by Lucy Quinn
“True,” Cookie agreed, doing her best to tamp down her jealousy. Where had that come from? She and Scarlett had always freely admired each other’s taste in men, at least as far as the visuals. “We should grab seats, huh?”
“Already got ’em,” Scarlett promised, pointing to several right in the center of the first row that had a Reserved rope draped across them. “Official show photographer and all that.” She smiled and linked her arm through Cookie’s. “You can be my plus one.”
Cookie laughed, relieved her momentary fit of jealousy had vanished. “Works for me. Just don’t expect me to buy you dinner.”
“Well, no goodnight kiss for you, then,” her friend warned as they spun about and made their way toward the seats. “Though you do look awfully cute in that outfit.”
Continuing to laugh and flirt, they reached the chairs and slid the rope to take their seats. Just as their backsides hit the cushions, Rain hurried over and sank down on Cookie’s side.
“All set,” Rain whispered, holding up both hands to show that she had her fingers crossed.
“Everything looks great, Mom,” Cookie assured her, mildly surprised to realize her assessment was true. She twisted around and saw that the hall was absolutely packed. But that was the thing about Rain. About a quarter of the time, her crazy schemes wound up going completely off the rails. And maybe another quarter of them limped along, barely succeeding. But that other half? They tended to go over like gangbusters. Knocking it out of the park half the time, Cookie mused. In baseball, that’d be a .500 batting average. That was Hall of Fame material.
She reminded herself to tell Rain that later. Assuming the revue really did go off without a hitch. Or, she wondered, giggling as the house lights dimmed and the curtains over the stage began to rise, should that be without a ‘stitch?’
It was not a complete surprise for Cookie to realize, maybe half an hour in, that she was actually enjoying herself. Like any proper revue, the show was a mix of skits, music, dance, and striptease. The performers were all amateurs, obviously, and most of them were from here on the island, but they attacked their roles with an enthusiasm that made up for their lack of training. And the crowd proved more than ready to cheer their friends, family, and neighbors and to overlook any small slips.
There were several blunders, including people missing their cues, blurting out clearly unscripted lines, and one dancer who spun into another nearly causing an onstage pileup. But none of them stopped the show. All of the performers managed to keep going and maintain both momentum and good cheer, and the audience seemed to be laughing with them rather than at them.
All in all, it was a lot of fun.
And then Dylan stepped out onto the stage. Cookie sat bolt upright, and she wasn’t the only one, either. She heard a bunch of catcalls and wolf whistles from around the room. Judging by the blush that covered his cheeks, he’d heard them all too, but he gamely entered into a skit with Jared, Captain Bob, and three others.
The men took their places on stage, and it took Cookie a minute or two before she realized that the skit was sort of an updated, cut-down version of the barn-raising scene from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Which she knew Rain loved and had seen a thousand times.
It wasn’t hard to tell that the ensemble was working from a script, some with more ease than others. Jared, for one, sounded like he was reading off cue cards, while Captain Bob was surprisingly natural in his delivery.
Dylan, on the other hand, either hadn’t read the script or just hadn’t had time to learn it properly. So one of the others would say something, clearly expecting a particular response. After a second’s pause, Dylan would realize that it was supposed to be him replying and would make something up.
To Cookie’s delight, he wound up being surprisingly funny. Like when Jared said, “Well, if we want to talk about hiking, I once walked the entire Appalachian Trail. Barefoot. In winter.”
And following a pregnant pause, Dylan looked at him, and replied, “Why? Did somebody steal your shoes?”
The audience howled with laughter, Cookie right along with the rest of them. Two of the performers were also having trouble keeping a straight face, and she was sure she saw Dylan’s lips twitch a few times as well. But they kept going.
It wound up being a hysterical skit, and when it ended and the curtain fell between scenes, they received a thunderous round of applause.
“Your man’s a natural,” Scarlett whispered to Cookie as they both clapped so hard Cookie’s hands stung afterward. “Of course, the most… revealing act is still to come.”
“I’m sure he’ll rise to the occasion,” Cookie retorted, then gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized what she’d said. Scarlett laughed so hard she had tears streaming down her face.
