by Lisa Plumley
“Yeah. Supposedly, Casey didn’t ever admit wanting much of anything, so once the other kids realized he desperately wanted a family, they were pretty merciless about it. Little jerks.”
I don’t usually let myself really want something, Kristen remembered Casey saying, looking troubled and alone. But with you, I couldn’t help it. I really wanted you.
She’d wanted him, too. But she hadn’t been able to stand there, scared and defenseless, and admit it. Not then, she hadn’t. What she had been able to do, Kristen realized to her horror, was accidentally goad Casey in the worst possible way.
You can’t even say it, she’d remarked, too full of sadness and suspicion and hopelessness to hold it in. In contrast to Gareth’s trust-and-courage philosophy, Kristen had held up her fearfulness like a shield . . . then she’d bludgeoned Casey with it.
“I’ve got to get to Casey,” she said, gazing around her crowded diner with a new sense of urgency. “I’ve got to go!”
“But your party is happening here,” Heather said with wide, disingenuous eyes. “Your ideal Christmas is happening here.”
At that, Kristen shook her head.
“Christmas doesn’t happen at a big party full of people,” she said, finally realizing why immersing herself headlong in Christmas hadn’t made her feel better. “It doesn’t happen beside a cut Douglas fir—or three—or atop a big pile of wrapped gifts. It doesn’t happen in a church. It only happens when at least two people who love each other come together to celebrate. And that means, this year, my Christmas can’t happen here in Kismet.”
“Right-o.” Busily, Heather scratched off an item on her to-do list. She gave Kristen a satisfied glance. “That was item number one on my list. Making you realize that.”
“It was not!”
“Yes, it was!”
“Let me see.” Making a quick sideways move, Kristen grabbed for her sister’s to-do list. She missed. “You are not this good at helping people,” she said in exasperation. “Despite introducing me to Ernesto, letting me know my bank troubles were sorted, getting the fraud charges dropped against Talia and Walden, footing the bill for this party, getting Mom and Dad to admit their non-sibling-rivalry tactics—” Kristen broke off.
She gave her sister a suspicious frown.
Heather only rocked on her heels, looking tickled. “Yes?”
“Wow. I guess people really can change.”
And if Heather could become generous and helpful . . . the sky really was the limit, Kristen realized. Next, she’d be making everyone declare month-old fruitcake as their favorite food.
Speaking of which . . .
“I don’t know if you can change that much,” Heather declared contrarily before Kristen could complete that thought. “After all, you love Christmas. You love snow and evergreens and icicles and decorations. You love Burl Ives ditties and tinsel and mistletoe and even those gross ribbon-shaped hard candies that Grandma Noble used to have every Christmas.”
For a second, they both stopped to fondly recall their much-missed maternal grandmother.
“My point is,” Heather went on doggedly, “I don’t think you can survive Christmas in the sunshine, near the beach, without everything that makes Christmas Christmas. It’s antithetical to everything you’ve ever wanted out of life.”
“Antithetical?”
Heather shrugged. “I’ve been learning a few new words.”
“Aha.” Kristen nodded, feeling oddly proud of her sister—and unusually close to her, too. “But the thing you’re missing is that Casey is my Christmas now. Without him,” she said, “everything else just . . . loses its magic.”
All at once, Kristen became aware of a stunning silence in her diner. The holiday jingles had quit playing. The boisterous crowd had quieted. Even the clanking of glasses had stopped.
Uncertainly, Kristen looked around. As one, her family and friends gazed back at her, beaming as if they’d just won the lottery. Which was silly, because Kristen knew she’d just won the lottery—if she could earn herself another chance with Casey.
“Go get ’em, Kristen!” Avery cheered, her fist in the air.
Everyone else joined in. Too late, Kristen realized that she’d pretty much just made a public love declaration to a man who wasn’t even there, didn’t like Christmas . . . and could make her forget to breathe or think or understand basic arithmetic with one of his dazzling smiles. Casey was just that amazing.
He was also just that far away, too. Disheartened, Kristen considered the journey ahead. “Thanks, everyone. But I’m not even sure I can get a flight to California this close to Christmas. The airport’s going to be crazy.”
