Deacon got his cookie dough. Macy plopped some right into his mouth the night of the cookie baking at her sister’s house. But she also fed her sister’s dog some cookie dough, so Deacon didn’t feel particularly special. Her sister’s husband was in the kitchen too during the whole floury, buttery shebang, so nothing romantic happened. But at least Deacon had made the effort to be there. He could tell Macy appreciated it by the way her face lit up when he caught up with her on her walk down East Bay Street toward her sister’s house on Tradd.
“It’s you,” she’d said.
“Uh-huh,” he said back.
They pretended he was just being helpful. But he knew—and he was sure she knew—that he was making an extra effort to chase her. It was the classic old-fashioned chase men took up when they wanted to be with a special woman. He was proud to join that fraternity.
And being at her sister Anne’s house was easy. The kids, Lucy and Sam, were fun. So was Kyle, the brother-in-law. It was a low-key endeavor with lots of holiday music keeping them going through the scary parts, like rolling out the dough to the right thickness, which Deacon had never had to do before since he’d never made cookie dough.
“It’s not hard,” Macy assured him.
“That’s what she said,” he replied. Kyle laughed, but Macy had never seen The Office, so she didn’t get it.
Deacon had been all ready to walk her back home when they finished up at eleven thirty, but she decided to spend the night and wake up with the kids in the morning to feed them breakfast. Anne would be in no shape to, and Kyle had to head to the hospital at five.
So Deacon walked home alone. But he didn’t feel alone. He felt like maybe some Christmas elves were busy making a surprise for him since he’d been so helpful that evening. He hoped the surprise would be Macy, wrapped in nothing but a big red bow. But he knew that elves didn’t think like grown-ass men with sex on the brain. So he suspected he might get a book. Or socks.
He got home and saw a text from Tiffany: Looking forward to messing with Macy tomorrow. I have a plan to get her there. You need to be surprised too, or she’ll catch on. Trust me?
Sure, he said, willing to go along on the adventure. Looking forward to it.
“Tell me,” said George. They were in the kitchen drinking late-night Irish coffees in glass mugs—as if they needed caffeine and alcohol at midnight, or fancy glass mugs for that matter—George was totally into presentation. “You look like you have a delicious secret you need to spill.”
So Deacon told him how Macy’s clients were going to cooperate with him to get Macy and him together.
“Together?” George asked. “As in in the sack? Or as in connecting with your true love and getting married?”
“You got whipped cream on your lip.”
George ignored him. “Are you turning into Jimmy Stewart before my very eyes? Or are you still Bruce Willis?”
“Neither,” Deacon said. “I’m more like Ryan Gosling.” He reached out and swiped the fleck of whipped cream off George’s lip.
George swatted at him. “You are no Ryan Gosling. I’d say you’re Channing Tatum. You’re noble enough. But you still ooze bad boy.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this devious plan a lot sooner?” George cocked his head like a seagull on the Battery wall.
“I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. And you’d have let me know.”
“Damn straight. But I happen to think it’s a great idea. So much more exciting than going on deadly dull blind dates. And Macy likes you. I can tell. I don’t know why she’s so gun-shy, though. Could it be you already threw out Christmas-fling signals? If so, you were talking to the wrong girl.”
“Yes, I threw out Christmas-fling signals.” Deacon was abashed. He so rarely was.
“Dumb,” said George. “But understandable. She makes a helluva cake. That alone is a tremendous aphrodisiac.”
“Well, I’m ramping up my game,” said Deacon, “and trying seriously to get her attention. But I’m a little uneasy about tomorrow. I have no idea what Tiffany is going to do at this candle shop.”
George laughed. “You and candles. It doesn’t compute.”
“I know.”
“It’s time for you to get out of boss mode and let other people help you out. So embrace this clearly romantic undertaking.”
“Actually, I’m finding it refreshing—humbling, even—to allow strangers to come to my aid.” It felt like putting on a new coat that you were sure wouldn’t fit or look good, but not only did it fit, you looked awesome in it.
