Together for Christmas

by Lisa Plumley

  Another laugh. “Look, we both know I’m the wrong guy to try to put a deal together,” Shane told him. “That’s hardly my specialty.” It was the closest he’d ever come to acknowledging his shady business practices. “All I can say is that Kristen seemed pretty keen to get in on something soon. Especially if—”

  Abruptly, he quit talking. Casey glared at him. “If what?”

  “Nah. I shouldn’t say.” In the multicolored glow of the damn twinkly holiday lights, Shane waved his cigarette. He took another deep drag. The smell of tobacco almost overpowered the ever-present Kismet-specialty gingerbread aroma that Casey had come (against his will) to enjoy all over town. Almost.

  “I should get back inside,” Shane said. “I promised one of those old coots I’d take a turn at calling Christmas bingo.”

  Casey narrowed his eyes. “Screw bingo,” he said . . . only in much cruder terms. There was no need for subtlety between them.

  “Fine.” Shane rolled his eyes. Seeming resigned, he hunched against the cold. “If you’re going to drag it out of me—”

  “I could beat it out of you,” Casey offered good-naturedly. He cracked his knuckles to prove it. “I’m pretty sure I have some lingering frustrations that need expressing.”

  Shane clucked in disapproval. “You should get some therapy for those anger issues, dude. Seriously. What’s done is done. It was a long time ago!” He gazed toward the town surrounding them, examining the houses with their frosty Christmas-light-strung eaves and their windows shining with togetherness. “I already told you I was sorry. I don’t know what else I can do.”

  Sorry could never replace what Casey had lost. He knew that. He couldn’t believe Shane didn’t. That meant he had to be twisting the knife on purpose. Or he was impossibly kludgy—to the point of being unable to function in society. Since that was obviously not true . . . Barely able to speak, Casey settled for delivering Shane a killing look. His former friend seemed to realize he was treading on thin ice. He sighed theatrically.

  “Kristen didn’t say it outright,” Shane relented, “but I got the impression she’d be especially interested in a licensing deal that involved her sister somehow. She and Heather are really tight.” He tossed down his cigarette, then ground it out beneath his boot. He frowned at Casey. “Consider that piece of intel a peace offering, from me to you. Again . . . Merry Christmas.”

  Then Shane held up his hand and turned into the night, leaving Casey alone to wonder . . . Could he trust Shane? Ever again?

  Could it be possible that he really wanted to mend things between them and was trying a stupidly ham-fisted way to do it? Or was he trying to keep Casey busy while he pursued Kristen?

  It would be just like Shane to do whatever he had to do to impress a woman—even one who would never be his.

  Even one like Kristen.

  Either way, Casey decided, he couldn’t afford to overlook whatever information came his way—however specious its origin.

  After all, Shane had been right about one thing: Kristen and Heather really were close. He knew that was true. Probably the rest of what Shane had said was true, too, and Kristen did want a licensing and distribution deal that involved her sister.

  Casey had to beat Shane to making that deal happen. Because even though he couldn’t claim credit for this Christmas party (one of the must-have items on Kristen’s wish list, he remembered), he could try to arrange a very special gift for her this year. A gift that would bring her closer to Heather, solve her financial problems, and change her life forever.

  As far as Casey could see, there was no downside to that.

  Just like Shane, he had connections, Casey reminded himself, feeling combative all over again. In fact, he probably had more connections—in higher places—than Shane Maresca ever thought of having.

  Casey had smart ideas. He had marketing expertise. He had—when he decided to take advantage of it—the kind of unfettered access to Heather Miller that Shane could only dream of. And he had persuasive ability to spare. All that remained now was using those qualities. For Kristen’s sake. To make her happy.

  Because that’s what people in love did. Right?

  Casey wasn’t one hundred percent sure. He’d never been in love before. Not like this. But he did know of one surefire way to make Kristen feel very, very happy . . . and it didn’t involve marketing or networking or on-the-job expertise. All it involved was him, her . . . and about sixteen days’ worth of getting-to-know-you time. All compressed into a single mind-blowing night.

