Wrapped Up in Christmas Love (Wrapped Up in Christmas #4)

Chapter Five

T oo late . Sweat beaded on Zach’s skin. No, he hadn’t fallen for Isabelle. But he did like his self-proclaimed realist who was in a panic over hocus-pocus, love-potion cinnamon bread.

Snatching the piece back that she’d wrangled from him, he stuck it in his mouth, enjoying the sweetness and the look of horror on her face. Realist, his foot.

“I think it’s happening.” He clutched at his chest and carried on as if something major was developing within his ribcage. “Quick, give me more bread.”

“You shouldn’t eat that, Zach.” She moved the bread behind her, trying to keep the loaf out of his reach. “You don’t know what you’re messing with. The Butterflies… they don’t play fair when it comes to matchmaking.”

Laughing, Zach reached behind her, easily breaking off a chunk. They both knew the bread’s supposed power was as fake as the plastic Christmas tree chiming another merry tune.

“Are my pupils heart-shaped yet?” Grinning, he batted his lashes.

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

“Aw, come on, Blondie.” He held the morsel toward her. “Take a bite. It’s good.”

Forehead crinkled, her lips parted, probably to reprimand him some more, but Zach took full advantage by popping the treat into her mouth.

“Now, let’s see if that sweetens your disposition.”

He’d expected her to close her eyes and savor the baked goodie as he had. Instead, she froze, a cringe on her otherwise lovely face. When she just sat there staring at him, he reached around and took the loaf from her lax fingers.

“It’s bread, Blondie. Nothing more. Unless… Does the bread work both ways? Is that it?” he teased, loving the rising color in her cheeks. “One bite and you’re going to succumb to my lackluster smarm, after all? Here, have another piece. The entire loaf, even.”

“This isn’t funny,” she stammered in a muffled voice.

Reaching for one of the napkins, she covered her mouth. Had she just spat out the bread? Surely, she didn’t believe the bread was anything more than a tasty combo of flour, sugar, butter, and cinnamon?

“Are realists superstitious?” She could claim whatever she wanted, but a dreamer lurked within her, waiting to be let out and given free rein.

She gave him one of her loaded glares. The one that said she’d really like him to hitch a ride to the North Pole and stay there. “Did I mention that I’m a cautious realist and don’t take unnecessary chances?”

“If it’s only the guy who falls, you have nothing to fear. I’ll sacrifice myself by disposing of the entire loaf to keep you safe.” He waggled his brows. “White knight material all the way.”

Eating the delicious bread would be no chore. He didn’t believe such tomfoolery as love-potion sweets. Even if he did believe and fell, he’d never let Isabelle know. To do that would be too complicated. He was too complicated.

“Because you could never fall for someone like me?”

He’d expected some wisecrack. Instead, the vulnerability was back in her softly asked question and in the big blue eyes studying him. The urge to take her into his arms and hold her until every self-doubt she’d ever had melted away hit, shocking him yet again that he wanted to hug her. She was so tough and ready to fight, and yet, her question revealed a fragility that had him ready to armor up in her defense.

“Any man could fall for you, Isabelle. No hocus-pocus, love-potion bread needed.” His gaze locked with hers. Who had hurt her? What kind of idiot tore down a woman of her caliber? “You’re smart, sassy, quick-witted, and beautiful.”

He kept all teasing from his tone, wanting to build her up for whomever would come down the road and could be the kind of man she deserved.

“I… thank you.” Pink tinged her cheeks and rather than say anything further, she began popping open the containers of their food. “I hope you like chicken salad, but if not, there’s some of Ruby’s sausage balls you liked so much at Jeannie’s tree-decorating party.” She opened a plastic Christmas tree-shaped container. “Oh, and what Christmas picnic would be complete without a cheeseboard?”

Sure enough, the plastic tree container was filled with slices of cheese, rolled up pieces of turkey and ham as garland, plus a variety of fruits and vegetables as ornaments.

“There’s more fruit,” she continued, opening a small container. “Strawberries made into tiny Santa heads with whipped cream.”

Zach’s stomach rumbled in appreciation. He’d gone on a few picnics with his parents and brother growing up, but his memories were of businessmen in their golfing garb, women in their finery, and overdressed kids who were expected to sit quietly in the sweltering sun while eating dainty snack foods that weren’t that appetizing. Nothing like what Isabelle’s sister and the Butterflies had prepared.