“Oh yeah.” Heather made a regretful face. “That’s true. And I gave my place on my chartered private jet to Shane. He left for L.A. this morning.” As an aside, she added, “He was item number five on my to-do list. I’m pretty sure I reformed him.”
At this point, Kristen would put nothing past her sister, including reforming a notorious “anti-fixer” with a mile-wide competitive streak and a dangerous excess of charisma.
Not Casey-level charisma, of course, but still . . .
“Congrats,” Kristen told her sister, feeling increasingly urgent. And impatient. “But I still can’t get to L.A.!”
“Not with that attitude, you can’t.” From her diner’s doorway, someone else spoke up. “But I think I can help.”
Everyone turned. Heather squealed. “Damon! You’re here!”
While Kristen watched, her sister ran with both arms outstretched, her to-do list fluttering, toward the handsome man with dark, curly hair who stood in Kristen’s diner doorway.
Somehow, he made the whole place feel twice as glamorous, just with his presence. Beside him stood a bubbly looking blonde and a towheaded boy, probably seven or eight years old. The kid smiled, gazing in wonder at the Galaxy Diner’s decorations.
Damon greeted Heather. Heather greeted his companions. As they all exchanged exuberant embraces and air kisses, the truth struck Kristen with a jolt. This must be Damon Torrance—playboy chocolatier, CEO of Torrance Chocolates, Kristen’s erstwhile “business partner” in their cancelled deal, and all-around scandal-starter. The woman beside him had to be Natasha Jennings, Kristen realized, Damon’s hyperefficient “gal Friday.” Which meant that the child must be . . .
Well, Kristen wasn’t sure who the kid was.
She might have done a little Googling to find out more about the deal she’d so hastily refused (so shoot her for being curious!), but there hadn’t been any mention online of Damon having children. Surprised, yet still impatient to leave, Kristen was standing there frowning when they approached her.
With a grin, Damon introduced Natasha Jennings, little Milo Jennings, and then himself. Kristen couldn’t help liking the three of them immediately. Doing so felt . . . inevitable. If she’d been having second thoughts about having refused Casey’s million-dollar deal, they would have been zooming around in her head like a sugared-up kid on Christmas morning with a bunch of new toys and a fresh pack of batteries.
“Kristen. I’m pleased to finally meet you.” Damon shook her hand. Then he shook his head. “And I’m impressed! As far as I know, no one has ever turned down one of the deals Casey put together. I just had to meet the woman who finally did.”
“Yes, I did turn it down.” Now that Kristen had given the matter some thought—some real thought, based on the truth instead of her fears—she realized her decision hadn’t changed. She was happy with her diner and her life, just the way they were. Not in defiance of Heather. Just . . . because. Her life wasn’t fancy, but it was hers. She liked it. “So you might as well save your breath, if you’re here to convince me to take the deal.”
“Oh, Damon doesn’t convince anybody,” Natasha told her with a laugh. “He just magically makes them want to cooperate.”
Kristen nodded. “Hmm. Sounds a lot like Casey.”
She and Natasha exchanged knowing, curious glances.
> “Well, I don’t know about magic,” Damon said, casting a mischievous glance at Natasha, “but I do know about people, and looking at you, Kristen,” he added with a self-deprecating grin, “I can tell you’re less than awed by my infamous presence.”
“He means you’re itching to leave,” the kid, Milo, piped up, watching astutely as Kristen edged toward the coatrack.
Damon and Natasha laughed. Heather ruffled Milo’s hair.
Evidently, along with a mile-long to-do list, her sister had discovered a tolerance for children, Kristen realized. And a boyfriend, she saw further, if the goo-goo eyes Heather was trading with her nice—if surprisingly ordinary-looking—glasses-wearing construction manager from her Live! from the Heartland holiday TV special were any indication.
“Yes. I’m sorry if you came all this way just for me,” Kristen said, “but I’m afraid my answer is still no. I’d rather not get into all the rigmarole of a partnership right now.”
“Okay.” Damon nodded. “Mind if we try some of your pie-in-a-jar anyway? The way Casey talked about it, I half expect it to tie my shoes, give me a massage, and make me shout its name.”
