Happy Ever After in Christmas

by Debbie Mason

  She bent her head and gave it a slight shake before tossing the bag of scones on the white countertop. “Not really. The night’s a bit of a blur,” she said while opening a cupboard and pulling out two mugs. She glanced to where he stood outside the kitchen by the table. “Can we just forget about it? I apologized. It won’t happen again.”

  He didn’t know if he could, but he didn’t want her to feel any more uncomfortable than she obviously did. For both their sakes, he had to let it go. No good would come of him continuing down this road. “Didn’t think it would, Shortstop. Just wanted to make sure we were okay.”

  She poured the coffee. “Yep, we’re good. Totally—” Her gaze jerked to the table he leaned against, then back to him. “I’ll bring you your coffee and scone. Go sit in the living room.”

  He frowned, not sure where the panicked look on her face was coming from. He glanced at the magazines spread over the table, a glue stick, scissors, and corkboard. “What’s this? You working on a project with little Jack?” He smiled.

  She scowled. “God, you’re nosy. It’s nothing. Now, do you want your coffee or not?” She held out a white mug imprinted with the words “Feel safe tonight. Sleep with a cop.” and a pair of handcuffs. No way he was letting that image get into his head. It was bad enough he’d spent the past two nights thinking about that kiss. And for the brief amount of time he’d had his mouth on hers, it’s not something that should have kept him up at night.

  “They were a gift from Suze,” Jill said, lifting an identical mug. “She bought me a dozen.” She nudged her head at the living room, carrying a plate of scones along with her mug and napkins.

  He followed her into a space he was familiar with. The orange-and-brown floral couch and armchair had been her grandmother’s. So were the coffee and end tables and the lace doilies decorating both. Jill had inherited the furniture when Grace renovated the apartment above the Sugar Plum Bakery as a surprise for Jack. His best friend didn’t have fond memories of living there with his grandmother. Neither did Jill. But as loyal as she was, she wouldn’t get rid of the furniture. Plus she was cheap. She didn’t like spending money unless she had to.

  “Still play?” he asked, nodding at the guitar leaning against the exposed brick wall. He hadn’t known she played until she’d performed, with some arm-twisting from her brother, at Jack and Grace’s wedding. She’d played “Amazed” by Lonestar, singing along with Jack, who serenaded his beautiful, blushing bride. Jill had been surprisingly good once she got over her nerves. Actually, she’d been pretty amazing.

  She shrugged. “When I have time.”

  “You should play for the seniors. They’d love it.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I swore I’d never play in public again after Jack and Grace’s wedding.”

  And now, thinking back to that day, he realized the other night wasn’t the first time he’d wished Jill wasn’t his best friend’s sister. But he’d locked the memory away. He took comfort in the knowledge that he’d been able to. Because as he sat beside her on the couch, taking in those long legs and toned body, he’d begun to wonder if he could.

  He drew his attention back to the conversation. “That was what…seven ago? Must be over your stage fright by now.”

  “Maybe when I’m eighty,” she said, lifting a scone to her mouth.

  He smiled, remembering how she’d looked the day of the wedding. She’d worn a soft pink dress, her hair a little longer than it was now. She’d been twenty-two; all glowy and innocent. Shy and sweet.

  A lot different from the women he’d become accustomed to back then. He’d grown tired of the chase. Not that he had to do any chasing. He was propositioned everywhere he went. He hadn’t realized when he’d been signed by the Flurries how much his life would change. And the day of Jack’s wedding, he’d gotten the devastating news that put his career in the NHL on the line.

  He felt Jill looking at him and glanced at her.

  “What’s with the face…” she began, then trailed off, putting down her scone and rubbing crumbs from her hands. “Forgot about that. Guess we’re even.”

  “Did I miss something? What are you talking about?”

  She shrugged. “You kissed me at Jack and Grace’s wedding. I kissed you the other night. So we’re even. No biggie. Seriously.”

