Christmas Kiss is on Her List Read online

  Throat suddenly dry, Penelope reached for her water glass. “You did?”

  “Yes. He’s expecting you to arrive Monday so he can begin teaching you some basics before Mr. Morton arrives on the twenty-first. That gives us the weekend to select your wardrobe for the show and put together a script.”

  Penelope nodded, trying to find a legitimate reason to protest, but couldn’t. It was either this or she’d lose her job, and she didn’t want to find herself unemployed again. “Okay. But why is he so willing to help?”

  “He’s a really nice guy. He doesn’t want to see either one of us lose our jobs.” Dana smiled again. “I think we’re going to pull this off.”

  Chapter Four

  Penelope drove down the old dirt road toward what was once the Anders farm. She noted a few changes in the surrounding area, including a new house under construction by Abigail’s pond. She’d always found that spot pretty, and wondered who had been lucky enough to get old man Whitlock to sell. On second thought, maybe he hadn’t sold, but had decided to build a new place himself. Nah. She couldn’t see that ever happening.

  Humming Deck the Halls, she drove until she saw the familiar red and black mailbox at the end of the long drive leading to the farm house. She slowed and rolled along, viewing the place. When she left, she never dreamed of coming back. Yet here she was and everything looked exactly the way she remembered, except for the construction crew putting on the new roof, or the large backhoe digger parked down near the barn.

  A barking gray and white dog ran toward her compact car. The sound brought a dark headed man out of the house onto the front porch and he waved. She brought the car to a stop and parked beside the blue pick-up truck. Getting out, she called. “Derek?”

  He nodded and took the four porch steps in two long-legged strides. “Penelope, it’s good to see you again. Can I get your bags?”

  “Sure.” She walked around to the trunk and opened it, stepping out of his way. Gone was the lanky boy she remembered from high school, and in his place was a good looking man who filled out the flannel shirt and jeans he wore in all the right places. He smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg. A faint dusting of flour clung to his left cheek. He’d been baking. “I can’t begin to thank you for agreeing to do this for me.”

  “I’m doing this for me as much as for you. I’m hoping the repairs on the place will bring a good price.”

  “Good price? You plan to sell?” A knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

  “I’m thinking about it.” He reached for her two suitcases and stepped back.

  Penelope closed the trunk and bit her bottom lip. She may not have wanted him to buy this place, but she didn’t want someone else owning it.

  “Come on inside and I’ll take you to your old room. I believe it was the one at the top of the stairs?”

  She nodded and grinned. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “The frilly pink curtains that you left behind gave it away.”

  “So that’s what happened to those. I thought I’d lost them. Aunt Edith made them for me the year I came to live with her.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re still there. Everything is the way it was to preserve the memory of when you lived here.”

  Penelope frowned. Had he really kept the room the same to remind him of her? She shook her head to dispel the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Derek headed up the front steps but she stayed behind trying to figure him out. He talked fondly about the place, yet he wanted to sell. She had a feeling there was more than he was saying. Perhaps that’s why Dana thought there was an untold story between them.

  “Are you coming?” he called over his shoulder before he walked through the door.

  “Yeah.” She hurried up the steps and into the house. The scent of butter and baking apples mingled with cinnamon and other spices made her mouth water and her hungry stomach rumble.

  If he heard her stomach growling, he didn’t acknowledge it as he led the way up the old staircase. The fourth through eighth steps creaked under their footsteps.

  “I’ve tried fixing that, but nothing works.”

  “I guess some things aren’t meant to be fixed.”

  He allowed her to enter the room before he set her suitcases inside the doorway. “I laid out fresh towels and washcloths for you if you’d like to freshen up before we get started on your cooking lesson.”

  Penelope fidgeted with the strap on her purse. “About that…”

  “It’s okay, Penelope. Dana explained why you can’t cook.”

  “…but it’s embarrassing to admit. I mean…I write a cooking blog, a very popular blog.”

  “And after this Christmas you will be able to cook.”

  She grinned. “How can you be so confident?”

  “God told me.”

  Chapter Five

  God told him? Penelope frowned as she unpacked her suitcases, putting the folded clothes in the dresser and hanging the rest in the closet. It had been a long time since she had spoken to God. She hadn’t been to church since Aunt Edith died. There always seemed more important things that needed her attention. Getting out of Crater’s Corners had been top on her list, with completing college and finding a good-paying job being close seconds. She’d done all of that on her own. So she couldn’t see why God would give a fig about whether or not she could cook. Or why He’d give Derek Smythe the message to pass on to her.

  She zipped her empty suitcases and stowed them under the bed. Taking her toiletry bag, a towel and a wash cloth she went down the hall to the only bathroom in the house. Like her room, it was clean and tidy but seeing Derek’s personal items there made her uncomfortable. After freshening up, she put her toiletries in an empty drawer, washed her hands, and went downstairs to begin her first lesson in the kitchen.

  Derek was on the phone when she entered. He motioned to the coffee-maker. She poured a cup and added sugar and creamer. Sipping it, she walked to the oven and opened the door a fraction to peer inside at the bubbling cobblers. Dana hadn’t lied when she said the man could cook. The smell made her stomach rumble again and for the second time that day she wished she’d taken the time to eat breakfast before coming here.

