A Bleu Streak Christmas (7 page)

“Dude, let her bake ‘em off,” I grouch,
snatching the bowl away from him.

“And two in the morning wasn’t past
their bedtime,” Logan adds as he plops down on a stool at the island, looking
as tired as I feel.

I look around and realize I’m the only
one hurt. Nothing new there.

“They turned their Rottweiler on us,
and Mave took a nosedive off the porch,” Trace says before heading out.
“Night,” he bids on a yawn.

“How’d the rest of you not get hurt?”
Izzy asks, eyeing the group.

“Because the rest of us had enough
sense to use the steps,” Dillon says. Chuckling to himself, he leaves us.

I roll my stiff shoulders and rummage
through the freezer for an icepack.

“You need some Tylenol?”

“Nah. I’m good.” I don’t take over-the-counter
unless it’s absolutely needed. Bodies grow an immunity to them and need
stronger pain meds. I’m not good with handling anything stronger than that, so
I just refrain.

Everyone wanders off in different directions,
probably to bed, leaving me alone with the cookie-baking doll. Seriously, the
woman is just beautiful.

“You need anything?” She eyes me with
open concern.

“Another dozen cookies and the other
gallon of milk, I’m sure I’ll be as good as new.”

“I think I can handle that,” she says,
going back to arranging dough on a pan.

And that sight alone calms my demons.

“The show was incredible tonight,” she
says after setting the pan in the oven and taking a seat beside me.

“Yeah. The final song was stellar.” I
roll my shoulders a few times, trying to work the stiffness loose. I hit the
ground hard earlier, making me feel some kind of old right about now. This body
isn’t as limber as it once was. Sucks.

“I love how y’all start the shows with
your own version of a lighthearted Christmas song and conclude with a
breathtaking carol. You guys really know how to perform.” She smiles a sweet
smile and I can’t help but return it with a wide grin.

“Years of practice.”

“I wish Grace would do a duet with
Dillon. I asked her earlier tonight and the only answer she would give me is...”
Izzy mimics Grace’s answer by shaking her head with wide, scared eyes, causing
me to chuckle.

“You got our girl down pat. She has
stage fright.”

“But Jewels says she does duets with
her daddy all the time at church.”

“Have you been to our church?” I ask,
and she shakes her head. “We have less than a hundred members little Grace grew
up around. A concert is well into the thousands. Big difference.”

I don’t ask her about her church.
Jewels has already filled me in on all things Elizabeth Walker—Shimmer Lakes
First Baptist, father passed away not too long ago, just her and her mother,
living on her own for the first time at age twenty-six, originally from North
Carolina…

“Poor thing. I know how debilitating
that can be.”

“Say, Izzy. You would be the perfect
person to work on that with our girl.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge. Maybe
her wanting to be a good role model for our Grace will push her out of her
shyness some, too.

The timer goes off on the oven, so
instead of answering me, she hops up and rewards me with a dozen cookies I get
to devour all by myself. I only take out half a gallon of milk before wobbling
up to bed in a sugar and milk coma.

Chapter Eight

I
zzy

“Good
Day Sunshine” lures me from sleep as my phone alarm goes off. Tapping around the
screen until the Beatles give me a snooze allotment, my eyes drift back shut…

My bed starts shaking before a little angel starts
singing out, “Get up! Get up!”

The sight of Miss Grace using my bed as a
trampoline greets me once I finally pry my eyes open. The phone goes back off
and I can’t help myself. Hopping up to join my little intruder, we jam out to
“Good Day Sunshine” until Jewels comes in to join us.

After our jam session has concluded, Jewels points
to the bathroom. “Shower. Now. The makeup artist and hair stylist are both
already here waiting for us.”

Sighing deeply, I say, “Are you sure it wouldn’t be
best for me to go help Tate and the children at the Kids’ Club party? I think
that would be for the best.” Grace and I are nodding our heads in agreement
with Jewels shaking hers in opposition.

“Nope. Blake is going with them.”

“But…”

Those green eyes give me the look that needs no
words, so I huff off to the shower and do as I’m told. There’s just no give
with that one.

I had only been asleep for a few hours when she
rushed in here earlier to declare a shopping trip for an evening gown. It’s for
the band’s charity, so I have no choice but to accompany them tonight. Jewels brought
a gown with her—a dark-green one shoulder number that looks gorgeous on her. I
lucked out and found a white and silver haltered dress that reminds me of snow,
which is quite fitting with a winter gala.

I’m not a picky shopper, so we had a dress and shoes
picked out in no time, and I was able to go back to bed for a few hours this
afternoon.

After a long, hot shower, I turn myself over to the
professionals. Another hour or so later, I’m looking in the mirror at one
fancy-looking girl—hair in a loose updo, white frilly gown, and silver stiletto
sandals.