“Christmas picnics are officially my favorite type of picnics. Let’s eat.”

*

“There’s an elderly woman in a camo hoodie watching us from eleven o’clock.”

Belly full from eating too much, Isabelle twisted in the direction Zach mentioned.

A couple sat at one of the concrete picnic tables. The white-haired man was shaking his floppy hat-covered head and saying something to the hoodie-pulled-tight-around-her-face, dark sunglass-wearing woman, who when she spotted that Isabelle was looking her way, dropped her binoculars, picked up a book, said something to the man, then pointed up into a nearby tree as if its branches weren’t bare.

That was no bird watcher.

Poor John. Maybelle had dragged the man who’d crushed on her from afar since their teens into a Butterfly spying expedition. Maybelle feigned fascination with something in a large oak, said something to John, and the older man glanced toward where Isabelle and Zach could be seen through the trees and nodded. Maybelle must have asked if Isabelle was still looking their way.

Isabelle couldn’t resist waving. The older couple were too far away to be sure John’s face had just gone bright pink, but his hand had definitely slapped against his forehead, knocking off his hat.

“Interesting friends you have,” Zach said from where he sat near her. Too near, but since the blanket was only so big, she couldn’t really tell him to scoot over, or he’d be in the grass.

“They’re good cooks, though.” She gestured toward their mini feast. “You may have recognized that some of this was leftovers from Jeannie’s party. Without the Butterflies, Sophie wouldn’t have pulled off something so elaborate on such short notice.”

“Then I love me some Butterflies.”

“Me, too. Each one of them has played an intricate role in my life. Our resident bird watcher was my Sunday school teacher several years running. No doubt the Butterflies relished getting involved with our Christmas picnic.” Isabelle eyed the man licking meat sauce off his fingers. Even in Isabelle’s tight, wondering-what-was-she-doing-on-a-picnic-with-Zach state, she hadn’t been oblivious to how good the food was and how thoughtful her family and friends had been in their unwanted matchmaking. As far as why she was there with Zach… the only reason she was with him… Her stomach contents threatened to rebel.

“Do you really think you can find my father for Sophie’s wedding?” Why did she feel as if she were nine years old and standing with her heart in her hand? Cliff Davis had no power over her. She was only doing this for Sophie.

“If he can be found.”

She eyed where Zach had lain back, propped his head on the Christmas pillow, and looked out toward the river. There didn’t appear to be a tense muscle in his stretched-out body.

“You’re that sure of yourself?”

“I’ve found people a lot slipperier than a runaway father.”

A runaway father. That was what Cliff was, but hearing Zach say it out loud stung.

“I can’t pay what Bodie says iSecure charges,” she admitted, then embarrassment hit. “I mean, I could, but not easily, not with Sophie’s wedding, and still making payments on the shop’s mortgage, and—”

“You don’t have to pay me,” he interrupted, not seeming concerned.

With as calmly as he was lying back on the pillow, she was beginning to wonder if he was planning a nap. Did he remember that she was only on a lunch break?

“I don’t want your charity,” she insisted, glad that he hadn’t closed his eyes, but had looked her way with his thickly fringed hazel eyes.

“But you can’t afford the company I work for?” His expression became thoughtful. “How about we make a trade?”

“A trade?” she asked suspiciously.

He flexed his arms, placing his hands behind his head, the muscles beneath his T-shirt crunching into the perfect abdominal snowman pose. “I’ll find your father and in exchange, you teach me to quilt.”

Her jaw dropped. “What? I can’t teach you to quilt.”

“Sure, you can. Sophie said you fill in teaching her class.”

“That’s different,” she insisted.

His brow lifted. “How?”

Because those students weren’t good-looking soldiers who threw me so off-kilter that I’d likely stitch my fingers together. Nope. Couldn’t tell him that. He’d tease her mercilessly if he knew she thought he was attractive.

“Why do you want to learn to quilt?” She changed tactics.

“From the first time Bodie told me about the Quilts of Valor Foundation, my interest was piqued. I’ve been helping Sarah with her current quilt and want to learn more, but I feel guilty taking up any of her free time.” He rolled his upper half into an upright position, picked up his Christmas mug, took a sip, then pinned her with his gaze. “Teach me to quilt, and in exchange, I’ll find your father.”

What he said about not taking up Sarah’s limited time made sense and once again painted him in a considerate light. Ugh. Fine. She’d sign him up for Sophie’s class to teach him the basics and she’d feel in the gaps. That way she wouldn’t have to spend that much time with him.

