A Bleu Streak Christmas by T. I. Lowe Page B

me as I show
the crowd the text and they join in.
    “ Looks like Max messed up his meal ticket.” Tate laughs all
the way out the door.
    “She’ll feed me, won’t she?”
    Max is right on my heels, but I stop
him. “I wouldn’t push it.” I retrieve the empty bottle out the garbage and
shove it in his hands. “Get yourself a driver and go get our girl a new bottle
and an apology.” I leave him to think about what he’s done.
    Breakfast is stellar. Best cinnamon
French toast I’ve ever had. Sure am glad a bad mood doesn’t affect Izzy’s
cooking abilities.

 
    •♫•♫•♫•

 
    The thing about touring, is sometimes
it can be confusing what state we’re in at the moment. Looking around the log
cabin, it takes a few beats before it clicks—southern Tennessee, at a river
lodge, pulling out for Nashville tonight.
    My feet finally unglue as I toss my
workout bag down and follow the incredible scent coming from the kitchen. My
mouth waters at the same time my gut grumbles. All I gotta do is close my eyes
and I’m at my favorite Mexican restaurant.
    “Doll, it smells awesome up in here.”
    Izzy looks away from the pot she’s stirring
and gives me that sweet smile that I’m beginning to think she reserves for only
me.
    “I’m in the mood for some spice.”
    Ah now. No way can I let her get away
with that. I ease behind her, bending close to her ear, and whisper, “Babe, all
you had to do was come to me and I’d gladly dish out all the spice you could
handle.” Her entire body comes alive with a shiver.
    Hot dang!
    My fingers play through the slightly
faded blue streak tucked in all that fair hair as she keeps cooking. I’m stoked
she allows me these indulgent touches.
    “Whatcha makin’ us?”
    “Individual Mexican lasagnas.”
    My hand stills. “Come again?”
    She points to the small tin dishes
lined on the counter. “It’s basically enchiladas flattened out in layers.”
    “Mmm… Hope you’re making extras. I
could probably polish off three of them myself. Max probably can, too.”
    “Don’t worry. There’s going to be
plenty and I’ll take care of Max.”
    The late lunch doesn’t get here fast
enough. We are all seated at the long hefty table with Izzy personally serving
us. She insisted, so we are all just sitting here uncomfortably with her
waiting on us.   She even asked to sit
between me and Max, so I guess she’s over being ticked at him, and maybe she’s
already forgotten we tend to swipe everyone’s food. She finally sits down and I
can’t help but place a quick kiss on her cheek.
    “Izzy, thanks for taking such good care
of all of us,” Dillon says, producing all his dang dimples in the process and
evoking the pink to her cheeks. I shoot him a look and he has enough gall to wink
at me. He leads us in prayer, and then we all dig in.
    Everyone moans their approval. Max
louder than the rest of us.
    “Wow. This is… um… kinda spicy,” Max
says around a mouthful of food.
    “Is not, you wimp,” Logan says with his
own mouthful. “Just right, little lady.” He offers her a grin.
    I’m halfway through the dish when I
hear Max panting. I look over and find the dude’s face flushed, and he’s
actually sweating. We’ve all stopped eating and are watching him
curiously.  
    Max drops his fork and chugs both his
and Izzy’s water. “What’s in this?” He’s huffing now. It reminds me of a woman
in labor with those dramatic breaths. It’s almost a perfect mimic of Jewels
when she was in labor with Grace.
    I’m pure dumbfounded. It’s barely
spicy… Then it clicks what she said earlier about taking care of Max.
    Izzy keeps nibbling at her food as she
answers him nonchalantly, “It’s never wise to prank the person responsible for
feeding you.”
    “What did you put in my food?” He
gurgles around Logan’s glass of water. The guy’s chest is heaving like crazy
and water is dribbling down his face. Oh wow. The skin around his mouth is a
wild shade of