Together for Christmas

by Lisa Plumley

  Now Shane seemed doubly surprised. “You heard that, huh?” He gave her an appraising look. “You’re smarter than you seem.”

  God, I hope so, Heather thought. But Shane’s comment proved he was more similar to Casey than she’d realized. It proved he was prepared to see Heather differently than the rest of the world did. Right now, that was exactly what she needed.

  “Come inside,” she told Shane, “and I’ll prove it.”

  Then, with Alex undoubtedly looking on, Heather linked arms with Shane Maresca—miracle substitute consultant to the stars—and headed back on set to make holiday TV special history.

  Chapter 22

  Kismet, Michigan

  Christmas Takeover: Day 15

  Seated in Casey’s usual reserved booth at the Galaxy Diner, across from a journalist from the local Kismet Comet newspaper, Kristen paused to consider her answer to the next question.

  Ordinarily, she wasn’t crazy about doing interviews. But she did need the publicity for her diner. And it was to support her own small-town daily. And it would (she’d reasoned) probably take her mind off feeling abandoned by Casey when he’d hotfooted it out of her apartment so abruptly after being summoned by her sister. So Kristen had agreed to meet the reporter and take part in her story about “Kismet’s downtown small businesses successes.”

  “Well, what really inspires me are the people around me,” Kristen finally answered. She shot a contented glance at her diner’s customers, at the people waiting for a just-before-afternoon-closing-time table, and then at Avery, who was waiting tables. “All my baked goods are inspired by someone in particular. They’re not described that way on the menu. I don’t serve ‘Grandma Miller’s Dutch apple pie’ or ‘Walden Farr’s chocolate chip pretzel cookies.’ But when I’m creating a new pie-in-a-jar or a variation on a favorite recipe, I’m always thinking of the person who will ultimately enjoy it most.”

  “It sounds like your recipes are really gifts.” The journalist smiled at her. “Would you say that’s true?”

  “Definitely.” Kristen nodded. “In fact, just before lunch, I started working on a new creation with someone special in mind.” It was Casey, of course. She wanted to surprise him with a pie-in-a-jar that was custom made for him—and maybe, while she was at it, use that gift to segue into another, more forthright I love you declaration. “I think it’s going to be my best yet.”

  “Any hints about who it’s for?”

  “Mmm. None I want to share.” Kristen gave an enigmatic smile. “I’m not even sure it will be a menu item. It’s . . . private.”

  “But you seemed so excited about it, just mentioning it!” the journalist said. “Surely you can dish out a hint or two.”

  Kristen shook her head. “Sorry. I’d rather not.” From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed her cell phone lighting up. Although she’d silenced its ringer for her interview, she’d seen a number of phone calls coming in. “Any more questions?”

  The journalist shifted her gaze from Kristen’s cell phone. Efficiently, she consulted her notes. “Just one more question.”

  “Okay.” Eager to be finished, Kristen sat back. “Shoot.”

  “All right.” With a glance around the busy diner, the journalist gathered her thoughts. Holiday music played over the sound system. Customers laughed and enjoyed their pies-ina-jar. The journalist fixed Kristen with a keen look. “How excited are you about your new association with Torrance Chocolates?”

  “Hmm?” Distracted by an unusual pileup of customers at the diner’s entrance, Kristen glanced at her. “I’m sorry. My what?”

  “Your pending deal to have your baked goods distributed worldwide in Torrance Chocolates’ thousands of luxury cafés?”

  Kristen tilted her head in confusion. While she was familiar with Torrance Chocolates—anyone with a pulse and an appreciation for sweets knew about their famous chocolate boutiques and accompanying cafés—she certainly wasn’t in any position to partner with them. It was unthinkable. She owned a typical mom-and-pop diner. They were the Starbucks of chocolate.

  “You must be mistaken,” Kristen said assuredly.

  “No, I have the details right here.” The journalist reviewed her notes. “Galaxy Diner, pies-in-a-jar, Bandini Espresso, Torrance Chocolates, ads with Heather Miller—”

  That’s when Kristen knew there’d been a mistake.

