by Robin Weaver
Katarina blinked, and blinked again. “I appreciate you saying that, but the judges disqualified me.”
Kaley shook her head again. “No. One judge disqualified you. The other judges left the decision toTripp. He disqualified you.”
“Okay.” Katarina didn’t get Kaley’s point. Maybe Kaley wanted to rub it in that Tripp had caused her downfall, only the coffee shop owner wasn’t even smirking.
“You’re not making this easy, are you?” Kaley looked as if she’d be physically sick.
“I’m not trying to make it harder, Kaley. I’m sure Tripp did what he thought was right. Why is that your fault?”
“Because.” Kaley paused to swallow. “I told him to disqualify you. He called me and asked me if people would think he was biased and I said…”
“And you said yes?” Katarina glanced at Tripp again. He hadn’t said anything. He wouldn’t either, not unless she brought it up. He’d clearly been manipulated, and strangely, Katarina didn’t care. Given the response to the HollyGrams, she’d achieved her goal, disqualification be damned.
“I’m sorry, Katarina. I let this thing between us… I really am sorry.”
Katarina shrugged. “It’s okay.”
And it was. So Tripp really was a stickler for the rules. That might make it easier when she admitted to him that they had no future. He’d probably think the contest had come between them, which was for the best. She couldn’t exactly admit she’d fallen in love with someone else.
She might not have Hunter in her future, but she had good friends and a good job. Even better, she was part of HollyGrams—a dream job that was going to make her rich, too.
“Say what?” Kaley asked, looking all suspicious.
Katrina smiled. She hadn’t always been that nice to Kaley, either. Turning the other cheek was the least she could do. “It’s Christmas, Kaley. We probably can’t manage peace on earth, but we can start with a truce between us.”
Kaley’s mouth dropped open, but she managed to nod.
Katarina walked away.
The kinder, softer person she wanted to be wouldn’t enjoy the perky brunette’s shock quite so much, but Katarina had decided to blend parts of her old self with the new Katarina. Her new-old self wanted to laugh out loud.
After all, a little naughty made a person interesting.
Chapter Eighteen
Bells Will Be Ringing
Katarina decided to walk home, probably not a wise decision since she might ruin her gown and Santa couldn’t afford new clothes for a while. Even so, she relished the falling snow and the cold on her cheeks. She might be a bit melancholy, but she also was at peace. For the first time, she felt good about the person she was becoming. Sure, she had a long sleigh ride before she’d arrive at her softer-gentler destination, but she’d started the journey.
A figure in the distance headed toward her on the deserted street. She enjoyed the momentary solitude and considered taking a side street to keep the peaceful feeling, but something about the person’s posture made her reconsider.
Is that…
Great Marley’s ghost. It was Hunter. Shouldn’t he be in New York?
She froze in place, not sure if she should greet him or reverse direction. He waved, and picked up his pace as he headed toward her, practically running.
“Katty.”
A little hitch made breathing hard. “Hunter. This is a surprise.” Talk about your understatements.
He nodded. “Not really.” His words contradicted his movement. “I’ve been waiting for you. I had to… Katty, I’m sorry about last night. Well, I’m not sorry about…things, but I am sorry we fought.”
She forced a smile, not feeling peaceful anymore. “I’m sorry about that, too.”
He hesitated, actually looking down at his feet. “Where’s Tripp?”
She managed a real smile this time. “Miss your old buddy, huh?”
Hunter shook his head. “Actually, no.” After a little laugh, he repeated, “So where is he?”
Katrina gave her head a little shake. “That’s your question? Not how’d our tree do? No curiosity about what people thought of the HollyGrams? Just where’s Tripp?”
The man actually shuffled his feet. “I’m sure you took first place. You’re the best.”
She laughed this time. “Yep. I’m so good I forgot the rule about moving parts. We were disqualified.”
Hunter’s jerked his head up to face her. “Disqualified?”
