Together for Christmas (10 page)

“If it’s any help, I’ve never thought of you that way.”

“. . . and
that’s
why you’re famously charming. Because of audacious lines like that one.” With a jolt, Kristen snapped back to reality. She couldn’t let herself get carried away with trusting The Terminator, she reminded herself. It was his job to get people to talk. As proof, she’d just basically copped to the truth: that she’d felt invisible (again) ever since Heather had blown back into town. “So, which hotel are you staying at?”

“Very subtle redirection.”

“Well, I don’t see the point in tiptoeing around things.”

“Touché.” Casey frowned at the modest houses they drove past next, as though resenting their light-and-icicle-bedecked eaves and holiday yard decorations. “I was staying at the Riverside Hotel, but now I’m moving to The Christmas House B&B.”

“Ooh! The Christmas House! Good choice.” Kristen approved. “I love the atmosphere there!”

“You would.” Grimly, he kept driving. “I expect not to, given the name and the likely shtick that goes with it.”

“Oh, that’s right, Scrooge. You hate Christmas.”

“I guess my reputation preceded me?”

“More than you know.” Kristen examined his suddenly tense posture. Beneath his coat and suit, his whole body appeared taut. As Casey drove onward, his thigh flexed, calling her attention to the well-developed muscles there, making her wonder about things she had no intention of exploring any further. Instead, she said, “If the idea of a B&B devoted to the ultimate Christmas experience is such a nightmare for you—”

He made a face. “Tell me it’s not really that bad.”

“—then why are you doing it?”

“Because Shane Maresca is staying there, and I can’t let him get the jump on me. I have to know what he’s up to.”

“I see. Competitive much?”

Casey’s jaw flexed. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand. I spilled my guts to you.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“Because it was
you
.”

“Aha. You don’t like to be vulnerable.” Kristen watched his profile, fascinated by the way his easygoingness had just ebbed away. His features were solid. Friendly-looking. He hovered just this side of
too
handsome to be tolerated. “I get it.”

“I doubt it.” Casey rubbed his thumb over his wristwatch in an undoubtedly unconscious—and undoubtedly comforting—gesture. As though suddenly realizing what he was doing, he glanced down. “Hey, time’s wasting. How about those directions?”

Agreeably, Kristen gave them. She could wait a while to find out about Shane Maresca. After all, Casey would be spending a lot of time at her diner. She could pump him for information there. Or, since it was likely that Shane would come back to the Galaxy Diner—because he was such a fan—she could simply ask him.

Within minutes, she and Casey were zipping around the other edge of the lake, traveling through the snowy, tree-dotted terrain that led to The Christmas House.

“You realize this place is
renowned
for its holiday atmosphere,” she told Casey as they neared it. “The owners, the Sullivans, are even more crazy about Christmas than I am.”

“There must be something in the water around here.”

“It’s really nice! They provide an all-inclusive holiday experience and a wonderful Christmas ambiance for their guests, all for a reasonable price and with a personal touch. If I remember correctly, they have multiple Christmas trees, a holiday-shopping concierge, gift wrapping assistance, a cookie-baking-and-decorating party, sleigh rides with jingle bells—”

“I think I’m breaking out in a rash.”

“—Christmas-caroling outings,
amazing
gourmet meals three times a day, homemade eggnog, a special Fun Zone with activities for the kids, an evening happy hour with mulled cider—”

“I hope
that’s
happening early today. How much of a buzz do you think you can get from mulled cider?”

“—and a resident mascot, Digby the dachshund, who wears the most adorable holiday-themed sweaters. He is too cute.”

“Christmas sweaters? For a dog?” Casey gave her an appalled look. “You’re making that up.”

“I am not.” Playfully, Kristen hugged herself. “There’s nothing I love more than a dog in a sweater.”

“Ugh.”

“Unless it’s
two
dogs in
two
sweaters.”

“That’s it. We can’t be friends anymore.”

“Or a sleepy kitten in a teacup,” she mused with mock dreaminess. “There’s nothing cuter than that.”

“What? A kitten in a—” Casey stopped. “What?
Why?
”

“Haven’t you ever visited cuteoverload.com?”

He shuddered. “Not in this lifetime.”