“You’ll pass,” Jewels deadpans, and then winks.

“I guess you pass, too,” I say dramatically on a
huff, earning a giggle from my friend.

She’s a knockout, choosing to wear her hair down in
soft cascading waves. Her dress is accentuated with gold stilettos and several
gold bangle bracelets. My dress is sparkly enough, so the only jewelry I go
with is a pair of silver chandelier-style earrings.

“Come on. The guys are meeting us there.” Jewels
wraps her hand over mine and ushers us out to a waiting limo.

We pull up at what appears to be an ancient, unassuming
warehouse, but when we enter I am struck with awe. The place is very urban-chic
with exposed brick walls, wood beam ceilings, richly stained cement floors, and
ornate pillars. Blanketing all of that urban-chic is blue and silver Christmas
décor that is tastefully draped around the room. Large round top tables are
gleaming with silverware and fine crystal. An area is set up with a small stage
and dancefloor. I’m hopeful at knowing the band playing later on tonight.

A gasp escapes me as I take it all in. “Wow.”
 

“Absolutely,” Mave says from behind me.

Spinning around, I gasp again. “Wow.”

His lips curve into a slow smile as he takes his
time studying me, head to toe. I rightfully return the favor. This rocking bad
boy cleans up nicely. Gone are his normal worn-out jeans and thermals and in
their place is an expensive tuxedo sans the bow tie. It’s obvious the suit is
custom cut specifically for his long, lean physique.
 
The top two buttons of his shirt are defiantly
unfastened. And his brown hair is artfully tousled in such a way my fingers
itch to thread through it.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Dang, Izzy, you could be that frozen princess’s
twin,” Max says, drawing my attention away from the stunning drummer.

Max and the other guys saunter closer to us girls,
and they are one handsome group of men, no doubt about it. They have all
abandoned their bowties somewhere, probably in the trash back at the lake house.

Logan eases over to me and drapes his arm across my
shoulder. “Be sure to keep an eye on your plate.”

“Why?” I look up at him, but only see my reflection
in his shades.

“You’ve been seated between the twins. They’re
thieves.” He walks us over to the front of the room to our reserved table, and
sure enough, the little place card with my name on it sits between Max and
Mave. Logan helps me onto my chair before leaving me to fend for myself.

The hushed Christmas carols playing mingle with
soft conversation among the guests at my table. We are all able to be sit
together, which is a relief to me. I’m finally getting more relaxed around this
group and find myself getting attached to each one.

A waiter walks up to the table to begin
double-checking drink and main course orders. Jewels had the lobster ordered
for me and I’m fine with iced water, making me an easy guest. The guy stops at
Mave and here’s where complication seems to be waiting. His chair is scooted
close to mine and the warmth of his arm across the back of my chair is very
nicely warding off the chill from my exposed shoulders.

“Sir, your order doesn’t specify which main course
you would like.”

“Because I want them both.”

“Both?” The waiter seems confused.

“Yeah. I’m starving.”

“But it’s five grand a plate?” He forms it into a
question. He doesn’t sound rude about it, just unsure.

“Yep,” Mave says in response, his fingers tapping
the top of the table along to the beats of the music playing. I’ve noticed
those hands don’t still very often.

The waiter glances down at the card in his hand
before looking over to Max. “I guess that’s your wish as well, Mr. King?”

“Straight up.” Max nods his head.

“And tea for you both?”

“Is it sweet?” Mave asks.

“No, sir. But we have sweeteners available.”

“Y’all brewing the tea back in the kitchen?”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter answers slowly, still
unsure.

Mave gets up. “Come on then. Show me the way to the
kitchen.”

With that, both men beeline to the back of the
building.

A good ten minutes pass before Mave and the waiter
return, both carrying two pitchers of tea. They place the pitchers on our
table, and then Mave offers the waiter a fist bump.

“Y’all made us some real tea?” Dillon asks with
excitement.

“Yes, sir. And it’s the best tea I’ve ever tasted,”
the waiter answers as he pours us all a glass before scurrying away.

“You know how to make tea?” I ask Mave.

He takes a big swig before answering. “Yep. My
momma taught me how after we moved out to L.A. for a while. They don’t know how
to make tea there either.” He wrinkles his handsome nose.

Dinner is served shortly after this, and I learn
real quick-like what Logan meant earlier. One minute Max is asking me something
while the cucumbers on my salad disappear. The next, Mave is telling me
something while my roll vanishes. I’ve just caught Max red-handed with a
forkful of my potatoes.

 
I raise my
fork up menacingly—well, I hope it’s menacing—and say, “You swipe one more
thing from my plate and I’m gonna stab you.” He raises his hands in surrender,
causing Mave to chuckle. I turn my glare towards him next. “And that goes for
you as well.”

