Jam and Jingle Bells: A Small Town Diner Christmas Romance

Prologue

May

“Daddy shark, doo doo doo do doo!” I sang, off-key and loudly while I spun around the hair salon, my broom a makeshift microphone.

“Really, Addie? Baby Shark? How old are you?” Heather, my only coworker, asked.

“I’m twenty-five going on five, you know that,” I teased, sticking my tongue out at her. I swept up the rest of the hair on the floor and dumped it into the garbage can. “Besides, you could stand to have a little fun in your life. Loosen up a little bit. Let your hair down. You’re twenty-four, not seventy-four.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and then we laughed together. We were both right in our declarations. I was the fun-loving one and she was the serious let’s get down to business one. Together we clicked, and that made running Addie Me, a hair salon on the Main Street of Bells Pass, Michigan, a lot more fun. We were dyed-in-the-wool Bells Passers, having been born and raised here. Most people think our small town is just a pit stop on the highway to bigger places, but we know the truth. Our community looks out for each other, provides for the poor, and is rich in tradition year-round. We might be a small town, but we have a big heart.

The bell tinkled over the door and I set the broom down on the way to the front counter. A guy about my age stood there awkwardly with his hands on his hips. He wore a hat on his head that said Namaste and an uncomfortable smile on his albeit handsome face. I took him in for a moment, my brain coming to a full stop for too long while I stared slack-jawed. The hair that stuck out like a surfer boy from under his ballcap was shock white. I’m talking old man white. I’m talking copy paper white. I’m talking white rice white. I’m talking milk white. I’m talking Santa Claus white. As surprising as that was, it wasn’t what kept my synapses from firing. His eyes did that all on their own. They were giant orbs of deep, rich, dark chocolate that drew me in and held me hostage. There was a depth to them that told me he had experienced life already at a young age, and not in a good way. He wore the face of a man who took care of himself and was more than a little easy on the eyes. His whole being was mesmerizing. His nose was perfectly proportioned to his cheeks and chin, and his chin was brushed by a white beard clipped neatly to his skin. He was yummy and he was definitely new to Bells Pass. I knew everyone in this town but I didn’t know him. I absolutely wanted to, though. The thought alone sent a shiver through me. I hadn’t had a reaction like this to a man in years.

Frightening.

“Hello, welcome to Addie Me. What can we do for handsome you today?” I asked, using our traditional line. When it fell off my tongue today it was embarrassing. Not that he wasn’t handsome. He was extremely handsome, but there was something about the intimacy of his eyes that made the whole line feel contrived. While I waited for an answer, my eyes drifted to his outfit — yoga shorts and a cotton tank that showed off his obvious, but understated, musculature. I had no idea who he was, but I wouldn’t mind if he kept coming around.

“Uh, hi,” he stuttered, his voice soft and unsure. “Which one is Addie and which one is me?”

I raised my hand. “I’m Addie.”

“And I’m Me,” Heather said from the back. “I’m also out of here. It’s time for lunch. Have fun, Ads,” she said, flouncing off to get her coat.

“I guess you get Addie. Me is hungry,” I teased, laughing at her antics.

“That’s fine, Addie. Melissa told me to ask for you anyway.”

“Oh, you’re a friend of Melissa’s?” My heart swelled at the mention of her name. Melissa used to serve at the Nightingale Diner when she first came to town. She’s now their full-time baker, and a full-time mom to her sweet little girl, Holly. It was Christmas last year when Holly came home to be with her mother again after being kidnapped by Melissa’s parents at birth. Melissa is engaged to Mason Hadley, the diner’s head cook, who is the son of my mom’s boyfriend, Stan. It sounds complicated, but if you live in Bells Pass long enough, you connect the dots with little trouble.

“I’m new to town,” he answered. “My name is Ellis David. I was asking at the diner about a barber and Melissa assured me you had the skills.” He motioned at his head and took his hat off. The mop of hair gave me pause and I took a step back.

Once I gathered myself I stuck my hand out to shake his. “Welcome to Bells Pass, Ellis David.” His skin was soft and smooth, but his grip was strong. “I’ve got the skills, and boy do you have the hair,” I joked, taking in the locks that stuck up in twenty different directions.

“I’ve let it go for too long, but with moving and the new job, I’ve barely had time to sleep.”

“No problem,” I assured him, taking charge. “Let’s get that mop washed and rinsed and we’ll turn you into a respectable …” I paused, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

“Yoga instructor,” he answered, shrugging with uncertainty or embarrassment.

Maybe he was just shy around new people, so I jumped in immediately to calm his fears. “Okay, the most respectable yoga instructor yet. Where do you teach?” I pointed for him to hang his hat on the rack and then directed him to the wash sink.