“If I do this, you’d better find him.”

Zach’s left dimple dug deep with his lopsided grin. “You doubt my ability to do so?”

No, she didn’t. Zach’s self-assurance didn’t come across as vanity. Just his acknowledgement of his capabilities. If her father could be found, Zach would find him. Her stomach convulsed around her chicken salad and a wave of nausea hit. Nausea and uncertainty. What had she done?

Because she wasn’t sure she wanted Cliff Davis found after all this time. Some things, some people, were probably better left in the past.

*

Not surprising to Isabelle, three Butterflies fluttered around The Threaded Needle and were all eyes and ears when she and Zach returned from their business-meeting picnic. Maybelle and John had disappeared not long after Zach had pointed them out, but Maybelle wasn’t with the ladies so it wouldn’t surprise Isabelle to learn that they’d just changed spy position and made better use of their binoculars.

“Back so soon?” Rosie looked all innocent. “We weren’t expecting you for hours and hours.”

“You sent enough food for days.” Isabelle waged a battle between gratitude at their generous love and frustration at their matchmaking. “Thank you. It was delicious, but Sophie shouldn’t have asked y’all to do that. I’ll be useless this afternoon after eating so much midday.”

“Nonsense.” Aunt Claudia dismissed her claim, giving Zach a smile that said he had her approval. “We’re always up for stocking a Christmas picnic basket.”

“Especially for someone who enjoyed my Christmas sausage balls so much.” Ruby beamed at Zach, giving her stamp of approval, too.

“Now…” Rosie fluttered her fake lashes. “What did you think of your Christmas presents?”

Heat washed over Isabelle’s face. “We, uh, we got in a rush to leave because there was this odd, nosy couple with binoculars who kept spying on us, and we forgot to open them.”

There. That let them know she was onto them.

Three Butterflies giggled and looked back and forth at each other.

“Spying on you?” Aunt Claudia shook her head. “Dear, when not making lists, you’ve quite the imagination. They were probably just bird watching.”

If Isabelle hadn’t already known the women were in on the spying, that her aunt mentioned exactly the cover that Maybelle and John had used would have given them away.

“Ah, bird watching. I bet you’re right.” She pulled the corner of the quilt from the bag Zach carried and tapped the pattern. “These birds are so lifelike, aren’t they?”

Next to her, Zach chuckled.

Aunt Claudia focused on him. “Zach, you must go with Isabelle out to Harvey Farm for their Christmas kickoff.”

To give him credit, he didn’t leap at the nugget they’d delivered, which should make Isabelle happy because she didn’t want him encouraging them. That so wasn’t disappointment she was feeling instead.

“Christmas picnics and kickoffs? It’s not Thanksgiving yet.”

Every female in the room burst into laughter, including Isabelle.

“You can tell he’s not from around here, bless his heart.” Rosie patted Zach’s arm. “No worries, though, hon. We’ll have you celebrating Christmas three hundred and sixty-five days a year, like the rest of us, soon enough.”

“Speaking of Harvey Farm, you’re invited to a couple’s shower for Sophie and Cole tomorrow afternoon.” Ruby beamed, obviously proud that she’d been the one to invite Zach. “We’re not serving my sausage balls, but your tongue will still smack against the roof of your mouth in gratitude of how good everything tastes.”

“Tempting,” Zach said, looking as if he really was tempted. What was he doing? And would a swift kick to the shins knock some sense into him?

“And Thanksgiving, Zach.” Aunt Claudia practically fell over herself as she smiled up at him. “You should come to Thanksgiving dinner. Our whole family will be there, plus quite a few friends. The more the merrier. We’d love you to join us.”

Zach started to say something, but Isabelle could contain herself no longer and knocked her elbow against his arm, letting him know she had this.

“Aunt Claudia, I appreciate that you asked Zach to dinner. That’s so thoughtful of you, of all of you, to include him.” She forced a smile that hopefully didn’t convey how much doing so hurt with her teeth gritted. “But Zach’s only in Pine Hill a short time.” Exactly how long was he there? She hadn’t thought to ask. If he hadn’t found her father by the time for him to leave, would he continue looking? “He will be spending Thanksgiving with his own family.”

After all, he’d mentioned parents and a brother.

“I won’t be going to Atlanta for the holidays.”

Ignoring the curious Butterflies, Isabelle frowned. “You’re not going home for the holidays?”

