18. Babys First Christmas
Chapter 18
Baby's First Christmas
I t’s late and I’m over-caffeinated, making the last leg of the trip purely on coffee fumes. But I couldn’t spend another night in a hotel between Nevada and Hogwash.
My hands shake a little from the road and excitement. The house is quiet, but light shines from the hallway. I tap the code into the alarm keypad and freshen up in one of the bathrooms on the lower level because I am ready to collapse onto the couch ... and cannot wait for Honey to find me here in the morning.
Heck, I don’t even mind if the baby wakes me up crying. I just need a minute or two of shuteye.
After I turn off the light, I blink a few times. A faint glow burns from the adjacent room. Given my profession and the training I just taught on fire safety, I investigate. Chances are Honey plugged in a nightlight, but with electrical wiring in an old house like this, you can never be too careful.
Rubbing my eyes, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. If I didn’t know better, I’d argue that the wall is glowing. If this place is radioactive, I’ll wake the baby and get us out of here even though interrupting an infant’s sleep is a big no-no according to “Babyhood.”
I crouch, running my hand along the crack between the plaster and the baseboard. It’s almost as if there’s a light on inside the wall. From afar, I supervised the alarm system install and there haven’t been any workers in the house since. Plus, I rescheduled the more intensive remodel for the new year so I could oversee it and not bother Honey.
But this is odd.
Trying to puzzle it out, I start to wonder if I’m seeing things. Sixteen hours of straight driving could be messing with my head.
Then I hear a faint noise, almost like a sneeze.
The roar of the road is in my ears, but then I hear it again.
Listening, I’m on alert. I bang on the wall. If it’s a mouse, I’ll be calling an exterminator first thing in the morning.
“Get out of here,” I bark, banging my fist on the wall.
A scuffling sound follows and the old house creaks. Honey wasn’t exaggerating when she said she’d been hearing things.
Giving my face a rub, I’m about to return to the couch—which has never looked so comfortable when I go still.
“Maddock?” a small, muted voice says.
I whip around, expecting Honey’s figure to fill the doorway, but it’s dark.
Concern grows over just how tired I am.
“It’s me,” she says.
My breath catches because now I have one of two problems on my hands. It’s either my mental well-being or this house is haunted. Either way, something is wrong.
“I’m here,” the voice says.
That’s definitely Honey and her voice is muted, not airy like how ghosts are portrayed in the movies.
“What is going on?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.
“It’s me. I need your help.”
She’s not the only one.
I flip on another light. “Where are you?”
She clears her throat. “Um, I’m in the wall.”
I squint as if I have X-ray vision. “You’re where?”
“In the wall.” A soft rapping comes from near the glowing light.
“What? How?” I start.
“I’ll explain later, but do you remember the passageway we went through? I need you to find a rope or a ladder or something, go through there, and then you’ll see a ladder fixed to the inner ceiling. Climb up and a passageway leads to where I am.”
Suddenly wide awake, I have about a dozen questions, but safety first. Well, except the manner in which I’m about to do this contradicts the importance of safety and teamwork that I just taught the guys. If I somehow get trapped, it’s game over. But I have my phone, it’s charged, and worst-case scenario, I’ll call Jesse and JQ to bring a battering ram and break us out.
Ten minutes later, a very dusty Honey is crawling into my arms. Just to annoy her, I fling her over my shoulder, fireman carry style. Only, this time, she doesn’t protest.
When I set her down, her eyes are wide and filled with relief. She grips my jaw in her hands, gaze searching my face. “What are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you, obviously. Anyway, I’m the one with the questions.” I point to the wall and my mouth opens and closes like a goldfish.
The seriousness in our expressions dissolves and we both try to suppress our smiles. I can’t be mad, not even fake-mad. I wrap my arms around this woman and hug her with everything I’ve got. She squeezes back. All legs, wearing one of my T-shirts, she practically climbs up me like she never plans to let go. I really, truly don’t want her to.
I bury my head in her honeysuckle-scented hair, breathing deeply, fully, finally home.
We both pull back, eyes meeting for a long moment. Hers get heavy and flit to my lips. I dip my mouth toward hers. We connect with a brief kiss because we both have explaining to do.
