the short stick and got stuck playing Santa tonight. A rather large dog has already hiked on his boot while another roughed up his beard quite a bit with a quick one-two combo of biting and swatting. He looks kind of like I do at the end of every holiday season.

Kind of like the way I feel after what went down today.

“Look, I know this isn’t your idea of a hot Friday night, but I appreciate you coming out tonight. Today…wasn’t my favorite day.” That’s putting it mildly.

“Uh-oh. Did a student draw some more aspirational genitalia on the back of the desks? Nah. You caught that vandal.” Brooke taps her chin. “I’ll bet this is another Mr. Mack story.”

“How did you know?”

“Oh please,” Brooke says with a wave of her hand. “I’m going to make a sign that keeps track of how many days it’s been since your last Austin Mack story. The tally is at two, if you’re interested.”

“I’m not,” I say with as much of a scowl as I can muster, given I look like the Christmas aisle of a party store just threw up on me.

I know I vent about the school’s chemistry teacher a lot, but the man just has this way of getting under my skin. Staying away from him should be easy since we’re on opposite sides of the building and I teach English, a totally different department from his. But somehow, he ends up popping into my life like an unwelcome houseguest. One I wish I could just not answer the door for, turn off the lights, and pretend I’m not home. Believe me, if that was an option, today wouldn’t have turned out the way it did. “But I’m just frustrated.”

“At...?”

“Work, life, everything…”

Austin. I don’t say that, of course. Brooke already thinks I spend way too much time talking about him. I’m so not adding any more chestnuts to that open fire.

“I’m gonna need a few more details.”

“It’s just…” I blow out a breath because…where to begin? “You remember how when Mr. Wilson retired, they made me the sole faculty advisor to G.U.T.S.?”

“ Gorillas United to Serve . I remember.” Now it’s Brooke who’s trying not to laugh. Not that I blame her. It’s a fitting name, since the school’s mascot is a giant gorilla, but even I can’t stop imagining a hairy primate in the community doing good deeds.

“Yeah, well, the principal decided that it’s too much work for one person to handle.” Which still stings because, for the first three months of the school year, I thought I was doing a great job. Sure, it’s a lot of work, but I was doing just fine on my own. That’s just how I roll.

Brooke nods as we move up in the line. “I can understand that. It’s not fair for all that work to fall on one person.”

“No, what’s not fair is making Austin the new G.U.T.S. co-advisor.”

Brooke’s brows rise as her eyes brighten like the fairy lights on the garland overhead.

“I’m glad you find this amusing.” I’m not, but I knew she’d react this way. Brooke has this theory that there’s something brewing between Austin and me. But while she thinks it’s something sweet and delicious, like the peppermint mochas she lives off of this time of year, I know it’s more akin to a witch’s brew—all green and bubbly and foul-smelling.

“And I’m glad this is happening.”

I squint my eyes at her. “Why, exactly?”

“Look, I know it rarely happens, but I’m willing to admit that I’m wrong. And maybe I was about you and Austin.” This is…shocking. “So maybe the two of you working together will give you the chance to put down your snowballs.”

“Okay, you lost me.”

Brooke throws up her hands and ruffles the tinsel on my sweater, prompting Biscuit to play with it some more. “I was going for a more festive analogy than putting down your swords.”

“Yeah…I didn’t get that.” And I seriously doubt that’s going to happen. “Who needs more old, dusty books, right?” I can still hear the cockiness dripping from Austin’s words the week before he scored the grant that absolutely did not go toward books but, instead, went to more gadgets for his lab.

“Just give him a chance. I know he might not be your cup of tea, but I’ve known him since we were in high school together. Most people don’t hate him. In fact, he’s pretty well-loved by just about…everyone.”

Don’t I know it.

When I moved to Pine Grove three years ago to take care of my ailing grandmother, it was just my luck that the local high school needed an English teacher. And it was even better luck that the school had embraced me as one of their own, despite the fact that I was a transplant to this small, tight-knit community.

