"So you popped by to help me decorate the tree?" She hadn't actually explained why she'd stopped by. "You haven't even mentioned the show. Aren't you supposed to be trying to sell me?" I kept my voice low. If the girls got wind of the show, I’d never hear the end of it.
April gazed at me for a long minute, something troubled in her eyes I couldn't identify. "I haven't decorated a Christmas tree since I was seven," she said.
Oookay … we were changing the subject. Maybe this was where the lost look was coming from. I raised an eyebrow at her. "Doesn't your family celebrate Christmas?"
The sad look in her eyes hardened into something else, something fiery and fierce that actually sent a little thrum of desire bolting through me. "Not anymore."
"Because …" I knew I was prying, but for the moment I’d gotten distracted. Her hair floated around her shoulders, little specks of red sparkle dust caught in the front strands, and it was such a contrast to her flushed skin and glowing eyes, the combination was perfect. For a long minute, I didn't feel the pain of my ankle or the gaping hole where my reason for living had been ripped out of my chest. I only felt a compelling desire to know more about April.
"Long story," she said, breaking the sizzling eye contact that had developed between us.
"Come on, you guys," Taylor called, and I looked over to see that the bottom few branches had been covered with ornaments, while most of Christopher was sadly bare. I didn’t have enough ornaments for a tree this size, and the girls couldn't reach much higher than they’d already decorated.
"On it," I said, moving toward the tree to help disperse some of the lower-level ornament crowd.
April joined me, moving slowly around the other side, and I wondered what it was about Christmas that had her so much in her own head. "I like this one," she said, holding up a ballerina ornament that had been Becky’s, and I sensed some determination from her to focus on pretending to enjoy herself, even though the strange heaviness remained in the air. I still had no idea why she'd really appeared at my gate today, but I wasn't going to lie to myself either. At least not about this. I enjoyed the company—hers and that of my nieces. I’d been lonelier than I wanted to admit, and distraction from the things that felt so wrong in my life was welcome.
"A balle-weeena," Maddie cooed, stepping close to April to see the ornament she held.
"We take ballet," Taylor told April. "We are in the Nutcracker this year."
"Both of you?" April knelt down and addressed the girls on their level, looking appropriately impressed.
Maddie nodded. "I'm a bon-bon and flow-oo."
"And I'm a flower too," Taylor said. "And we're both in the party scene."
I had no real idea what they were talking about, since I’d never seen the Nutcracker, but April seemed to understand these code words.
"That's amazing," she said. "I'd love to see it. I wonder if I'll still be in town."
"It's in two weeks," Taylor said, but then she looked confused. "Wait. What's today?"
"December first," April said. "So two weeks would be the fifteenth."
Taylor stared out the window for a long minute, her hands moving in front of her. I realized she was counting. "That's when it is. The fifteenth."
I didn't really think through what happened next—my body and mouth moved before the rest of me caught up. But a moment later I was standing at April's side, saying, "We'll both be there."
April shot me a confused look, and I smiled at her, shrugging. Neither one of us seemed clear on exactly what the hell I was doing. At least I hadn't actually suggested we go together. Like on a date. Not in those exact words.
The girls went back to hanging ornaments on every available pine needle, and April stepped away, gesturing for me to follow her into the foyer. "Was that an invitation, or just an observation that we might both be in one place at the same time?" She was direct. I liked it.
"What do you want the answer to be?"
She shook her head and blew out a frustrated breath. "Nope. I'm not playing. Look, the only answer I need from you is about the show. Whether or not I go to the ballet has nothing to do with it."
Of course not. "Right."
"So are you in or out?"
"For the ballet?" I was messing with her and I probably shouldn't have been. Not when the contract for the stupid show was still with my lawyer and I was still determined not to let cameras back into my life. But she was so adorable I couldn't help it.
"For the show," she bit out.
"Contract's with my lawyers," I told her. "They'll let me know if I can get out of it."