After Honey tells me about finding the ancient boxes of Christmas decorations, discovering her in the wall makes slightly more sense. Still, it’s rather perplexing.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming tonight? I would’ve—” she starts.
“I pulled into the parking lot at a motel but couldn’t get out of the truck. Missed my girls too much. Figured I’d press on until I couldn’t. Didn’t want to get your hopes up in case I hit New Orleans and had to pull over and sleep. Better to get here whole than wind up a pancake on the interstate.”
Her lips twist with a smile. “What makes you think you’d get my hopes up, Hotcakes?”
I sling my arm around her waist, lassoing her into my lap. She doesn’t resist the landing. My inhale flares when she smirks at me and sinks into my arms.
“Hotcakes, I like that, Hotcakes,” I say, calling her by the same.
Can we share a nickname? Yes, we can and we will.
Resting her head on my shoulder, Honey says, “When you first got to town, everyone at the restaurant was speculating about a firefighter who saves people and houses. We agreed that Hogwash needed saving, but I asked myself if I did. Turns out, yes. I needed to be saved from my hardheaded, stubborn self who refused to ask for help.”
“Honey, you did the heavy lifting.”
“Let’s call it a group effort.” She lets out a sleepy sigh.
“By the way, rescuing someone from inside a wall was a first.”
However, I can’t help but think about how, in so many ways, she rescued me, from limping down a long road of bitterness and loneliness. I’d pledged never to date again, and definitely not fall in love. I was on a path of destruction, ready to level Hogwash.
Instead, I found a second-chance family.
I say, “My Captain and longtime friend recently told me that I have a habit of rushing into things.”
“That probably helps when it comes to burning buildings.”
I think about Captain Leyton’s instructions to Stop, Assess, Act . This woman makes my pulse explode, but I don’t want things to blow up as they did last time. “But that didn’t help in my previous marriage. I know better than to rush this between you and me, but I do want there to be a you and me. I don’t want to push you too hard, too fast.”
She laughs a smoky laugh. “You do realize you’re speaking to the driver of a Porsche.”
“It’s been noted. So does that mean what I think it means?”
“Real talk on babies.”
I wink. “I’ve become sensitized.”
She laughs. “You mean you’re cured? No longer allergic? You have a beating heart in your chest like a real human being and not a beast?” She presses her palm to my chest.
I laugh and plant my hand on top of hers, lacing our fingers together.
“What changed?” she asks.
My gaze drifts to Honey and then the baby monitor where Leonie sleeps peacefully. “I don’t know, but I remember the exact moment when it did. It was the first time I looked into Leonie’s eyes. As a kid, I never thought much about being a dad. Didn’t have a sister or ever play house. My Dad beat prostate cancer before I was born. After, it returned, I was told I was at high risk and might never be able to have kids. I shoved the whole notion out of my mind. Developed an aversion, I suppose.”
She nods in understanding. “Maybe you did that to protect yourself. If you tell yourself you don’t want something, you won’t be disappointed when you don’t get it.”
I snort. How right she is. “Exactly.”
“I’m all too familiar with that line of thinking. Cory and I had something special and—” She goes quiet as if she still holds a candle for him.
My shoulders drop because the affection in her voice makes me worry that I’ll never measure up.
She continues, “When he joined the military, we agreed to go our separate ways. I didn’t want to wait around for him. It was stupid, but I haven’t always been known for my bright ideas or for driving in the slow lane. He had a bad heart—the actual organ. Not his kindness, generosity, or friendship. I’ve always wondered what our future would have been had he made it back and found me waiting. But it was too late. Our relationship had an expiration date.”
The sadness in Honey’s voice is painful. I want to heal the ache.
She clings to me and then looks up with a smile on her face. “I’m not going to let someone as hot as you get away this time.”
Her comment tells me she’s okay ... and something else very important. “So, you think I’m hot?”
She fans herself. “Hotcakes.”
I say, “I’ve been taking ice baths because when I think about you ...”
“You haven’t even lived through a Louisiana summer yet. You haven’t experienced hot .”
“Not yet . But it’s you that set me ablaze with that sassy mouth, your wise eyes, and just enough swagger not to put up with my ego.”
Our mutual laughter shifts into a contagious yawn as the big grandfather clock chimes with the late hour.
“Leonie is going to be hungry soon.”
