“Chutney…remind me what that is again.” For the life of me, I was drawing a blank.
“It originated in India, but chutney is somewhere between a jam, a relish, and a jelly.” Nick’s face took on a warm glow. “Tomato relish on the side of a plate of street tacos is chutney. Coconut chutney is a thick sauce you drizzle on grilled fish. A cheese plate can come with mango chutney. I can serve it as part of the dish or in a small bowl on the plate. I wanted a Christmas tie-in and Bowlful of Jelly as a name just feels right.”
“I take all my doubts back. It’s brilliant, Nick. All of it. Show me the inside.” I was getting excited for him. I got to my feet and pulled him to his. “How did you keep this to yourself? You must have been thinking about it for a long time.”
He opened the front doors and let me in. “I love traveling and learning about different ways to prepare food, but this past year, I thought a lot about what I want to do with the rest of my life. We’re turning thirty next year, you know.”
“Oh, I know.”Geez, don’t remind me.
“And when I drove over the bridge into Christmas Mountain last week, I was struck with a strong feeling of coming home.”
I nodded. I’d felt the same way.
“It wasn’t so bad, was it? Growing up here.”
That was a loaded question considering his kiss, him setting down roots here, and my future being up in the air. “We were two kids with big dreams.” Two kids who had to leave to find themselves. Or at least, Nick seemed to have done so. Me… What made me tick if it wasn’t dance?
My mother’s shop came to mind. It was the first non-dance, non-Nick, non-Christmas thing that had excited me in a long time. But the boutique wasn’t mine. Although thinking about it did remind me that I needed a favor from my bestie. “Hey, can you help me fix the shelves at my mom’s store tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“And by help…” I smiled sweetly. “…I mean, can you fix them? I need to paint.”
“At least, you’re honest.” His gaze stroked over my face, dropping to my mouth. “About most things anyway.”
“Yes, I want to kiss you,” I blurted, because unplanned outbursts were what happened to me in high stress situations. My cheeks heated.
Nick chuckled. “There’s not much stopping you.”
“Shows you how much you know. Our friendship is stopping me.”
He cleared his throat. “Did you ever think that this is where our friendship has been headed all this time?” He was serious. He wasn’t smiling. “I’m just planting a seed for you to think about, Al. I think you and I have been thinking about kissing each other a lot longer than just this week.”
I needed time to think, to get used to the idea, to visualize him and me and Christmas Mountain.
I wandered around the restaurant. There were square wooden tables pushed against the side walls and piled two high. Wooden chairs were stacked in the corner. The floors were wide planked wood and had been painted a cheerful red at one time. There was seating at a small bar and behind that was what looked like a kitchen.
I tested the sturdiness of a wooden bar stool at the counter, trying to rock it back and forth. It held. Did that say anything about our relationship? “How many people can you serve in here?”
“Forty.”
I was trying to picture it. “White tablecloth?”
“No. No-no-no.” Nick stepped beside me and turned, as if displaying a finished product with a flourish. “I want people to feel as if they’ve come into my home for a meal.”
“Tablecloths,” I said absently. “You need embroidered tablecloths for that type of atmosphere. Or at the very least, table runners to give it a homey feel.” I could see it though, the same way I’d been able to visualize Mom’s boutique.
“I hadn’t thought of that but yeah.” He nodded, leading me toward the rear hallway. “The kitchen is outdated. That’s why I was at the bank. I need a loan, not just to renovate the kitchen, but to give me a cushion to live on until launch.” Those broad shoulders were made to lean on.
For me to lean on? I glanced in the dingy kitchen when we reached it. “You sure have your work cut out for you. Breakfast, lunch and dinner?”
He shook his head, smiling at me like he never wanted to stop smiling, like just looking at me made him happy. “Lunch and dinner only.”
“But you make such a good breakfast,” I protested weakly, realizing that I often smiled at him the same way.
But that didn’t mean we were destined to be together. At some point, my parents must have smiled at each other like that and look at them now.
“I don’t want to take any business away from the Sleigh Café,” Nick was saying, continuing to prove he was a good man.