by Jayne Denker
“I’m well aware of that, and I don’t regret it.” She stopped, sighed. “Okay, maybe I was a little hasty. I was upset. For completely valid reasons, don’t forget. But I have an important event coming up, and I need help.”
“You have a whole town full of people you can hire.”
“You’re not getting it, are you? I need your help.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the reason this event is happening at all.”
“Oh goody, something else in this world that’s my fault. What did I do now?”
“You opened your yap—”
“As I do.”
“—And told a big, fat truth. Which made me take a long, hard look at my life.”
“Sounds ugly.”
“Ugly, but fixable.”
“We’re not talking about the Pink Lady, are we?”
“No. May she rest in peace.”
“So what’s going on, then?”
“A wedding.” George paused. “Mine and Casey’s.”
Chapter 20
The frenzied state of Marsden after the news of George and Casey’s impending nuptials broke redefined the word “abuzz.” Will couldn’t go five feet down Main Street without someone stopping him to ask if he’d heard the news. (“Finally! After three years! And three months!”) It was even the first thing Jordan mentioned when she turned up on his parents’ doorstep the following night, at his invitation.
“George is insane!” Jordan exclaimed, plowing past Will into the foyer. “Did you hear she wants to have the wedding now? Just decided! Just like that! On Christmas Eve. That’s in a week—! Wait.” She froze and cocked her head, looking for all the world like a wild animal about to bolt. “I smell peppermint.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And . . . I hear Christmas music.” She spat the words like the foulest of epithets.
“Let me take your coat.”
Jordan clutched her bag and her coat tighter instead. “There are people in there.” She jutted her chin toward the front room.
“When aren’t there? You are acquainted with my family, right?”
She started edging toward the door. “This is an ambush.”
Will gently grabbed her arm above her elbow. “It is not an ambush. What do you think we’re going to do? Tie you to the Christmas tree and light it on fire?”
“There’s a Christmas tree involved?”
“Just . . . come in for a few minutes.”
“Have I not shared my feelings about sentimental family holidays and their sappy traditions clearly enough, Waldo?”
“This is Christmas. You can’t hate on Christmas . . . or decorating a tree.”
“Maybe I don’t do Christmas trees or any of that other nonsense.”
“Maybe you’re just too lazy to decorate your grandmother’s house with a bunch of Santa Clauses and reindeer.”
“There is that.”
“Well, you can do it here, then. Or not,” he added quickly, as she pulled away again. “Just . . . talk to Summer about those girls you met yesterday, like you said you would. Ignore the other stuff if you want.”
“Doesn’t she have it covered, with her degree in child psychology?”
“Social work. But I still think you could help her out.”
At that, Jordan seemed to change somehow. She turned serious and quiet—well, as quiet as Jordan ever was. Frowning at nothing in the distance, she said in a low voice, “I’ll require hot chocolate. With marshmallows.”
“I’ll add some Bailey’s.”
Will kept an eye on Jordan, making sure she had plenty of time to talk with Summer. If they saw eye to eye, Summer might invite Jordan to help her out with the teen program, which would fulfill Jordan’s community service requirement easily. But he didn’t want to force the issue. Luckily, they seemed to get along, so Will left them chatting in the corner and helped the rest of his family decorate.
He and Gabe hoisted Pickle and Lucas so they could hang ornaments near the top of the tall tree Gabe had cut about an hour before. Cam didn’t do much decorating, but he did keep everyone else supplied with food and drink. And Jesse spent all his time examining the tired, ratty homemade ornaments that had drifted to the bottom of the storage totes. Even though somewhere along the way they had broken and were now unusable, Annie and John didn’t have the heart to throw them away. Will suspected Jesse was stoned out of his mind, but he didn’t want to find out for sure.
When he stood back to assess the progress on the tree, Jordan came up behind him and bumped his right kidney with her mug. “This is so hokey it’s painful.”
“Candy cane for your hot chocolate?”
“I’m dry.”
“I’ll get you more,” Cam offered, taking her mug and spiriting it into the kitchen.
“Isn’t he helpful.”
“Not usually.”
“Hey.” Jordan glanced over her shoulder at Summer, who was laughing with her niece and nephew. “Why is Summer here, anyway? I mean, I thought you said she and Cam were . . . you know . . . not getting along.”
“Ah, my mom has an ulterior motive—keep throwing them together in the hopes they’ll stick.”
“It never crossed her mind that throwing them together might make them, oh, I don’t know . . . kill one another instead?”
“My mother is a hopeless romantic.”
“Or sadist. What about Ronnie? She’s not here.”
“Well, she’s the only one with enough nerve—or stupidity—to turn my mom down flat. Plus I don’t think she really cares about Jess, even a little bit, baby or no baby. She’s going to raise that little girl by herself.” That gave him a pang of sadness, so he changed the subject. “Did you and Summer have a good talk?” he asked disingenuously.
“Sure.”
“Do you think—”
“Hey, Jordan?” Cam called from the kitchen.
“What?” she bellowed back.
“Can you come in here a minute? I need some help.”