He settled into the chair and I noticed his shirt said Rudolph Yoga Express. I raised a brow. “I guess that answers that question.”

He laughed softly and stared down at the shirt. “You know what they say, the best way to advertise is to be a walking billboard.”

I waited for the water to reach the perfect soothing temperature of one hundred degrees before I ran the tepid water through his locks. His hair was long, white, and bristly, but with a trim and some home care, he would have a perfect head of hair again. I shut the water off to shampoo and massage his scalp, his eyes closed as if he was enjoying every single second of it.

“Wait,” I said, pausing mid-scrub. “Do you own Rudolph Yoga Express?”

“Sure do. Santa and the reindeer need to exercise all year round to get ready for their big night,” he explained, his eyes still closed.

I rinsed the shampoo from his hair languidly since he was obviously enjoying the warm water and massage. “This is the first I’ve heard of it, which is weird because I know everything about this town. Where are you from?”

A small smile tipped his lips. “I grew up in Wyoming, but just recently moved here from California. Everyone here is so much friendlier than the people there. Even the little ones are ridiculously polite.”

I massaged the back of his neck as he spoke, taken by his chiseled cheeks and well-groomed Balbo beard, which was very ? la Robert Downey Jr. “It’s true. Here in Bells Pass, respect is given by way of compliments for what someone else does for you. It’s something we consider important in our community,” I explained, rinsing his hair again.

His eyes came open to pin me with those orbs of delight. In my twenty-five years, I’d never had the pleasure to stare into a pair so enticing. “It’s refreshing after spending years in a place where no one even knew the definition of community.”

“Wyoming is a friendly place, no?” I walked him to the salon chair and he sat, allowing me to wrap a cape around his neck while I towel-dried his floppy mess of hair. I worked a comb through the tresses while I decided on a style that would suit him.

“Wyoming is friendly for the most part, but there are pockets that aren’t. Like any state, I would imagine.”

“I suppose that’s true,” I agreed. “How long have you been in town?”

“Since April, but the studio has only been open for a few weeks.”

Ah, that explains why I hadn’t heard about him, I thought. With prom season in full swing, I hadn’t left the salon in weeks.

“Main Street is so…” He motioned his hand around under the cape while searching for the right word.

“Quaint?” I sectioned off more hair and clipped it out of the way.

“Yep,” he answered. “I can tell it’s a town you’ll either love or hate. So far, I love it.”

“Now that’s the best compliment you could ever give us as Bells Passers,” I promised, patting his shoulder. “When was the last time you had a haircut?”

“I think it was February,” he answered, his hand motioning at his hair. “I know I’ve let this go way too long.”

I tossed my head back and laughed happily. “You’re absolutely right on that account, but no worries, you’ve come to the right place. We’ll have you cleaned up in no time. Do you want to keep the length?”

“Yes, please,” he answered immediately. “I want it trimmed and styled, but the length has to stay.”

“Got it.” I stepped back and chewed on my lip. “This is real, isn’t it?” I asked, stymied.

“Definitely not a wig.” He laughed but didn’t make eye contact in the mirror.

“No, I mean not from a bottle.”

His hand snuck out from under the cape and smoothed a piece of the shocking white hair. “Nope, it’s real. I woke up one morning and my hair was turning white. I was sixteen.”

What he didn’t say was that whatever happened when he was sixteen was the reason his hair turned white.

“I like it. I really do. It’s regal and gives you an air of a distinguished gentleman. No wonder the kids like you so much,” I said, patting his shoulder. “If I could make one suggestion?” He nodded once, still not making eye contact. “The length. I know you have the whole yoga look going with the hair pulled back in a band thing, but I see a more refined you hiding under there. I see a young, successful business owner who has the sweetest eyes in the world and who cares about his students. Unfortunately, the whole hippie seventies look is holding you back.”

More like he’s hiding behind it but I wasn’t going to be that brazen this early on.

He swallowed and smoothed the hair down with his hand. “I don’t know, Addie. I’ve worn it long for years.”

I nodded while I futzed with the locks. “I can see that, but here’s the thing. Hair grows, so if you don’t like it, you can always grow it out again.”

“True.” He bit his lip with uncertainty. “I am kind of tired of the constant upkeep with it. I’m always hot in the studio, too. What did you have in mind?”

I explained what I was thinking while he continued to chew on his lip, nervously taking stock of himself in the mirror. He finally released his lip and nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.”

I stepped up to the chair again and lifted my scissors. “Get ready. I’m about to transform you into someone you won’t even recognize.”

My scissors snipped what my mind’s eye crafted. I had a vision of a young, sexy yoga instructor I wouldn’t mind seeing more often.