They behave the rest of the meal.

Lingering over coffee and dessert, I ask Mave, “So,
when are y’all getting on the stage?”

Shaking his head while polishing off his second
slice of cheesecake, he says, “Not tonight. There’s a better band booked.”

I eye him, but before I can question any further, a
speaker takes the podium and addresses the guests. “Thank each and every one of
you who have come out to support this grand cause tonight. Bleu Streak formed
the charity Music Notes just shy of a decade ago and I’ve personally witnessed
the fruit of their giving. Tonight you will also. Music Notes has distributed
numerous scholarships and five young women who were recipients will show the
fruits of their own labor. Your contributions tonight will ensure more children
and young adults get the opportunity to see their dreams come true. On behalf
of Bleu Streak, I thank you.”

“Who’s that?” I ask Max.

“That’s Bernard Rivers. He’s our lawyer as well as
the chairman of our charity.”

The lights dim as the small stage is illuminated.
An all-girl band stands in wait and the place erupts in applause.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce the
newly-signed band under Bleu Streak’s personal label, Virtue.”

As we clap and all the guys holler like crazed
fans, the girl on the electric guitar strums the opening chords of The
Waitresses famous song “Christmas Wrapping” before they launch into a spunky
cover of it. We all make it to our feet and close in on the stage.

“They’re really good!” I holler over to Dillon, who
is standing beside me.

He grins down at me, producing those dang
swoon-worthy dimples. That Jewels is one lucky girl.

The young girls, who I’m guessing are fresh into
college, rock out for the next hour as we dance around the floor. They slow
things down with one of their very own and Mave asks me to dance, making my
night.

“I’m liking these heels. Brings those gorgeous eyes
closer,” he says as we slowly glide in a circle, with his arms securely around
my waist.

My cheeks heat, so I duck my head and rest it on
his shoulder. I can’t resist inhaling several breaths of his crisp, citrusy
cologne. The man smells yummy.

“And I like this tux. Looks nice on you,” I say
without looking up.

“Hides most of my tatts. I almost look
presentable.” He chuckles.

Looking up, I say, “I like your artwork.”

“Do you now? Well, doll, I think I like everything
about you.”

And there go my cheeks back to blazing. Mave makes
it no better when he starts tracing the heat of my cheek with the back of his
fingers. We abandon words and just enjoy the dance until the girls finish and
the guys go to congratulate them. I stand back and take it all in. What an
extraordinary way to share their own blessings—by giving others a great chance
at their own desired blessings.

Tonight, we exit the exquisite warehouse and are
welcomed by snow flurries. The ambiance is so celebratory and the snow is just
so fitting. Everyone takes a moment to appreciate the whirling white confetti
before climbing into the limos. We reach the lake house and before I can enter
with the rest of the group, Mave offers me his tuxedo jacket and his hand.

“Come dance with me,” he whispers close to my ear
as he helps me pull on the coat still clinging to his warmth.

He leads me around the house and onto the dock, and
then we begin dancing to the rhythm of the hushed water lapping underneath our
feet. Snuggling close to his neck, I feel oddly at home in this rock star’s
embrace. The unhurried dance continues and the enchanting snow seems to capture
us in our own little bubble.

With the delicate white flakes whirling around us
in the dark, I feel something I’ve never felt before. It’s a sensation of
falling and floating at the same time. It’s peculiar and a little frightening,
and I think I really like it.

•♫•♫•♫•

It’s hard to believe we were building a
snowman in Chicago just this morning before dawn at a lovely lake house and are
now unloading at a posh hotel in New Orleans. The craziest part is that we are
only here for the day and not even staying the night. I find that to be the
wildest thing, but the band wanted everyone to have some space before having to
load up on the tour buses later tonight.

A knock sounds at my door, so I abandon
my dawdling around to answer it. Opening the door, I find Mave propped on the
doorframe, looking a cross between the rock star he is and a hippie—T-shirt,
zip-up hoodie with a grey military-style jacket on top, torn jeans, and
Converse snickers. A hat is pushed low on his head, shrouding those dark eyes,
but it doesn’t stop me from closing the space to regard them under the brim.

“Ready?” he asks, waving a list around.

“You’re helping me shop today?”

“The Bleu crowd is handling most of it,
but there’s something special I’d like for us to handle together.”

Well, I really like the sound of that
and can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Awesome. The driver is already waiting
on us.”

I grab a jacket and shoulder bag before
heading out. We emerge to the valet parking area where a black SUV sits waiting
with a driver already holding the back door open for us.

“Mr. King,” he says, nodding slightly.

“Mr. Jones,” Mave says, offering his
hand.