“With hot chocolate?” she asked Will. “Is he that inept?”
“Pretty much.”
“Fine,” she called, rolling her eyes and stomping off toward the kitchen.
Curious, Will followed. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brother, but . . . oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t trust his brother. Just as Jordan stepped into the doorway to the kitchen, Cam stopped her.
“Wait!” he yelped from where he stood by the stove, pouring out more warm milk. Jordan nearly tripped, startled, but stayed where she was. “I was wrong. I need Will. Will!” he exclaimed, seeing him come up behind Jordan. “C’mere a sec.” Jordan stepped to one side, and Will moved forward, until Cam shouted again. “Freeze! I don’t need you after all. But stay there.”
Just as it dawned on Will what was happening, Cam crossed the room and handed Jordan her refilled mug. With a disapproving sigh, he said to his brother, “You always seem to need my help with everything.”
“Cameron Nash,” Jordan growled. “If that’s a bundle of mistletoe in your hand, so help me I will kill you dead.”
“Mm.” He reached up and tacked it into the molding above the doorway, then kissed Jordan on the cheek. To Will, he said, “Take the assistance. You never just go for it.”
Will felt himself redden. Obviously Cam hadn’t caught a glimpse of the two of them going at it at his Halloween party.
“Believe me,” Cam added with a broad, self-satisfied smirk, “she’s worth it.” With a flick of his eyebrows, he moved away, but not fast enough that Will couldn’t land a solid smack on his shoulder first. “Didn’t hurt!” Cam called, and disappeared into the living room.
“Sorry,” Will said, unsure where to look or what to do.
“No worries. He’s a moron.” Jordan walked over to the table and set her mug down. “Mind if I take a break for a minute? Your family can be a little . . . much.”
“Sorry about that too.”
“It’s not them. They’re just . . . normal.”
/> “Are you implying you’re not?”
Jordan slid sideways into one of the wooden chairs and put her feet up on the one next to it. “I have been called many things, Walter, but normal is definitely not one of them.”
“I think you’re more normal than you let on.”
“I could have been.”
“But . . . ?” He leaned in the doorway, afraid to get too close. It wasn’t often Jordan Leigh opened up, and it looked like one of those moments; he wasn’t about to scare her off now.
“Let’s just say I never got much of a dose of Norman Rockwell . . . ism like that scene out there.”
“What are you talking about? Your parents were all right; they weren’t a pair of dysfunctional nutjobs or drug addicts who raised you in a crack den.”
“No. But Don and Pam weren’t exactly friendly, either. Oh, I had everything you’re supposed to want—big house in Connecticut, private school, every toy and gadget to roll off a Chinese assembly line, car on my sixteenth birthday. It was great.” She let out a dry laugh. “But I would have traded all of it just to see them smile at one another once in a while. Or me, for that matter.”
Will didn’t know what to say. Everyone in Marsden had always assumed the Leighs were perfect—too perfect for Marsden. That was why they’d blown out of town in their giant late-model Cadillac, dragging seven-year-old Jordan with them, and never looked back. Wasn’t it? Holly hadn’t said anything to the contrary, but then again Holly could keep the secrets of the ages. She must have known something was up, though, because she let her granddaughter stay with her whenever she needed to, for as long as she needed. And Jordan needed. Quite frequently.
“Stop looking at me like an orphaned puppy,” the young woman commanded, but with a sad little smile. “I’m over it.”
“Except for your really strong aversion to actual relationships.”
“I suppose it probably does stem from being coated with my parents’ permafrost, sure. Pretty weird how they thought staying together, but hating one another, was better than divorcing.” She took a breath. “So yes, what I learned from all of that was relationships are stupid, Webster. They’re all doomed to fail in one way or another.”
“No, they’re not. Your parents . . . that’s just one bad relationship.”
“Uh, Cam and Summer?”
“My mom and dad,” he countered.
“I’m talking this century.”
“Okay. Gabe and Katy.”
“Humph.”
“Celia and Niall.”
“Celia and Casey.”
“That was a long time ago. Now . . . Casey and George.”
“Jess and Ronnie.”
“Well, my youngest brother is another idiot, isn’t he?”
“True.”
“Why are you so bothered by this?”
“I’m a cynic.”
“I know. So was George, once, and now look at her. Maybe someday you’ll change your mind too.”
Jordan snorted. “The whole George-and-Casey thing is terrifying,” she muttered. “I mean, obviously they love each other—anybody can see that—but . . .”
“But what?”
“What if their marriage fails too? And what if I get blamed for it? George said it’s my fault.”
“She did not. George said it was because of you she decided to get married, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“That’s not an accusation. It’s a compliment. She meant you got her to realize there was no reason to keep putting it off. Be flattered.”
“But what if she does blame me someday?”
“Then it means you are completely paranoid and a pessimist—”
“Pragmatist.”
“—And narcissistic.”
“Hey!”
“Whatever happens between George and Casey will have nothing to do with you. Now, let’s have some facts. When’s the wedding, and is the entire town invited?”