But then Austin blew into this tiny Pennsylvania town and into the school, the prodigal son returning to a festival of pomp and circumstance in his honor. Okay, so there wasn’t a festival, per se. But the town definitely put him on a pedestal.

And the thing is, I’m sure he’s very lovely…on the outside. But maybe I’ve had a little too much experience with his type. Perhaps all the years of watching my own father charm his way through the masses, doing anything he can to earn a vote and win a senate seat is something I’m all too familiar with. I might not be cut from that cloth, but I’m afraid Austin and my father share way too many threads for him to be someone I can trust.

“I can be civil.” At least until he makes another crack about books.

Brooke nods and taps the side of my head. “I knew I could put some sense into this noggin of yours.”

“Hey now. You almost messed up my antlers. And Biscuit!” I can’t help the giggles that escape my mouth as he licks my cheek. “I’m not a human popsicle.”

I set him on the ground and rearrange my festive accessories, thankful that I attached the antlers to my head with several hair pins and an elastic strap under my chin for good measure. These babies aren’t going anywhere.

I’m just about to pick Biscuit back up when a dog that looks like a slightly larger carbon copy of Biscuit cuts the line and plops down at my feet. He’s wearing a set of antlers that are the smaller dog version of the ones on my head. They also match the set in my purse that Biscuit wanted no part of wearing.

“Well, hello there,” I say as I pat his head. He’s wearing a leash, so he must have escaped someone’s grasp. “Where’s your owner, buddy?”

I crouch to pet the dog, and I can’t believe how much he looks like Biscuit. He has the same golden color. Same curls.

Same urge to lick the heck out of my face.

“Hey, hey, puppers. Not you too.” I try to put some distance between our faces, but I can’t.

“Oh shoot,” Brooke says from somewhere above me. I can’t tell where exactly because I can’t move away from this dog. Why can’t I move away from this dog? “Your antlers are hooked together.”

“Aw, geez. Can you do something?” I scoop the dog in my armsand rise to standing.

“Yeah. Can you hold still?”

“Doing the best I can,” I grit out as the dog continues to make a meal of my face. Meanwhile, Biscuit is gyrating around, jumping up on my legs because, let’s face it, this is his face to lick, and this dog isn’t sharing. And if that isn’t enough…is “Grandma Got Run Over by A Reindeer” playing over the store’s speaker system?

Of course it is.

“Got it,” Brooke says as she pulls the antlers off both my and the dog’s head. “You can put him down now.”

“Uh…” I look down at my chest to see the dog’s nails caught in my sweater. Seems he was going for the pom-pom Biscuit wanted to attack earlier but got my boob instead. Lovely.

I look at my best friend who is once again trying—very unsuccessfully, I might add—to cover her laugh.

“A little help here, eh? We’re next in line, and I’d like to look at least somewhat presentable for this photo.”

“And you don’t feel like you’ll accomplish this with a strange dog stuck to you?”

“No, not really.” I carefully remove the dog’s paw from my sweater, blowing out a relieved sigh. I kind of can’t believe there isn’t a hole.

“You really lucked out there.”

“Sure,” I say with a snort of laughter. “Lucky me. In the span of twelve hours, a dog got to second base with me, and I found out I have to work with the bane of my existence, Austin.”

“Yeah. I hear that guy’s the worst.”

Son of a Biscuit.

I know that voice. I know it reeeeeal well. That voice has starred in so many of my nightmares that I’d know it anywhere. And right now, its owner is behind me, no doubt smirking, because just when I thought this day couldn’t get any crummier, this day said hold my beer. More like hold my beers—plural. Heck, just hold the whole dang keg at this rate.

This is not a good look, talking bad about a coworker. I don’t do these kinds of things. I’m nice to everyone. He just bothers me that much. So, I need to play this just right, or he’ll be able to hold this over my head for all eternity. Imagining him in the teacher’s lounge telling all our colleagues how I’m badmouthing him all over town is enough to make me throw up, because I respect these people. And I would have respected Austin, too, if he’d only respected me first.

