by Lisa Plumley
“You’re right,” Casey said nonchalantly. “I couldn’t.”
Yet he did. Shaking her head again, Kristen examined him.
“You’re a confusing man to read, you know that?” she asked.
“Yes, I do. That’s exactly the way I like it.”
“Ooh, mysterious!” Kristen laughed, miming a scarier version of jazz hands at him. Casey laughed, too. For a moment, a cozy sense of harmony enveloped them, right there amid the sugar overload and the gingerbread crumbs and the sounds of Bing Crosby’s “Christmas Is A-Comin’” playing on the sound system.
“You know,” she mused further, losing herself in his smoky eyes, “maybe this Christmas isn’t going to be so bad after all.”
“Maybe not,” Casey agreed, his voice low and intimate and seemingly just for her. “It all depends on how you define it.”
She couldn’t help smiling. She felt pretty sure she leaned toward him again, too. She just wanted to be . . . closer to him.
“I already defined it!” Kristen reminded him. “Back in your ‘blizzard’-crushing killer Subaru mobile. Remember?”
“Hmm. Remind me, then . . .” Hastily, Casey whipped his gaze toward the other room, then back to her face again. His calm, intimate tone didn’t even waver. “Did your definition of the perfect Christmas include a holiday-lights house tour?”
Kristen couldn’t believe this. “The famous Kismet holiday light show in the Glenrosen neighborhood? I love that tour!”
“Good. Because I’m pretty sure Vanessa Sullivan is on her way over here to shanghai us into participating.”
Kristen craned her neck to see. It was true. The B&B’s acting manager was headed their way with her cousin, Reid, and his adorable new family in tow. There were six of them all together: the two Sullivans, plus Reid’s new wife, Karina, and her three children—Olivia, Josh, and Michael. Reid had relocated to California after having met Karina at The Christmas House, Kristen had heard, but they always came home for the holidays every year. Robert and Betty Sullivan wouldn’t have had it any other way. By the looks of them, neither would the children.
Vanessa saw Kristen and Casey. A familiar matchmaking gleam came into her eyes. “Hey, you two! You’re looking pretty cozy!”
Guiltily, Kristen jumped apart from Casey. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly wasn’t wild about letting people know she was attracted to him. Which was silly, honestly.
What difference did it make if people knew she liked him?
Heather would assume Kristen was doing a whiz-bang job of “distracting” Casey. So she would be happy. Talia and the gang at the diner would assume Kristen was having a no-holds-barred, sexapaloosa romp with Casey. So they would be happy—or at least they would be spared the matchmaking they’d seemed intent on doing (especially in Gareth’s case). And everyone else in town . . .
Well, everyone else in town would continue to glimpse Kristen on the street or in the store or at The Big Foot bar, assume she was Heather (because everyone had “fabulous!” Heather on the brain, now that she was back in town, and the two sisters did look a little bit alike, according to most people), and get all excited to be meeting someone special . . . only to realize (with obvious and demoralizing disappointment) that Kristen was only herself. Only regular-gal Kristen Miller and not ultrafamous pop star Heather Miller, loved and adored by everyone.
Kristen frowned. She looked up at Vanessa and her family, still good-naturedly bearing down on them. She would have liked to have gone on the Glenrosen holiday-lights house tour. But if doing that meant letting everyone know she was into Casey . . .
She just couldn’t do it. She didn’t know why.
“I just remembered—I’ve got to run!” Kristen leaped to her feet. Hastily, she wound her knit scarf around her neck. She pulled on her gloves, then whipped on the quilted coat she’d slung over the back of her chair. Properly outfitted for the mounting snowfall outside, she smiled at The Christmas House’s managerial entourage. “Nice to see you all. Later!”
Looking confused, Casey got to his feet, too. “Wait. I’ll drive you.” He grabbed his suit coat, then looked around for his warmer winter overcoat and gloves. “Just let me grab these—”
“No need! I’ll call a cab. You enjoy the house tour!”