  Galvanized by the thought, Casey swiveled on his heel. The motion brought him face-to-face with the Kismet Senior Center’s modest sided exterior, extravagantly strung Christmas lights, and overall aura of hominess. It smelled like gingerbread and evergreens and medicinal arthritis ointment. It sounded like the holidays had gotten wedged inside, circa 1976, and couldn’t get out. It swelled with laughing residents and generous workers and friends and families and locals who’d just stopped by to boogie.

  And Casey would be damned if he didn’t kind of like it.

  He especially liked it at Christmastime, just like this.

  Shuddering at that traitorous thought, he shrugged more deeply into his suit jacket, then deliberately crunched down some snow on his way back inside. He was going to find Kristen and make her his . . . but there was no way in hell Casey Jackson was going to fall in love with Christmas while he was doing it.

  Despite her determination to grab Casey and duck out of the Christmas Disco Night party early (for once) for the sake of enjoying some long-awaited private time with him, in the end, Kristen discovered that she just couldn’t do it.

  It wasn’t because she couldn’t find Casey; she did, shortly after her talk with Shane. It wasn’t because she changed her mind; she really didn’t do that. After all the kissing she and Casey had done in her office, Kristen felt more ready to go than ever. And it wasn’t because Casey didn’t provide the necessary ingredients to keep her motor running; he really did, in spades.

  In fact, in his well-fitted wool suit, shiny oxfords, and pristine button-up shirt, Casey provide all the inspiration a girl could have asked for—and more. Which was to say that he looked fine. Like an amalgamation of James Bond and an action-movie hero, with a dash of outdoorsiness and a lot of friendly approachability thrown in. Just looking at him as she laughingly crossed the dance floor to join him in her own version of the hustle made Kristen feel all fluttery inside. It was as though, if she didn’t get Casey alone soon, she might have to relax her policy on getting lucky within earshot of all her friends and neighbors and just try out a vacant room. Since she’d already tossed aside her famous litmus test for him (at least preemptively), she had to retain some standards.

  Not that it was going to be easy . . .

  In the end, the only reason Kristen couldn’t simply bash Casey over the head with a Yule log and drag him home to her den of disrepute was a simple one. Because, as they finished dancing and meandered down the senior center’s central corridor to find a quieter place to take a breather (and maybe discuss ditching the party altogether), Kristen unexpectedly heard Casey say something that surprised her.

  “Are those paper snowflakes?” he asked.

  She looked. “Looks like it. So, about this party—”

  And leaving it, she was about to say, but then she realized that Casey had stopped cold near the senior center’s glass-windowed sunroom, while she’d already been motoring past it. He was staring at the hand-cut scraps of lacy-looking office-bond white paper adorning the windows in homemade holiday style. Against the dark night outside, they looked stark and bright and old-fashioned, reminding Kristen of the umpteen paper snowflakes she’d created as a kid during those long—and sometimes boring—days of Christmas vacation from elementary school.

  Looking transfixed, Casey strode inside the sunroom. He was already at the nearest window, holding out his hand to touch the closest paper snowflake, when she caught up with him. The look of wonder on hi
s face was as astonishing as it was moving.

  “I’ve never seen them up close like this before,” he said. “They really look like gigantic snowflakes, don’t they?”

  And that’s when Kristen realized that she couldn’t simply shanghai Casey into a night of between-the-sheets passion. At least not right away. Because she had to consider who she was dealing with here. And it was very obvious, all of a sudden, that she was dealing with a seriously Christmas-deprived man.

  Casey hadn’t even encountered in-person paper snowflakes before? No wonder he was so grumpy sometimes.

  But Kristen knew she could change all that. Just for him.

  “We should make some ourselves!” With an eager air, she went to the sunroom’s coffee table. Someone had left a partial ream of paper, a cup full of safely stowed scissors, and a trash can full of scraps at the ready. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  Casey snatched away his hand. “I was just looking.”

  “And soon you’ll be doing.” Kristen patted the sofa beside her. Party sounds still filtered down the hallway from the rec room. Bayberry potpourri scented the air. “Grab some scissors.”

  “No. We shouldn’t be here.”