  “I didn’t…” Relief flooded his body when he realized what she was talking about. “You’re right, it’s not a big deal. But Shortstop, I gave you a peck on the cheek in the receiving line. It’s hardly the same—”

  She looked at him like he was an idiot. “I know the difference between a peck and a kiss. And let me tell you, my kiss the other night was a peck compared to the one you gave me when I drove you to your hotel after the wedding.”

  He stared at her, stunned.

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t remember.”

  “Come on, Jill. You know me. If I did, I would have said something.” He leaned against the back of the couch. “Jesus.”

  “I’m not lying. If you don’t believe me, ask Barbie…or was it Bambi? I can’t remember which puck bunny you were dating at the time, but she opened the hotel room door.”

  “I believe you, okay. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.” He glanced at her. “I’m sorry, Jill. I never should have kissed you.”

  “You were drunk. And I…” She lifted a shoulder. “…I was drunk Friday night. Like I said, we’re even.” She rolled her eyes when he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Would you stop beating yourself up over it? Seriously, it’s not a big deal. You were in a bad place that night, Sawyer. I knew that.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t a good night.” And now he realized just how bad it had actually been. What the hell had he been thinking?

  “Do you regret retiring?”

  There was a part of him that welcomed the change of subject. Knowing Jill, it was probably intentional. “Didn’t have much choice.”

  “If it was up to the owners and coaches, you’d still be playing. Fans and players, too. Including the legions of puck bunnies.” She grinned, doing a good job of lightening his mood. “But you made the right choice. All you read about these days is traumatic brain injuries. That was your third concussion, and it was a bad one. You were unconscious for ten minutes.” She shuddered. “If you ask me, you should have filed a civil suit against Erik. He punched you in the head from behind, then fell on top of you, shoving your face into the ice. And let’s not forget the other dumbasses who piled on.”

  “Thanks for the play-by-play, Shortstop.” But she was right about what had happened that night, and after. They’d all tried to get him to stay on. Even the team’s doctor had okayed him to play. Everyone except Bill, his mother, Jack, and Jill. TBI wasn’t something people talked about, not like they did today. But Bill had learned everything he could about it and sat Sawyer down two weeks after the hit. He’d laid everything out to him the morning of Jack’s wedding. So yeah, he hadn’t been in a good place that day. But still…

  “Sorry, but hey, you coach a competitive hockey team and play in the seniors’ league. Even though I still think you should quit. So it’s not like you’re out of the game completely. Not like you would have been if you’d taken another hit and ended up a vegetable.”

  He angled his head. “Really? Are you sure you passed your sensitivity training?” he teased.

  “Yes I did. I’m even more sensitive than…Suze.”

  He laughed. “That’s not saying much.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  Sawyer glanced at his watch. He didn’t have much time left, but there was something he had to ask her. “Okay, so don’t get ticked at me, but I need to know what was going on with you Friday night.”

  “You’re never going to let it go, are you?”

  “No, it’s not about the kiss. I get that. You had a little too much to drink. It’s happened to all of us at one time or another. I meant what was up with the dress, makeup, and hair? You have to adm
it you weren’t acting like yourself even before you shot back the tequila.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip.

  He wished she’d stop. He was doing his best not to think about how soft her lips were. He cleared his throat. “Jill?”

  “I had a meeting with Gage on Thursday and it didn’t go so well. There’s something going on at Mountainview. A few of the residents have suspicious bruising and jewelry has gone missing, some cash, too.”

  “Really? Did you talk to Sandy about it?”

  “Yeah, and that was the reason for my meeting with Gage. She said I scared the staff when I interrogated them, and Gage refused to apply for a search warrant.”

  “What’s with needing a warrant? Sandy should have let you search the place without one.”

  “I know, right? But Gage thinks they made it all up just so I would stick around.”

  “There’s no doubt they’re fond of you, and I can see pretending to lose their jewelry and cash to keep you there, but what about the bruising? Now you’ve got me worried about Bill.”

