“Yo, Chef? You better come look at this,” Vince yelled from the bowels of Due South’s pantry.

Del looked up from where he was leaning against one of kitchen counters with Shaye, whispering dirty little nothings into his sous chef’s ears while she sliced and diced this morning’s prep work. His wife was sexy as hell with a knife in her hands.

“Be there in a sec,” he called back.

A cute little V wrinkle appeared on Shaye’s forehead. “Sugar honey iced tea. You did pick my panties up from behind the freezer last night, didn’t you?”

“Um…”

He scrunched up his face, pretending to think about it, even though he’d stashed her Santa-print panties into his pants pocket for safekeeping. Shaye’s knife stilled on the chopping board, her cheeks torching crimson.

“Delmar Westlake!”

Embarrassed, a little worried, and maybe even a tiny bit turned on, his wife was even sexier than she had been seconds ago.

“That’s a case of mistaken identity,” he said. “Remember last night? I was God Del then—as in God, Del.”

Her green eyes narrowed and she hip-checked him—narrowly missing the family jewels. “Go and see what Vince wants, and he better not be holding any item of my underwear.”

He headed for the pantry. “Yes, dear.”

“Santa’s going to leave coal in your stocking.” Shaye’s final threat chased after him, making him smile.

Vince, their first cook, stood in front of the chest freezer with the lid up. “We got a problem,” he said.

Del’s leftover smile transformed into a frown as he followed Vince’s pointed finger into the freezer…to the partially defrosted and fully defrosted stacks of meat, poultry, pastry, and other goods. Unlike most restaurants, fresh wasn’t always an option on an isolated island like Stewart Island. Unless you were talking fresh seafood—and that’s where Due South excelled.

Del swore under his breath and met Vince’s gaze. “Plug been knocked out of the socket?” he asked hopefully.

Vince shook his head. “First thing I checked. Nope, I think it’s the motor gone kaput. It’s a pretty old freezer.”

“A bloody antique.” Del remembered it from when his dad ruled Due South’s kitchen as head chef and squeezing down the side of it made a great hiding place from West when they played hide and seek.

“What’s happened?” Shaye stood in the pantry doorway, wiping her hands on her apron and shooting little glances at Vince.

“Freezer’s packed in,” Vince answered for Del. “And all the meat is defrosting.”

“You’d better give Ford or Rob a call,” Del said. “Get them over here to see if there’s something they can do.”

Twenty minutes later, Del, Shaye, Vince, Bill, and West stood in a semicircle behind a crouched Rob and the chest freezer, which had been muscled out from against the back wall. Rob gained his feet and grimaced at his impromptu audience.

“Compressor’s buggered,” he said. “And I don’t have a replacement, sorry. No way to get one either, not until the day after Boxing Day—assuming the ferry’s running by then.”

Del exchanged glances with his brother and father—oh shit glances. The restaurant’s smaller freezers and chillers were already packed in preparation for the holiday season. While they weren’t open on Christmas Day, Boxing Day brunch was hugely popular.

“So what do we do with all this food before it goes to waste?” Vince vocalized what all of them were thinking.

“I have a suggestion,” Shaye said.

“Let’s hear it,” West said. “No idea too stupid.”

Shaye sniffed, arching an eyebrow at their little group. “Are any of you insinuating I have stupid ideas?”

Varying replies of “Nope,” “Hell no,” and “Uh-uh,” came from the men, all of whom were familiar with the Harland family’s temper.

“Not sure if marrying the dolt beside you was a good idea, girly.” Bill, on Shaye’s other side, nudged her with his elbow.

“You want me to carve that donated kidney of mine back outta you, old man?” Del grinned at his dad, who smiled carnivorously back. Another thing he could thank his beautiful wife for—helping him rebuild his shattered relationship with his father.

“Shut it, you two,” West said. “Let Shaye speak.”

Shaye dug her hands into the pockets of her apron and rocked back on her heels. “Well, I just thought that since a few of our local families have had their plans affected by the weather this year and are probably unprepared for tomorrow, maybe we should pool our resources with all this food and have a communal Christmas dinner up at the community center.”

Rob nodded slowly. “Now that Harley and Bree are stuck here, the boys and I could dig a hangi out back. Use up those leg of lambs and pork roasts.”

“I was talking to Carly last night,” West said. “Glenna asked her and Kip to join us for lunch, but Carly wanted to contribute something and there’s nothing left at Russell’s except for chicken drumsticks, hamburger patties, and vegetarian sausages.”

“Glenna and I always make too much food, so she needn’t worry,” Bill said. “There are a few folks like Betsy who’re on their own this year, though it’s a big ask for everyone to work on Christmas Day.”

“Not so much work if everyone chips in,” Vince said. “I was only planning to laze around and eat too much by myself, so why not eat too much with friends? I don’t mind volunteering if everyone else is willing.”

Del looked at Shaye and her mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. They’d planned to spend a lazy Christmas morning in bed, followed by Christmas lunch at his mother-in-law’s where neither of them would have to cook since Glenna and Bill insisted on taking over that chore, and then a relaxed family afternoon playing with their three nieces. But Shaye was the glue not only in her family, but in his humble opinion, she was the glue of their little community. She also had a heart as pure and big as Antarctica—though definitely not cold.

“We’re willing,” he said. “We’ll make it an evening meal to give the hangi time to cook, and people can contribute what potluck dishes they can.”

“I’ll get Denise to start calling around to get an idea of numbers,” Rob said. “And rally the troops to get the hall looking nice and organize some fun for the youngsters.”

Shaye slipped her arm through Del’s and leaned her head against his shoulder. “And there should be after-dinner dancing,” she said. “I wanna check out your smooth moves on the dance floor again.”

“You leave it up to us, girly,” Bill said. “This’ll be a Christmas party to go down in Oban’s history books.”