Page 5 of Jam and Jingle Bells
His eyes lit and his eyebrows went up. “A New Year baby. Nice!” he said, giving me a high five. “I’m twenty-five too, but my birthday isn’t nearly as exciting. It’s the middle of December.”
“That’s coming up then,” I said, one brow raised.
“Yup, I’ll be an old man on December thirteenth.”
“I’ll meet you at your rocking chair on the front porch on the first then.”
He smiled and winked, his eyes dancing. “To answer your question, I worked as a yoga instructor for two years in California before I moved here. I worked on my dad’s farm for two years after high school, but honestly, farming was not my thing. How are things going at the salon?”
I thought it was odd how he always changed the subject whenever we talked about him. “Excellent. We’re always busy. Of course, not today since it’s the day before Thanksgiving, but we spent our time cleaning tools and checking stock. Real exciting stuff.”
He chuckled as Becca carried over a tray filled to the brim with food. She set our plates in front of us and I moaned a little when the crisp, cheesy tater tots aimed tendrils of steamy goodness toward my nose.
“Oh, this smells even better than I expected,” I moaned.
“Whenever you’re ready, let me know what kind of pie you want.” She waved, tucked the tray under her arm, and headed back to the kitchen.
I grabbed my fork and dug in, the hamburger and vegetables melting in my mouth at first bite. The cheese blend Mason used was perfectly balanced between mild and sharp. I moaned again and he chuckled while he chewed, finally swallowing and taking a drink of his cocoa.
“I love a woman who appreciates good food,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You definitely strike me as the type.”
I nodded, taking another bite and wiggling in my seat. When I swallowed, I washed it down with a sip of coffee before I answered. “What’s life without good food and good friends?”
That was the end of the conversation. We both got down to the business of eating and there was no time for talking. It was the comfort food you’d expect to be waiting for you at home after a hard day at school. The rolls were yeasty and the perfect level of doughy versus crusty. Melissa had taken over the baking from Ivy last year and as much as I love Ivy, I had to say, Melissa was a much better baker. That’s saying something because Ivy was no slouch.
I washed down the last bite with a sip of water and leaned back, rubbing my tummy. “Man, that was amazing.”
He pushed the last few bites aside and laid his fork down. “I better save room for the pie. That was downright heavenly, though. It’s rare to get the tots so crispy.”
I pointed at him. “That’s the secret, really. But Mason, he’s a pro like that. I wonder what kind of pie they have left,” I mused, eyeing the new bakery case.
“Apple, blackberry, and peach,” Becca said from around the booth as she cleaned off table five.
“Hmm, all excellent,” I said, tapping my chin. “Apple will be at the dinner tomorrow, so I’ll pass on that for tonight. How about Melissa’s famous peach?”
“You got it,” Becca said, grabbing her tray of dirty dishes and transferring it to the counter. “How about you, Santa?”
I jiggled with laughter at the look on his face, until he remembered his shirt and burst out laughing, too. “I’ll have the blackberry,” he said between giggles.
Becca scurried to the pie case and I leaned forward, digging around in the container of jams on the table. “Maybe we can share our pie,” I suggested, lifting out individual containers of jam.
“I’ll give you some of mine if you give me some of yours.” He was smiling when he said it, but there was a double entendre there that was hard to miss.
“I like that idea. It’s always a tough decision when it comes to Melissa’s pie.”
“What’s with the jam?” he asked as Becca dropped the pie off. God love her, she had already split the pieces in half, giving both of us a sliver of each.
I grabbed a knife and started spreading jam on my peach pie.
“What on God’s green earth?” he asked, his fork in midair.
“What?” I rested my knife on my plate. “Orange marmalade on peach pie is heaven on earth,” I assured him. I took a bite and my eyes rolled back in my head.
“Seriously?” He grabbed the little bit that was left in the plastic cup and spread it on the tip of his peach pie before forking it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments and swallowed. “You’re not wrong, surprisingly.” He grabbed a second container and spread it over the rest of the pie. “What do you put on the blackberry?”
I held up another container and he read it, “Raspberry. Makes sense,” he agreed, grabbing it from me and opening it.
“Strawberry and grape are also good.”