“That’s what the Christmas season is all about.” George was twitchy but waxing sentimental. No wonder. It was his third Irish coffee.
About two in the morning, when Deacon finally got to sleep, he dozed off thinking that so far in Charleston, he’d sucked at coming to anyone else’s aid, except Aunt Fran—and maybe those kids he’d bought bikes for. But that was too easy. He needed to think about what else he could do and for whom, something hard that challenged him. No way do I want those elves to stop working on my present, he thought, and then he was out like a light with a smile on his face.
* * *
The next day at work, Macy was busy, so busy that she had to cut short her lunch with her parents at a deli on King Street. They’d all converged there from their offices. She hugged them good-bye right after her BLT but before the gooey, giant brownie her dad ordered for them all to split.
“We understand,” her mother said with a smile. “We have afternoon classes to teach anyway. So don’t worry. Do what you have to do.”
“I’ve got your mother to keep me company,” her father said, beaming.
“Is this a date now?” Macy’s mother teased him.
“You bet,” her father said back, and kissed her.
Macy loved how happy they were together. “Be good, you two!” She blew kisses at them.
“We love you!” they called after her.
She hurried on her way, buoyed by the meet-up. One of her couples was on the verge of getting engaged, and the guy wanted her help figuring out how to make it a moment in time his beloved would never forget. Macy had been on the phone all morning trying to arrange for him to pop the question inside a chic private art gallery after it was closed for the day. It took forever, but finally, after lunch, she got permission from the owner. She also arranged for a local restaurant to serve a romantic meal in the gallery, beneath the future bride’s favorite painting, which the future groom had already arranged to purchase for her.
“Yay,” she murmured, right as she hung up with the restaurant’s chef. But the next second her phone vibrated. Please, she thought, don’t let that be anyone messing up all the plans I just made.
But it wasn’t. It was Tiffany. Her heart sank anew. Why was Tiffany calling? She was supposed to be at the candle shop with Deacon. Macy wanted that date to work out. She was too into Deacon herself. He was dangerous, and she was in no place to date a dangerous man. She had Two Love Lane to worry about. And … and …
And she was afraid of falling in love. She’d screw it up. She just knew it. And then she’d be among the brokenhearted, and that wouldn’t do. Pain hurt. She was a wimp. She was much better at arranging other people’s happily ever afters. To hell with her own. She’d make do with chocolate. And great shoes.
“Tiffany,” she said smoothly. “How goes it at the candle shop?”
“Macy, Deacon is an absolute doll,” Tiffany said in a low tone. “And we just started making our candles. But—” She hesitated.
“But what?” Macy felt her temples throb with anxiety.
Tiffany gave a little cry. “My sister is driving me crazy. She keeps looking over my shoulder. It’s like being watched by your parents at a middle school dance.”
“Wow. Sorry I suggested it. Can you go somewhere else? Do candles another day.”
“It’s too late. Deacon likes making them. He’s into it, Macy.”
“He is?”
“Yes! Either that, or he’s into my sister. And I think my sister has the hots for him. I’d better just leave.”
“Please don’t. Deacon would never treat a date poorly. Flirting with your sister would be awful of him. I’m sure he’s not. He’s just being kind.”
“How can you be sure?”
Macy really couldn’t. But she knew him. Somehow, she did. “I just know,” she said, feeling a little sheepish. “Can you take your sister aside and ask her to go back to the workroom or something?”
“She doesn’t have a workroom. Everything is stored up front. She’ll be hovering no matter what.”
“Ask her to leave the store. You know how to make candles. You don’t need her.”
“She needs to close out the register and shut down her equipment. I’ve never done any of that.”
“Tell her to leave for half an hour. A coffee break.”
“There are other people in the class. They’d think it was weird if she left. And we have coffee here.”
“I see.” Macy didn’t know what to do.
