The Holiday Mixtape, page 19
“I don’t sleep in pajamas.”
Kourt’s smile fades. His jaw works, and I turn to ascend the stairs. “I’ll be down in a moment. If you can’t wait, by all means go without me.”
Wow.
What in the hell is the matter with me? I spent a lovely, unexpected day with Bob and Georgia, everything plus some has come together for the festival. Aunt Josie is, in fact, still alive, and Archer rented me an ice rink.
How can I possibly have beef with anybody?
Wait. Me? I’m the one minding my own business.
What is he even doing here? No one asked him to be Mr. Christmas. His duties have been fulfilled. As I pointed out to him, there are multiple trucks available to me in this town.
Still, why am I so mad at someone whose wife died? Maybe that’s it. I’m mad because he’s an ass and now I’ve learned something about him that gives him permission to be?
No. That’s not it at all.
Reaching for my warm boots, I slide them on and begin lacing up the side tassels. It’s the cave, and the two days after. He’s the one who pulled away, leaving me to feel like I did something wrong, or I took advantage of his help.
I’m too busy with what I have to get done to be made to feel that way. I’d never take advantage of a friend.
“Bob and Georgia really enjoyed having you yesterday.”
“Helen insisted I go.” My voice comes out short. It’s like a whip cracking and I can’t soften the blow.
The morning view out my passenger side window is breathtaking. Kentucky is beautiful. It’s hard to be this callus watching snow-covered mountain tops glisten in the early morning sun.
“Look, I—I guess I should’ve told you. I’m just so used to everyone knowing around here. It’s obviously not something that comes up on the daily.” Kourt forces it all out.
“I didn’t expect you’d have it printed on your T-shirt or blurt it out on the ride to Fisher’s. It’s fine. You don’t owe me any kind of explanation, Kourt Mclain.”
“Kourt Mclain. Using my full name now are we? So formal.”
“Would you prefer I use your nickname, McShotty?” And that came out more playful than I intended. Damn it.
“Now that you mention it, I’m not sure what I’d like you to call me just yet. I can think of a few select names off the top of my head that—”
“Oh, look! Oh, June! I can’t believe it.” I roll down my window at the sight as Kourt pulls into a drive that can only belong to June. Acres of greenhouses stand before me in rows, and she has truck beds full of bright red, pink and white poinsettias.
It’s a poinsettia farm. Oh, June.
My heart grows three sizes, and I smile, remembering the potting soil I clocked under her fingernails. I spot June and fly out of the truck as soon as Kourt stops. “June, you did all this for the festival?” I walk toward her with open arms as if she and I always hug each other.
“It’s available to you for our Blitzen Christmas, but don’t give me that much credit. It’s kind of what I do.” June smiles sheepishly, and I watch her eyes lift up behind me as I feel Kourt approach and stand so close we’re almost touching.
Is the guy trying to get a rise out of me?
“June owns one of the most famous nurseries in Kentucky. She’s highly sought after come Christmas,” Kourt interjects.
“Poinsettias are kind of my thing.” June motions to our surroundings.
I shake my head in awe. “Then how could you guys ever let this not be a thing for Blitzen? I just don’t get how it could fade out.”
“Erika. If you stick around any length of time, I doubt it will again. Come on back, I’ve got to show you the new gold leaf hybrid I’ve been growing.” June leads us to a smaller green house in the back. I look up at Kourt and can’t hide my smile. This is amazing.
June slides up a table with smaller gold leaf pots growing into their first blooms. They’re so tiny, but they look like decorations almost. I’ve never seen that color on a real plant, only on an artificial gold glitter kind or painted ones in stores.
“For the longest we just had that hybrid color that looked like the inside of a banana to me. This is a true gold leaf,” June boasts and swirls one through her fingers.
I touch one delicately as Kourt’s arm dives over my head and plucks a gold leaf or two off one of the pots in the middle.