“Damon!” Natasha covered Milo’s ears. “Ahem.”
“Sorry.” Appearing wholly unabashed, Damon looked at Kristen again. “If you change your mind, I’m here to talk. In the meantime, don’t worry about a thing. I have family in the area. We’re visiting for Christmas and decided to drop by here.”
“We’ve made a bunch of stops along the way,” Natasha explained. “A private jet makes trips like that easy.”
“I’ll bet.” Kristen nodded. “My sister travels that way, too.” She smiled at Heather. “I’m really proud of her success.”
“Aw!” For a minute, Heather actually looked teary-eyed. “I’m proud of you, too! You really are fab, Kristen!”
Then they hugged, and the whole diner got bored with the proceedings. Gareth jumped on a chair, clanged a cup of mulled cider with a spoon, then cleared his throat. “Everybody who wants Kristen to get to California to see Casey,” he said loudly, “put some money in the Santa hat that Avery’s holding.”
Helpfully, Avery held out the diner’s designated red-felt Santa hat. With a game-show-hostess-worthy flourish, she waved it, signaling for everyone to come near and start contributing.
“If we all pitch in,” Gareth went on, “we can probably raise enough money for one of those overpriced last-minute airfares!”
Everyone rushed forward while digging for their wallets or handbags, but Damon held up his hands to stop them.
“Good idea!” he said. “Do that. Or Kristen could just take my private jet. It’s parked at the Kismet air field. Natasha, Milo, and I can drive the rest of the way to where we’re going.”
Talia blinked. “Kismet has a private air field?”
Walden made a goofy face. “I guess so. Who knew?”
And that’s how, with the blessing of all her family and friends—and the holiday help of one very persuasive Yuletide stranger—Kristen found herself bundled up with nothing but an overnight bag, directions to Casey’s apartment building, and a whole heart full of hopes as she jetted her way westward . . . looking forward to finding Christmas, improbably, in the golden state.
Chapter 25
Los Angeles, California
T-minus 4 days until Christmas
Casey was busy making his way across the beautifully landscaped courtyard of his luxury apartment building in L.A. when he felt the first stirrings of . . . something. It was like déjà vu, but different. It was like being watched, only stronger. It was . . .
Hell. It was probably just his imagination heading into overdrive, Casey decided as he moved past the courtyard’s stone-bordered flower beds and its palm trees with their tastefully subtle strings of tiny white lights. Those lights were the building’s only nod to seasonal festivity. Casey had always liked that.
Until today. Today those subtle lights just didn’t seem sufficient. But before Casey could consider the matter any further, he experienced that eerie sensation again. Self-consciously, he stopped. He frowned. He looked around.
Shane Maresca stepped out from around the corner.
Casey swore. “We’ve got to quit meeting like this.”
His former best friend and current arch nemesis laughed. “There’s no other way for us to meet. You won’t take my calls.”
“There’s a reason for that.” Casey girded himself for another confrontation. “Look, Shane. I don’t want to do this.”
“And I don’t want to stalk you. Yet here we are.”
Despite the impatient, intimidating, get-lost look Casey gave him, Shane remained stubbornly standing there. He still had the same cocky, “what’s it to you?” attitude he’d had as a kid, Casey noticed. Now there was a veneer of urbanity and politeness on top of it, but underneath it all, Casey could still see the same scrappy teenager with holey jeans and beat-up Nikes and (usually) a black eye or a bruise or a scrape from a fight.
He and Shane had always been alike in that way. That’s how Casey realized, looking at Shane then, that his unwanted arch nemesis was not going to give up. He was just going to keep coming. After all, that’s what Casey would have done.
Except when it came to Kristen, his conscience niggled. You gave up on her. But Casey managed to ignore that. For now.
“Fine.” Casey plunked down the object he’d been carrying. Irritably, he addressed Shane. “What do you want?”
Looking amused, his former best friend nodded at the thing Casey had been carrying. “First, I want to know what the hell that’s supposed to be.”
Caught, Casey lifted his chin. He wished he wasn’t doing this. With dignity, he said, “That is a Christmas tree.”