“I’m leaving,” said Tiffany.
“Please don’t do that!”
“I don’t want to stay. My sister doesn’t have a boyfriend either. She’s always wanted what I wanted. And she’s ruining this date.”
“Do you … do you want Deacon?”
“Who wouldn’t? He’s totally hot. And his enthusiasm for candle making is adorable. He’s terrible at it. But at least he acts like it’s fun.”
“I didn’t think he was into crafts, but I was hoping he’d give this a shot. I’m so glad. Stay, Tiffany. Ignore your sister.”
“Impossible. Someone needs to finish my candle. I’m going home.”
Click.
“Darn it!” Macy immediately dialed Deacon.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m making a grapefruit-scented candle, and it rocks.”
Macy couldn’t help but chuckle. “Um, that’s good.”
“We should come back here together sometime. You should make one.”
“I will.” Macy’s heart warmed that he wanted her to go there with him. “Hey, is Tiffany gone?”
There was a pause. “She’s talking to her sister in a corner. They’re waving their hands around.”
“Tiffany thinks her sister likes you.”
Deacon gave a short laugh. “I think she does too.”
“Oh no.”
“I tried to fob her off. But she’s pretty persistent. Invading my space and all that.”
“Tiffany’s leaving.”
Deacon sighed. “I can’t say that I blame her. Wait. Here she comes.”
Macy waited. She heard voices, several “good-byes.”
Deacon came back on the line. “She asked me to finish her candle for her. She won’t let her sister do it.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out. She’s not mad at you, is she?” Macy asked.
“No. She gave me a hug. She fibbed and said she had a terrible headache. I told her I’m sorry she’s leaving.”
“Well, now you know why she left.”
“I want to go too,” he murmured low. “I mean, I’m here with these other people in the class. But the sister … she’s, um, heading my way. She has a glint in her eye. Too bad because I was having fun. Candle making is cool. You can accidentally explode things. And of course there’s fire. All these wicks are getting a pretty good flame. I stuck my finger in one for four seconds.”
“Why are men fascinated by explosions? And fire? And daring themselves to do dumb things?”
“Because it’s fun?” Deacon guessed.
“Don’t leave your candle,” Macy said. “I’ll come down and finish Tiffany’s for her and fend off her sister so you can finish yours.”
“Whew. Thank you.”
“I’m glad to help. And sorry it didn’t work out with Tiffany. You can always reschedule.”
“Nah,” he said. “No way do I want to come between two sisters. And she’s made it clear she’s done.”
“All right.” Macy tried to sound like the disappointed matchmaker. But deep inside … she was glad.
And wouldn’t you know it? She loved making candles too.
But Deacon was better at it.
“Sorry,” he said, on their walk back home.
“No, that’s okay.” Macy’s candle—Tiffany’s, really—was lopsided. She brought it home anyway. She’d give it to Tiffany next time she saw her.
“How’d you do that?” Deacon asked. “I mean, it was sitting on a flat table, like mine.”
“I have no idea how it happened. Something went … crooked.”
“It’s hard to mess up candles,” Deacon said.
“You’re impossible,” she said back.
“But I’m a good candlemaker. I’m going to ask Tiffany’s sister if I can do bubblegum flavor next time.”
They arrived at her door.
“Candles don’t come in bubblegum flavor,” she told him.
“Mine will,” he replied.
“It can’t happen,” she said.
He got extra close to her. “Sure it can.”
She sighed. “You need to back away.”
“You really want me to?”
“Everyone across the street is looking at us. A whole bunch of tourists.”
“So? They’ve never seen people kiss before?”
“We’re not—”
And then they were kissing, each of them holding their own candles in a bag. And in that kiss was such longing and wishing and frustration and hot, carnal desire that when a police siren was suddenly heard, Macy was sure someone was coming to arrest them for a public display of affection of the highly erotic kind.
She gladly would have gone to jail for that kiss.