“Are these the ones that taste like basil? Go on Erika, try one. You can eat them like you do mint leaves, but they don’t taste like mint.” Kourt puts one in his mouth and chomps it between his teeth.
“They’re not that poisonous, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to consume a poinsettia the way you do basil or mint,” I inform him dryly, as he continues to absurdly eat off the plant.
“Well, I hate to break it to you both, but these gold hybrids are poisonous and not fit for human consumption at all. I have to keep the barn cats out of here. It’ll kill them if they eat the leaves. I’m not sure if you should be eating those even as a joke, Kourt.”
June turns to look at Kourt as he lets out a strained hiccup. Unbuttoning his top button very sloppily, he begins to cough it out.
Kourt stumbles back onto the tables of plants behind us, squashing a few as he tries to catch his breath. Now I’m watching him gasp for air.
“Honey that’s not poisoning, he’s choking on the leaf! He’s getting pale as a ghost!” June screams and calls over her shoulder through the greenhouse door, “Harry! Harry! Bring the golf cart!”
Either shame on Kourt for scaring her, or June’s a damn good actress. That’s the only part I haven’t figured out yet.
I look back over at Kourt just in time to see him fall backwards.
Okay. I’ll play.
“Kourt! Kourt!” I hold his face in my lap and slap his cheek. Nothing.
I should slap his cheek again harder.
“Kourt!” I scream again and lean toward him, pressing my face against his lips to feel if he’s still breathing.
June is behind me. She’s giving an Oscar-worthy performance. I can’t disappoint her.
“Honey, I’m gonna go ahead and call,” June says as frantic as she can muster.
I’m no detective but seeing as how June and Kourt are so close, he may have worked a summer or two here as a kid. I don’t think this is their first time to pull the old poinsettia routine.
But again, I’m not a bad actress myself.
“Get up, Kourt. Wake up! June!” I scream as I lay him down flat and put my ear to his lips. “He’s not breathing at all!”
I stick my finger in his mouth to try to clear his airway. He almost has me here if this doesn’t get him, because I do it realistically, the way you check to see if someone has something lodged in their throat.
He’s a fireman. He knows what an airway sweep feels like, and it’s not glamorous or sexy.
Okay.
So, on he and June’s little stage, he’s not breathing at all. Which means it’s time for mouth to mouth.
You dick. If I were only the slightest bit braver and not pissed at the guy, I’d slide my tongue down his throat, shock the hell out of him and end this charade, but June’s clearly worked as hard on this stunt as she has the poinsettias.
Who am I to disappoint?
And just because it’s Christmas time, I squeeze his nose tightly together and try to appear as if I’m counting to remember how many rescue breaths you’re supposed to give in so many seconds after you see their chest rise.
And then I start. His nostrils pinched between my two fingers, one hand on his chest to watch it rise, and I place my lips across his mouth and start to breathe.
“If you wanted your mouth on mine Erika, all you had to do was ask.”
Bingo.
I lift up a little, my mouth still above his. I feel his chest rise under my hand, and his hot, steady breath hitch as my eyes drift up to his in slow motion.
“Got ya!” His eyes flare wide with excitement.
Okay, again, for June—I rear back on my knees away from his face and chest.
“What are you—twelve? I thought you were about to convulse! I thought your throat clogged up and you stopped breathing! That you choked on a leaf or stem or something.”
Kourt laughs hysterically as June chuckles behind us.
A confidence only my best friend Archer could instill in me rises to the occasion. I place my palm back on Kourt’s chest. His eyes shift back to mine in confusion when he feels my hand stay firmly pressed on his heart.
And the Oscar goes to…
I pause and stare down into his eyes before leaning intimately into the side of his face, my lips brushing his ear when they move to form words. “If I wanted my mouth on any part of you, Kourt, I wouldn’t have to ask,” I whisper slowly, enunciating each word, and then I pop to my feet innocently to acknowledge June.
“Sorry Erika, I kind of had to go along with it. House rules and all. Kourt here is Blitzen’s biggest prankster.” June raises a brow between the two of us.