  She almost laughed. “You’re confusing me with my sister!” she said, relieved to have an explanation for all this. “Heather has so many endorsement deals, it’s hard to keep them straight.”

  “No, my source is impeccable.” The journalist didn’t seem amused by Kristen’s laughter. “This deal is happening.” She gave Kristen another shrewd look. As though settling the matter, she added, “The Galaxy Diner is a trending topic on Twitter.”

  “It’s a mistake,” Kristen insisted doggedly.

  “The @Heather_Hotline account confirmed it.”

  Frozen in surprise, Kristen stared at her. That was her parents’ Twitter account—the one they used to brag to the world about Heather’s accomplishments. If the news had been broadcast there, then Heather clearly believed it was happening.

  Just as clearly, Heather had gone behind Kristen’s back—not for the first time—and engineered a plan to “save” Kristen’s “cute little diner” from the big, bad bank. Kristen wished she’d never confided in Heather about that mortgage mix-up. Her sister could be condescending sometimes—especially when it came to the small-town life she’d left behind and seemed to want no further part of—but this was a new level of audacity, even for her.

  She could have at least asked Kristen first.

  Kristen could easily imagine Heather calling in a favor with one of her famous friends, though—friends like hotshot playboy chocolatier Damon Torrance. At the thought of Heather’s likely approach—which would have probably involved something about her “unsuccessful . . . but trying really hard!” little sister—Kristen deepened her frown. She didn’t want anyone’s pity.

  She also didn’t want this deal. After all, this wasn’t about her baked goods. This wasn’t some long-awaited validation of her small-town diner and her baking expertise. This was about her accidental association-by-birth with a celebrity. Because there was no way an opportunity like this would have come her way if she wasn’t Heather’s sister. Kristen knew that for sure.

  “I guess Heather is surprising me with a big-time distribution deal for Christmas,” Kristen said, still trying to make sense of it all. “You say there’s supposed to be an ad campaign, too?”

  Despite the undeniably sarcastic edge to Kristen’s voice, the journalist appeared vindicated. And maybe a little self-righteous, too. “According to all the buzz”—here, she broke off to refer to her hand-scribbled notes again—“the ad agency reps ‘can’t wait’ to meet Heather Miller’s ‘glam little sister’ and get started on the ad campaign.” The journalist glanced up, having made air quotes with her fingers in all the appropriate places. “‘Glam little sister,’” she repeated in a withering tone. “Hmm. Obviously, they’re making a few unfounded assumptions about you.”

  Speechless, Kristen stared at her. This was exactly what she’d feared—that people would compare her with Heather . . . and then inevitably decide that Kristen (obviously) came up short.

  Well, Kristen wanted no part of it. Not now or ever.

  “This interview is over.” She stood. “Enjoy your pie.”

  But the journalist wasn’t finished with her. “Is this the pie inspired by your famous sister?” she wanted to know, calling after Kristen. “There must be a pie inspired by Heather!”

  At that, Kristen stopped in her tracks, midway to the back of the house. A pie inspired by Heather? A pie inspired by the same person who’d blatantly ignored all of Kristen’s wishes, gone behind her back to wrangle a deal she didn’t want, and made sure the whole world knew about it so that Kristen would look like the churlish one if it didn’t pan out? That kind of pie?

&nbs
p; “No.” Kristen stalked back to the reserved booth where the journalist sat complacently waiting for her. “I don’t have a pie inspired by Heather,” she said. “Funny thing is, I don’t find people who ignore everything I want in life ‘inspiring.’”

  The journalist gawked. The nearby customers did, too.

  Avery stared at Kristen apprehensively. So did Gareth.

  But as much as she knew she ought to, Kristen couldn’t stop to reassure them right now. Right now, she had a bigger problem to deal with. And while she wasn’t naming names, that problem’s initials were H.M. and rhymed with Feather Diller.

  Casey arrived at the Galaxy Diner and pushed through the crowded entryway just in time to glimpse Kristen seated in his regular rented-and-reserved booth. Catching sight of that familiar RESERVED sign, Casey felt the usual sense of belonging kick in. He felt the usual sense of welcome wash over him. He felt . . . right. As Gareth and Avery spotted him and waved, Casey realized that this place really was like home to him.