“Well, let’s hope so,” her best friend managed with a sniff when she’d finally recovered. “I won’t let you settle for anything less.”
By the time the show was almost over, there’d been several stripteases, but none of them had involved Dylan. Cookie couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed. But at last Scarlett whispered, “Final act.”
The curtains rose to show the entire cast, with Dylan front and center. They were all dressed in different costumes—doctor, soldier, sailor, cop, fireman—that all looked suspiciously flimsy. Especially at the seams.
Then the music started. “Is that—?” Cookie asked softly, and beside her Scarlett nodded.
“Yep,” she agreed, giggling. “Classic Def Leppard.” She grinned at Cookie. “Pour some sugar on me, baby.”
Cookie groaned. But found she couldn’t take her eyes off the performers who had just started gyrating up on stage. Well a certain performer in particular.
One thing was obvious almost immediately—Dylan should never pursue a career as a professional dancer. Or, possibly, go dancing at all. Ever. Anywhere. He looked about as relaxed and comfortable as a mannequin being tugged about puppet-style by strings.
On the other hand, he was well-built, good-looking, and athletic. And, when he finally let himself relax, he moved with his typical cat-like grace, which was mesmerizing.
When he gave a good hard tug on his left sleeve and tore it clear away at the shoulder, revealing a well-muscled arm, Cookie stopped paying any attention to what he was doing with his feet.
“Might want to teach him a few moves,” Scarlett advised quietly. “Or, alternately, just have him stand there and look pretty.”
“Shhh,” Cookie urged. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help it. She’d seen Dylan shirtless before. Hell, they’d once taken an impromptu dive into ice-cold water, after which all their clothes had clung to them like second skins.
But that still wasn’t the same as sitting right in front of a stage as he stripped for her with music and a spotlight.
It was mesmerizing.
Then all the men turned around and, as one, yanked down their pants, revealing a row of buns, ranging from Dylan’s impeccably chiseled rear to Jared’s and Captain Bob’s surprisingly decent buttocks to others not quite so blessed.
Cookie laughed when, instead of turning around, the men began shaking their moneymakers.
“Look.” Scarlett nudged Cookie and pointed toward Rain, who had rushed out onto the stage with a stack of giftwrapped boxes, and started handing one to each performer.
“What is she—oh, no,” Cookie groaned as each of the dancers placed the box right in front of their groins and turned back around to face the crowd.
“Oh, yes,” Scarlett crowed, laughing. “What else?”
The music faded, and a new song began. Cookie wanted to sink through the floor out of sympathy as the Lonely Island song, Dick in a Box, featuring Justin Timberlake, kicked into full gear and all the women in the audience went wild.
At least the song fit the holiday theme, she had to admit. And the crowd seemed to be eating it up as the men all lip-synched to the song, pumping their hips in time to the music.
&nb
sp; Cookie, almost ashamed she was enjoying herself, was grinning from ear to ear when the song reached its final chorus and the men stepped forward, right to the edge of the stage.
Dylan smiled down at Cookie, his eyes locked on hers, and then, all together, the performers tossed their boxes out into the crowd.
Cookie’s first reaction was to stick an arm out to block the wrapped package sailing toward her. But then she couldn’t help launching herself out of her chair, arms outstretched, reaching for the package.
Another woman had apparently had the same idea, because all of a sudden there was someone between Cookie and the box, hands out, mouth open wide in what Cookie could only describe as a crazed rictus of a grin. She didn’t recognize the woman, who was a little shorter than her and a little heavier, with the kind of glossy blonde hair one could only get at an expensive salon. But Cookie felt not even the slightest iota of guilt as she hip-checked the stranger out of the way, sending her sprawling and leaving a clear path for the box to sail into her own waiting arms.
“Hey!” the other woman protested, catching herself on her hands before she hit the floor.
“Get your own,” Cookie shot back, the box clutched protectively to her chest. “He’s mine!”