Kourt doesn’t even look at me as he moves to get off the floor. He stands and clears his throat.
“Used to be,” he says, annoyed.
“No one else rose to claim the title,” June adds.
“Pity,” I say with a hint of promise.
And—Oh. My. God. The next time I decide to channel Archer to prove a point, could I please not do it while the formerly-crotchety-turned-nicest, most generous woman on the planet is gifting me enough poinsettias to make a tree out of them in the middle of our Blitzen Christmas?
I suck in a breath of cold air to keep my cheeks from turning red from the heat that blazed through my body when I whispered those words to him.
Have I lost my mind? Or maybe, don’t play with fire if you don’t want to get burned, Coach McShotty.
“We can start loading the trailers now if y’all want to. Kourt, why don’t you take Erika to the back to show her the stands for the tree. There are several rows of ’em but it will give you both an idea of how to set this thing up. You’ll want to use all one color until you get to the bottom row, and I was thinking the tree of poinsettias could go to the left of the ice rink, so it’s seen on entry to town square and also as in the backdrop of the ice rink when people take photos. That gives our town’s live tree that Walter will supply full focus in the middle of the festivities on Christmas Eve.” June bows her head on completion, and I clap.
“Perfect. This is truly first-rate, June.”
Kourt takes off behind the greenhouses and starts lifting the layers of the tree racks to load. He doesn’t say a word. I step up beside him to help him lift one and he immediately puts it down.
“Over there.” He points as he puts gloves on. “Go stand over there.”
“I don’t understand,” I offer staring back at him.
“I’m going to need you to stay about five feet away from me the rest of the time we’re here. And after that stunt you pulled, I can’t hear your voice until we get back in that truck.” Kourt returns to lifting the rack without looking back up at me. “And wipe that satisfied smile off your lips, it’s not helping the situation.”
twenty-three
Corkscrewed
I’m in a shit mood. Erika. The little minx turned that around on me. Gave me another fucking hard-on.
My phone rings with Helen, Facetiming. “Hey!” She’s chipper. “Are you going to the auction?”
“Ellis’s auction? Fuck. No.”
It turned wicked cold again this afternoon. I’m on the couch, licking my poinsettia prank wounds with my feet stretched toward the fireplace, thinking about her mouth on mine—what she whispered before she got up—and a football game on TV I haven’t been able to focus on.
Erika wants to play games? She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.
“Come back to me, Kourt. What are you watching?”
“Ballgame.”
“Are you ready for your big game?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Scares the shit out of me, playing with Jamarcus and those guys. I can’t hold a candle to them.”
“Actually,” she lifts her brows. “You can. You know you could have, if Angie hadn’t insisted on dragging your long-legged ass back here. Admit it.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Because you never really tried or even threw your hat in the ring.” She waves her arm high. “You knew you were coming back to Blitzen.”
I rub my hand over my face. I haven’t thought about Angie this much since, I don’t know when. “Maybe.”
“Maybe my ass, Kourt. You didn’t even go for it.”
“Wasn’t any point in trying.”
“Do you regret it?”
I stalk to the refrigerator and pull out a cold one on that question. She’s always known how to jerk my chain. “Not really.” I take a swill.
“Go light on that. I intend to see you at the auction.”
“Told you. I’m not going.” I turn it up just to get under her skin.
“You have to.”
“Why?”
Why am I always expected to do what I don’t want to do?
I aim my beer at the TV monitor on the wall by the fireplace. “I’ve got a game on and a fire going.”
“To support your fire department, dummy. If you don’t show up because you don’t like Ellis, you’re shooting the finger to the whole fundraiser thing. It’s poor sportsmanship. You two are competing to see who raises the most money. Now close up your pity party, get out of that sweatshirt—and I’ll see you there. You need to bid on something. To contribute.”
I choke on the swallow and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “As if I haven’t spent a couple hundred dollars on diesel since Erika hit town. For the fundraiser, I remind you.” I grumble and finish off my cold one.