I take a deep breath and slowly turn, flashing a smile so syrupy-sweet it could give him a cavity.

“I…”

He’s looking at me with brows raised, his hands on his hips, as if to say Go on . But let’s face it–I’m going nowhere. Not with my mouth hanging open so long I fear my years of suffering from TMJ are going to catch up with me, and my jaw will never function properly again. While I’d normally not condone this act, I fear lying is my only way out of this with at least a crumb of my dignity.

“Oh, Austin,” I say, swatting my hand like I’m shooing a pest. But aren’t I? “I knew you were behind me the whole time.”

He widens his stance a bit, crossing his flannel-clad arms over his chest as a wide smile splits his face. Yeah, he’s not buying any of this. Time to double down.

“This is just a little thing I like to do, play pranks on people I…” On people I what? Like? Tolerate? Want to give a lump of coal to for Christmas? “...have the pleasure of working with.”

Great. More lies. Looks like I’ll be the one getting coal this year.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Caroline.”

I don’t like the way he says that, because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me either. Also, the way my name comes out of his mouth, that light touch of a Southern accent coating that long I in a way that does something weird to my stomach is no bueno either.

But before I can think too much about why my insides are swirling like snowflakes in a storm, the dog that got fresh with me moments ago leaps from my arms right into his.

“Hey, Pirate,” Austin says as the dog licks his face, much like he licked mine before we literally got stuck together. But wait–

“Pirate? This is your dog?”

“Officially? Not yet. I’m kind of fostering him for my elderly neighbor who is in a rehab facility for her hip. But she says if we hit it off, this little ball of fluff can come live with me forever.”

And oh my heart, as if right on cue, the dog rolls onto his back, nuzzling his head into the crook of Austin’s arm, and lets out a contented sigh. “He likes to be held like this,” he says as he strokes the dog’s belly.

I bend to pick up Biscuit because, whether he knows it or not, he’s my emotional support animal. Only this time, I need him to be my stop the emotion dog because there’s no reason the sight of Austin holding a dog like a baby should make my insides warm, but here we are, both snuggling our dogs, side by side, as Brooke stares at us with a look I can’t decipher. Truthfully, I can—I just don’t want to.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Santa booms from his chair as he waves me forward. “The lovely couple next in line, come on up!”

I take a step forward before Santa’s words hit me like a record scratch. Did he just say couple ? Austin must have heard it too, because he and Pirate start walking to the photo area.

“What are you doing?” I hiss under my breath. Just because I’m too old to get presents from the jolly guy five feet away doesn’t mean he needs to hear this tone.

“Just following Santa’s orders.” He walks in front of me, and I grab his arm.

“Santa is mistaken. And you cut the line.”

“Technically, I didn’t. Because if we take the photo together, like the sweet little couple he thinks we are, it doesn’t take any more time than if you were the only one being photographed. No one will be upset.”

“ I’ll be upset.”

He turns his body to face me, his chin raised as his lips twist. “Why?”

Oooooh, he’s challenging me. Poking me like a log in the fire, waiting for me to incinerate under his stare. Daring me to admit right here, in front of the crowd at Animal House and the big guy himself, that I don’t want to take this photo with him because I don’t like him.

But two can play at this game.

“Let’s do it.”

His brows get lost under his dark head of hair. And I know the words come out of my mouth, but I’m just as surprised as he is.

“You’re on, Caroline.”

I don’t like the way he says that either. How can a man say so much with so few words? Maybe I read too much into things. But I definitely don’t like the way the photographer makes us stand so close. I like even less the way Austin’s chest brushes against my back. The warmth I feel isn’t something I’m a fan of either.

But worst is when he leans down, his lips an inch from my ear, his breath caressing the shell, and says, “Let’s make a memory, shall we?”

That’s the last thing I hear before the click of the camera.