by Lisa Plumley
Shocked out of her musings, Kristen stared. “Huh?”
“Talia and Walden.” Avery gestured toward their position on the dance floor, where they bumped and grinded amid the seniors. “It’s practically Dirty Dancing out there. I’m afraid if Gareth plays a slow song, they’ll be doing a full-on Lambada.”
“The forbidden dance?” Kristen joked in a pseudo Caribbean accent, swiveling her hips. “Walden and Talia? Come on. They’re just having fun! I doubt the two of them are really—”
An item, she meant to say, but then she took another look—just as Walden gazed deeply and longingly into Talia’s eyes—and Kristen was stunned into silence. Because next Talia smiled at her big, dreadlocked, grizzly bear of a partner . . . and her smile all but outshined the glittery holiday decorations and tinsel. It was just that starry-eyed and special and unmistakable.
It was, it occurred to Kristen, a lot like the smile she imagined herself sporting whenever she looked at Casey.
Whoa. This night held too many bombshells already.
Deciding to duck out on them all while she got a grip on herself, Kristen wielded her white baker’s-box of goodies.
“I’ve got to deliver these mini pies to the refreshments table,” she told Avery. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Okay,” her friend said in a hesitant tone, “but don’t you want to dish about Walden and Talia? I mean, it’s not every day that love dive-bombs into Kismet and hits our best friends!”
You don’t know the half of it, Kristen thought. But by then she was already smiling and offering an apologetic wave, making her escape from everything she wasn’t yet ready to deal with.
Moments later, Kristen found herself surrounded by lively senior-center residents, making conversation and discussing Christmas plans and doing what she usually did when serving people her baked goods: refusing requests to share her recipes.
“But I just can’t figure out the secret ingredient!” one of the residents said, waving her fork. “You have to tell me.”
“No, tell me,” someone else urged. “I’m a better baker.”
“All I need is a good recipe,” another resident added, “and I’ll be able to bake my way into the heart of Mr. Room 22.”
All the ladies oohed at that. “Good idea, Rose!”
Energized by their approval, Rose asked again for Kristen’s recipe for milk chocolate French silk pie with crème anglaise and hazelnut-caramel crunch. Around them, the general clamor only increased as more residents pushed for her recipes. Kristen felt sorry to turn down everyone, but the plain truth was . . .
“My business depends on those secret recipes,” she explained. “If I give them away, nobody will want to come to the Galaxy Diner. And if nobody wants to come to the Galaxy Diner—”
“The world will be a sadder place,” someone broke in.
Surprised to hear a more youthful-sounding male voice amid the din, Kristen turned. Shane Maresca stood there, dressed in a soft-looking cashmere sweater, collared shirt, and pinstriped pants, looking as if he’d just stepped out of an ad for festive Christmas menswear. Even with his requisite beard stubble, tousled hair, and devil-may-care attitude, he didn’t seem unscrupulous, Kristen thought. He seemed respectable. Polite. And possibly on the verge of making several elderly women swoon.
Evidently, Shane really was Casey’s doppelganger. Because so far, the only other person who’d caused this much excitement among the residents of the Kismet Senior Center was Casey.
Who, she noticed, was still doing the hustle on the dance floor. Which left her free to deal with Shane on her own terms.
Which she fully intended to do—provided she could escape from the Betty Crocker Brigade and its recipe inquisition first, of course. Conveniently, Shane provided her the perfect excuse.
“Ladies, I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal away your favorite baking genius.” Chivalrously, Shane caught hold of Kristen’s elbow. He winked at her. “We have some business to discuss, and it just can’t wait.”
Amid the disappointed outcry his announcement caused, Shane swept her away. Christmas lights blinked around them. Gareth’s holiday music kept up a hectic rhythm. Residents and friends waved and shouted hellos to Kristen as she passed by.
When they’d reached a more isolated corner, she turned to Shane, ready to drop their pretense of having “business” to conduct. “Thanks! Given another few minutes, I think they would have broken out some advanced grandma interrogation techniques, and then I would have had to have given them my recipes.”
