Crap, I don’t know.
“Can I think on it?” I wince, hating that I’m not giving her a yes, but wow. The more I think about it, the more I’m starting to wonder if she came here to meet with us so she could specifically meet me and drop her outrageous plan on me. Weird, right?
I should run.
Run far, far away.
But I’m a nice person. My niceness has been ingrained in me since I was a baby. My mother was known as one of the nicest women on the peninsula. I have an image to uphold. People who knew my mother see me and always say I remind them of her. I want to be her when I grow up, and most of the time, I feel like I’m never going to grow up, I swear.
The only thing I don’t want to emulate is my mother’s breast cancer diagnosis.
“Of course you can think on it!” Isabel’s hand drops from my arm and she shakes her head, seemingly laughing at herself. “You must believe I’m crazy with my request.”
Yes. Yes, I do. “No, not at all,” I say laughingly.
“Whew. I was afraid you might.” The relief on Isabel Sullivan’s face is clear. “Well, I’ll let you think on it. You have my business card.” She gave one to both me and Joyce earlier, and mine is safely tucked into my bag. “So reach out to me as soon as you’ve made up your mind. Thank you for not telling me to shove my request up my you-know-what.”
I burst out laughing at that, and she joins in. “I would never say that to anyone,” I reassure her.
Her smile is mysterious. “You haven’t met my Charlie yet.”
Two
“I think my life is about to turn into a Hallmark movie,” I say as I settle into the nearest open chair at the table where my new friends are sitting.
My new friends consist of Sarah, my brother Jared’s amazing girlfriend, plus Eleanor and Kelsey, who are also Sarah’s friends. I gained all of them when Sarah came into our lives recently, and lately we’ve spent a lot of time together, the four of us. We go to lunch. We go out for drinks. On extremely rare occasions we meet for brunch, but Sarah is always with my greedy brother, so I don’t see her as often as I’d like.
Sarah has plenty of other friends too, all of them incredibly nice, but they’re also incredibly busy. They keep inviting me to their weekly get-togethers at the Italian restaurant Tuscany, which is in Carmel and has the best wine selection everrr, but I tend to always cancel on them at the last minute, my nerves getting the best of me.
I may be good in crowds and parties, but I get a little freaked out when I’m with a group of women who are all around my age. Especially successful ones. Like this small group I’m with tonight. I always feel like they look at me and think, what the hell is she doing with her life?
I know I ask myself that question just about every single day.
“Isn’t your life already like a Hallmark movie?” Sarah teases, her eyes twinkling.
It’s the day after my meeting at Starbucks accompanied by the outrageous request made by Isabel Sullivan, and I still don’t know what to do about it. I reached out to Sarah, who put together this last-minute lunch for us. While they all have careers and jobs to get back to and can only spare me about fifty minutes tops, I could sit in this restaurant for hours and moan and groan over this weird question I’ve been asked.
Considering I now only have approximately forty-eight minutes to tell my story, I need to get to explaining.
“I suppose, with all the Christmas charity work I do,” I say, pleased to see them all watching me with nary a hint of judgment in their gazes. “But listen to what happened to me yesterday.”
I tell them as briefly as possible exactly what transpired, and the idea Isabel proposed. As I keep talking, I see their expressions switch from curious and neutral to three women with narrowed gazes and tight lips.
Uh oh. They’re going to tell me I absolutely cannot agree to this. I can feel it. Those natural instincts are kicking into overdrive.
Sarah speaks up first. Since she’s going to be my sister-in-law someday—I’m sure Jared isn’t even close to popping the question, but I don’t care, he’s way too in love with her to let her go—I highly value her opinion.
“You’re going to say no, right?” She leans forward, as if she wants to get into my face in order to prove a point. “That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard some crazy things.”
