She plopped a piece of bread into the skillet, laid a slab of cheddar cheese on top of that, added a tomato slice and topped it with two pieces of cooked bacon. When she was satisfied that the bread was grilled and the cheese was melted, she slid the open-faced sandwich onto one of Betty Rae’s Christmas plates. She added a pickle spear and a handful of potato chips, then presented the dish to her guest.

“Et voilà! One happy waitress.”

“Where’s yours?”

“I’m not all that hungry,” Ivy said, leaning over and helping herself to one of his chips.

Ezra caught her by the waist and deftly lifted her onto his lap. “I’m happy to share mine,” he said. He took a bite of the sandwich, chewed, and rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Best sandwich ever. Where’d you learn to make this?”

“My friend Meg. She’s a Jersey girl and she turned me on to the happy waitress. It’s what you order at a diner after a night of partying.”

“Like Waffle House, only different,” Ezra said. He demolished the sandwich and the chips in a matter of minutes, then pushed the plate away.

“Still disappointed about not going out to dinner?” Ivy asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

His kiss was his answer.

“This is much, much better,” he said finally. He looked over her shoulder, out the kitchen window, where the snow was falling at a furious rate. “Wow. It’s really coming down now.”

Ivy stood up and went to the kitchen door to see for herself. The ground outside was completely blanketed. She shivered. “I hope the girls will be okay.”

Ezra stood in back of her. “They’ll be fine. I turned on the space heater for them. Those have got to be the most spoiled chickens in North Carolina.” He nuzzled the back of her neck with his chin. “You smell nice. Like … um … flowers. And snow.” He lifted his nose and sniffed. “Something else too. Maybe … peppermint?”

“Well, I was selling candy for Nancy Bergstrom earlier tonight,” Ivy said, laughing. “I guess that’s not a bad way to smell, right?”

“Delicious.” Ezra kissed her neck. He slowly turned her to face him. “Delicious dinner. Delicious you.” His fingers searched in vain for the hidden buttons on the front of the snug-fitting velvet jacket. He frowned. “Is this some kind of a trick?”

Ivy kissed him, moving her lips against his. “Shall I show you?”

“Either that, or I rip this friggin’ thing off over your head,” Ezra muttered, slipping his hands beneath the jacket.

“Let’s not do that.” Ivy giggled. “Think how disappointed the children of Tarburton would be if Mrs. Santa’s dress was ruined.”

“Not as disappointed as me, unless I get you naked, very, very soon,” Ezra said, tugging at the stubborn metal zipper on the skirt.

“Follow me,” Ivy said. She took his hand and led him toward the bedroom.

Chapter 25

At some point later in the evening, Ivy and Ezra made their way to the living room, where they sprawled on the sofa in front of the fireplace, tangled up in arms and legs and a jumble of hastily discarded clothing. Again. The room was dark except for the glowing multicolored lights of the Christmas tree and the crackling fire. Punkin snored softly from his bed in the corner.