"You can't." Her eyes were blazing again, and her cheeks were reddening.
"Why not just find another home to replace this one?" I asked.
"This is the biggest house in Singletree, and it's the reason the show came here in the first place," she said, her voice rising. "And if I don't get your house on the show and get this thing sealed with a shiny glittery bow in the next couple days, I'm out of a job. No," she said, jabbing a finger in the air. "Make that a career."
"Boxes are empty." Taylor stood behind April, the look on her face making it clear that she knew she'd interrupted something.
April took a deep breath and turned around to face her.
Taylor went on. "You need more stuff, Uncle Callan. Christopher is still half naked."
She was right. The ornaments we’d had were townhouse-tree sized. Definitely not adequate for a manor-house tree. "I guess we need to go shopping," I said. I looked at April and grinned. I couldn't tell if she found me charming or just completely aggravating, but she hadn't left yet and I was enjoying her company either way. "You in? Quick round of ornament shopping? You can get back to harassing me about other stuff after."
She let out a long breath before answering. "I don't know how you'll get back inside your house without me, so I guess I'd better come with you."
I had the weirdest urge to do a victory fist pump, but I suppressed it and smiled instead, turning to get my car keys.
7
Target or The North Pole
April
I was supposed to be confirming the other houses on the tour, making sure all the administrative details were buttoned up and locked down. And instead, I was decorating a tree named Christopher with the two cutest tiny girls I’d ever met and a former soccer star who had eyes capable of dropping a thousand pairs of panties in a single glance. I tried to tell myself I was just doing my job, warming Callan up so he'd say yes to having the show filmed inside his house. There was nothing more to it.
But when his gaze slid to mine, his strong hands on the wheel as he drove and something playful in the depths of those deep eyes, I had to suppress a shudder. If I let it, my body could convince my brain to do things—assuming Callan wanted to do things too—and that was exactly what had led me to this last stop on the road before career ruin.
It wouldn't happen again. No matter how soft his voice was when he spoke to his nieces. No matter how strong and sexy he looked when he hoisted Maddie to his shoulders and let her ride up there through the parking lot, her little hands steering him by the ears as he tried to hide his limp.
"This is my favorite store," Taylor said, her voice full of awe as we stepped inside Target. We’d been relieved to find that Singletree, though a small town, had a whole stretch of big box stores just outside the town proper—including a Target.
"It looks like an elf exploded in here," I said under my breath. Avoiding these types of stores around the holidays was a long-observed part of my anti-holiday efforts. They were always a complete immersion into holiday hell. You couldn't swing a dead reindeer without hitting something sparkly, glowing, or painted with cheerful sayings. I shuddered.
"Ex-pwo-dered?" Maddie asked, her eyes like saucers as she took in the enormous tree set up at the front of the store.
"Exploded," Taylor corrected. "But if an elf exploded, it'd be a pretty small mess. And there'd be guts." She looked up at me for acknowledgment of
her logic.
I stifled another shudder that had nothing to do with elf guts or Callan and my misplaced attraction to him, and everything to do with the memories that came slamming back whenever I was forced into an over-decorated holiday location.
Callan was watching me with one side of his mouth quirked up. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. Why?"
"You look like you might throw up," he said.
I shook out my shoulders and forced myself to take a couple deep breaths. I hadn't been around this much holiday crap in years. I had a sudden vision of the last time my own home had been decked out in stockings and garlands, and found that I did actually feel a little sick. "I'll be okay," I said. I swallowed hard and focused on the girls, on their glowing faces and the way they were bouncing on their feet and clenching their little hands as they looked around. "What do we need?" I asked.
Callan crossed his arms, coming to a stop in the ornament section at the back of the store. "More tree stuff, right?"
"Yes, yes!" the girls cried, clapping.
"And stuff for the house?"
"Yes!"
"I don't think I can get lights up on the outside of the house," he said thoughtfully, his dark eyes scanning the shelves of lights. "It's just too high. I'm not exactly in shape to be climbing on ladders." His eyes slid to me, and I noticed him glance away when my eyes met his, his cheeks reddening.