  “Hungry?” he asked when he hung up the phone.

  “Yes, but I’ll manage until lunch.”

  He shook his head. “A hungry cook in the kitchen is not a good combination. That’s as bad as going to the grocery store hungry. So let’s remedy this. We’ll start your first lesson with eggs and make an omelet. Are you a meat lover or veggie lover?”

  “I like both with extra cheese on my pizza.”

  He grinned, going to a drawer. “Okay. But we’re not making pizza, we’re making eggs.”

  “Same principle.”

  “You can grate the cheese while I chop the veggies.” He pulled out an apron and handed it to her. “Open the refrigerator and take out the block of mozzarella. The grater is in the top drawer of the china hutch.”

  He opened the cabinet next to the stove and pulled out a small pan. “What do you prefer? Green pepper? Onion? Mushrooms?”

  “Keep going.” Penelope put on the apron.

  “Tomatoes? Green olives?”

  “No tomatoes, olives or anchovies either.”

  “Okay. I have some ham and bacon left from breakfast.”

  “Ham.” Penelope went to the china hutch, opened the drawer and took out the grater. She recognized the dishes in the hutch as Aunt Edith’s. Turning, she scanned the whole kitchen and a tightness formed in her chest. Everything looked the way she remembered before she left. Why hadn’t he changed it and made it his own? He’d been here for years. Something wasn’t right about this picture and she was determined to figure it out.

  “Do you need help with the grater?”

  His question startled her and she hurried over to the counter to
begin her task. “No. I think I can handle it.”

  “I need about half a cup.”

  “Got it.” She opened the block of cheese and shaved off the estimated amount. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I run the farm. Take care of the livestock. Grow crops that I sell for profit either at the Co-op or Farmer’s Market just like other farmers around these parts.”

  “So nothing has changed in Crater’s Corners?”

  Derek grabbed two eggs from the refrigerator. “Why would it?”

  Penelope shrugged. “Why’d you stay? You had plans after high school. Didn’t you?”

  “Sure I had plans, but I got a wild hair one night and did something crazy. I bought this place.” He cracked the eggs into the bowl of veggies and ham, whisked them together, then stopped. “You should be doing this. How else will you learn?”

  She scooped up the cheese and brought it over to the bowl, sprinkling it into the mixture. “It’s okay.”

  He nodded, whisking a few times. “You want to make sure your pan is hot and you coat it with butter or cooking spray before pouring this in.”

  “How will I know it’s hot enough?” she asked as the butter began to bubble. “Never mind. I think it’s ready.”

  “Good eye. Now grab a spatula from the drawer there.” He poured the mixture into the pan which began to cook. “Since this is an omelet you’ll let it cook until its firm before flipping it. If you were making scrambled eggs you’d begin stirring as soon as you poured in the eggs.”

  Penelope watched the eggs cook, and flipped the edge over when he directed her to. She found the process easy enough and the final product delicious. He cleaned up the dishes while she ate and when she finished, they tackled a more complicated task of preparing lunch for the roofers. She peeled potatoes, chopped carrots, and grated cabbage while Derek prepared a pork loin he’d marinated overnight.

  “Do you cook for them every day?” she asked after she’d stirred together coleslaw and put it in the refrigerator to chill.

  “No. But you needed someone to cook for, so I told them if they finished by today we’d have a meal for them.”

  “Oh. But what if—?”

  “No what if’s, Penelope. The men kept their end of the deal and you’ve almost cooked your first big meal without a hitch.”

  Her cheeks warmed under his unexpected praise. “I’ve only assisted and I feel it’s technically half a meal since you did the meat.”

  “Let’s not get technical.”

  “So what’s next?”

  The doorbell rang and she glanced out into the hall. “You expecting company?”

  “No.” He washed and dried his hands before leaving the room. “Watch the potatoes and carrots. Don’t let them boil over or cook dry.”

  Penelope nodded, but frowned at the contradiction. She started to ask him what he meant, but went to the stove and watched the pots. She’d always heard a watched pot never boiled, so maybe that principle would work. Antsy that something would go wrong, she picked up the spoon and stirred the potatoes and then the carrots.

  “Penelope,” Derek called. “You have a guest.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah. You want to come here.”

  She laid down the spoon and hurried to the living room. An attractive tall man in his late twenties, wearing a very expensive suit and coat stood at the door, smiling at her. She returned his smile, but wondered who he could be. “Can I help you?”

  “You’re exactly as I pictured you, Miss Anders.” The man extended his hand to her. “I’m Barton Bixby, the new CEO for the Southern Cooking Channel. I’ve decided to spend Christmas here and oversee matters.”

  “You have?” A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she shook his hand. “Dana never said anything—”

  “I didn’t tell Miss Stevens of my plan. She wasn’t happy with me when she learned about the Christmas contest and I felt it best not to add to her distress.”

  Penelope opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Glancing at Derek, she saw that he looked as dismayed by the news as she felt.