“No more, Kourt. School gym. One hour. You’re not going to turn into a drunk over this Erika shit.”
“What do you mean?” My ticker revs. “This has nothing to do with Erika. I can’t stand the guy. You think he’s going to be at my basketball game?” Okay, I’m a little loud.
She smirks. “I’ll bet money on it.”
“How much?”
“Fifty.”
“You’re on.”
The high school parking lot is packed. Even my space, with my name on it, is taken. Jerks. I drive around ’til I find a spot a quarter mile from the gym, which is just as packed when I finally reach it.
She’s pulling it off. Every dime made here is going to the new fire truck. Erika knows what she’s doing.
I stand in the rear of the standing room only crowd—I can see over everyone—as one item after another is brought to center court, where ass wipe Ellis has set up a little stage for himself and his auction items. I hope that son of a bitch doesn’t scratch up the floor for tomorrow night’s game. He didn’t even ask.
“Alright everyone, something special.” Ellis is wearing a frigging tuxedo, holding the microphone as he stands beside what I’m guessing, by its size and shape, is Erika’s statue. They’ve got it covered with a cloth, which he swishes off with a flourish.
The crowd mumbles.
So do I. What is it? A big coil?
“This piece belongs to our own Josephine Amherst—you all know her niece, Erika, who’s the mastermind behind this year’s Old-Fashioned Blitzen Christmas, which is our primary fundraiser for the new fire truck. Stand up for us, Erika.”
I crane my neck, along with everyone else, as Erika stands in the bleachers. She’s a damn knockout, dressed for this shit auction. Looks like a million dollars in a fitted black dress she sure as hell didn’t buy in Blitzen. She smiles, nodding, and sits back down.
I know her. If I were closer, I’d see those cheeks are the color of raspberries.
“Okay, now!” Ellis gestures toward the statue, reading a card. “This piece is called Time Spirals. It dates to 1898 by Jebediah Helstrom, a retired locksmith.”
The crowd chuckles as Ellis holds up his index finger and keeps reading. “Erika did some research. Helstrom believed the act of uncorking a wine bottle represented the release of time, so I guess this… represents a corkscrew. We’ll start the bidding at a very conservative $200. Its value has been placed as high as a thousand. It’s actually made out of old keys.”
He taps his gavel, opening the bidding.
The audience is quiet. People are looking at each other.
No one alive but Josie Amherst would want that monstrosity in their house.
I know Erika. She’s dying up there.
“Do I hear a hundred-fifty?” Ellis bellows, his gaze roaming the crowded gym.
Nothing.
“Two hundred!” I raise my hand. Shit. One more time, Kourt to Erika’s rescue. She doesn’t know it’s me in the back of the crowd. Neither does ass wipe.
“Sold!” Ellis looks in the direction of the voice that bid, but I don’t think he can even see me in this jam-packed gym. “Pay the lady at the counter for…” he bends down and looks at the ticket attached. “Item Number 27!”
I back into the hall. She doesn’t have to know.
Two hundred dollars lighter and another quarter mile hike to my truck and back—and the auction is, apparently, over. Until dickhead says, “We want to make as much money as possible, so tonight, ladies, we’ve got another auction. Guys, come forward.”
His football team marches onto the little stage, flanking Ellis. All in tuxes.
“You’re bidding for a Blitzen Blitzer football player for a date, or a day of honey-dos. We start the bidding at fifty dollars a player, starting with quarterback, Cody Baker.”
I groan.
My team surrounds me in less than a minute. “Coach, why didn’t we do that?” Logan is at my side, looking back and forth from me to the football players in their tuxes. “We need to contribute, too.”
“I’ve got Jet Holloway here tomorrow. The basketball team is contributing.”
I’m going to choke Ellis Andrews.
“Come on, Kourt!” Someone in the stands yells through cupped hands, seeing me with my players. “Get those basketball players out here, too!”