Kristen stifled a smile. “You’ll see. Once you’ve spent a night at The Christmas House, you’ll be converted, just like me. As soon as the Sullivans get their hands on you, that’s it. You’re done. Betty and Robert own the place, but their niece, Vanessa, handles most of the day-to-day stuff. You know . . . transforming Grinchy types like you into candy-cane-loving, Santa-hat-sporting, ho-ho-ho-ing true believers.”

That did it. Inadvertently, she pushed things too far.

“You’re trying to make me panic.” Casey shook his head, still driving. “It won’t work. I’m immune to Christmas.”

“
Nobody’s
immune to Christmas.”

“I’m immune to all the bullshit that goes with it, too.”

“That’s not possible.”

Casey gave her a look that said it wasn’t only possible—it was inarguable. “Christmas might have meant something once. But these days, it’s just a bunch of greedy corporations playing on the sentiments of lonely, distracted people. They leverage our collective memories to make a buck, and we gleefully buy in.”

“Except you.”

A stony nod. “Except me.”

Stunned by his cynicism, Kristen touched his arm. “You get all that from a few lights and wreaths and bayberry candles?”

No wonder he’d been giving the stink-eye to the holiday decorations they’d passed on the way. He
really
disliked Christmas.

At least that meant she didn’t have to feel
too
sorry about Casey failing her official litmus test. It wasn’t as if she’d be missing out on sleeping with her soul mate or anything. She couldn’t possibly be destined to fall for Scrooge Redux.

Unaware of her musings, Casey pulled the car to a stop beside a long rolling yard filled with fresh snow and sparkly holiday decorations. At its far end, near its hilly crest, stood the B&B: a big white house, a bona fide barn, and several additional outbuildings. The house’s wide front porch was fully decked out in lights, ribbons, and the aforementioned wreaths. Next to the car was a hand-painted sign with a familiar holly-wreath logo and the words
The Christmas House
in fancy script.

“If you think you can change my mind,” Casey said as he turned off the car’s ignition, “you’re welcome to have at it.”

But Kristen was too wary—and maybe too cynical herself, by now—to fall for that. At least from him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked astutely. “If I’m busy trying to show you the wonders of Christmas, I won’t even notice what you’re doing to sabotage Heather’s holiday TV special.”

“I told you, I’m
not
going to sabotage—” In midsentence, Casey gave up. “Look, you’ll see. I have ways of handling problems like your sister’s TV special. It’s my specialty. And as for all the Christmas stuff, usually I’d be in Mexico by now, kicking back with some buddies. So if you can make missing out on my winter vacation more tolerable, I’m all for it.”

“Oh. Really? But what about—”
Your family,
she started to ask.
Whoops
. She’d already realized that was a sensitive subject with him. Awkwardly, Kristen regrouped. “
Really?
” she asked brightly. “You go on vacation this time of year?”

A nod. “Typically I go someplace sunny for the holidays—Cozumel, Anguilla, Kauai—and get as drunk as possible.”

Kristen gave him an empathetic look. “How’s the mulled cider in Anguilla? Pretty tasty?”

“I wouldn’t know. I drink beer.”

“Do the places you go to have Christmas trees and lights and holiday music? Do they have gifts and fudge and mistletoe?”

“You don’t get it. I’m trying to get
away
from that stuff.”

She really
didn’t
get it. The very idea was beyond comprehension. “How about stockings? Gingerbread? Sugar cookies? Yule logs? They
must
have Yule logs. Maybe on the beach? Like a beach bonfire? A Yule log beach bonfire?”

“I wouldn’t recognize a Yule log if you smacked me with one.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You think
you’re
sad. I’m the one getting walloped.”

“No, I mean your understanding of Christmas is sad.”

“Not as sad as a kitten in a teacup.
That’s
messed up.”

“You seem,” Kristen said, realizing how right Heather had been about this, “
completely
deficient in Christmas cheer.”

She wished the realization didn’t make her feel so sorry for him. She didn’t want to feel sorry for her archrival.

It was going to make things pretty damn inconvenient.

Patiently, Casey pocketed his car keys. He gazed at her, seeming willing to stay in the car and discuss this with her all day, if necessary. It was a weirdly seductive quality of his.

“I never had any Christmas cheer,” he told her succinctly. “I never wanted it. That’s never going to change.”