“George thinks she—I mean we—can pull this together by Christmas Eve. She wants to have an open house, so she doesn’t have to send out invitations—people can come and go as they please. That way she doesn’t have to worry about head count and how many the inn can hold, because everyone won’t be there at the same time.”
“What about the ceremony?”
“She says only a few people will want to see the actual ceremony. She and Casey decided to have it in the sitting room, in front of the fireplace. Then they started giggling like lunatics. Any idea what that was about?”
“Not a clue. But I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”
“I’m going over there on Thursday. George was ready to call Marisol and tell her she was poaching me starting tomorrow, but I convinced her not to.”
“You like Marisol.”
“Sure I do. I don’t want to leave her without help.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
“I have my moments.”
Chapter 21
“Hey.”
“I thought you left.”
“I did. Now I’m back.”
“Uh . . .”
“Calm down. It’s not what you’re thinking.” Jordan pushed past a sleepy Will and into his apartment. “Nice jammies.”
“Now you’re anti-flannel?” She didn’t answer, just sat down on his bed and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Why are you here, Jordan?”
“Have there been any more incidents in the Christmas Wars lately?” she asked, even though she already suspected the answer was yes. It had been more than a week since Ray had found the colorful language spelled out in lights on his awning; neither party would have stayed quiet for this long.
Will nodded. “Somebody boosted some elves from Nate’s yard and put them face-down on the sidewalk outside his office with beer cans and liquor bottles spread around.”
Good one. Jordan resisted the urge to snicker. “Anything else?”
“Yeah . . . someone rigged a bucket of fake snow to fall on Ray’s head when he opened up his print shop in the morning last Thursday.”
“You mean the girls did.”
“We don’t have a confession yet.”
“Yes, Officer Billy. I get that. I’m the criminal here, remember?”
“Why are you asking about the pranks?”
“Because of this.” She started a video on her phone and handed it to Will. “I took it outside Nate’s office just now.”
Will frowned at the screen. “It’s kind of grainy.”
“It’s kind of nighttime out.”
She waited while Will watched the footage. After the minute-long video ended, he looked up at her. “Jesse.”
“Yep.”
“He cut down the Christmas tree in the planter.”
“Yep.”
“It had all those charity donation cards on it.”
“Yep.”
Will ran his hand over his unruly curls, obviously trying to process this information. “How did you get this?”
“Jess seemed . . . weird tonight. Did you notice?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, when he left, I sort of . . . followed him. To make sure he was okay.”
“And you caught him pulling this prank on Nate. For Ray.”
“Yep.”
“Why would he do that?”
She shrugged. “You’d better ask him. But I’d guess it was for money.”
“He’s an adult, for chrissakes. I mean, the girls I could kind of understand, but Jess? Is his job at the garage not paying enough? Is he . . . ? Dammit, if he’s buying drugs with the money Ray’s paying him to do this, I’m going to kill him.”
“There’s the rage. Glad we’re over the shock phase.”
“He could get in real trouble. He’s got a record already.”
“Is there anything you can do to, you know, help him out?”
“I don’t do that,” Will answered grimly. “The law’s the law, Jordan. Even for fuckups within my own family.”
“
Hardcore.” Jordan shrugged again. “Well,” she said, standing up, straightening her coat, and pocketing her phone again, “I just thought you should know.”
“Yeah . . . thanks. Hey, uh . . .”
She turned back as she opened the door. “What?”
“You . . . came all the way back here to show me that?”
“So?”
He followed her out onto the landing and leaned in the doorway in his t-shirt, flannel pajama pants, and bare feet, despite the cold. “You could have texted it to me.”
“I know.” When Will didn’t follow up, she sighed and said, “Get over yourself, Waylon. You already rejected me twice. You think I’m going to try a third time?”
“I didn’t reject—”
“Oh, you absolutely did.”
“Okay. But I told you why.”
“Yeah, man-meat. You did.” He fidgeted, embarrassed, which amused her all over again. “But who knows? Maybe someday you’ll ask me out again, and I’ll say yes.”
“Go with me to the wedding.”
“I didn’t mean right this minute!”
“No time like the present. Come on, it’s Christmas Eve, it’s a party, you’re going to be there anyway—”
“So why bother asking me to go with you?”
“Because I’m stubborn.”
“I can see that.”
She hesitated. Part of her—more than a small part—wanted to say yes. God, did it. Being on Will’s arm for an evening held quite the appeal, she couldn’t deny it. But what if he took it all way too seriously again? She couldn’t handle that level of intensity. She just couldn’t.
“No.” The word was accompanied by a stabbing pain in the general vicinity of her heart. She didn’t want to reject him. But she didn’t want to get into something that was too much for her, either. Self-preservation above all. He looked so disappointed, she qualified it with, “Not unless you lighten the hell up.”
“I can lighten up.”
“Prove it, and I’ll reconsider.”
God, she hadn’t just said that, had she? Time to go before she agreed to go the malt shop to share a milkshake and hold hands.
“And another thing,” she said.
“What?”
“Give me my cat.”
“You’ve gotta find him first. Fred likes his freedom.”
“I can relate.”