13. Killing it w/ Christmas Kindness
thirteen
Killing it w/ Christmas Kindness
R ushing through the kitchen to stop the noise, I almost forget I have Helen on speaker phone. My ears are ringing from the alarms I set this morning and the kitchen timer going off on Aunt Josie’s commercial kitchen oven.
“What time did you say?” Helen’s voice yells above the incessant beeping, as I slide the cookie sheet out and search for any open space on the counter. “Hang on. Let me get this oven timer to stop.”
“Oh God. Don’t tell me. Please. I can’t. I’m not ready for this from either of you.” Helen persists even though I can barely hear a word she’s shouting.
“Finally. I got it to stop. That was the last batch, so we’re good.” I stare at six dozen cherry icebox cookies lining the green Formica countertop and shake my head.
I don’t know what’s more of the conundrum.
Aunt Josie’s half-vintage to falling apart relic of a home with select modern features, or the fact that my go-to Christmas cookie is called an “ice box cookie” but still required me to wake up at four-thirty this morning to bake them in the oven.
Who cares. Every morsel of them is worth it, and if these folks don’t do it for me, they’ll do it for my cookies.
“He stayed over and you’ve cooked him breakfast?” Helen doesn’t sound like Helen anymore. I drop my oven mitts and grab my phone to bring it closer.
“What? Who? No! And, absolutely not. Are you insane? I learned my lesson from Walter. Never empty-handed and never store bought no matter how gourmet and delish. Kourt dropped me home last night insisting my Bug stay in the courthouse parking lot. Something about the temperature dropping and black ice or whatever.”
“Oh.” Helen sounds like herself again.
“Yeah, when are you two going to acknowledge I’m from the Windy City? Our temps drop just as low if not lower—”
“It’s different in the mountains.”
“And I’ve been in weather so bone-chilling your hands turn blue if you forget your gloves.”
“Yeah… still not the same as driving in it, especially with no four-wheel drive, which brings me back to—what time today?”
“Speaking of four-wheel drive, did Josie have a Range Rover? Kourt said something about a Range Rover.”
“Were there keys to said Range Rover in your envelope? Or was there one parked out front?” Her voice sounds as annoyed as it can get, realizing I know about it.
“No,” I half whisper like a defeated child.
“Right. So, what time today?”
“I’ll get to my car and run my downtown errands if you could just be available to drive me to Fisher’s on your lunch break or whenever your meeting breaks?
I’ve got to handle the rest of the promotional tools with them, and they’re this close to not only donating that massive sleigh but delivering it to us. ”
“Wow. Nice work, city slicker. I’d ask what’s in it for them, but from one ice coffee drinker to another, I’ll respect a girl’s got to have her secrets.” Helen’s voice is high-pitched and ringing through my kitchen, until her previous words hit my ears on replay.
“What would make you ask if Kourt stayed over? Why would you even think it? I mean, I get that he’s your friend, which at some point you must delve into explaining those details so that I have a better understanding of how you tolerate him—the man’s infuriating.”
“Glad to know I still have that effect on you from over five hours away.” A male’s voice only I would recognize calls to me from my laptop on the breakfast nook.
“I gotta go. See you just after noon or so.” I slide my thumb toward the end call button.
“Who’s that?” Helen’s shock is disconnected prematurely by my thumb tap as I race to open my zoom screen.
“Not you Arch, darling.” I smile widely upon seeing the snarky, but friendly face I’ve missed. “You’re a lamb in wolves clothing compared to this local.”
“It’s just shy of a week and you’re already in good with the natives?”
“I’m not sure I would say ‘in or good.’ The man’s a six-three-plus educator responsible for coaching young minds, and he all but pitches a tantrum, spouting some crap about how I can’t just come into town and run things and turn his life upside down.
And over something that was partially his idea to hear him stand up for me in the meeting the way he did. ”
“Wait, which of the townsfolk is this? Who stood up for you?”
“It doesn’t matter. By his overreaction to me, you’d think I surprise decorated the guy’s house.”
“Wait. Have you been to his house?”
A loud honk followed by two more honks echo through the carport and pierce my sanity.
Of course he’s a honker.
“Gotta go, Arch. Have a great day!” I catch Archer’s face drop as I close my laptop already one foot toward the door. Damn it. I rush back, stealing the time to open my screen and click my camera back on. “Hey. Chin up. We’ll catch up tonight. I promise. I miss you, Arch.”
