Page 23 of Savoring Christmas (Sugarville Grove #8)
They were laughing as they donned their coats and went out together, with Reese and Abby following behind. Kris lingered for just a moment. “You two behave yourselves in here and focus on getting these dishes done. You don’t want to be late.”
Mia flicked at Kris with a dish towel as he headed toward the door and disappeared into the dark, snowy night.
In the sudden quiet, the Christmas music she’d had playing in the background sounded much louder.
Cannoli had long since curled up in her bed, having exhausted herself during the early part of class with all the sniffing and licking of hands.
“The Christmas Song” ( Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire ) by Nat King Cole came on the radio.
Logan glanced at the clock, then at her, a slow smile playing at his mouth. “Dance with me?”
Mia shook her head with a laugh. “Really? Don’t we have to go?”
“We have a few minutes.” He held out his hand.
“My parents used to dance to this. Still do, I think. Even though we used to tease them without end. My parents were always kissing or touching or dancing. We all made fun but secretly we all loved seeing them that way. I’ve been hoping to find what they have for a long time now. Come on, give me a whirl.”
Rolling her eyes but unable to keep the smile from her face, she set down her dish towel and slipped her hand into his. He drew her close, his palm warm at her back, and they moved slowly across the scuffed linoleum floor of the elementary school kitchen.
Cannoli lifted her head, eyes sleepy, but Mia could swear the dog was smiling. Who knew Cannoli was such a romantic.
For a moment, the world shrank to the soft brush of his shirt sleeve against her arm, the spicy scent of his cologne, and the steady beat of his heart under her cheek.
When the song ended, he tipped her chin up and kissed her, soft and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.
She smiled against his mouth before pulling back with a little laugh. “We should probably clean up before we miss the whole thing.”
He released her reluctantly. “But only because of the tree. Not because I want to let you go.”
They set to work, moving in practiced tandem—she wiped down counters while he stacked bowls by the industrial sink. Their shoulders brushed now and then, each touch sending a small ripple of awareness through her.
As she reached for the last pan, she hesitated.
“When you were talking about your first Christmas at the tree lighting ceremony earlier, it made me remember one of my favorite memories. The year before my dad died he gave me a wooden box he’d carved himself and filled with all his mother’s recipes from Italy.
I’d just started showing an interest in cooking, and he wanted me to have a piece of her—and of him. ”
Logan stilled, watching her closely.
“I’ve kept it with me ever since.” Her voice thickened, growing husky. “No matter where I cook, I always have it with me. In fact, the sauce and pasta recipe are from her.
Logan shook his head, as if searching for the right word. “That’s pretty special.”
She gave a small, wistful smile. “It is. And tonight, hearing your story about the tree lighting reminded me that the things we carry with us from the people we love are really the essence of Christmas.”
His gaze held hers for a moment, something steady and certain in his eyes. “I think you’re right. I’m glad to be making memories with you this season. I hope we have a lot more.”
“Do you mean that?”
“With every part of me,” Logan said. “I know it’s all been kind of fast—all this between us.
But when I’m not with you, I think of you constantly.
I find myself watching the clock before it’s time to come to class, wishing it would go faster.
Then when I get here, it all goes too fast. What I’m trying to say is—I’m falling in love with you. ”
She could hardly breathe with the joy that coursed through her body. “I’m falling in love with you too.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The quiet hum of the kitchen, the faint strains of Bing Crosby still drifting from the boom box, wrapped around them like the warmest kind of silence.
Logan’s thumb brushed over her hand, a tender, grounding touch. “Then I guess we’d better get to that tree lighting before we miss the countdown.”
Mia’s lips curved. “We can’t miss your favorite tradition.”
He reached for her coat, helping her into it before shrugging into his own. She tucked her recipe box more securely into her tote, the smooth wood warm under her fingertips, as if her father’s presence was tucked safely there with her.
They stepped out into the cold—Cannoli trotting merrily alongside—their breath clouding in the frosty air.
Snow fell in soft, drifting spirals, catching in her hair and clinging to the wool of Logan’s coat.
The night was hushed except for the faint hum of Christmas music floating from the town square.