“I’m happy to help. You seemed in a bit of a bind.” Shane gave a self-deprecating smile. “And there I was, looking for a damsel in distress to save. Besides, I totally get your wanting to protect your business. The Galaxy Diner is fantastic.”
“Thanks! That’s nice of you.” And here she’d been—after her conversation with Casey—thinking Shane was evil, Kristen recalled guiltily. Taken aback by his obvious kindness, she nodded at him. “I’m a pushover for people who like my diner.”
“Then you can add me to your fan club,” Shane said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I hope you will. Because I’m a big fan.”
Oh. He was flirting with her, Kristen realized belatedly. It figured. Just when she’d gotten her heart set on one probably unattainable guy, men were coming out of the woodwork to be with her. But she wasn’t looking for a chance to chitchat with anyone just then, including handsome “anti-fixers” like Shane.
She’d come to the party—the way she did every year—to support Gareth and have a good time. Gareth’s nana had been a resident at the senior center; over the years they’d been coming there to visit her, Kristen and Gareth and Talia and Avery (and lately, Walden) had become very fond of all the residents. Every year after Thanksgiving, they also hosted a get-together between the seniors and the kids from one of Kismet’s elementary schools. It, like Christmas Disco Night, was a big hit.
“Thanks. And now that my top secret recipes are safe for the night,” Kristen told Shane, opting for a get-out-fast approach, “I’m going to have to say good-bye. I have some people to see”—before I sneak away with Casey to finish what we started in my office—“and not much time to do it in.”
“Wait.” Compellingly, Shane touched her arm to stop her. “Before you go—has it occurred to you that if you license your baked goods and set up good distribution, you can reach millions more people than will ever visit your diner in person?”
Oh. Maybe Shane wasn’t flirting with her. Maybe he was on-the-spot proselytizing her, with the bible of capitalism at his elbow. “Merry Christmas to you, too. It’s a party, remember?”
He smiled. “I know. I shouldn’t be talking business. But I’m an idea man at heart, and the idea I had when I heard your conversation with those women was too good not to share.”
“You mean the licensing and distributing idea?”
Shane nodded. “If you play your cards right, you could be the second big success story to come out of this little burg.”
“With the first being Heather, I’m assuming?”
Seeming on the verge of agreeing, Shane hesitated. He must have caught the sarcasm in her voice, because he changed tactics instantly. He seemed pretty confused, though.
You mean you don’t want to morph into Heather Miller 2.0? his incredulous expression asked.
As if being an imitation anyone would be better than being the authentic her. Despite her faults, Kristen wanted to be her.
Why was that so difficult for everyone to understand? Did the non-Kim Kardashian sisters face this problem? Or just her?
“You could be the next Mrs. Fields,” Shane tried again. “Of Mrs. Fields cookies fame? There’s not a mall in America that doesn’t have a Mrs. Fields cookie counter.”
“Thanks,” Kristen said, “but I’m not interested.”
Her diner was her thing—her one thing that her famous sister wasn’t part of. Kristen didn’t want to give that up.
“Come on,” S
hane coaxed with an ingratiating smile—one that made several passersby swoon. “You haven’t even thought about it yet! There’s already been a gourmet cookie craze. A cinnamon roll fad. A fro-yo frenzy. A mania for cupcakes that went viral overnight. Who’s to say your pies won’t be the next big thing?”
“Technically?” Kristen crossed her arms. “I am.”
His smile begged her to reconsider. Dazzlingly.
“You’re a serious businesswoman,” Shane said. “I respect that. Which is why I’m coming to you with this idea first.”
“Who else would you come to?” Kristen wanted to know. “It’s my baked goods you want to license and distribute.”
Another grin. “Aha. You’re a smart cookie.”
“So I’m told.”
“But you’re not ready to sign on to this deal yet?”
At his cheerful doggedness, Kristen couldn’t help smiling. She’d say one thing for Shane Maresca: he didn’t quit easily.