She nodded. “Thanks to your buddy Tripp.”
“That reindeer’s ass.”
Katrina laughed at that, but quickly turned somber. “Don’t be mad. Being disqualified might be even better than winning. There’s never been a disqualification before. We might even get more publicity.”
Hunter quirked a grin. “Leave it to you to be the first.”
She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “You really waited out here just to apologize to me?”
He nodded. Of course he would. The man might have a head made of coal, but he had honor.
“Katty, I… Why aren’t you with Tripp?”
“Good grief, Hunter. You have a one-track mind. Why are you so worried about Tripp?”
The man shuffled his feet—again. “I wanted to talk to you but… I feel like a fool now.”
Katrina wanted to shake him. “Hey, I thought we’d become friends of a sort. If you have something to say, just say it. Tripp won’t be joining me tonight.” She’d told him she was going home alone. Breaking up with him at the ball didn’t seem right, so that would have to wait until tomorrow.
“Friends?” He actually flashed a half grin. “I seem to remember you saying ‘since when are we friends?’”
He had her there. “You grew on me. And don’t change the subject. What were you going to say?”
“I like you Katarina.”
Dear Lord, would he ever get to the point? Training reindeer to fly might be easier than understanding him. “I like you, too, Hunter. Trust me, that’s as big a shock to me as it is to you.”
He didn’t even smile. Odd, since he normally had a wicked sense of humor. And he normally had an abundance of confidence. Hunter actually looked a little scared.
“I mean I really like you. If the thing with Tripp doesn’t work out…”
The man couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” he replied, finally smiling again. “Oh.”
Her euphoria died. “Only you don’t have time for anything but your career, so why tell me?”
He grinned again, and some of his confidence seemed to return. “I’ve been thinking about that. All sorts of people manage to juggle career and a life. I think I might like to give it a try.”
“Oh, really,” she replied, resorting to her snarky self.
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Katty. I know you’re into Tripp, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t say something. I’d always wonder.”
She grinned. “You would, huh? So how do you feel about me?”
Hunter blinked. “I told you. I really like you.”
Her heart did a little rockin’ around the Christmas tree. Then her holly-jolly feeling went South. “I have to tell you something first.”
He whooshed out a breath.
“Don’t get spooked. I’m not pregnant.”
He managed a little laugh. Then she told him about her bout with bulimia, how she’d passed out at the prior year contest because her body had been dehydrated and her electrolytes were out of balance.
“So you see,” she concluded, “I’m damaged goods.”
The man actually grinned. “Good. Because you were a little too perfect before.”
“I’m serious, Hunter. I think I’ve overcome the obsession, but I’ll always have to be on my guard.”
He reached for her hand. “I admire you even more now, Katty. You seem to have it under control. Let me help.”
She blinked. “Really? Now that you know, how do you
really feel about me?”
“I’ve told you twice already. I really like you.” Then Hunter blinked. “I don’t say that to make you uncomfortable—I know you’re with Tripp.”
She shook her head. “We’re over. I’m telling him tomorrow. Didn’t seem right to ruin the ball. He’s having so much fun.”
“You’re what?” he asked, looking dazed.
Katarina had grown tired of talking about Tripp. She took a step forward, taking Hunter’s head in her hands. She kissed him.
At first, he didn’t respond. Good, she’d shocked him for a change.
Then he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her thoroughly. All the bells in all the world seemed to ring. When she thought she just might faint, Hunter pulled his head back, smiling at her.
She grinned at him. “By the way, Hunter Montgomery? I really like you, too.”
If you enjoyed Full Contact Decorating, you may want to pick up a copy of The Christmas Tree Wars, also available from the Wild Rose Press, Inc.
The Christmas Tree Wars
by
Robin Weaver
Chapter One
O Little Town of Bets
“Surprise!”