  “Right.” Poker-faced, she nodded at him. “And you’re a total rule follower.” She laughed. “You’ll like it. It’s easy.”

  Casey lifted his chin. “I didn’t say I couldn’t do it.”

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to. Because it was evident, from the clueless way Casey folded his paper, snipped huge, aggressive chunks out of it, then frowned in bewilderment as it fell apart in pieces instead of unfolding into a graceful paper snowflake shape that he (literally) couldn’t do it.

  As unlikely as it was, Kristen found that endearing, too.

  Casey couldn’t construct a gingerbread house to save his life, she realized. He couldn’t fashion a paper snowflake. He probably didn’t know how to make construction-paper garland. Or an orange-clove pomander. Or a wooden-clothespin Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer with googly eyes. Or a tissue paper red poinsettia. He probably had never pulled taffy, enjoyed a horse-drawn sleigh ride, or gone caroling with all his friends. In an otherwise perfect world, that did not make Casey her dream man.

  But in this world . . . all Kristen wanted to do was help him.

  She wanted to give Casey everything he’d been missing—and more. Because she cared about him. Because she was (let’s face it) a little bit crazy about him. Because he was just so . . .

  . . . determined to mangle his latest sheet of paper. Yikes.

  “Try behaving less as though you’re trying to show the paper who’s boss,” Kristen suggested, “and just go with it.”

  Casey tried glaring his paper into submission instead.

  “Whoa. The goal isn’t to light it on fire, you know.”

  He set down his scissors. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Invitingly, he angled his head toward the door. “We could be at my B&B in twenty minutes.” A meaningful pause. “Alone.”

  As she glanced in the direction Casey had indicated, Kristen could have sworn—for an instant—that she saw Heather passing by in the senior center’s hallway. She clearly caught a glimpse of long, blond hair, oversize sunglasses, and a flashy leopard-print winter coat. But then she changed her mind.

  This was one time when she definitely didn’t want the subject of her superglam sister to come up and spoil the mood.

  “We’re alone right now,” she told Casey. “We couldn’t be any more alone than this at your B&B.”

  “Oh, yes, we could. We could be nakedly alone.”

  Hmm. That sounded good. Really good. Momentarily diverted, Kristen considered the idea of Casey in the altogether. She bet he would look incredible, with tawny California-guy skin and sleek muscles and a dazzling smile that would entice her into getting naked, too, so they could kiss some more and touch each other some more and find out—in explicit detail—exactly what felt the best when their bodies came together, skin on skin . . .

  Ahem. So far, she was a terrible Christmastime tutor.

  “I know you can do this.” As encouragingly as she could, Kristen scooted closer on the sofa. Her hip encountered Casey’s hip. Their thighs touched. Their breath combined. The instant intimacy of it reminded her again of the amazing kisses they’d shared earlier and nearly changed her mind. But then she remembered that Casey was practically the Dickensian poster child of Christmas deprivation. It was her mission to change all that. “Look.” She picked up her scissors. “Just watch me.”

  “I have been watching you. That’s why I want to leave.”

  “Huh?” Busily scissoring, Kristen didn’t look up.

  “You look incredible tonight,” Casey clarified. His voice took on a low, husky tone—a tone meant to seduce her into doing whatever he wanted. It was predictably effective. “You make cutting out snowflakes look really, really sexy,” he said.

  “Thanks. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

  His groan of frustration almost made her laugh. But it was this part of being with Casey that made Kristen feel so happy—this sense of connectedness and understanding and fun.

  Casey accepted her wholeheartedly. He gave her the freedom to be herself. And he might have been the only person who’d never once acted as though he wished she was more like her famous sister. That made Casey unique. The least Kristen could do, she reasoned, was give something back. Something like Christmas. Or at the very least, an appreciation for Christmas.

  And paper snowflakes. Lots and lots of paper snowflakes.

  Feeling overcome with affection for Casey despite his Grinchy ways, Kristen snuggled a little closer. Trying to ignore the appreciative (if over-the-top) glances he tossed her simple red sweater dress and boots and cardigan—because her go-to wintertime festive-but-not-sexy party ensemble did not deserve that much admiration, even in a perfect world—she snipped and turned and cut and frowned and unfolded. A few minutes later . . .