“If I’m ever ready, you’ll be the first to know. Okay?”
Shane nodded. “That’s good enough for me. For now.”
“It won’t be anytime soon,” she warned. “Maybe never.”
“I’ve heard that before. Sometimes ‘never’ really means ‘tomorrow, when conditions are right.’ I promise you, I’ve got the connections to make this happen.” Shane’s confident demeanor almost made her a believer on the spot. “You just need the right incentive to bring you on board,” he predicted. “Someday you’ll be glad we had this conversation. I’m willing to bet on it.”
“Oh yeah?” His certainty roused her natural sense of perversity. She just couldn’t help it. Impulsively, Kristen eyed his outstretched hand. “I’ll take that bet.”
They shook on it. As their hands met, Kristen waited for lightning to strike, for the earth to move, for her heartbeat to jack up into the red zone the way it did when Casey touched her.
Nada. Interestedly, she released Shane’s hand.
“Now I have a question for you,” Kristen said. “What do you think of Heather’s Christmas special?”
“I think it’s going to be fabulous.”
“Even given all its delays?”
Shane looked puzzled. “Every production experiences delays. It’s part of the business. Most production schedules build in a certain amount of wiggle room, expressly for that reason.” He considered it a bit more. “As long as Heather’s back on her feet in time to shoot the live performance sequences before Christmas Eve, I’d say things should be fine.”
“Wow! You sound like an expert!” Kristen gushed. She gave him her most winning smile. “You know, it just occurred to me that you never told me exactly what your job is.”
“I’m a consultant, like Casey,” Shane said without hesitation. “I’m in town to bring Live! from the Heartland up to speed and across the finish line. I’m good at working with people, so—”
So that was exactly what Casey had told her, Kristen realized. But if his “anti-fixer” theory was correct, at least one of them wasn’t telling the truth. She owed it to Heather to find out which one. Not Casey, not Casey, not Casey.
“Someone told me you’re here to derail the production.”
Shane frowned. “I’m guessing that ‘someone’ was Casey?”
Well, she’d never claimed to be skilled at subterfuge, Kristen told herself. Shane had seen right through her attempts to get more information. Caught, she glanced toward the dance floor. But she could no longer see Casey discoing in its center.
Surprised, she scrutinized the rec center. The party was in full swing now, with gifts being piled beneath the Christmas tree, music pumping from Gareth’s speakers (currently, “Run, Run, Rudolph”), and more seniors cutting a rug.
Deliberately and determinedly, she looked back at Shane. “It doesn’t matter who told me. I’m asking you face-to-face. Are you going to ruin my sister’s TV special? Because it really means a lot to her. She’s put in a lot of work already. And if everyone would just step off for a second and let her focus—”
Shane’s smile broke into her dedicated defense. “If I were in town to cause trouble for Heather, would I be here hanging out with you? Wouldn’t I be stirring up trouble on set instead?”
“You can’t. Everyone’s probably gone home by now.”
He laughed. “You haven’t spent much time down there, have you? Making a TV show is not necessarily a nine-to-five gig.”
Kristen had no defense for that. She hadn’t spent much time on the set of Heather’s holiday TV special. “All the same—”
“All the same, you have nothing to worry about.” Shane gave her a flattering look. “I admire your loyalty to your sister, Kristen, but you’re looking in the wrong direction. I’m not the enemy.” He scoured the rec center with a telling glance—a glance that suggested Casey was the enemy, not him. “Give some thought to that licensing deal, okay? I promise I’ll be in touch.”
Then, before Kristen could remind Shane that she wasn’t interested—now or later—in his promises or in his licensing deal, he ducked into the crowd and disappeared from sight.
Chapter 15
Kismet Senior Center
T-minus 16.75 days until Christmas
It took all the forbearance Casey possessed not to stalk over to where Shane Maresca was looming smarmily over Kristen, drag him forcibly away from her, and then punch him in the face.