  “Don’t be. Until I get to the bottom of it, I’ll be dropping by every day.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open, too. Talk to Bill.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  “So I understand why you’d be upset, but I’m kinda lost as to how the makeover comes into play.”

  She grimaced. “Gage inferred I needed an image overhaul if I want to be sheriff. It looks like he won’t be running for another term.”

  Relieved there was an explanation, and it didn’t have anything to do with him, Sawyer held back a grin. “Just saying, but you may want to go back to the drawing board. You looked more smoking-hot party girl than competent cop.” Smoking-hot party girl? Maybe he should think before he opened his mouth. Now was probably a good time to leave. “I better get going. Thanks for the coffee.” He picked up his still-full mug of cold coffee and stood. “And, Jill, I really am sorry.”

  She leaned back against the couch and groaned. “Can we just stop talking about it?”

  “Yeah, of course. And don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Jack,” he said, praying she’d do the same.

  “I didn’t think you would,” she said, getting up off the couch.

  He didn’t have to ask why. He headed to the kitchen, leaving his mug on the counter. His eyes landed on the board as he walked toward the door. He stopped by the table. “So are you going to tell me what you’re doing or is it a secret?”

  She nudged the board over a magazine and blushed, not meeting his gaze. “It’s a vision board.”

  He frowned. “Something wrong with your eyesight?”

  She looked up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds, then back at him. “No, Sawyer.” It sounded more like dumbass. “A vision board. You know, like Oprah and those kinds of people tell you to do if you want your dreams to come true.”

  “Those kinds of people?” he said, struggling to keep the laughter from his voice.

  “Yeah, positive people. Chloe had one. It worked, so I…” She trailed off and shrugged.

  He took a closer look at her board. There was a white clapboard house with blue shutters and a big front porch facing onto a lake. “Nice house. Place like that would cost a small fortune, though. How long did it take for Chloe’s dreams to come true?”

  “Twenty years,” she said and gave him a light shove toward the door.

  He laughed, then saw a woman in a sheriff’s uniform. “Wait, is that you?” he said, leaning over the board to get a better look.” He glanced at her. “You cut your face out of a photograph and put it on a guy in uniform, didn’t you?”

  “So what if I did? I couldn’t find one female sheriff. Talk about discrimination.”

  “Keep on Gage’s good side, and you’ll be able to take that one off your board next spring,” he said, then lifted his chin. “Who’s the guy with the little boy and girl?”

  “My future husband. Chris Pine.”

  “He’s a brunette. I thought you preferred blonds.” He knew he’d walked into that one before the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late to take them back.

  “Whatever gave you that idea? I’ve always loved brunettes. The darker the better.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll let you get back to your board,” he said, feeling kinda ticked. Which was ridiculous. He should be happy. He’d come here to make sure they were okay and she wasn’t harboring a secret crush on him. They were, and she wasn’t. No, she was pining after a guy named Chris Pine. A guy who didn’t look like a Norse god or Viking warrior, a guy who didn’t look like Sawyer at all. Even though she’d kissed him and told him she loved him. And he’d kissed her back.

  Chapter Nine

  It’d been a week since Sawyer had shown up at her apartment, and Jill was just getting around to moving the vision board to her bedroom. As she loaded the last of the magazines into a recycle bin, an actor she’d cut out of one of them fell to the floor. It was Sawyer’s doppelganger. Just moments before he’d knocked on the door last Sunday, his doppelganger had stood where Chris Pine did. She’d ripped paper-Sawyer off the board, replacing him with Chris Pine before answering the door. Now she picked Sawyer’s doppelganger off the floor and crumpled him in a ball, tossing him in the recycle bin. She tucked the bin awkwardly under one arm as she opened her apartment door and stepped into the breezeway. A rolled-up newspaper flew through the air and hit her on the head.

  “Sorry, Jill, didn’t see you there,” Fred yelled, half hanging out the window of his truck.