“Like being someone’s fake date and going out of town with him for the weekend?” I ask sweetly, aiming her very own scenario right back at her. I also happen to know her friend Caroline went to Paris for a week pretending to be some guy’s fake fiancée. Can you imagine, spending a week with someone in another country and pretending to be their fiancée?
I also know Caroline and that guy Alex are actually together now and madly in love, so I guess it worked for them.
Sarah leans back in her chair, clearly irritated—I’m assuming with her past situation, and how she can’t cast judgment too hard upon me. “Guess I have no room to talk. I can’t convince you to say no, can I?”
“No, you cannot.” I still like to hold it over her that she faked me out and pretended to be Jared’s girlfriend when I went shopping with them the first time I met her. I’m going to use that for as long as possible. Maybe until those two have grandkids.
I know that’s a long time, but I’m really good at holding onto things when I want to.
“I know Charlie Sullivan,” Eleanor pipes up, her sweet voice full of annoyance.
“You do?” My heart leaps. I did a little Googling last night, and while I found plenty of information about the Sullivan Family Tree Farm and the tree lots, with scads of photos of the various family members working or posing among the pine trees through the years, I didn’t find out much information about the oldest Sullivan child. Not even a social media footprint.
Like, who doesn’t at least have Facebook? I’m rarely on mine, but jeez, come on.
“Yes, I do.” Our sweet, romantic Eleanor is scowling. How strange. “He’s an asshole.”
This makes all four of us start to laugh, though I’m the one who sobers up first. “Guys, seriously. I don’t want him to be an asshole. That’s the last thing I need.”
“Right. So say no.” This from Kelsey, who isn’t quite as nice as Eleanor but who is honest and loyal. “This doesn’t sound like a good idea, Candice. Especially if Eleanor is calling him an asshole. She loves everyone.”
“I do not,” Eleanor says indignantly. We all send her a look and she sighs. “Fine, so I do love pretty much everyone, but I don’t love Charlie. He’s a big ol’ grump.”
“How do you know him?” I ask her, fearful she’ll say he used to be her boyfriend. I can’t break girl code and go out with her ex, even if it’s a situation where I’m just accompanying him to various social functions to help out his mother, and his family.
“I cut his hair.” Eleanor is a hair stylist at one of the most expensive salons in Carmel. She’s done so well. She’s invested some of her money into the business recently and is now a part owner.
“Cut? As in you still currently cut his hair?” I ask.
“I do. I think.” She nods. Makes a face. “He’s a client of mine, though he hasn’t been into the salon in a while. He lets that thick hair of his grow too long, and ends up looking like a shaggy dog by the time he comes in for his appointment.”
I saw exactly one photo of him online last night, but it had to have been an old one. He’d looked young—high school age—and the image was a portrait of the entire family. He was standing in the back row, his expression serious, his dark hair like a…
Shaggy halo around his head.
Sounds like he forgets to get his hair cut often. Maybe this means his behavior patterns are consistent? That’s a good trait to have, right?
“How exactly is he an asshole?” Sarah asks, ever the calm voice of reason. “I want details. Candice needs details.”
“I do,” I agree enthusiastically.
“I don’t know. He stomps
into the salon with his big ol’ boots, never really saying much. He’s just…not very talkative. Like, at all. And you know I love to chat with my clients. With everyone, really.” She does. Eleanor will chat your ears off if you let her. “One time he snapped at me to please stop talking. That he couldn’t handle the sound of my voice.”
As if we planned it, we all rest our hands against our chests simultaneously, aghast at her revelation.
“What an asshole,” Kelsey mutters under her breath.
“Maybe he was having a bad day,” I suggest, trying to justify his behavior already. I don’t even know this guy.
“He’s always having a bad day. And he’s just an okay tipper.” Eleanor sniffs, her lip curled. “I deserve more for putting up with him.”
“Maybe he doesn’t understand proper tipping etiquette,” I offer, though my enthusiasm is wavering.
“Stop making excuses for him. He sounds terrible,” Sarah says, Kelsey nodding in agreement. “I don’t think you should do this.”