Casey gave Vanessa, Reid, Karina, and the others an apologetic smile. Then he turned to Kristen again. “We didn’t even have dinner yet. You were looking forward to the buffet.”
“I can have eggnog and fruitcake another time. Bye!”
And just like that, Kristen made her escape . . . trying not to notice that in addition to looking perplexed, Casey also looked a little bit sorry to see her go. But that couldn’t be, she reminded herself. Because Casey was in Kismet to do a job, and to him, Kristen was only a means to an end—a means to finding out more about Heather and learning what was going wrong with her holiday TV special, so he could “troubleshoot” it. Period.
The last thing Kristen needed to do was forget that.
Chapter 10
Kismet, Michigan
T-minus 20.25 days until Christmas
It took him a while, but Casey finally managed to extricate himself from the Glenrosen holiday-lights house tour.
Vanessa Sullivan was understandably baffled by Casey’s refusal to attend along with the other B&B guests. That was because Casey had privately arranged for Vanessa to “impulsively” show up during the gingerbread-house-building session and “spontaneously” invite him and Kristen to go along.
“But why don’t you just ask Kristen yourself?” Vanessa had originally asked him when he’d approached her. “I mean, look at you.” A flirtatious up-and-down wave. “I think she’d say yes.”
“Maybe.” Just then, hard on the heels of the Shane Maresca mistletoe-kiss incident, Casey hadn’t been so sure. “But I’m looking for a little boost. A little insurance, so to speak.”
“I can’t imagine why you’d need it.”
“Then you’ve never fallen for someone who’s out of your league.” Whereas Casey maybe (just possibly) just had.
Vanessa had blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”
“About what?”
“You honestly think Kristen Miller is out of your league?”
Casey had considered what he knew about Kristen so far . . . versus what he knew about himself. Yeah. “Will you do it?”
Looking astounded—and delighted—Vanessa had agreed.
But all his maneuverings had been for nothing. Because at Vanessa’s approach, Kristen had bolted from The Christmas House as though her delectable ass was on fire, leaving Casey looking exactly like the love-struck sucker he feared he might be becoming when it came to Kristen Miller.
He didn’t know how it had happened, but he liked her. He really liked her. And not just because she could fill in the missing pieces about Heather’s holiday TV special, either. He liked her attitude and her smile and her slightly husky voice. He liked her kick-ass boots and her miniskirt and her lacy red bra. He liked her straightforward way of relating to people.
Except, of course, when she was bailing out on those people under blatantly false pretenses, like she had today.
I just remembered—I’ve got to run!
Right. Narrowing his eyes, Casey watched as Vanessa finally left him behind and instead herded her guests toward the B&B’s designated vans for the holiday-lights house tour. He still didn’t understand why Kristen had ducked out on it. He didn’t believe there was anything in the world she wanted to do more than soak up some hackneyed, gooshy Christmas atmosphere.
Except maybe mack on Shane Maresca some more, he was reminded when his archrival suddenly appeared in the foyer on Casey’s way out. Stopping short, Casey gave him an even look.
“Something wrong?” he asked. “I thought you’d be headed out for the holiday-lights hoo-ha tour along with everyone else.”
Shane shook his head. “You didn’t really think I’d fall for that patented ‘subtle misdirection’ thing y
ou do, did you?”
“I dunno. You certainly seemed to fall for it.”
“Maybe at first. It’s been a while since I’ve—”
Seen you hung in the air between them, unvoiced but no less damning in its implications. It had been a while, Casey knew. It had been a while since Shane had decided to turn to the dark side and work against everything Casey stood for. It had been a while since he’d last hoped they could patch things up somehow.
So far, Shane Maresca was the only person Casey couldn’t “fix”—the only person he’d ever failed to come to terms with.
“—since I’ve encountered a blatant bullshit artist like you,” his former best friend went on. He gave an acknowledging wave. “I’ll admit it: I did go for it at first. You were pretty convincing. You wound me up with all that competitiveness—”
That part had been real, Casey knew. But he didn’t say so.