His expression pinched for the first time since they’d entered the shop. “Nope.”

“Not even for Christmas?” Aunt Claudia looked aghast.

He shrugged. “I’d meant to go to the Keys when I left here next week.”

Next week? He was leaving that soon? Why did that make Isabelle’s chest hurt?

“Sarah insisted I spend the holidays in Pine Hill. I hadn’t planned to.” He glanced toward Isabelle, his gaze meeting hers. “But now, I’ve reason to stick around for a while.”

Three Butterflies and her sister collectively sighed and lit up like they were fireflies. Isabelle, on the other hand, was about to convulse like one of those popping bugs. Enough was enough. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have been sighing, too. Zach looked at her as if he truly thought her the most interesting, beautiful woman he’d ever met. Even knowing his visual caress was nothing more than his perpetual teasing, she found herself retracting lackluster from adjectives she could use to describe anything about him. Wowzers.

Panic hit that he could mess with her head so readily. Why had he insisted upon coming inside the shop? She’d told him there was no need and that she could carry their picnic items, but he’d insisted. Plus, there had been his need to retrieve Sarah’s gift.

“Oh, Isabelle,” Sophie practically cooed, clasping her hands as she glanced back and forth between her and Zach. “This makes me so happy.”

Ruby was all smiles. “A Christmas miracle.”

“She fed him my cinnamon bread!” Rosie stage-whispered to her friends, then, facing Isabelle, said, “We’re so happy for you both.”

Aunt Claudia nodded. “It’s about time some young man saw through your all-work-and-no-play facade to realize how wonderful you are.”

Moisture prickled Isabelle’s skin, making her palms clammy. Did they think her so hopeless that they got this excited over a first date? Their assumptions about her and Zach were misplaced. And would they please stop acting as if she and Zach were some smitten at first sight lovebirds?

Determined to set them straight, Isabelle put the picnic basket on the checkout counter.

“You have this all wrong. Zach and I aren’t—” she began, but completely lost her ability to vocalize when he leaned down and kissed her cheek fairly close to the corner of her mouth. Stunned, completely unable to vocalize, she gawked at him.

“I’ve got to go.” He winked at the women, causing another collective sigh, before his go-with-me-on-this eyes met Isabelle’s. “Walk me outside, Blondie.”

She’d walk him outside alright. Once there she was going to give him a piece of her mind. Walking behind the counter to grab the bag she’d put his quilt kits in, it was all she could do to keep her tongue in check. How dare he kiss her in front of the Butterflies and Sophie? How dare he kiss her at all? How dare he turn her to complete jelly at that simple gesture? How dare he look so calm when she was so not calm? How dare—just how dare he?

“Zach, it was lovely seeing you again.” Sophie’s face radiated sunshine. “You really should consider that sewing class. I’d love to have you join us.”

“Thanks, but I’m going to pass. Isabelle’s giving me private lessons.”

Every female jaw dropped, including Isabelle’s. Her stomach had taken a dive, too. Shoving the bag at him, she grabbed his other hand and dragged him toward the front door.

“Bye, ladies,” he called, amusement heavy in his voice.

“Bye, Zach,” chorused from the counter in a he’s-so-dreamy singsong.

Once the shop door had closed, she turned her back to the display window so any spying Butterflies couldn’t read her lips. Or her expression because she was going to blast Zach.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” she hissed. Then deciding they were still too visible to the eyes glued their way, she pulled him down the street until they rounded the corner.

“I know exactly what I did.” He had the gall to sound proud of it, too.

“By the time I get back in there, they’ll be planning my wedding instead of Sophie’s!” Realizing she was still holding his hand, his big warm hand, Isabelle let go, watching almost as if in slow motion as their skin parted ways. Instantly, she felt the loss of his touch. Had he felt that?

“You can thank me now or when I stop by later.”

“Oh, no, you aren’t stopping by later.” It was all she could do to keep from wagging her finger at him. If she knew Maybelle and John’s whereabouts, she’d be waving her hands with animation for sure. As it was, she shoved them into her pants pockets. “The last thing I want is to see you again today.”

Her brain and emotions were already a tangled mess that would take her hours to sort.

Eyes twinkling, he rocked back on his heels. “Then I guess you better thank me now.”