“Why not? It might be fun. And beneficial. I enjoy helping people out, and Isabel Sullivan is a very nice woman. Why not help her and her awkward son?”
“He’s a grown man, Candice. He can figure this stuff out on his own,” Kelsey says but Eleanor’s shaking her head.
“He probably does need the guidance. He’s a terrible conversationalist,” she says.
“Yes, see? Charlie Sullivan needs me. This could be a fun—project. I can reform the grinchy man who’s rarely seen in public into a smooth, sophisticated gentleman who people in our community admire and respect,” I say, my brain immediately starting to fill with all the wondrous possibilities.
“Like My Fair Lady,” Eleanor says, her eyes lighting up. “Only in reverse! You’ll reform him with your gentle, high-society ways and turn him into a kind man who would never snap at his hair stylist to shut up.”
My gentle, high-society ways? That’s an interesting way to describe me. “See? I have to do it. I just convinced Eleanor this is a good idea,” I tell them. She is, after all, the one who originally called him an asshole.
“You can convince Eleanor of just about anything if you say it right,” Sarah says. When Eleanor shoots her a hurt look, Sarah pats her on the shoulder since they’re sitting right next to each other. “You know it’s true. You want to see the positive in everyone.”
“You’re right,” Eleanor says with a weary sigh. Her gaze shoots to mine. “This is probably a terrible idea, Candice.”
Because I don’t want to hear any more negativity, I quickly change the subject, and we all start talking about Sarah and her plans for going to Hawaii with my brother the week after Christmas. This sort of breaks my heart, since they won’t be around for New Year’s, and that is seriously my second favorite holiday—Christmas being the first—but I understand they want to get away and have some alone time.
And they’ll be with us for Christmas, so that’s a bonus. Jared pretty much avoided family time until Sarah came into his life.
While they all chatter about the upcoming holidays and work and dating problems, I get lost in thought. The more I think about it, the more I want to say yes to Isabel’s request, no matter how much my friends protest. I really am that bored with my life. I have been for a while. That’s why I’ve been looking forward to the end of the year and all of the holiday plans I’ll have. All those busy meetings and parties and shopping and planning will help fill the void I’ve been dealing with since the beginning of the year.
At first, I wrote off my melancholy feelings in January to a Christmas hangover. Have you ever felt that way? The hustle and the bustle of the holidays keep you so busy, and the sparkly decorations, gorgeously wrapped presents and general cheer in the air keep you so enchanted, that you come crashing down from your holiday high on New Year’s Day.
It’s the worst.
But that feeling lingered pretty much all year long. And while I love the holidays, there are so many parties happening these next six weeks or so, meaning I’ll be extra busy. That’s a good thing. A positive thing.
After so many years, though, it’s all starting to feel the same. Party, cute dress, Christmas tree lighting, gift exchange, repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
I’m also starting to feel a little…lonely. I’ve never spent the holidays with a significant other, and I sort of want to.
Okay, I really want to.
Not that I think grumpy jerkface Charlie Sullivan is going to become my significant other, but maybe I could have him on my arm at various functions, and that might be…interesting. I could introduce him to people, help him make connections, and then he’ll forever be in my debt. That doesn’t sound like a bad deal. Not at all.
Right? Or maybe I’m so eager to meet someone new, I’ll do almost anything to make it happen.
Yikes. That’s not good.
Once lunch is finished, we all go our separate ways, save for Sarah and me, since I’m walking her back to Bliss, the lingerie shop she works at.
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Sarah says out of nowhere as we head up the sidewalk toward the shopping plaza where Bliss is located.
I don’t bother looking at her. I’m trying to avoid this line of conversation, so I decide to feign ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to say yes to that Sullivan woman’s request and you’re going to take her asshole son around as your date for the bazillion holiday parties you’re invited to.” Sarah shakes her head, stepping to the side when a gentleman heading in the opposite direction barrels right in between us. “Jared is going to be so pissed.”