“Then we should get some shuteye,” I say, mine drooping.
Head lolling, she nods like she’s about to doze off. I slide my arm under her legs and scoop her up, bring her upstairs, and say goodnight.
Nestled in the Pack ’n Play, Leonie slept through all the excitement. But now that I’m home, the excitement is just beginning.
Even though I want nothing more than to go to sleep, the wall is still glowing. I grab some safety gear from my truck and retrieve Honey’s phone, turn off the flashlight, and grab the final box because I know that if I don’t do this now, she’ll ask tomorrow.
On Christmas, I wake up to the smell of pancakes and the sound of singing.
Merry Christmas to me. This is the best gift I could’ve gotten and I’m glad I pushed through the long drive last night, and not only because Honey would’ve been trapped in the wall.
“Good morning!” she calls when I stagger into the kitchen.
Leonie roars and lunges toward me from her high chair.
“My beauties. Also, this is new.” I gesture to the high chair.
“Mara got a replacement and gave me this one.”
“How generous.”
“I’m trying to be the opposite,” Honey says.
I tuck my chin. “Greedy?”
“No, the opposite of how I was and accept people’s generosity.”
“Which reminds me, on Christmas, is it better to give or receive?” I ask.
She arches an eyebrow. “Is this a trick question?”
“No, it was a discussion the guys and I were having.”
“Is it a trap?” Honey asks.
“No, but speaking of trapped, just last night, you were trapped in the wall. Have you looked through your loot yet?”
She laughs. “Lots of vintage Christmas decorations, including a little wooden village kind of like the ceramic one Betsy has at the salon, but the buildings are miniatures of some here in town. It has to be one of a kind. I just can’t fathom why they were hidden away.”
“And I can’t fathom why I haven’t dug into breakfast yet. It smells amazing.”
She dishes me up a plate. “Presenting, flapjacks.”
I look up sharply, wondering just how much she’s changed because, truth be told, I liked Honey the way she was. More than liked ... “You mean pancakes?”
“Officially, the recipe says they’re flapjacks.” She reminds me about the cookbook she found that belonged to Eloise Tickle.
I take a hearty bite. “They’re delicious. Like a mouth hug.”
“And there I thought I was the pancake queen.”
I hug her waist. “You’re my queen whether you make pancakes or flapjacks.”
She tips her head back with laughter. Gone is the uptight, tense woman who argued with me about flapjacks and Hugwash. I’ll give her credit for setting me straight and I’ll take an equal portion for setting her at ease. She’s not alone. She can trust me. I care about her more than I’ve done anyone and nothing is going to change that.
I ask, “Speaking of food, what’s on our Christmas meal menu? We can head to the market later before they close.”
“Since this is our first Christmas in the chateau, we could make Eloise’s traditional meal.” She opens the cookbook and shows me recipes for roast duck, crawfish dressing, collards, and pie.
“I like that idea.”
Honey frowns. “It says here Hogan loved liver pate.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That idea, not so much. What kind of pie?”
“Apple.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.” I pat my belly.
“But not Leonie’s. She gets baby milk until next year,” Honey says.
Which is only a week away, meaning she’ll be six months old.
We focus our attention on her as we finish breakfast and I can’t help but feel this is the start of a new tradition—flapjacks for Christmas breakfast and pancakes the rest of the year.
The remainder of the day is spent decorating with holiday music playing in the background. It’s hard not to pause every few minutes and wonder about the relics from the Tickle’s Christmas collection.
“It feels like there are stories here. Literally. Look, this must be an original copy of the Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.” Honey holds it carefully in her hands.
“Is that the one with the ghosts?”
“Past, present, and yet to come.”
I rather like the notion of a future with Honey and Leonie. A smile makes my eyes crinkle.
“What?” Honey asks, noticing the change in my expression.
“This is a lot different from what I was doing last year.”
“Do I want to know what that was?”
“Probably not. Let’s just say it involved an empty and then broken bottle of wine called Fee-fi-fo-fum or something.”
“Do you mean Fifolet ?” Honey smoothly pronounces it fee foo lay .
I snap my fingers. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“I thought you’re from Nevada. That’s a Cajun folklore thing. Like when you get the spirits in you—the gris-gris .”
“The gray gray?”