His calmness was infuriating. When her insides were raging, from his cheek kiss, from his lackadaisical attitude over flirting with her in front of the Butterflies, from having held his hand as she’d dragged him down Main Street, from everything about him, how could he act as if it were all no big deal? Then again, to him, it wasn’t. Soon enough, he’d be gone.

“Thank you for what?” she demanded. “If anything, you owe me an apology for the mess I’ll be facing when I walk back into the shop. The Butterflies are going to be all over that sappy look and awful kiss. Sophie, too.”

“Saving you from blowing our cover on why we’ll be spending so much time together over the next few weeks,” he drawled, as if she shouldn’t have had to ask.

“Unless you’re a really slow learner”—she cleared her throat as if she thought that a distinct possibility—“teaching you to sew is not going to take more than a few days, tops.”

“I want to learn to quilt, Isabelle, not hem my pants. It’s safe to say that’s going to take more than a few days, but that wasn’t what I was referring to.” He gave a thumbs-up. “Good point, though, as we’ll be spending time together sewing, too.”

“Then what were you referring to?”

“You inviting me into your home, showing me photos of your father, talking about him in front of your family and friends so I can pick up on clues on where he might have gone when he left Pine Hill.”

Isabelle’s stomach clenched. He thought she was going to do all that? Wrong again.

“Sophie was four when Dad left. She has no idea where he’s at.” If her sister had, no doubt Sophie would have already found him. “My mother doesn’t know where he went, either.”

At least, if Darlene knew, she’d never said. Her poor mother had just thrown herself into her work and cried herself to sleep night after night. Not that Isabelle was supposed to know the latter, but she’d heard those devastated sobs and been so thankful when they’d happened less and less frequently. If Zach did find Cliff, Isabelle would make sure her mother was okay with him showing up at Sophie’s wedding. If she didn’t want him there, then Isabelle would just never tell Sophie she’d found him.

“Maybe not, but your mom knows things about him. Things he liked, things he disliked, hobbies and interests, places he wanted to see, things she might not have mentioned to her daughters. People he knew outside of Pine Hill that he might have told her about,” he continued, his expression serious. “Your mother knows things I need to know.”

A spasm fired at the corner of Isabelle’s eye as panic rose. “You can’t question my family, Zach. They’ll know something is up. Sophie can’t know that I’m trying to find him for her wedding until we know we’re not delivering bad news. I won’t have her wedding ruined because of something I did, even if that something was meant to be what she wanted. And I won’t have Mom hurt by this.”

“You’re right. I can’t ask without raising suspicion.”

Relief filled her. She’d not expected him to give in so quickly. Unfortunately, her reprieve was short-lived.

“Not as your hired help,” he clarified. “But as the new man in your life, it’s only natural that I’d be curious about your family, including your father. No one will think anything of your boyfriend asking about your dad.”

“No.” She did not want him prying into her life. Nor did she want him as her pretend boyfriend. “Couldn’t you just do some computer magic and find him that way?”

“The more information I have, the more likely I am to find him in time.” What he said made sense. Unfortunately. “You know your family better than I do. Can you think of another scenario in which they are going to openly discuss your father with me, other than if they believe we’re a couple?”

Everything he said was logical and yet the emotions pumping through her left no room for reason. Zach hanging out with her family as her pretend boyfriend—“There has to be another way.”

“A way that doesn’t risk Sophie discovering that we’re searching for your father?”

She cringed. “I’ll think of something.”

“You do that, Blondie.” He touched her cheek, just a quick brush of his thumb in what was probably for show since he was sure to have spotted Maybelle and John peering out of John’s truck that was parked down the street. They must have been parked across from the shop and relocated when she and Zach had rounded the corner. “In the meantime, we’ll do this my way. I’ll call you later to set up my first lesson.”

Knowing she was being watched didn’t give her the ability to drag her gaze from him as, carrying his purchases, he took off walking, turning onto Main and leaving her a bundle of crazy emotions.

Argh! she internally screamed. Then, taking a deep breath, she spun, looked straight at Maybelle and John, and turned up her palms as if to ask what they were doing. John slid down in the driver’s seat, but Maybelle acted as if she’d just noticed Isabelle and waved, all cheery-like. That alone would have given her away. Maybelle didn’t do cheery. Rolling her eyes, Isabelle headed back to the shop to face the repercussions of what may have been the worst decision of her life.

But she couldn’t think of a single other reason why Zach would pry into her family’s darkest moment without raising suspicion.

As far as the world was concerned, she was dating Zach Dawson.