  “Will you be staying at the farm with us, Mr. Bixby?” Derek asked. “If so, we can make room for you. Mr. Morton isn’t due for a few days.”

  “Please excuse me, I need to go check on lunch.” Penelope hurried back to the kitchen and found her phone. She frantically sent Dana a text message.

  Bixby is here. Plans to stay for Christmas. This is a nightmare.

  A sizzling sound drew her attention to the stove and she rushed over to find the water had cooked out of the carrots. Grabbing the pot’s handle, she carried it over to the sink and ran water in it. She stirred, relived that they were not burned. She placed the pot back on the stove and turned the temperature down. She checked the potatoes again and added a little water to them as well to prevent a disaster before Derek returned.

  Her phone rang. “Hello.”

  “OMG.” Dana practically shouted. “Tell me this is a joke?”

  “It’s not. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Nothing. I’m on my way.”

  The line went silent and she turned toward the door as Derek came back into the kitchen. “Well?” she asked.

  “I think you should pray.”

  Chapter Six

  Penelope laid her phone on the counter. “Why? What did he say?”

  “It’s what he didn’t. That man is up to something,” Derek said. “I put him in the guest room.”

  “Guest room? We don’t…Oh…you mean what used to be Aunt Edith’s sewing room.”

  Derek nodded. “I put a full bed in there. It was where I slept in the beginning until I decided to move upstairs. I know it might sound crazy, but it took a while for me to feel comfortable sleeping up there.”

  She smiled and tried to recall why she didn’t like him back in high school, other than he always seemed to be watching her or trying to be nice to her. Now she found his kindness refreshing and sweet. He was going beyond the bargain he’d made with Dana allowing Mr. Bixby to stay here.

  “Not to change the subject, but you’d better check the carrots. They were dry when I came back, but weren’t burned. I put more water in them and turned the temp down.”

  “You did?” Derek walked to the stove and peered into the pot. “What made you do that?”

  “I don’t know. It seemed obvious that it was what I should do. I guess writing those blogs has instilled something about cooking into my brain.”

  His sudden grin gave her hope. “Maybe you’re a natural in the kitchen and didn’t know it?”

  She chuckled at the idea. “I wouldn’t go that far. Today’s lesson has been good, but you haven’t tasted the meal yet. And with Mr. Bixby showing up, how can we continue without him suspecting I can’t cook?”

  “That does present a problem,” he agreed, and his smile faded. “Perhaps you should distract him. Take him on a tour of Crater’s Corners. Charm him until he doesn’t realize you haven’t had time to prepare the meals. We can do your lessons at night.”

  Penelope untied the apron and laid it over the back of a chair. “Or maybe I should be honest with him? Dana was against it, but now that he’s here, he’s bound to figure it out.”

  “I’m all for honesty, Penelope, but I have a feeling you should hold off. Let’s pray about it and leave it in God’s hands.”

  “I—I haven’t prayed in a long time, Derek.” She looked down at the floor. “I—I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  He came to her and reached for her hand. The unexpected gesture sent a jolt of heat up her arm, and she barely contained her gasp of surprise.

  “It isn’t hard,” Derek said softly. “He’s waiting to hear from you. He’s wanting to hear from you.”

  She blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears forming in her eyes, but a single one
escaped to trail down her cheek. “He is?”

  Derek wiped away the tear with his fingertips. “He is.”

  “Excuse me.” Mr. Bixby’s deep voice startled them. “I don’t suppose there’s an Internet connection in the house?”

  Derek squeezed her hand before he released it. “Yes sir, there is. Come with me and I’ll show you where you can hook up.”

  When she was alone, she sank to the chair and began to cry in earnest. She didn’t know what she was doing here. Why had she come? The whole charade was going to blow up in her face. Derek wanted her to pray and he seemed so certain that God would be ready to listen. She covered her face with her hands and gave it a try.

  Heavenly Father, it’s Penelope. I haven’t done this in a long time. I’ve tried to rely on myself for everything and it seemed to be working, but now I’m in trouble. I don’t know what to do. Derek is trying to help, and so is Dana, but this is bigger than all three of us can manage. Help me know what to do to make this right. Amen.

  She reached for the apron and dried her eyes before putting it on and going to the sink to wash her hands and face. Checking the potatoes, she noticed they were almost dry. She tasted them and convinced they were done just right, set the pot onto a trivet on the counter.

  “Are you sure your Aunt Edith never let you help in the kitchen?”

  She jumped at the sound of Derek’s voice. “She wouldn’t let me near the stove. She said I’d just be in the way.”

  “No offense, but I think she was wrong,” he softly contradicted. “You’d have been a help to her. We’re almost ready to eat. I’ll go tell the men to wash up and you can whip the potatoes.”

  She nodded. “How?”

  “With the mixer. Transfer the potatoes to the mixing bowl, add salt, butter and sour cream to taste.”

  “No milk? Aunt Edith used milk.”

  “That was her way.” He opened the refrigerator and took out the butter and sour cream. “I prefer sour cream instead of milk. The potatoes don’t taste leftover if you have extra.”