When she returned to her seat, only seconds had passed and the performers were still standing there, arms held high with giant bows, the big stick-on kind, concealing their family jewels. It was actually the perfect touch, and Cookie burst out laughing and clapped along with everyone else.
As the curtain dropped, Scarlett sidled over to her. “He’s mine?” she asked, eyebrow arched. “Didn’t you mean it’s mine?” She gestured down at the package.
“Shut up,” Cookie muttered, but she discovered that she didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about the gaffe—if it could even be called that. Because, she realized with a sharp burst of joy, she’d meant exactly what she’d said.
When the curtains reopened, the performers were all wearing robes. Dylan’s was a frilly pink number, which made her laugh all over again. The crowd rose to its feet as Rain and Winter joined the men onstage, everyone bowing to thunderous cheers and clapping.
“Okay,” Scarlett agreed once the curtain had dropped again and the ovation had begun to subside as audience members starting to thread their way toward the exits. “You can keep him. I mean it.”
“Why do I even put up with you?” Cookie asked, shaking her head at her best friend.
“Because nobody else will have you.” Scarlett answered, blowing her a kiss.
The both grinned, understanding each other in the way only best friends could.
“Wasn’t that amazing?” Rain asked as she rejoined them. She was breathless, her hands clasped to her chest. “Oh, it was even better than I’d hoped!” She smiled at Cookie. “Dylan saved it, he really did. He was fantastic, don’t you think?” She fanned herself a little. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that boy had worked for the UPS at some point.”
“Nice one, Mom,” Cookie said as she hugged her. “You’re right, it was fantastic. You did great. I’m proud of you.”
Her praise won her one of Rain’s bring-out-the-sun smiles. “Thank you, sweetie.” She looked past her. “And now I see somebody else I have to thank.” With a bounce in her step, she hurried away to tackle Dylan.
It took him a minute to extricate himself from Rain’s enthusiastic appreciation before he was finally able to reach Cookie.
“You were great,” she told him, hugging him as well. “And it meant the world to Mom. Thank you.”
“Hey.” He squeezed her once then pulled back so he could look her in the eye. “I told you I’d do anything for you. And I meant it.”
Maybe it was because it was late, or because she was tired, or because the day had already had so many ups and downs and her emotions were all over the map, but for whatever reason, Cookie found that as she stood there with Dylan and Scarlett and her mother, she just couldn’t stop smiling. And she didn’t mind one bit.
24
Cookie did have one moment of disappointment that night. When she, Scarlett, and Rain got back to the inn, the place had been empty. Nor had she seen the Mustang outside, or down by the docks. Even though Captain Bob said the ferry she’d taken was the last for the night, she’d figured Hunter would find some way to get back. He was usually good at that.
Then her phone had chimed with a text from him.
Sorry, it read. Got called in ASAP. Sounds hardcore. Will be in touch soon. Stay out of trouble. And plan for Philly!
“What’s up?” Scarlett asked. She’d clearly been watching as Cookie read the message.
She considered shaking it off, but this was her best friend asking. Besides, Scarlett would just pester it out of her eventually, anyway. “It’s Hunter,” she answered. “He got called back in, apparently.”
Cookie sighed. She’d wanted to see him, to smooth over the obvious disconnect they’d experienced when he’d refused to come to the revue. Now that would have to wait, along with the entire Philly conversation that had knocked her sideways. And if Spinner had summoned him back, it probably was hardcore, as Hunter had said. Which meant he might very well be incommunicado until it was finished.
She shook her head. She wasn’t going to worry about that right now. She’d had a good night—a surprisingly good night—and a crazy day that had exhausted her. “I’m off to bed,” she told Scarlett and Rain, smothering a huge yawn. “See y’all in the morning.”
“Or afternoon,” Scarlett teased, giving her a quick hug. Rain did the same, kissing her on the cheek for good measure, and then Cookie turned toward the stairs. “Are you planning to sleep with that thing?” Scarlett called after her, and Cookie stopped. She hadn’t even realized until then that she still had Dylan’s package clutched under one arm.
Dylan’s package. The very thought of it made her smile. “Maybe,” she replied with a grin. “Why? You think he’d mind?”