He was embarrassed, I realized, and I wanted to say something that would make him feel better. "No one would get up on a ladder at that house," I said. "You can hire that done, though."
Our eyes met, and words were exchanged between us without anything spoken. He knew I was trying to downplay his injury.
"Yeah. I'll do that, I guess. Or maybe we don't need lights outside—"
"Of course you do!" Taylor said sternly. "That's how Santa finds your house."
Callan nodded, his face softening again as he looked at his niece. "Right. Then I'll just hire someone."
"Good," Taylor said, looking relieved.
A moment later, Callan and I stood alone as the little girls ran down the aisle, making appreciative squeals as they explored all the decorating possibilities.
An hour and several hundred dollars later, we were back in the car, decorations stuffed into every available spare inch of space around us. I sat up front, a huge stuffed snowman on my lap. I was forced to put my arms around it to keep it from sliding over to the driver's side on turns. If Lynn could see this—April Hall hugging a snowman—she'd never believe it. Lynn had been tolerant of my anti-holiday stance. Luckily, Lynn was Jewish, and I had nothing at all against Hanukkah. Lynn's simple menorah and few blue decorations were always a welcome relief from the madness, which seemed to begin in early September these days.
"I think you're going the wrong way, Uncle Callan," Taylor said as Callan turned off the two-lane thoroughfare and toward the town square.
"I'll do the driving, thank you very much," Callan said, his voice carrying a jovial note. Then he turned to me and whispered, "did I make a wrong turn? I haven't gotten out and about much yet."
I laughed. "I just got here myself. I'm not exactly your best bet for finding your way through these circles of death." We turned slowly through yet another traffic circle, Callan turning the car out of one of the exits, seemingly at random, and the main square of town came into view.
"Circle of death?" Callan asked, his mouth turned up in a smile as he glanced at me. This smile was the closest I’d seen yet to those full-blown grins he’d worn in the pictures I’d seen of him playing soccer.
"We don't have these in Los Angeles," I said.
"San Diego either," he said.
We drove slowly down the narrow streets leading into the center of town, where the sidewalks were busy with shoppers and strollers, and the parking around the square was stuffed to the gills. I avoided looking at the enormous tree in the center of the square now that it was decorated, but the girls had no such aversion.
"It's enormous," Taylor said, her vocabulary on full display again.
"Norm-usss," Maddie echoed.
"Uncle Callan," Taylor said, her voice shifting into a pleading tone even before she'd told him what she was hoping for. "Could we stop here a minute? Look at the tree?"
Callan's head turned, first to look at his niece, and then to scan for parking. "Not for long," he said. "That okay, April?"
"Yeah," I said, equal parts eager to get out from under the snowman and dreading the idea of being forced to stand beneath the humongous tree as the girls oohed and aaahed up at it.
Callan pulled into a spot, his brow wrinkling as he looked at me before turning off the engine. "It's just a tree," he said, too quietly for the girls to hear.
I smiled, relaxing a little bit when it appeared he wasn't going to push me for an explanation. "Okay. Yeah."
We stepped out of the car, and I shoved Frosty back into the passenger side. I unbuckled Maddie from the back and helped the little girl up onto the sidewalk. I was sliding my bag securely onto my shoulder when a warm little hand slipped into mine, surprising me. I gripped Maddie's small hand with my own, something in my chest tightening at the gesture.
"We'll do one lap of the tree," Callan said, walking ahead of us, holding Taylor's hand. "But then …" Callan trailed off, and his limping gait slowed.
I let my eyes drift toward the monstrosity, but before we could get there, they landed on something else. Two vans, parked at the edge of the square near my hotel, and a camera crew pulling gear from the back of one to set up on the sidewalk. The side of the van had the logo of my network emblazoned across the side.