She sounds it out. “Gree gree. Kind of like dark magic. Makes people mean and is also a kind of local wine.”
I shudder. My ex definitely had the gree gree .
Honey sticks out her tongue. “I take it you weren’t the one drinking the Fifolet.”
“Definitely not. But I don’t want to think about that while we’re celebrating.”
The day is a delight with gifts exchanged—the baby loves her chirping chicken stuffed animal and Honey already wears the personalized name necklace with Leonie in fancy script that I had custom-made in Carson. We snuggle by the fire even though it’s barely below sixty degrees. This old house is drafty, which is a problem I plan to fix in the new year.
Which comes all too soon. Honey insists we leave the decorations up for twelve more days and wants to make another special recipe from the cookbook involving black-eyed peas and cornbread.
“Have you thought more about the new menu for the Grille?” I ask.
“My goal is to get it finalized and printed before December thirty-first. That gives me plenty of time.”
I chuckle. “So by the end of this upcoming new year.”
She nods. “My other New Year resolution is to read my mail. All of it.”
“That also gives you three hundred and sixty-four days.”
She sighs. “I already got through everything except the bills and my mother’s letters. I figure it’s best to give myself a long runway for that.”
I want to assure her that I’ll help however I can but figure that’s a conversation for later. After all, we have fifty-two weeks to figure things out, including whether I’m going to leave periodically to teach trainings out west. But we’ll get to that.
Honey’s expression dims, and she says, “Maddock, there’s something else ... Something I want you to know about me. Um, remember how I mentioned that my mother is in jail?”
I nod slowly, surprised that she wanted to head into this territory since it seems like a sensitive topic.
“I was born behind bars and it’s like I’ve kept them around me even though her crimes weren’t my crimes.” She winces. “Though for a time, I was complicit.”
Gripping Honey’s shoulders, I want nothing more than to soothe this sudden sadness out of her, but before I can say anything, she continues, “My mother has been sending me letters, warning me about my cousin.”
“Leonie’s birth mother?”
She nods.
I tip her chin up. “Don’t worry. I’m here. Nothing is going to happen. Let’s make a New Year’s resolution together. The ghosts of the past get left there. You and me, we’re starting a new chapter, telling a new story, together.”
Her smile rises to her eyes and then falls. “Ghost.”
I brush my thumb by her lower lip. “And a future together yet to come.”
She says, “No. I mean yes. Absolutely. But it just came to me. Finding Eloise’s cookbook connected me to a time in this house before all of my mother’s schemes. When the tree was aglow?—”
I point to ours.
She nods. “And the stockings were hung?—”
I tip my head toward the hearth.
“Exactly. But there was something about the notes in the margins of the cookbook. The ones about the apple tart and liver but not heart.”
“I’m more than willing to cook anything you make ... even liver.” I swallow thickly.
She laughs, almost ecstatic as she hops to her feet. “No, it’s not that. The riddle on Tickle’s tombstone.”
I’m not sure what she’s getting at as I try to recall it and swipe open my phone to the photo of the riddles and read, “‘Take one from apple but none from tart. Find one in liver but not in heart. The last you’ll discover in giant as well as ghost but never, ever in a roast.’”
Honey snaps her fingers, then drops to sitting. “Yes, but it still doesn’t quite make sense.”
“But you think the Tokens may be real?” I ask, voice full of hope. If so, I don’t have to convince her and can let JQ and Lexi tell her about their discovery if they wish.
Nodding slowly, she concedes. “Given the fact that I found all those Christmas decorations behind the wall, maybe the treasures are too.”
“So far, there’s no gold, but?—”
“But maybe we’ll get lucky.”
I tug Honey close and kiss her temple, “As far as I’m concerned, we already did.”
She curls into me, into my lips as we move in for a kiss and the tokens and treasure hunt are forgotten for now.
My hands skim her waist and hers grip my cheeks and jaw, cementing me in place.
I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. Not with Honey in my life. My chest squeezes and my pulse goes wild just thinking about it, about us. We press together and I feel her heart throbbing, steady and true.
Her hands sweep my back and mine drop to hers as if we’re glued together.
The kiss deepens and my thoughts recede. All I have, all I want, all I need is right here with this brown-eyed beauty who doesn’t seem to think kissing me is gross after all.