“Why would my brother be pissed about it?” She’s making no sense. Jared’s never angry with me. Oh, he might bluster and grumble like he usually does, but ultimately I always win him over.
“He wouldn’t want you spending even a minute of your time with a guy he doesn’t believe is worthy of you,” Sarah explains.
Well. That’s nice. I can appreciate that.
“How do we know Charlie Sullivan isn’t worthy of me?” I chance a look at Sarah.
“Come on.” She rolls her eyes. “Eleanor said he’s an asshole. She never says that sort of thing.”
This is very, very true.
“I’ll meet with him first. See if this could work,” I suggest.
“I don’t know…” Sarah’s voice drifts and we stop in front of Bliss. “This is probably a bad idea.”
“Says the woman who met the love of her life by agreeing to a bad idea,” I throw out smugly.
Sarah sighs. “You’ve got me there.”
I smile in triumph.
“You should run this by Jared, though. Just in case.”
My smile fades. “Just in case of what?”
“I don’t know. This guy could be a serial killer for all we know,” Sarah suggests.
Why do all of these women I know think men they don’t know might be a serial killer? “Doubtful. His family owns a Christmas tree farm. That’s so—wholesome.”
It really is.
“The perfect type of thing to hide behind,” Sarah says. “Who’d think a killer would own a Christmas tree farm?”
I shake my head. “I’m so not having this conversation.”
Sarah laughs, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Talk about it with Jared. Please?”
“No.” My voice is firm. There is no way I want Jared to know about this. And why alert him to something that might not even happen? “I’d rather not tell him. About any of this. Not yet.”
“Seriously?” Sarah’s mouth falls open as her hand drops away from mine. “I can’t lie to him, Candice.”
“I’m not asking you to lie, Sarah. You just won’t ever mention it. It might never happen, so don’t worry about.” Plus, I’m not about to let Jared know so he could potentially control this situation. If Sarah told him what I was considering, he’d try his best to put a stop to it.
He’d probably succeed too.
“He’ll notice if
you start appearing on the local society websites with the same guy standing by your side in every photo,” Sarah says, her voice gentle. “He might even think he’s your boyfriend.”
“We don’t know if this is going to happen, Sarah. And no way will this guy be my boyfriend,” I reassure her. “I’m just going to help him and his family out.”
“Help him out by taking him around to various fundraisers and parties and critiquing him on his social skills? Just from the little bit that Eleanor said, I get the feeling he won’t respond so well to that,” Sarah says.
“Then why would his mother ask me to do this?”
“Maybe he doesn’t know his mother asked you.” Sarah’s brows shoot up.
Oh. Well. I never thought of that.
Three
Charlie
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
I stop short at the sound of my mother’s voice coming from behind me. I thought working in the farthest corner of the property would discourage anyone from seeking me out, but I underestimated Mom’s determination when she’s in search of me.
Rising to my full height, I turn to find her standing there, her watchful gaze locked on me. Her arms are crossed, her brows are raised, and I fully expect her to be tapping one booted foot in that universal Mom is mad signal.
But thankfully, she’s not.
“Hey.” I smile weakly. Tug the cap off my head and run my fingers through my hair. It’s too long. But I never manage to make the time to get around to the hair stylist for a trim. Besides, that woman talks far too much for my tastes. I snapped at her last time I went, so she might “accidentally” nip me with her scissors.
“You need a haircut,” my mom the mind reader says, dropping her arms to her sides and approaching me slowly. When she’s standing directly in front of me, she stretches up on her toes, tousling my hair with her fingers. She may be tall, but I’m taller. “It’s a mess.”
“I’ll keep my hat on then.” I tug it back on, annoyance filling me. I can think I need a haircut, but it sucks when your mom tells you that you need one. I’m almost thirty years old, for Christ’s sake. I don’t need her telling me what to do.
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