Crap. The crew was here. And I still had to get Callan's house locked up plus two more. And here I was, acting like a tourist, chaperoning snowmen and small children around to look at Christmas décor. How had they managed to fly across the country and still get vans that screamed the network name? Uncle Rob was good.
"What the hell?" Callan breathed, his eyes fixed on the cameras as we moved slowly forward again, toward the tree and the crew.
"Oh, them? It's just—"
"Hey!" One of the cameramen had caught sight of us, and I was sure he was going to call me out, ask why I was wandering around and Christmas shopping when I was supposed to be working.
"Oh, hi—" I started.
"Aren't you Callan Whitewood?" The guy went on, ignoring me altogether. "The Sharks, right? Retired?"
Callan was rigid, standing on the sidewalk gripping his niece's hand like he was made from stone. I couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were high and tense. "Yeah," he said.
"Man," the cameraman went on, shaking his head. "That injury, man. Wow. When I saw it happen, I was like, there's no way he's coming back from that. I was like—"
"Yeah," Callan said again, terse and loud, cutting the guy off and practically dragging Taylor around the man.
"Okay, well. Good to meet you, man," the guy called to Callan's back as Maddie and I followed him.
On the other side of the tree, out of view of the crew, Taylor looked up at her uncle. "You're hurting my hand."
I stepped up next to him, and Callan's face, which had reddened and gone expressionless, came back to life as he snapped his gaze to his niece. "Sorry." He let go of her hand, and mopped his face with that same hand.
"You okay?" I asked him, as his bottomless eyes slid up to study my face.
"They with you? Those cameras? Your show?" His words began flat, but by the third question, he was practically spitting them out.
I nodded. "Yeah." Why did he look so angry? Was it that horrible to be recognized? "I guess the cameraman is a fan, huh?"
He scoffed. "You don't have fans when you don't play anymore. Only drama seekers who want to tell people you're still messed up. I'm sure that guy watched me limp away, all excited to tell his buddies how he's sure I'll never play again."
I pulled one side of my lip between her teeth. "Or maybe he was just excited to meet someone he admired."
<
br /> The deep eyes shot me a look full of venom and anger, and he didn't answer. After a second, he began moving again, practically dragging Taylor toward the car as Maddie and I followed.
When we got near the crew again, another of the guys called out to me. "Hey, we shooting the first house tomorrow?"
So they did know who I was. "Supposed to be December third, so two more days," I said. "I’m finishing up getting things sorted."
The guy gave me a thumbs up and waved at the girls who were looking at the equipment on the sidewalk with confused interest.
"There's your one lap around the tree," Callan told them, already dragging Taylor back to the car. "Now home."
We all climbed back into the car, but the mood had shifted. I could feel the anger rolling off Callan in thick waves, and though I wanted to do something to alleviate it, I wanted to understand it, too. Was he angry he'd been recognized? Or that he couldn't be the star he used to be?
When he'd found his way back to the big gates in front of his house, Callan turned to me. "Probably better let you go get your show sorted." There was no softness in the words, no friendliness.
"You need me to go inside and open the gate?" I asked, placing Frosty on the ground next to the car.
"I wrote down the code while we were inside," he said, lifting his hand to show me four numbers on his wrist. He punched them into the keypad and the gates swung open.
"She has to help," Taylor said, crossing her arms and looking up at her uncle.
"No, Taylor," Callan said, his voice softening. "She's not here to help. She's here to get what she wants."
Surprise heated my cheeks, and made my shirt feel suddenly uncomfortably warm. "No," I said quickly. "I—"
"Didn't you come back over here today to convince me to let that camera crew into my house?"
"Well yes, but—"
"Cameras? Then we need to decorate extra good!" Taylor said.
"Yeah," Maddie said, her little arms wrapped around Frosty in a fierce hug.
I was watching Callan's face, but it gave nothing away except a hot anger bubbling beneath the surface. I wasn't sure what to do. "I can help if you want," I offered.
Shaking the Sleigh: Seasons in Singletree Page 6