The horn blows again, as I grab everything I prepped for the day and race out the door.
Kourt sits in the driver’s seat with the truck running and the largest grin on his face I’ve ever seen.
His hand is braced on the horn as if ready to go again when he rolls the passenger side window down.
“Just wanted you to know I’m here.” He cocks an eyebrow, waiting to get a rise out of me.
Oh. I know you’re here. He’s not a honker. He’s fucking with me.
I let one of the boxes I’m balancing slide a little too far forward. His gloating is short-lived when he notices all I’m carrying so unsuccessfully.
I almost smile inside at how fast he flies out of the truck to come and help.
He lifts the bakery boxes from my hands and slides the large tote bags off my shoulders, opens the door for me and places them gently in the back seat of the truck. The smell of butter and sweet sugared cherries engulfs us like flames as he rises from the back.
My foot is propped on the step to push up into the truck when I pause and turn to meet him on his way from the back seat. My lips unintentionally graze his ear as I whisper, “Bet you feel bad for honking now.”
Kourt goes stiff, freezing where he stands, partially leaning down from rising out of the back seat. And my lips, still touching his ear.
Heat from embarrassment swells through me, and I slowly turn my head away from him, then vault myself into the passenger seat at record speed.
Ugh. I was trying to give it back to him, but I wasn’t trying to give that off.
I whispered into his ear like I had a sweet nothing to say… I wouldn’t do that to anyone intentionally, not even if I were drunk or high. It’s just after six a.m. What is wrong with me?
It wasn’t what I said, it was the logistics. I didn’t realize we’d be that close when he rose up or—my voice would come out so taunting . I face front with my hands clasped in my lap like a good little girl who has no intention of misbehaving again. As if that will play it off. Nice one .
Kourt didn’t say much on the ride to my VW earlier this morning.
I take it he’s not a morning person. That, or he’s highly confused by the baker of Christmas cookie madness who practically kissed his ear.
Which is exactly why he shouldn’t have offered to drive me in the first place.
Are we certain Blitzen doesn’t have Uber or Lyft?
Maybe I should implement that into the Old-Fashioned Christmas. Some sort of “Sleigh- Ride share app.”
Attempting to warm my mittens by what little heat my Bug gives off, I shake my head discouraged. He wasn’t wrong judging by the amount of ice I scraped off the windshield at seven a.m. while he drove away smirking.
Still, only a complete fool would volunteer themselves for something they one thousand percent don’t want to do.
On that note, I see June’s tiny Toyota pickup drive in beside me at the courthouse.
That thing’s got to be as legendary as my Bug.
I think they stopped making those small pickup trucks before I was born.
Ha. This town is like a Tuck Everlasting for old vehicles.
Wonder what gas station they get their “special oil” from.
I laugh at myself as June huffs out of her car. Wonder what her motivation is? She clearly isn’t excited about helping me. Yet here she is again.
My car door creaks open as I step out to greet her. Kill them with Christmas kindness.
“June. So great to see you again.” I hand her a white pastry box with a bright red ribbon I tied into a homemade bow at about 4:55 this morning.
“You just saw me yesterday. What’s this?” She inspects the box.
“They’re Cherry Icebox Cookies.”
“What?”
“They’re like the ultimate Christmas sugar cookie, only full of Maraschino cherry flavor and super soft in the middle.”
“If you give away all the cookies you make, you won’t have any to sell for the festival.”
“Oh. Well, these are just for you, because...”
“I’m a type two diabetic, so thanks. I guess.” June pitches my little box into her truck and produces a large ring of keys, motioning me to follow her up the side steps of the courthouse.
“I really appreciate you letting me in to get the info. If Blitzen Manor works out, we can put all the vendors on the grounds like they did back in the day.”
“Yeah, well good luck getting ahold of the grandson. If he does answer, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to charge for using the place.”
“I thought it might save you from having to rope town square off for me and figure out parking,” I say as I look down. “I know I’ve already put you out by asking for so much.”
June focuses on the key to the storage and doesn’t say anything.
I’m truly batting zero with this woman.
Her silver strands shine where they tuck back into her low ponytail, and her jewelry clad fingers are outlined with potting soil, as if she’s been working in a flower bed.