  “Voilà!” She displayed a rudimentary paper snowflake. Then she handed Casey another piece of paper. “Now you go.”

  “If I do,” he grumbled, “will you quit pestering me?”

  “Just get scissoring, sexy.”

  So, handily enough (and with an adorably telltale blush at her nickname for him), Casey did. Apparently he was a quick study, because after having watched her intently for several minutes, he managed to cut out a very acceptable snowflake.

  Kristen could tell as much even before he unfolded it. But Casey, as a surprising newbie to this most elementary holiday activity (something Kristen had mastered in fourth grade) could not. With bomb-defusing-worthy concentration, he unfolded the first edge of his cut-out paper. Then the next edge. Then the next. Finally, obviously expecting disaster, he opened it.

  When it didn’t fall apart, the look of wonderment on his face was everything Kristen could have asked for. And more.

  “I did it!” Casey blurted, gawking in amazement. “Look!”

  He proudly held out his paper snowflake for her to see, and she almost burst into tears at the sight. What kind of childhood had Casey had, Kristen couldn’t help wondering, if this ordinary activity came as such a revelation to him?

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. And she meant it, too. It could have been the crookedest, lamest, most hacked-up paper snowflake in the whole universe of paper snowflakes, and she would have thought it was the best one ever. “You did a good job.”

  Looking abashed now, Casey swerved his gaze from his first-ever paper Christmas snowflake to her face. “I could make a bigger one.” He set his jaw in a mulish line. “A lot bigger one.”

  His determination and rawness only made her love him more.

  “Maybe later,” Kristen said. “I have more to show you.”

  But Casey wouldn’t be dissuaded. He reached for another sheet of paper. “I’ll make it quick. And humungous. For you.”

  He folded and creased, snipped away, folded again, peered at his creation, cut
some more . . . and then something else seemed to occur to him. He looked up at her with an intimidating frown.

  Hastily, Kristen tried not to seem head-over-heels infatuated with him. She seriously doubted she succeeded. But Casey appeared far too intent on saying something to notice.

  “If you tell anyone about this,” he said in an extremely fierce tone, “I’ll only deny it.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of telling a soul.”

  “No one would believe you if you did,” he warned, deepening his frown, “so you might as well save your breath.”

  “I hardly ever speak as it is,” she fibbed, deadpan.

  At her joke, he gave her a long look. “I know what you’re trying to do, you know. I’m not an idiot.” Casey nodded at his in-progress paper snowflake. Roughly, he said, “So . . . thanks.”

  Kristen brightened. “There’s more where that came from!”

  “God help me.” He scissored some more. Scowled anew.

  “Don’t try to pretend you don’t want more.”

  “I don’t want more,” he said convincingly. “You can’t make me like Christmas,” Casey informed her. “It’s not happening.”

  “It’s already happening.”

  “Don’t you know how to take ‘no’ for an answer?”

  “If I ever hear you say it convincingly, I will.”

  “I said ‘no’ fifteen minutes ago, when you suggested sneaking in here to make sneaky paper snowflakes!”

  “That was different,” Kristen hedged. “I could see in your eyes that you were dying to make some snowflakes yourself.”

  “Oh, so now you’re psychic?”

  “I don’t have to be psychic to know what you want.”

  “Oh yeah?” Undoubtedly prompted by her semi-smug tone, Casey eyed her. He let his gaze rove from her tights-covered knees to her messily upswept hair to her face. Intently, he looked into her eyes. “Tell me then: what do I want right now?”

  “Right now? What do you want right now?” Feeling pleased with herself—and full of certainty—Kristen prepared to tell him.

  She inhaled a deep breath. She met Casey’s steadfast gaze with a straightforward look of her own. She considered all the potential options, one by one. Maybe Casey fancied a glass of mulled cider. Or a walk around the Glenrosen neighborhood to see the famous Christmas lights all the residents put up. Or a session of making funky chenille garland out of red and green pipe cleaner loops strung together to make a festal decoration.