He slid his hand into hers, their fingers fitting together as naturally as if they’d been holding hands forever.
“Ready?” he asked.
She glanced up at him, her heart impossibly light. “More than ready.”
And together, they headed toward the glow of the tree.
By the time they reached the town square, a fresh, soft layer of snow covered every roof, lamppost, and storefront awning. The lights glowed gold against the night, and the air carried the scents of popcorn, hot chocolate, and grilled sausages from the vendor stalls.
The church choir’s voices floated from the pavilion, rich harmonies rising in O Come, All Ye Faithful .
People stood shoulder to shoulder, mittened hands wrapped around steaming cups, cheeks pink from the cold.
Everywhere she looked, there were familiar faces—neighbors, shopkeepers, and families bundled together for the celebration.
“Over here!” Kris’s voice carried over the crowd. They were all there, minus Abby, who had joined Luke and their kids on the other side of the tree.
Holding hands, Mia and Logan wove their way through, Cannoli tucked under Logan’s arm in her tiny red sweater, until they found their friends gathered near the front. A circle had been saved for them, coats and gloves marking the space.
Reese passed Mia a cup of hot chocolate, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Compliments of Harold. It’s been enhanced.”
Harold raised his own cup in salute, winking. “Keeps the chill out.”
Logan took his cider with a grin, clinking it lightly against Mia’s. “Cheers to our favorite teacher.”
Mia’s chest warmed, not just from the drink, but from the sight of them all here together. A few months ago, she’d felt friendless and still certain she’d be moving on at some point. Now, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, settling on hats and shoulders, melting on the steam that curled from their cups. The hum of conversation blended with the choir, and somewhere in the crowd a child’s laughter rang out, bright as the bells that would chime when the tree lit up.
Was she finally home? Had the fractured pieces of her life brought her here where she belonged? It sure felt like it at the moment.
Her gaze swept the square, lingering on the massive evergreen in the center, its branches heavy with ornaments. She knew in a few minutes the mayor would step up to the microphone, the crowd would start counting down, and then the tree would light up the entire square.
Logan’s gloved hand brushed hers, and she smiled at him, her heart thumping inside her chest with what she could only assume was love.
Mia’s kitchen at the restaurant was warm despite the bitter cold pressing in from outside.
She’d had a full house with people celebrating the holidays and special occasions.
The fixed menu for that evening had been a celebration of winter—crostini with whipped ricotta, honey, and toasted hazelnuts; roasted red pepper and marinated olives; handmade pappardelle with wild mushroom ragù; braised short ribs in Barolo wine served over creamy polenta with roasted winter vegetables; and, for dessert, ricotta and lemon zest cheesecake with a cranberry compote.
Feedback from Remi said the menu had been a hit.
Now, she stood at the long prep table, carefully spooning glossy cranberry compote over the last slice of ricotta cheesecake, the jewel-toned sauce pooling against the creamy white.
She added a curl of lemon zest to each plate, the bright citrus a final burst of color against the rich dessert.
The door swung open, letting in a swirl of warm air and the hum of conversation from the dining room.
Remi stepped inside, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit and deep burgundy tie.
“These are for table three.” Mia slid the finished plates toward him.
“Excellent.” He gathered the plates with practiced ease before heading back toward the dining room.
“There’s only one more table left besides four and they’re enjoying espressos and dessert but should be leaving soon.
Samuel will be back with the sleigh to get them.
He’s dropping table six back to their car first.”
“As usual, you’ve run everything perfectly,” Mia said.
“Table six said to tell you that it was a meal to remember,” Remi said. “It was their mother’s eightieth birthday.”
“How lovely of them.”
Remi cocked his head to the right, studying her. “You’ve been in a particularly buoyant mood this evening. Are the rumors in town true? You and hunky Logan Hayes are dating?”
She shrugged as a blush bloomed in her cheeks. “Something like that.”
“I’m delighted for you. It’s about time you decided to live again.”
“I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Thanks for being here for me.”
“Where else would I be that would be better than here?” Remi asked. “We’re living in a magical place.”
“That seems to be so.”
He gathered the plates with practiced ease before heading back toward the dining room.