“—then you got transfixed by all the people outside, which meant I had to know who was so fascinating out there.” Shaking his head, Shane chuckled. “You’ve been pulling that trick since we were young enough to still believe in happy endings, bro.”
“You know as well as I do—there aren’t any happy endings.”
Shane arched his brow. “Even with your new lady friend?”
Casey didn’t want to talk about Kristen. Especially not with Shane. He compressed his lips, then looked outside.
He swore. “Another blizzard is on its way.”
Shane laughed. “Jesus, you’re ham-fisted today. Am I supposed to actually bite on that? The weather?”
Most people would have, Casey knew. Maybe he’d forgotten how long it had been since he’d seen Shane, too.
Maybe he’d forgotten how well Shane knew him.
That didn’t exactly bode well for the job at hand.
It was a long shot, but . . . “Tell me you’re not here for the Heather Miller job,” Casey said. “Because if you’re not—”
“If I’m not, then we can be friends?” Shane’s laid-back look turned a few degrees sharper. “Nice try. I don’t buy it.”
Casey shrugged. He could accept that. He’d learned a long time ago not to get too close to people. There was no reason Shane should be the exception. Or Kristen, for that matter.
“How’s La Vieuville?” Casey asked. “Did you see him last time you were in Paris? You’re still neighbors, right?”
“Jacques is doing well.”
“Still working on those S&M-themed designs he loves?”
Shane’s wary look was as good as a yes, Casey figured.
“If you get a chance, you should check out the animatronic reindeer displays around town. I hear they’re . . . unique.” Casey pulled out his car keys. “You’ll like the bondage elements.”
For a few seconds, Casey waited. But Shane knew better than to tip his hand straightaway. When he’d been bragging to Kristen about his Paris pied-à-terre and the “diplomats and designers” who were his neighbors, he probably hadn’t expected Casey to be familiar with his association with Jacques La Vieuville.
Then Casey got lucky. Or Shane got sloppy. Either way . . .
“If you’re suggesting my friendship with Jacques had something to do with his involvement in—let’s be honest here—the fucked-up costume design for Heather Miller’s TV special . . .” Shane spread his hands in sham innocence. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. I wasn’t even on the job when that decision was made.”
“Right. And it would be so unlike you to hedge your bets,” Casey said acerbically, “just in case you got called in later.”
“Totally.” Shane turned jovial again. “We’re all hoping Heather Miller’s special goes off without a hitch. Right?”
“Yeah.” Frowning anew, Casey held up his hand in a curt good-bye. Then he reconsidered. “Just do me a favor, okay?”
With even more guardedness than before, Shane waited.
For a heartbeat, Casey had the impression Shane was hoping that his “favor” would mean . . . what, exactly? That he was asking for a détente? A cease-fire? A reconciliation?
The way he saw it, they’d lost that chance long ago.
“Stay away from Kristen,” Casey said. “She’s not used to people like you.”
Shane shook his head. “People like us, you mean.”
Maybe. But Casey didn’t want to say so. “Just do it.”
To his surprise, Shane conceded. Partway. “I’ll think about it.” He glanced around the B&B’s foyer, filled with twinkling lights and mini fir trees and enough evergreen garland to reach from Kismet to L.A., if laid end to end. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” Shane said quietly, “but . . . Merry Christmas.”
For a second, Casey believed he meant it. He remembered everything they’d shared, everything they’d confided in one another, everything they’d been through as “difficult to place” kids in a tumultuous foster care system. Then he remembered that, once upon a time, Shane Maresca had taken everything Casey had ever wanted for Christmas, and he’d taken it for good.
That memory still hurt. Every time Casey heard a Christmas carol, every time he saw a Christmas tree, every time he smelled a rum-soaked glacéed fruitcake, it knifed him all over again.
“Yeah.” Casey nodded. “I can’t believe you’re saying that, either,” he said. Then he opened the door and stepped out of the past and into his future—starting with a surprise visit to the set of Heather Miller’s troubled holiday TV special.