He figured his former best friend would look pretty good laid out on the rec-center floor with a black eye forming and maybe a tooth or two missing. It would only be poetic justice. Because Shane had caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people over the last decade or two of his life. It would be only fair if he experienced some of the pain he dished out for himself.
But then Casey saw Kristen shake hands with him. He saw her smile up at him. And he realized that, now more than ever, he could not resort to brute thuggery to get what he wanted. His days of using his fists to solve problems were behind him. He had to remember that . . . even if, somewhere in his caveman brain, he wanted to grab Kristen by her hair and haul her off someplace where they would finally be alone together long enough to enjoy . . . everything there was to enjoy about being alone together.
Before he could think about that, though, he had to deal with Shane. Because the only thing worse than having Shane in his face in full anti-fixer mode was having Shane lurking behind the scenes in stealth anti-fixer mode. Casey needed to get to Shane before he went underground—before he set in motion whatever underhanded schemes he’d arranged to derail Heather’s TV special and then disappeared the way he always did.
So Casey waited until he saw Shane make his move. He tailed him through the jolly crowd of shimmying seniors. And he caught up with him outside, just as Shane was pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Shane tapped out a smoke, pulled out a lighter . . .
. . . and then found himself smacked against the fake garland and twinkling lights that adorned the senior center’s exterior cinderblock fence. His body made a satisfying thud when it hit, too.
Okay. So maybe Casey wasn’t quite over the brute force approach yet. He wasn’t perfect. Or anywhere close to it.
“Hey!” Belligerently, Shane shoved him back. “Watch it.”
Casey stumbled a few steps backward. He made fists.
Then Shane saw that it was Casey who’d followed him outside. His pugilistic attitude softened. He even grinned.
“Jesus, Casey! Lighten up with the bro-hugs, dude. You almost made me drop my cigarette.” Shane raised that slender cylinder in demonstration, then propped it between his lips. His lighter flared. A few practiced motions later, his cigarette burned brightly, sending up tobacco smoke. “What’s up?”
“That wasn’t a ‘bro-hug,’” Casey informed him, shoulders tense. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not friends anymore.”
“Yeah. It’s hard to stay friends with someone who wants to kick your ass. Although God knows I’ve tried.” Through a haze of cigarette smoke, Shan
e eyed him. He squinted, plucked a stray bit of tobacco off his lip, then flicked it toward the senior center’s sidewalk. “About that ‘friends’ thing. I think we should—”
But Casey didn’t want to hear it. He wished Shane had never brought it up. “I thought I told you to stay away from Kristen.”
“You did.” A shrug. “I said I’d think about it.”
“Think harder,” Casey advised.
His former friend’s smile flashed at him. “Hey, girls like me. I can’t help it. Am I supposed to hurt her feelings?”
“Am I supposed to believe she came on to you?”
“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.” Shane drew deeply on his cigarette. He examined its glowing tip. “But since it’s Christmastime and all, I’ll do the generous thing—”
Casey chortled. As if Shane could ever be generous.
“—and let you know, before your inner Hulk comes out again, that Kristen and I were talking business. That’s all.”
“What kind of business?” Casey asked suspiciously.
“Personal business.”
A growl forced its way from Casey’s throat. He started. Since when had he become some sort of club-wielding Neanderthal?
Oh yeah. Since Kristen. Since he maybe-fell-in-love with Kristen. Since he started thinking they could have a future.
“Oh, calm down, He-Man.” Shane laughed at Casey’s undoubtedly murderous expression. He spread his arms in an ostensible show of harmless goodwill. “Your lady friend wants to set up a licensing deal to distribute and sell her baked goods nationwide. I guess she thought I could help with that somehow.”
“Why would she think that?”
A shrug. “Maybe I look smart. Or connected. Or both.”
“I’m smart. And connected.” Too late, Casey heard the aggrieved tone in his voice. Viciously, he tamped it down. Smoothly, he asked, “What did you tell her?”
“About the licensing and distribution deal?”
“No, about the true meaning of Christmas.”