Truth or Beard

Therefore I was nervous. Basketcase by Green Day was on repeat in my head. I’d been so anxious I made four pies and hadn’t checked first before stepping out of my shower; Sir Edmund Hilary, once again, had tried to murder me with his litter box.

Duane came over for Christmas brunch, visited with my daddy and swapped dirty looks with Jackson. When I was satisfied that the man-time had been adequate, I pulled him into the kitchen and showed him my pies, asking which one he thought Ashley would like best.

He shrugged one shoulder, kissing my cheek then the back of my hand, entwining our fingers and drawing me close. “Ashley likes all kinds of pie, as far as I know. These look great.”

I sighed, lamenting his lack of specificity and helpfulness. “Well then, maybe pie isn’t the answer.”

“Pie is always the answer.” He gri

I swallowed, pressing my lips together. “It’s just, I’d really like for us to be friends. I mean, if she’s moving back here from Chicago in March, then I’d like for us to—”

“She is moving back. She and Drew will probably get married sometime this year, start working on a dozen kids of their own.” Duane’s mouth hooked to the side and his gaze grew fuzzy and warm.

I squeezed his hand, the look on his face making me feel fuzzy and warm.

Over the last month Duane and I had been making plans, lots and lots of plans. I hadn’t expected him to embrace the idea of world traveling with such gusto, but he had. He texted me links during the day, articles or blog posts discussing potential destinations for our world tour, or travel tips for non-tourists.

When asked, he flat-out told me he wanted to go to Italy first, specifically Maranello. In fact, he’d purchased the Rosetta Stone software and started learning how to speak Italian. I was confused by his choice until I realized Maranello is the home of Ferrari and the Scuderia Ferrari Formula One racing team.

Of course.

So that was our plan. We found a few villas for rent just outside of Modena, an ancient city in North Italy dubbed “the capital of engines”, and Duane was researching potential employment possibilities.

“I didn’t know Ashley and Drew were a thing, not ’til you told me two days ago. When did that happen?”

“When momma was sick and Ashley was down here taking care of her at the end of the summer. But I don’t reckon either of them were ready to admit it, not until a few days ago. Pair of dummies, both of them, wasting all that time. We should’ve just locked them in a room together back in September.”

I smirked at his pronouncement. “You know, the same could be said for us. We wasted a lot of time, too.”

Duane’s gaze cut to mine and his mouth was curved with a half frown, half smile. “And whose fault was that?”

“Yours,” I answered immediately.

His eyes narrowed, but now the curve of his mouth was a full smile. “That’s right, and don’t let me forget it.”

***

We held two pies each and I carefully picked my way along the path leading to the Winston’s front porch. I was in my fancy boots and didn’t want to track mud into the house, so I tried to step on thicker patches of dying grass to avoid puddles.

The top of the mountains were blanketed in snow. However, moderate morning temperatures lower down in the valley had melted most of the overnight precipitation, leaving some ice on the ground, but mostly just cold mud. I glanced toward the house and smiled, seeing that the Winston boys had left up the garlands, holly, and white twinkling lights lining the porch and the roof of the house. As well, the wreath I’d made still do

I’d been over to the house last week to make di

That night Duane had made chicken and dumplings; meanwhile I tasked the brothers, set them to work adding wreaths and lights and garlands to the house façade as well as the big staircase and fireplace. Cletus, in particular, had grumbled the entire time, calling me an interfering female.

I wondered if they’d kept the bough of mistletoe hanging up between the kitchen and dining room. Regardless, despite the mess of the front yard, the grand old house looked great, festive and welcoming.

“It does look nice,” Duane said at my shoulder; I saw he was looking at me, reading my expression and my mind.

“Yes. It does. I’m glad we took the time to do it.”

“Me, too. Thanks for being such a bully.”

I flattened my expression. “I wasn’t a bully. I was merely a persistent peddler of holiday cheer.”

“You told Beau that if he didn’t help put up the Christmas lights on the roof then you wouldn’t make him apple pie ever again.”

I shrugged, climbing the steps to the porch. “So? He needed some persuasion. And he’s a complainer.”

Duane laughed, a good robust rumbly chuckle, and the sound made me smile.

“Besides,” I added, “he only complains and resists because he likes being threatened.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. He needs a firm hand.”

Duane stopped laughing, but I heard teasing in his retort. “You keep your firm hands where they belong.”

“And where is that?”

“On my drive shaft.”

Now I barked a laugh, almost dropping the pumpkin pie in my left hand, and then snorted because I was laughing so hard. Dirty automotive double entendre were now my favorite.

I remembered my nerves just as Duane leaned around me and knocked on the front door with his boot, calling, “Open up. Our hands are full of pie.”

Not three seconds later, almost as though he’d been lying in wait, the door flung open revealing a gri

Before I understood what was happening, Jethro bent down, wrapped his arm around my waist, and planted a big old kiss on me.

My eyes bulged and frantically cut to Duane—who looked startled at best, murderous at worst. I felt Duane’s boot brush past my leather clad calf on its way to administering a swift kick to his eldest brother.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Duane’s boot must’ve co

“Ow, damn that hurt.”

Duane stepped in front of me, balancing a pie in each hand, and bellowed, “I didn’t know you wanted a broken nose for Christmas, Jethro.”

“Relax, Duane.” Jethro laughed, bending over to rub his shin as he pointed toward the ceiling. “We moved the mistletoe, it’s right there.”

“Duane, you’re standing under the mistletoe, and you have pie.” This comment came from Cletus who’d appeared out of nowhere, swooped forward, and grabbed a pie out of Duane’s hand. Then he called over his shoulder, disappearing with the pie, “I’d kiss you but I don’t want our beards to tangle.”

Duane glanced at the ceiling briefly, then back to Jethro. I could see my man was not amused. Meanwhile, I had to roll my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.

Beau sauntered over, leaning to the side, and giving me a smile though he addressed Duane. “Well come in, dummy. Don’t keep your woman standing out in the cold.”

Duane shoved the remaining pie at Beau. Then he turned, took both pies out of my hands and gave them to Jethro. Then he turned again, wrapped an arm around my waist, and kissed me. Actually, he kissed and dipped me. My arms automatically went to his neck and I kissed him back with fervor. When we finally straightened, I was dizzy and smiling like a well-kissed goof.

“There. Now she’s been kissed under the mistletoe.” Duane pressed me close to his side. “No need for any more liberties.”