Chapter 5
5
M onday afternoon, after he and Ginger returned to the office, Haywood spent the remainder of the workday in the shop with Walt. He met the team of carpenters who manufactured the furniture sold in the showroom, surprised that most of them were his age or younger. He’d expected a bunch of grizzled old woodworkers, toiling away to preserve a dying craft. Instead, he discovered a group of talented artisans proudly preserving South Carolina’s low country heritage.
“We more low-country adjacent,” Walt explained, “but as South Carolinians, we feel entitled to lay claim to these traditions.”
On Tuesday, he and Ginger dug into the company records. With her knowledge of the company’s history, even though she’d only been the business manager for six years, he had a better understanding of Arthur Calhoun’s business philosophy and decision-making process. Over the years, Arthur has missed opportunities for expansion and taken risks when more conservative policies would have served him well. The company had endured ups and downs, but it maintained a stellar reputation and attracted a surprising amount of repeat business. Three of those accounts, he noted, were high-end property developers.
Ideas were starting to come to Haywood, each more exciting than the last. On Wednesday, he drove up to Charleston to meet with Dayton. It was too soon to implement any changes, but Calhoun Designs held enormous potential. He needed to know what direction his friend wanted to move in before he committed himself any further.
When he arrived at the office this morning, he surprised everyone—Ginger most of all—with a box of cinnamon sugar donuts from Cakeology. With a little half-and-half, her cinnamon-spiked coffee paired perfectly with the pastries. At lunch, he caught himself humming along to I’ll Be Home for Christmas, and he checked what was showing on the Hallmark Channel that evening because…
…Ginger had invited him over for dinner.
“The next three days are going to be chaos. You run on adrenaline until Sunday night when the festival wraps up. Then you crash. Arthur usually gave us the following Monday off to recover.” She realized the implied assumption and quickly corrected herself. “But you’re in charge now?—”
“We’re closed on Monday. Make sure there’s a notice on the front door.” They were alone in the conference room, the air charged with sexual attraction. It had been building since Monday, and Haywood could barely keep his hands off Ginger. If the heated looks she gave him were any indication, the attraction was mutual.
“Do you like lasagna?” Her question came out oddly breathless.
Had she asked if he liked chipotle-roasted pinecones he would have said yes.
“It’s one of my favorites.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me? About seven?” She looked away, suddenly shy. “We can review the layout one more time. I’m worried the scouts might not have enough room for their Christmas trees. We usually give them the entire library parking lot, but there’s construction this year.”
“Cabernet sauvignon or chianti?” he asked.
When his day at the showroom wrapped up, he stopped by the animal rescue to claim Max. He’d dropped a couple hundred bucks at a pet supply store shopping for a dog bed, dog food, monogrammed bowls, a special formula to ensure canine health and longevity, toys, and organic dog treats. He had a lot to learn about healthy relationships, but he knew catering to the needs of your special someone was important.
What did Ginger need? She seemed perfectly content with her job, had a close circle of friends, and was popular in town. Visiting her home would give him an up close and personal glimpse of her lifestyle and the things that mattered to her. He fully expected the decorating to be ten times more extreme than her office décor, but he was ready.
The pet supply store wasn’t the only stop he made coming back from Charleston.
He pulled up to her address at three minutes past seven. There was no need to check the house number. Strands of colored lights outlined the small bungalow. The wooden snowman, herd of grapevine reindeer, and yards of white twinkle lights covering every bush and tree screamed, “Ginger Folly lives here!”
Bottle of wine in one hand, Max’s leash in the other, he climbed the porch stairs and rang the doorbell. Frosty the Snowman chimed to announce his arrival.
Ginger opened the front door, her welcoming, “Hello” turning to laughter. He preened, modeling the hideous sweater he’d picked up at a secondhand store.
“How’d I do?” he asked. “I told them I need something really ugly.”
“It’s awful.” She flicked a miniature candy cane suspended from the sparkly garland strung back and forth across the green knit fabric. “Make sure you wear it to the company potluck. Walt usually comes up with a winner for the ugly Christmas sweater contest, but this is worse than anything he’s worn. Wait…what is Max wearing?”
“They had two of these tinsel monstrosities. I look better in green so Max got stuck with the red one.”
“I’m…touched.” She giggled. “People aren’t usually so enthusiastic about my dress code. Come in. Dinner is almost ready.”