She smells like a plant lady. Fresh, earthy, and her attractive face is covered in those deeply embedded wrinkles that only come from years of summers in the sun. You can tell she was once beautiful.
She would be now, if she wasn’t so salty and mean.
“June, I almost forgot to ask. Do you know of any caves around Blitzen?” I regret asking the moment I hear it roll of my tongue.
“A Christmas cave? Look honey, I know you’ve got big ideas from Chicago and your marketing firm, but I draw the line at talking toy soldiers, and life-size gingerbread men-lined walkways. I don’t do caves for Christmas.”
“It’s for Walter Miller. The Calling of the Bears ceremony.”
A knowing smirk escapes her crooked smile. “ Ahh ,” she nods. “Everybody has an agenda.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Everybody always wants something. Blitzen is never enough. You’ll see.” She reaches above my head and pulls the huge frame out. “Here. The estate’s information is taped to the back. You’ll find Gregg’s number listed.”
She hands me the large black and white photo of a 1930s Blitzen Christmas at the manor. I’d seen it when we pulled the lights and the town’s decorations, and I couldn’t get it out of my head.
“He’s the overseer now. Careful, he’s a bit of a miser.” She stands above me glowering over the picture.
“That’s okay. I’m used to difficult people.” I smile up at her as genuinely as I can. Her expression doesn’t falter as she takes the hit, and I grab my phone to snap a picture of the info. I can’t be sure what she meant about Blitzen not being enough and people always wanting more.
Reluctant, and busy with their own lives, sure, but for the most part I’ve been blown away with everyone’s willingness to help. Including June’s.
I wave goodbye to my newfound frenemy as we both start our engines.
There’s no response from her, but my tape deck clicks on after lying dormant all night.
I smile as I pull out to rush and meet Helen on her lunch break, curious what song will fill my VW.
I recognize Silver Bells right away and my heart swells a little, pulling away from the town square when I hear the line, “It’s Christmas time in the city. ”
Maybe I miss Archer and Chicago more than I thought.
The heater in Kourt’s truck blasts through the front cab putting the Bug I sputter around downtown in to shame. I have to admit, knowing it will get dark, and the temperature will decrease significantly while running errands this evening, I’m grateful. For the heater, that is.
“Where to, Your Highness?” His deep voice rolls out begrudgingly.
“Fantastic. His mood has vastly improved since this morning.” I flip my head away from him toward the passenger side window.
“I’m sorry I had to honk this morning.” Kourt’s voice is calm, matter of fact, and holds a hint of amusement.
“I don’t think anyone has to honk. It was certainly a choice.” I don’t turn to him to look, but I can sense his infamous smirk developing.
“So, Fisher’s or…”
“No, that’s already handled,” I announce proudly.
“You didn’t drive there, did you?” Kourt’s brows flinch inward, and he grips the steering wheel.
“Oh, no. Helen. She picked me up on her lunch break.”
“I see. I’m not your only chauffeur.” He relaxes with a smile.
“It takes a village...” I look over to the driver’s side. Some part of me is curious and I have an urge to study his face. Him.
He keeps his eyes on the road as I take in his tall frame, the large masculine hands that steer the winding roads out of town so effortlessly.
The evergreens stand in all their glory past the cab windows and in the fading sun, the darkened hue of his honey-colored hazel eyes almost matches the green of their foliage.
I one thousand percent planned to look away after catching my glimpse, but the air is thick with him. The smell of his truck, the clothes he coached in today… I inhale slowly and a certain warmth invades my senses.
“Where—” We both move our mouths to speak. I clear my throat. “I was going to ask, where you prefer to go first. I have two big boxes to check off. I need to see a man about a cave, and probably timelier, I need to go check out Blitzen Manor.”
A loud beeping and vibration comes from Kourt’s phone. It’s extra loud, akin to an Amber alert, but my phone isn’t going off.
He grabs his and answers. “Got it. I’m on my way.”
Brakes come to a screeching halt. Kourt U-turns in the middle of the highway, and a siren comes out of nowhere as he rolls down his window and places the flashing bulb on the top of his truck.
I shiver at the gust of cold wind rushing in.
“Duty calls.” Kourt winks as he rolls the window back up.
“Is there a fire?”
“God, I hope not, given where we’re going. Looks like I’m taking you on an adventure instead.”