  “Withdraw your complaint and I won’t sue,” she yelled back as she put down the bin and retrieved the newspaper.

  “If you’re going to sue anyone, you should sue whoever took your picture for the Chronicle.” Another paper went sailing by her head, but this time she managed to duck. “Have a good day now,” he yelled, and burned rubber peeling out of the lot.

  She stared at the rolled-up paper, afraid to look. She’d gone to the prom Friday night. Stag, of course. She’d hung around the refreshment table serving punch all night. Spiked punch sounded good about now, or maybe a shot of tequila. Just the thought of the drink made her stomach turn. And not because she’d been hung over the next day. She’d been tipsy, not drunk like she’d told Sawyer. The night wasn’t a blur, either. She’d lost both her filter and her dignity. At least the bar had been dark and empty when she left. The streets quiet when she’d made her mile-long walk of shame to her apartment. Her tears and hurt vanquished by anger and pain from walking in the high heels.

  She left the bin outside her door and walked back into her apartment, grabbing a cup of coffee before she sat at the table. Slowly she unraveled the paper. Her eyes shot wide when the photo came into focus. She lay her head on the table and groaned at the same time her cell phone rang.

  “You don’t sound so good,” Ty said when she answered. “Let me guess, you got a copy of the Chronicle.”

  “I don’t understand why someone would even take that picture of me, let alone why Vivi would publish it,” she said, referring to the owner and publisher of the Christmas Chronicle.

  “Well, maybe they thought it was a catfight. You’re scowling at Chloe and grabbing at her arm. And Nell’s acting as editor in chief while Vivi’s on maternity leave. But don’t worry, no one other than us knows Chloe was asking Nell to make you the heroine for the next book instead of Brandi, and that Nell agreed.”

  It had been the second most embarrassing moment of Jill’s life. “Nell agreed only because she was friends with my grandmother.”

  “Whatever, at least she’s on Team Jill now and not Team Brandi. We’ll talk about it later. Right now you have to get your butt in gear and get over here.”

  “Get over where?”

  “Baby shower ring a bell?”

  “Ah, yeah, but it’s at two.” They were having a shower for Vivi. The first one was canceled on account of Cat and Chloe’s surgery.

  “Nuh-huh, not for you and me. I’m the party planner
, remember? It has to be perfect. I need your muscles.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I have to stop by the nursing home. I’ll be there by ten forty-five.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Clothes.”

  “Ha-ha, you have such a droll sense of humor. No jeans or shorts. This is an elegant affair. I don’t want you to look out of place. It doesn’t have to be fancy; a sundress will do.”

  “I don’t think…Okay, fine, I have one in the back of my closet.”

  “Rolled up in a ball no doubt.”

  “How did you know?”

  * * *

  Jill stood beside Ty in Dr. McBride’s backyard. “Do you see it?” he asked, pointing to the top of an aspen tree.

  She shielded her eyes from the midafternoon sun and followed his finger. “It’s a blackbird.”

  “Shoot it.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not going to shoot a bird because you’re worried it’s going to poop on the table. You should have thought about that before setting up outside under the trees. Besides, you have those little umbrellas hanging over the table. It’ll be fine.” Seven white umbrellas hung down the middle of a long table draped in white linen. Vases filled with pink water and white peonies sat between each umbrella, while table settings of pink plates with red chargers beneath them finished off the elegant display. Jill didn’t say anything to Ty, but the decor seemed more suited to Chloe than Vivi.

  “I don’t want it to be fine. If I want to build my reputation as party planner extraordinaire, it has to be perfect.”

  “Why? I thought the salon was doing well.”

  “It is, but it’s slow in the summer and Christmas is a small town. I need a cushion. Besides, I love planning parties.”

  From the expression on his face, she had a feeling business at Diva wasn’t quite what he’d hoped for. She glanced at the blackbird. Skirting the table, she bent over and found a small rock nestled in the pine needles beneath the trees and straightened.