For the first time in her life, Heather Miller felt like a verifiable genius. Because although her plan to sic Casey on Kristen (temporarily) while Heather tried to woo Alex Taylor into falling in love with her had been an admittedly spur-of-the-moment thing, it seemed to be working out wonderfully.
It had been three days now since The Terminator had shown up unexpectedly on set. Since then, Heather had been through sixteen more vocab words on her Word of the Day calendar (because she had to stay ahead of Alex, of course). She’d endured five more outrageous rumors about her private life (thanks to those loser paparazzis). And she’d wrangled several more delays on the pretaped portions of her “live” holiday TV special (with the end result of seeing lots of Alex). But she’d heard not a peep from Kristen about the potential problems she’d unleashed on her in the form of Casey Jackson. And while that wasn’t typical of her straight-talking, take-no-guff younger sister, it wasn’t like Heather to look a gift favor in the mouth, either.
Casey, of course, had been back. Heather’s assistant had told her that Casey had made a surprise visit on the evening of day one, just as everyone was wrapping things up after another day of (purposely) failing to make their shooting targets. But, according to her assistant’s (besotted-sounding) coverage of that visit, all Casey had wanted was to “say hi” to everyone.
After that, supposedly, he planned to leave them alone.
And okay, so first he’d mentioned to the production crew—and the backup dancers and the makeup artists and the hairstylists and the PAs and the few lingering, allegedly infatuated-with-him extras—that he’d be working from a rented booth at the Galaxy Diner, Heather recalled her assistant saying. And he’d assured everyone that they could find him there, if they had problems to confide, and he’d do his best to help them. But that was it.
And that’s where Casey Jackson had tripped up, too.
Because now Heather knew Casey’s M.O.: his modus operandi (thank you, Word of the Day from two weeks into the future!), and even better than that, she knew it wasn’t going to work.
Because everybody already went to the Galaxy Diner on a daily basis. They didn’t need to go there to see Casey. Duh.
He’d accomplished exactly zero with his “cunning” plan.
Remembering it now, Heather had to conclude that fate was conspiring to help her. How else to explain that Kristen had conveniently refused to hand-deliver her top-secret-recipe, extra-delicious pies-in-a-jar and other goodies (like mushroom veggie burgers and homemade potato tots
, yum!) to the crew on set? Kristen had claimed that she didn’t have the time or the resources to do deliveries. She’d also added that she didn’t intend to give her own sister “the diva treatment.”
But to Heather, that had been all right. Because she’d already known by then that she was desperate to make Alex Taylor notice her. Having the crew scamper several blocks away for “coffee breaks” on a moment’s notice only helped her cause of delaying production while she enchanted Alex and tried to get him to look at her more closely through his sexy, nerdy, cutie-pie glasses.
Not that Casey Jackson knew that. That’s where the fate part came in. Casey didn’t know anything about Kristen’s pledge to treat Heather like a regular person (which was kind of endearing but ultimately doomed, of course). He probably thought he’d outwitted Heather and separated her from her staff so they could rat her out. But that only proved Heather’s theory. Because anyone who was really trying to do his job of cold-heartedly shutting down her holiday TV special would have done the necessary research and come up with a better strategy.
It was almost, Heather thought as she peered into her dressing room mirror, as if Casey Jackson was one of those people who was just marking time. A clock puncher. A slacker.
A malingerer. That was a funny one. She smiled as she thought of it. Sometimes she was pretty sure her Word of the Day calendar was making up new words. There was no other way to explain a goofy-sounding, so-called word like malingerer.
“Maaaaliiiingerererer,” Heather said into her mirror.
“I’m three minutes late! You don’t have to call me names.”
She turned at that sound . . . and Alex was there, smiling at her. Yay. He’d maintained his businesslike cover by bringing some new set-design plans to their “meeting.” He’d dressed the part of a hardworking crew member by wearing a sweatshirt, gloves, and his pair of broken-in jeans with the busted-out knees that hugged his backside to perfection. But Heather knew that he knew that she knew that they weren’t really there to discuss the set.