Shane burst out laughing. “It’s a twig!”
“It’s not that bad.” It makes me feel closer to Kristen. So it’s worth it. “It just needs a few decorations.”
“Whatever you say, Charlie Brown.”
“Oh yeah?” Casey frowned at him twice as hard. “I hope you bust a gut laughing like that.”
“I hope you claim that thing as a dependent for tax purposes,” Shane said, “because it sure as hell couldn’t survive on its own. That ‘tree’ would snap if a dog peed on it.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for incontinent Chihuahuas.” Casey put one hand on his hip, unhappy to have his just-discovered holiday sentimentality exposed—by Shane, of all people. Deciding he’d better steer this conversation himself, he said, “I heard about Heather’s live-stream Internet broadcast.” Grudgingly, he added, “Good idea. Heather has more talent than people realize.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Shane told him. “It was—”
Hers, Casey expected him to say, miraculously sharing the credit for that unexpected success, but then . . .
“—yours, according to Heather,” Shane went on. “Apparently, you told Heather she was smarter than she was letting on, and capable of more than she was doing. She decided to prove you right.” Admiringly, Shane shook his head. “Just goes to show, you never know the kind of impact you’re having on someone.”
Morosely, Casey had to agree with that. Because Kristen would never know the impact she’d had on him—so much so that he’d actually rescued a weedy-looking, pathetic Christmas tree.
Worse, Casey planned to erect that tree in his apartment, decorate it as best he could, and try to enjoy it.
If he couldn’t have Kristen for Christmas, he’d decided, at least maybe he could have Christmas for Christmas. Somehow.
Hoping to draw attention away from that outrageously sappy plan, Casey looked at Shane. “I handed you a perfect opportunity to wreck Heather’s TV special. I thought you’d take it.”
Bleakly, Shane nodded. “I know you did.”
“I guess I was wrong,” Casey admitted. “Your bosses can’t be happy about that, though. You never told me who hired you.”
Shane shrugged. “I wasn’t in Kismet for a job.”
Casey guffawed. “Nobody goes to Christmastown for fun.”
“It wasn’t for fun, either.” Looking aggrieved for the first time, his former best friend stared at him. “Come on, Casey. You’re not this dense. Are you really telling me you don’t know why I was in Kismet? Why I kept popping up wherever you were? Why I’m here, right now, worrying that your little stick of a Christmas tree is going to wilt in the sunlight?”
Defensively, Casey clutched his tree. “It’s fine. I just have to keep it away from rogue birds,” he informed Shane tersely. “A crow landed on it on the lot and nearly bent it in half. I’m going to tie the tree to a stake for support.”
Dubiously, Shane eyed it. “Do you even have a tree stand?”
Surprised, Casey looked at the tree’s base. It was bare.
He swore. “Damn, this Christmas stuff is complicated.”
“Yeah. You need some serious help,” Shane agreed. “And unless I’m mistaken, you’re going to get it. But first—”
Instantly and hopelessly, Casey wondered if Shane meant that Kristen would be offering him some serious help—if Shane meant that she’d forgiven him and wanted him and had decided to accept his invitation and was on her way to L.A. right now. Because Kristen knew everything about Christmas. But that was ridiculous, he reminded himself. He’d messed up with Kristen.
He might have made enough progress that he could pay for a scrawny Christmas tree and lug it home. Casey didn’t know if he’d reached the point where he could declare his love for her.
“I was in Kismet to try to make up with you, you jackass!” Shane exclaimed. “I knew you’d be trapped there, working on Heather’s disastrous special. Everybody knew,” he said, pacing now. “I gave you credit with your agency for the live-stream Internet broadcast idea, by the way,” he added, “along with Heather, so your brilliant career wouldn’t be destroyed.”
Surprised, Casey stared at him. He wouldn’t have credited his former best friend with that much generosity. Not even at Christmastime. Not that Casey had checked in with his agency yet. Since leaving Kismet, he’d been feeling too despondent to bother. He might be unemployed already. He had walked out on his latest assignment, after all. That was a dismissible offense. For all he knew, Shane was lying through his teeth.