The challenge inherent in that statement was almost enough to make Kristen offer a plan to the contrary, just because he thought she couldn’t. But at the last second, she quit admiring Casey’s big, talented-looking hands, stopped trying to decide if his shadowy beard stubble qualified as auburn or chestnut, and managed to rein in her intrinsic compassion.

She gave an offhanded wave. “Okay. Have it your way.”

After all, maybe Casey just had a bad attitude. Maybe he
hadn’t
had a disadvantaged youth; plenty of people wound up thriving in the foster-care system, Kristen knew, having been sheltered by loving and kindhearted foster parents. Casey’s upbringing didn’t have to equal fear and loathing of Christmas.

No matter how full of self-protective curmudgeonliness he seemed to be when it came to discussing the holidays.

Casey took her turndown in stride. “You’re probably the wrong person to ask for help anyway,” he said carelessly. “I mean, how much do you really know about enjoying Christmas, if yours can be thrown off so easily by Heather’s arrival in town?”

To Kristen, those were fighting words.

She intended to react appropriately, too. But first . . .

“Who said Heather’s homecoming wrecked my Christmas?”

Casey only looked at her. “That’s got to be especially tough for someone like you. Someone who
loves
the holidays.”

It had been tough. It still was, in fact. Just last week, her mom had canceled their annual mother-daughter pre-Christmas shopping trip so she could pick up her
Heather Miller Live! from the Heartland
souvenir T-shirt order and distribute the shirts to the members of her knitting club. But Kristen hadn’t told Casey that.
How
had he gotten to be so freakishly perceptive?

Dumbfounded, Kristen couldn’t guess. All she knew was that Casey’s overt sympathy—served up with another helping of bedroom eyes for a starter and a hint of potential make-out session for dessert—made most of her remaining resistance to him crumple.

“Heather and her glam posse brought in
animatronic reindeer,
” Kristen told him. Surely, once Casey knew the facts, he would be on her side. “
Multiple
animatronic reindeer, to use around town while filming on location. Then, as a pièce de résistance, they dressed the reindeer in couture harnesses.”

“You must have loved that. Like dogs with sweaters!”

“Uh, no.” Kristen made a face. “The French designer who made the harnesses was feeling ‘inspired’ by vintage Parisian S&M gear. Those reindeer look like animatronic refugees from Disneyland’s ‘It’s a Small Sadomasochistic World’ ride.”

“Hmm. Bondage reindeer. Interesting choice.”

“Dasher, Prancer . . . and
Vixen!
They’re all over town now,” Kristen explained, “just like that ‘Cows on Parade’ exhibit in Chicago. It’s
disturbing
. And it’s
not
Christmassy.” She considered it. “Those harnesses don’t even have jingle bells!”

“. . . because
that’s
the biggest problem with whips-and-chains robo-reindeer.” Casey made a sardonic face. “You’re being circumspect, but I bet I can guess which designer it was. I’ve done some troubleshooting at Fashion Week, and I—”

“They blew in huge piles of fake snowdrifts outside, too, on top of the real snow,” Kristen rushed on, lest he get sidetracked before she made her point, “because the authentic stuff didn’t ‘read well’ on camera. They made all the local extras in the ‘audience’ get spray-on tans, because they looked too pale and ‘sickly’ to be Heather Miller fans. They said they didn’t look ‘aspirational’ enough for TV viewers.”

Casey nodded, unfazed. “That sounds about right.”

She couldn’t believe he couldn’t see how wrong all those things were. “They’re perverting the idea of Christmas, just for the sake of having a bigger, better,
faker
Christmas for TV. There’s more, too. Personal things. I can’t begin to tell you—”

“You know,” Casey mused with a shrewd expression, “if I can get them to move up the live-performance part of the show and wrap the rest of the production early, all that craziness will come to an end.” He gave Kristen a direct look. “If you help me get Heather on track, you can have your Christmas back.” A pause. “You can have your life back.”

Clearly, she’d given away too much already, if Casey had any inkling how much she wanted
that
. He definitely seemed to.

Kristen shook her head, wishing she’d never spoken up. This situation wasn’t as cut and dried as Casey wanted it to be. “My sister is more important to me than any Christmas tradition. I want her to be here,
really
at home for the holidays.”