He stepped into the foyer and stopped, mouth agape as he took in the décor. Beneath a huge tree with branches that stretched in every direction, a model train ran along tracks that circled the tree’s base. Candles in varying heights flickered in the fireplace, red stockings suspended from a polished wooden mantle. A winter landscape hung over the mantle, a horsedrawn sleigh caught forever traversing the snowy hills. The throw pillows on her sofa were embroidered with clever sayings like, “Naughty enough to be nice” and “Santa’s watching.” Every surface was filled with miniature Santas and elves and angels and snowmen, but rather than cluttered, Ginger’s home was cozy. And festive. From top to bottom.
Smooth jazz holiday instrumentals provided a relaxing soundtrack as she guided him on a brief tour. The decorations extended to every room—the dining room, downstairs and upstairs bathrooms, the kitchen, the guest room and her bedroom.
“My grandmother brought that quilt out every Christmas,” she said, gliding her fingertips over the holly berry pattern before leading him back to the dining room.
“You’re lucky to have so many happy memories.” Most of his Christmas memories were a blur of strangers decked out in their holiday finery, guzzling champagne and complaining about the expensive canapes. The next morning, he and his siblings had opened a mound of expensive gifts, but none were especially memorable.
“Before we eat, I have something for you.” Ginger handed him a shirt box wrapped in gold foil, a huge silver bow on the top. “It’s a little redundant now, but I hope you like it.”
Curious, he ripped away the paper. Max watched from the end of the sofa where he was curled up against a teddy bear with a red plaid ribbon around its neck. He parted the tissue paper and lifted out a cardigan sweater. On the back, in huge white cursive letters, read TEAM SANTA.
“It was my grandfather’s,” she whispered.
“Oh, Ginger. I can’t accept this.” He clutched the sweater against his chest, fumbling for words.
“I can’t wear all of his sweaters,” she said. “He would have wanted you to have it. He believed everyone needed one decent Christmas sweater. Now you have a nice one, and a?—”
He kissed her, the sweater crushed between them, dinner forgotten. She moaned and leaned into his embrace.
“You smell like garlic and oregano,” he murmured, “but taste like cinnamon and spice.”
“This is crazy.” She looked up at him, eyes dreamy and unfocused. “I hardly know you, but this feels…inevitable.”
“Like it was meant to me?” he dared to ask.
“Maybe.” She met his gaze. “Yes.”
“Is it too soon?” He cupped her jaw. “We can slow things down.”
“Gramps was big on trusting your intuition. He said if you had a gut feeling about something, good or bad, to not be afraid to take that leap of faith.” She smoothed a hand over the front of his sweater, the tiny strands of tinsel reflecting her holiday lights. “You walked into Calhoun’s complaining about my decorations and my coffee and my sweaters, and now you’re wearing one of your own. I could fall for a guy into Christmas like that.”
“Ginger…”
There was so much he wanted to say, but everything was a warm, gooey mess of happy potential. Dayton had been receptive to his ideas, had even offered him to hire him as Arthur’s official replacement. Tempting as the offer was, he had something else in mind once he got the furniture company headed in the right direction. Then there was Ginger, a woman who represented the opposite of everything he’d been raised to value and aspire to. She didn’t care about his bank balance or how influential his family was. She valued kindness and empathy and compassion, and put those values into practice.
Haywood wanted the fulfillment and contentment Ginger had achieved through her community service. He wanted to come home to a woman committed to loving him and a dog loyal to him. Maybe, down the road, there would be redheaded children they tucked into bed together, urging them to go to sleep so Santa could visit.
“I’m a different man than the one who arrived in Love Beach a week ago. I was looking for something, and I’m pretty sure I found it. I found you.”
She was trembling, skin hot and silky as he unbuttoned her sweater to reveal a red lacy bra. He trailed his fingers over her delicate collarbones, pleased at how she responded to his touch. Her head fall back as her eyes closed, exposing the elegant arch of her neck. He buried his fingers in her hair as he pressed kisses to the hollow where her pulse beat a hectic tempo.
“Our first time should be beneath the Christmas tree,” he rasped, “but there isn’t a lot of room with the train tracks and all.”
“There’s a tree in my bedroom. Did you miss it?” She shimmied against him, a delighted, “Oh!” escaping when she felt his erection.
“I was too busy looking at you,” he admitted. “And honestly, there’s a lot to take in here.”
“It will take several visits to appreciate it all.” Her breasts bounced as she raced to the stairs. “Plenty of room in my bed. Let’s start there.”
Haywood checked on Max before following. The dog chuffed and closed his eyes, settling in for a long winter’s nap.