  The Galaxy Diner—and Kismet—were the homes he’d never had.

  At the heart of them both was Kristen. Always Kristen.

  Kristen, who—if Heather was right—actually loved him.

  That was remarkable all by itself. It was something to be treasured and protected. So when Casey overheard the tail end of Kristen’s conversation with the smug-looking, legal-pad-toting woman who’d assumed Casey’s place in his booth, he felt instantly concerned. And worried. And relieved. All at once.

  Because somehow, Kristen had found out about the baked-goods deal that Casey had brokered. And somehow, she’d (erroneously) assumed that Heather was behind it. So even though Kristen didn’t seem happy about the news—just as Heather had predicted—Casey realized that he could be off the hook. At least temporarily. At least long enough to make Kristen understand why he’d done what he’d done.

  He had no doubt he could make her understand why he’d done what he’d done. That was his specialty, right? And he wanted to make sure that nothing threatened her feelings for him—at least not before they could grow stronger. So as Casey waited for Kristen to finish her conversation, as he listened to her saying, I guess Heather is surprising me with a big-time distribution deal for Christmas, the temptation to let Heather take the fall almost overwhelmed him.

  Casey didn’t owe anything to Heather. After all, the pop diva had entered into that deal while knowing (according to her) that her sister would hate it. Casey could just . . . let Kristen go on believing it was all Heather’s fault. At least temporarily.

  Because Heather had all but admitted steamrolling her sister into doing whatever she wanted. She’d probably never paid for those particular incidents. Casey could let Heather take the blame for this one screwup, and the cosmic scales would be balanced again. It was nothing less than Heather deserved.

  The Terminator, Casey knew, would have done exactly that.

  Funny thing is, I don’t find people who ignore everything I want in life “inspiring,” Casey heard Kristen say next, having missed the intervening bits of conversation, and he knew that now was the time to act—for better or worse. Clearly, Kristen wasn’t feeling especially tolerant just at that moment.

  Casting the woman in his booth a formidable look, Casey decided that she could be dealt with later. Right now, Kristen was striding toward her office in the back of her retro-gas-station-turned-diner with the sort of lean-hipped, purposeful motions that foretold—at least in her—a showdown in the offing. Casey didn’t want to miss his chance to be her hero . . . his chance to be there to comfort her and promise her he’d make it okay.

  Trying to get into full-on Terminator mode, Casey followed her. As he did, he couldn’t help taking in Kristen’s posture and demeanor and even her long blond hair with a new sense of appreciation. This was the woman who loved him, he marveled.

  This was the woman he loved in return, even if he’d never admitted it to her. It was probably long past time to admit it.

  He wasn’t at all sure he could.

  With that troubling thought in mind, Casey kept going, past the familiar stainless-steel bedecked kitchen with its familiar cooks and bakers and waitstaff. He kept going while the familiar Christmas music serenaded him and while the blinking holiday lights tried their best to blind him. He kept going, feeling proud of Kristen’s fortitude and courage and gumption.

  Even though she (apparently) hadn’t wanted this deal to happen, she seemed fully prepared to handle it straightforwardly now. On her own. Paradoxically, Casey admired her for that.

  She was exactly the kind of woman he needed.

  Now he had to be the kind of man she needed.

  Which wasn’t the kind of man, Casey realized dimly and unhappily, who shirked responsibility for the things he’d done.

  He managed to set aside that inconvenient fact long enough to duck inside Kristen’s office right behind her. When she turned around with her cell phone in her hand and storm clouds on her face, clearly intending to call her sister, he was there.

  “Casey!” Kristen’s face cleared. “You came back!”

  He couldn’t think why she’d believed he might not.

  “Of course I did.” He shut the door behind them both. Then he took her in his arms and hugged her.

  “Is everything all right?” She looked at him closely and lovingly, fueling his desire to make things work. She stepped back. “Are you okay? You look . . . kind of weird, at the moment.”

  That’s because I love you, Casey wanted to say. But his voice stuck on the words. His mind refused to free them.