Her BFF picked up some of the confetti covering the floor and threw the red and green bits back into the air. Suzette Forrester’s spirits plummeted with the falling paper. She appreciated the big gesture, but one thought kept pounding in her brain. No, no, and—one more time—no.
“Thanks, guys, but…” She glanced at her three best friends, wishing she could turn the clock back seventy-two hours and be completely honest with Kaley. If only she hadn’t used the entry fee as her excuse.
Too late. “You guys shouldn’t have done this. Really.”
Maybe if she appealed to the contest promoters they’d refund the five thousand dollars. Her friends couldn’t possibly afford to play Santa—not when the stocking needed stuffing with that much cash. Bob’s IT services might be in high demand, but the Brew Mistress had a serious setback after a plugged sink flooded her shop and Kaley’s insurance didn’t cover the damage. Poor Lydia might be in worse shape. Psychic Visions hadn’t turned a profit in two quarters—primarily because Lydia had a tendency to donate merchandise to charity.
“No big deal, Suze.” Kaley’s hug constricted Suzette’s air supply. “We all pitched in. You just kick Katarina’s butt.”
More likely, Katarina Snodgrass would chop her to shreds and use her for tinsel. She’d won every year in high school when they’d completed in the junior division. Suzette stared at her gang, feeling the love she didn’t deserve.
“You have to enter, Suze.” Lydia clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling. “The winner gets to have dinner with Tripp Anthony. I can’t believe he agreed to come back and play the lead in A Christmas Carol. He’s sooooo dreamy.”
“Ditto.” Bob’s grin probably meant he was dittoing Tripp’s dreaminess, not her contest entry.
Still, didn’t matter what soap opera star wined and dined the winner. Or who covered the entry fee. She simply couldn’t stomach losing to Katarina again. The woman had probably been working on her tree design since she won the contest last year.
Besides, Suzette had finally made a decision. Her grandmother’s store had finally generated a profit—the first time in the year since she’d taken ownership fourteen months ago—and she planned to sell Forrester Florals. Getting the business ready for the commercial real estate market required a lot of effort.
Time to fess up. Admit she couldn’t—make that wouldn’t—enter the Christmas Tree Contest. Taking a tiny sip of her latte for fortification, she groped for words.
The bell on the door of the Brew Mistress jingled and a blast of wintery air sent a new mass of chills running over her body. Gads, she missed Florida.
All yakking and noisemaker tooting stopped. You could hear a coffee bean drop. Wondering what could silence her rowdy friends, Suzette whirled. And stared directly into the face of her confidence-zapping nightmare.
Katarina Snodgrass.
“Suzette.” Katarina stashed her gianormus purse on the counter and crossed her arms over her perfect chest—her symmetry, no doubt, courtesy of Dr. Artful Boobs. “You lied to me?”
The smugness in her nemesis’s expression negated both Suzette’s Master’s degree and her carefully crafted sophistication. She took a quick sip of the coffee, wincing when the too-hot liquid scorched her throat. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of ice.
“I…” She morphed into a high school Junior, hovering on the edge and afraid of the tall redhead. She gave her crazy curls a quick pat to ensure her hair wasn’t sticking out and straightened her shoulders. “When we talked, I hadn’t planned on entering the contest.”
Katarina’s sneer made her feel like the ghost of Christmas Past. She really didn’t want to enter the contest, but maybe she would. She couldn’t let the woman banish her to Scroogeville.
Kaley wiped her hands on her Brew Mistress apron. Her BFF glared at Katarina—a Wild West showdown, diva style. “You want to order, Katarina? Because if you’re here just to give Suze a hard time, I have customers waiting.”
Suzette expected transformers to blow.
“So that’s why you entered.” Katarina propped her hands on her hips, no newcomer to diva standoffs. “You let Kaley pressure you?”
“What difference does it make?” Kaley mimicked Katrina’s hands-on-hips stance. “Are you scared?”
“Of course I’m not scared.” Katarina snorted. “I just don’t want to be responsible.”