“I’m sure he’d be thrilled,” Scarlett retorted. “Unless you wind up crushing it in your sleep, of course, which could lead to some fascinating morning conversation. ‘Hi, Dylan. Great night last night. So sorry about your package. You gave it to me, and then I kinda broke it.’”
Cookie snorted. “I promise I’ll be gentle,” she shot back, taking the steps two at a time before her friend could launch a reply.
“I’ll tell him you said that!” Scarlett hollered after her. Cookie laughed but kept going.
A minute later, she’d reached her bedroom.
Twenty minutes after that, washed up and in comfy flannel PJs, she was curled up under her covers. Dylan’s package sat on her bedside table. It was the last thing she saw before she drifted off to sleep.
“Morning, sleepyhead!” Scarlett called out in greeting when Cookie finally stumbled downstairs the next morning. “Though only just barely.”
“Shut up,” Cookie mumbled, pushing her thick mass of hair out of her face. Rain appeared with a steaming mug, and Cookie accepted gratefully. ‘Thanks, Mom.” She took a big gulp, and sighed happily as the piping-hot coffee filled her with warmth and gave her a much needed shot of caffeine. “What time is it?”
“Just shy of noon,” Scarlett answered. She was already dressed, Cookie noted, in worn-soft jeans and a big, fluffy sweater, but she had only a pair of thick socks on her feet, which were curled up under her on the couch. “Don’t worry,” her friend laughed. “We’re not going to make you go out and do anything today.”
“No?” Cookie sank down onto the couch beside her best friend, and Scarlett shifted her legs to make room. “Cool. What’s the plan for today, then?”
Her head was starting to clear, and she remembered the case she’d been investigating. But that was all taken care of now, wasn’t it? They had the art thieves in custody, Jared would be comparing the ballistics from Voelker’s gun with Petra’s wound, they had the paintings, and they had Brooklyn willing to turn witness. Assuming Hunter had managed to finish the paperwork
before he’d headed back to Philly, there shouldn’t be anything left for Cookie to handle.
“Ha!” Scarlett scoffed. “Plan? Who needs a stinking plan?” she asked in a silly accent, twirling an invisible mustache. Then she cocked an eye at Cookie and at Rain, who had disappeared into the kitchen but now returned with a tray carrying a carafe of coffee, one of orange juice, and a platter of fresh scones along with butter and jam. “No? Nobody? Blazing Saddles?” She tsked and reached for a scone. “Y’all are so sad.”
“Ask me again when I’m more awake,” Cookie suggested, also snagging a scone and then dipping a knife into the butter. “Thanks, Mom.” She slathered the butter on and took a big bite, sighing in happiness. She was at home, nice and cozy and warm, with her mom, her best friend, and fresh-baked pastries. What else did she need?
Her thoughts wandered to the wrapped box still sitting upstairs, but she banished that from her mind, at least for right now.
As if reading her mind again, Scarlett smiled. “Actually,” she said, stretching like a cat, “Rain and I talked about it. It’s Christmas Eve tonight, you know. And with Hunter gone, it’s just the three of us here. So we thought we’d spend the day just chilling out, decorating the tree, watching cheesy Christmas movies. You know, being traditional.” She smirked and bumped against Cookie. “How does that sound to you?”
Cookie grinned back at her. “Perfect.” She leaned back on the couch and took another sip of her coffee. “It sounds perfect.”
“Okay,” Scarlett insisted that night. “So spill.”
“What?” Cookie eyed her best friend over her wineglass. “Why?” She glanced at her glass and frowned. “That’d be a total waste!”
Rain laughed, but Scarlett only raised an eyebrow. “You know what I meant,” she said, though she did raise her own glass in salute before taking a sip. “Let’s hear it.”
“Hear what?” Cookie hedged, gulping her wine so she wouldn’t have to say anything else. It had been a lovely day, exactly as Scarlett had suggested. The three of them had decorated the tree, prepared a small feast for dinner, and then just sat around, drinking hot chocolate and warm mulled cider and watching old movies. They’d laughed a lot, and had been silly, lazy, and content.