  “Everything’s fine,” he managed to say. “I’m fine.”

  Thanks to her distracted state of mind, that was enough.

  “Well, at least one of us is,” Kristen said, obviously still upset. “You won’t believe what my sister has done now.”

  Then, as Casey gazed in wonder at her familiar and beloved face, he heard himself say something astonishing.

  “It wasn’t your sister,” he said. “It was me.”

  Kristen scoffed. “Very funny.” She looked down at her cell phone, already scrolling through menus. “It’s nice of you to try to work some troubleshooting magic between me and my sister, but I’m not falling for it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Heather, it’s that she never fails to surprise me. No matter how many times she does something inconsiderate, she—”

  “It was me,” Casey repeated, deliberately ignoring this tailor-made opportunity to blame the whole thing on her annoying pop diva sister. Hoping like hell that his charm would remain intact (and his heart and mind would properly sync up with his voice) while making a love declaration later—because he’d never done it before—he moved nearer. He took a deep breath. “I thought you’d like it,” he said. “I thought you needed it.”

  Kristen quit dialing. She frowned. “Needed what?”

  “Needed a deal with Torrance Chocolates. To solve your financial problems,” Casey said. “Hell, I spotted both of those bank reps outside the diner just now. It didn’t look like they were here to tell you your mortgage mix-up had been forgotten about.”

  Her gaze skittered to her office door, then swerved back to him. “I didn’t tell you about my financial problems.”

  “You didn’t have to. Everyone else did, almost from day one,” Casey said. “Not all at once, of course.” He offered a tentative grin, imagining her cadre of quirky friends stampeding to Casey’s special booth in the diner with stories of Kristen’s mistakenly “in-default” business mortgage. “Garth and Talia and Avery and Walden all came to me separately about it. They confided in me. You should have, too. I could have helped. I know people. Lawyers. Bankers. I have connections—”

  “Connections that make deals with Torrance Chocolates?”

  Her sharp tone almost made Casey’s heart stop. Maybe this wasn’t going to go as well as he’d expected. Maybe love wasn’t the cure-all his secretly hopeful heart believed it could be.

  “I’ve alr
eady begun undoing it,” Casey said hastily in his own defense, holding up his hands. “Obviously, I can’t make a deal on your behalf without your cooperation—”

  “Oh, obviously,” Kristen said sarcastically.

  “—which means all I really did,” Casey went on, “is float a few rumors to a few of the right people. Get the ball rolling. Make inquiries. I’ve known Damon Torrance a long time, so he—”

  Kristen’s expression changed. “You really did do this.” Her astonished gaze met his. She clenched her cell phone. “I thought you were just trying to calm me down, so I wouldn’t call Heather and say something I’d regret. But you weren’t, were you?”

  The hurt in her voice nearly gutted him. So did the wounded look on her face. Even more concerned now, Casey stepped nearer.

  “Like I said, I’m undoing it! Shane said you wanted it—”

  “Right.” She narrowed her eyes. “You totally trust Shane.”

  Casey didn’t know what to say to that. In retrospect, it sounded like lunacy. Should he tell Kristen that he’d been caught up in competing with his former best friend? That he’d wanted to win at all costs? That he’d sucked at gingerbread house building and paper snowflake cutting, and he just wanted to impress Kristen with the one thing he could do—make deals?

  “I didn’t have anything else to give you,” Casey said. Because all he had left was the truth. And that was it. “On my own, I—” I’m not enough, he started to say, but the explanation got caught in his throat next to the I love you wedged there, and Casey found himself utterly unable to say anything more.

  For the second time in his life, he was mute.

  For the second disastrous time in his life, he couldn’t say anything that might save him. The first time, he’d been a kid, trying to get from his latest foster home to a real home. He’d been competing with Shane, trying to be chosen for adoption as one of two “hard-to-place” fifteen-year-olds, muffing the interview with a prospective family. When the big moment had come—when his original plan had unexpectedly dissolved—Casey hadn’t been able to find the right words to make it happen. Under pressure to cement his longed-for place in the world, he’d choked. He’d regretted it ever since.