Suzette willed Kaley to remain silent. She’d have better luck un-burning her tongue.
“Responsible for what?” her friend barked.
“Mamie Forrester’s legacy. Forrester Floral has never once lost the Christmas Tree Contest. You really want to risk spoiling your grandmother’s streak, Suzette?”
Suzette gave her head a little shake. Nana had won the contest five years in a row—then the cancer came. Her grandmother managed to keep the store open during the five years she’d battled the disease, but Forrester Florals hadn’t participated in the Christmas Tree contest again.
Kaley snorted. “If you care that much, why don’t you just drop out? You should be worried about your winning streak.”
Katarina seemed to grow even taller. “My streak is not in jeopardy.”
“Want to put your money where your collagen-overloaded lips are?”
Please, Kaley, just shut up. Suzette took a deep breath. Bad enough she’d be kicked in the Christmas ornaments—she didn’t want her best friend to throw bad money after a wasted entrance fee.
“Sure.” Katarina smiled, a cat purring over a saucer of milk. Deadly claws were only a scratch away. The redhead waved a limp wrist, sending her floral scent swirling through the store. “Shall we say $500? For charity, of course.”
Suzette tried to laugh. “She doesn’t really want to make a bet, Katarina. Kaley’s just pulling your Christmas stocking.”
“No I’m not. You’re on, Snodgrass.”
Sugarplums. Suzette wished her friend didn’t have such huge girl balls. Kaley couldn’t afford another $500. Somehow, she’d make it up to her friend. Probably a sign she really should sell her grandmother’s flower shop.
Katarina whirled to face her. “Just remember, you brought this on yourself, Short-Stuff. Don’t blame me for your tears when Forrester Florals loses for the first time. Ever.”
“Suze won’t cry,” Kaley shot back. “Because she won’t lose. Now that the bet’s settled, what can I get you, Katarina?”
Suzette’s head wouldn’t stop spinning. She’d have to enter the contest now. Her world tilted but the diva shot-slingers acted as if the little bet had never happened.
Katarina turned toward the pastry case. “I’ll have a latte and two of those yummy cinnamon rolls.”
“Skinny latte?” Kaley asked.
“Heavens no.” The titian-haired beauty touched her hand to her chest. “Give me t
he works. Whipped cream too.”
Suzette’s mouth dropped open. Two cinnamon buns? She gained weight just thinking about them. Even at 5’10”, Katarina could probably fit into a size zero on her bloated days. Maybe the redhead ordered for someone else—her man of the week? Although with Katarina, could be man of the day.
No need to be catty.
The svelte socialite grabbed the bit of confectionary heaven and took a large bite. Suzette could hate her—for being able to eat like that and stay skinny if for no other reason.
“Since you’re foolish enough to enter, Suze, please don’t embarrass the town with a lame entry. This is our contest, even though I’ll beat you, we local girls need to do well.”
Talk about your insults. Was Katrina suggesting she couldn’t even put together a decent tree? Well, elf her.
Katarina grabbed her designer bag and tossed a fluffy scarf around her neck. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my lunch date with Spence.”
Suzette stared at Katarina’s departing back. “Spence?” She couldn’t have meant Spence James. He would have called if he was in town. Right?
A word about the author…
Robin Weaver is the author of eight novels, including Blue Ridge Fear, a Golden Heart finalist and winner of the prestigious Daphne du Maurier contest. She teaches workshops on point of view and pacing, and is a regular blogger with Romancing the Genres (www.RomancingtheGenres.blogspot.com). She loves Latin dancing, most things British, and the five o’clock shadow, not necessarily in that order. When she’s not writing or doing undercover work as a university computer geek, she’s re-investigating the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby or trying to figure out what Billy Joe MacAllister threw off the Tallahatchie Bridge.
Please visit her on Facebook, LinkedIn, or via her website.
http://www.AuthorRobinWeaver.com
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.