and children. Some were standing still and rubbing cold hands together while others, particularly the younger ones, were racing back and forth between the playground area and the cookie tables.
Matt drew cup after cup of cocoa, adding a squirt of whipped cream as he served them. He even made a special effort to hurry over and present a cup to Whitney when he had a spare moment, although Josh did also see him exchange a handful of cookies for the drink.
He was so deep in thought about the enigmatic reporter he failed to notice Matt’s approach.
“Excuse me, Mr. Smith?” the young man said, poking his head in the door past the stainless steel warmers.
“Whoa! You startled me. What’s wrong? Are we low on something? Do you need more cups? More whipped cream?”
“No, sir. It’s the choir. My grandpa’s about to pray and start the singing. They’re real short of tenors. Would you mind if I sang with them like I do for church?”
What could Josh say? “Of course not. Go. I can handle this by myself for a while. Just come on back when you’re done, if you can.”
“Thanks!”
The wide, relieved grin on the youth’s face gave Josh a really good feeling. He might not be used to this kind of seasonal celebrating, but there were clearly plenty of others who were. Of course, a preacher’s grandson would be among them.
Josh slid out of the van and slammed the passenger side door. He’d left his gloves back at the shop and his hands were freezing now that he was fully outside, so he rubbed them together for warmth before stuffing them in his jacket pockets.
A feminine voice at his elbow asked, “Cookie?”
He whirled, expecting Whitney. It was Coraline, instead. “Thanks. I didn’t have time for supper.”
“Well, these aren’t good for you if you don’t eat anything else,” she lectured, adding a smile to prove she was teasing. “Take two. The oatmeal raisin ones should be filling.”
He did as she’d suggested. “Thanks. How much longer before the mayor lights the big tree?”
“Probably a couple of ‘Silent Night’s and a ‘Noel’ or two,” she said, gesturing toward the assembling choir. “Maybe half an hour.”
“Okay. Good to know.” He stomped his feet. “Man, it’s cold out here.”
“It’s not so bad if you keep moving. What were you doing? Hiding in the van?”
“No, ma’am. I was minding the hot cocoa supply while Matt served.”
“Where did he run off to?”
“The church needed a tenor, or so he claimed. I suspect he may have a girlfriend in the group.”
“Probably. He is sixteen.” Coraline was smiling benevolently. “Tell you what. I’ll loan you one of my helpers until Matt gets back.”
“That won’t be necessary...” She was already hurrying away. To Josh’s chagrin, she stopped next to Whitney and began speaking to her. He couldn’t hear their conversation but he did see her put down the plate of cookies and start waving her arms before pivoting to point right at him.
Of all the hundreds of people available in the park that night, Coraline was choosing to send Whitney! If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect some kind of devious, female conspiracy.
* * *
“Are you sure?” Whitney asked her former principal. “I don’t think Josh likes me very much.”
“Likes, shmikes,” Coraline taunted. “The poor guy lost his only helper and once the singing is over he’s likely to have so many folks wanting hot drinks again he’ll be snowed under.” She giggled. “Pun intended. I can’t remember the last time Bygones had snow this early in the year.”
“I think I was still in high school,” Whitney told her. “We got out of class early and ran around on the playground trying to make snowballs out of whatever we could scrape up.”
“I remember that day.” The older woman was grinning. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Go help the helpless, like the Good Book says.”
Whitney doubted anyone else had ever thought of Josh Smith as helpless. She certainly didn’t. He was so capable, so organized, it was uncanny. Almost scary, if she let herself dwell on it.
Admiring the man’s accomplishments wasn’t wrong, she reasoned, it was simply unnerving that she was unable to temper her burgeoning appreciation of everything he said and did.
Providing refreshments for an entire town, for instance. In the past, several service clubs and churches had banded together to prepare a couple of large batches of hot cider or cocoa, but it was nothing like Josh’s. He was serving the very best he had. And that had raised her opinion of him another notch.
She didn’t have to work to greet him with a broad smile. “Reporting for duty. Miss Coraline says you can use some help over here.”
“It was nice of her to worry about me but I’ve got this. Honestly. Once it’s set up it’s not hard to manage.”
“Then I’ll just hang around and entertain you while we wait and see if you need me.” The befuddled expression on his handsome face made her laugh. “Don’t worry. I promise not to cook.”
“Is that a good thing?” he asked.
“Oh, very good. I remember one time, when I was about twelve, I decided to make a special Christmas morning breakfast to surprise my family. After the fire department came, Dad took Mom and me out to eat way up in Manhattan. It was nearly noon by that time. We had to stay out of the house until they cleared it of smoke.”
“You’re joking, right?”
That question brought more laughter. “Nope. Totally serious. I was trying to bake a coffee cake, hit the wrong button on the range and locked the door on the self-cleaning oven. There was no way to get it open early and that coffee cake was a cinder by the time the system finished its full cycle. Pretty much ruined the baking pan I’d used, too.”
She was delighted to see that her true tale had amused the barista. He took his hands out of his pockets, sidled behind her and dramatically blocked access to his van with his body and outstretched arms.
“In that case, maybe it would be best if you just handed out napkins and I did the rest,” Josh said with a melodramatic smirk.
“My thoughts, exactly.” Whitney loved to tell stories, making her perfect for her chosen profession. The more she mulled over her past Christmases, the more her spirits rose.
“Most of the time, Mom kept me out of the kitchen,” she said. “I must admit it was a relief.” She slipped off one glove, held out her hand and pointed to a faint scar on her index finger. “This is from the time I was helping slice tomatoes and I didn’t know Dad had sharpened Mom’s knives.”
Josh just shook his head.
“And this one,” she added, choosing
