Together for Christmas (14 page)

Right now, the target of Casey’s disdain was sloping dangerously to the right, threatening to crumple under the weight of too much royal icing and too many gingerbread stories.

“I warned you that was too much icing,” she said, putting aside her piping bag to examine his gingerbread high-rise. “All that excess icing is making your structure lose its integrity. More isn’t always better, you know. Sometimes, less is more.”

“‘Less is more’?” Casey scoffed, looking endearingly determined. He seemed ready to go for the Olympic gold at gingerbread-house building. Or maybe die trying. “Have you been sniffing glue? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yes, it does,” Kristen insisted. “Your building proves it. Less would definitely have been more with that . . . thing you made.”

In the midst of prayerfully holding up an interior load-bearing wall, Casey stilled. He transferred his gaze from his gingerbread creation—if it had been on fire,
towering inferno
would have been the most apt term for it—to her face.

“I can make it work,” he said. “I always do.”

“But you don’t have to ‘make it work’!” Surprised at his unyielding demeanor, Kristen softened her tone. She nudged his shoulder. “Hey. It’s supposed to be fun, remember? It’s Christmas! It’s jolly! The fate of the world isn’t riding on the success or failure of your gingerbread house.”

His renewed glower told her Casey wasn’t convinced. She wondered if every aspect of Christmas made him feel this way—as though, if it didn’t succeed,
he
was somehow to blame for it.

If it did, no wonder he didn’t like Christmas.

“It won’t be a failure.” He tightened his jaw as though hoping to strengthen his tottering gingerbread house through force of will alone. “I refuse to let it be a failure.”

“I see. And how’s that working out for you?”

He transferred his tight-jawed look to her. “It’s great.”

Yikes. She blanched, belatedly realizing that he really meant it. Something about this project was genuinely getting to him. “Okay! Sorry! I keep forgetting you’ve never done this before.” After all, Casey had volunteered to build gingerbread houses for
her
sake. She couldn’t very well give him a hard time about it now, when he’d only been being nice. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

She pointed at his building’s roof. “I beg to differ.
Casa Jackson
is sliding into the ocean.” She indicated the “sea” of crushed wild-blue-raspberry candies he’d used as a base. “See?”

“I don’t need help,” Casey insisted. “I’m the one who does the helping, not the one being helped. I’m the troubleshooter, not the trouble.” Stubbornly, he propped up his gingerbread house’s sloping exterior wall with his forearm. “Check it out. That makes
three stories
of gingerbread. This building
rocks
.”

“Yep.” Kristen gave him a commiserating look. “All you have to do now is stay here, frozen in that position, all night long, until the four inches of icing you used dries out.”

He nodded. “No problem. I’m a human pretzel. I have infinite patience, too.” Not demonstrating it at that moment, he peered at his structure. “Whoa!” Catching another imminent icing avalanche, Casey stuck out his elbow, too. Now he was truly contorted. But he looked at her with perfect nonchalance. “There. See what I mean? I have a knack. It’s easy-peasy.”

She stifled a grin. “You’re a quick study at this.”

“That’s right. I can go all night, baby.”

She laughed outright. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Stay here,” Casey said, “and you will.”

Tempted by that, Kristen hesitated. She’d only planned to accompany Casey to the B&B’s famous Christmas buffet, then return to town to deal with her own problems. Surely she’d already “distracted” Casey as much as she’d promised Heather she would for one day. Besides, he hadn’t even been interested in visiting Heather on set. Not yet, at least. So Kristen had been officially off the hook, dealing-with-The-Terminator-wise.

But then Casey had touched her hand near The Christmas House’s twin decorated Noble fir trees, and he’d invited her to make gingerbread houses with him, and he’d appeared so charming and eager and
hopeful
that Kristen hadn’t been able to resist.

She almost hadn’t been able to resist kissing him, either. Fortunately, Shane Maresca had come along at exactly the right moment to give her a convenient excuse to bail. Otherwise, Kristen knew, she would have been locking lips with Casey like there was no tomorrow, in full view of everyone at the B&B.

She might be open-minded about sex (and she was). She might be willing to go for the gusto when it came to the sensual give-and-take involved (naturally enough). But she
wasn’t
usually this easy when it came to men (seriously). Despite Talia and Gareth’s cynical take on her love life, Kristen was not typically overinvested in go-nowhere relationships.

At least she didn’t think she was . . .

Was she?

Nah,
she assured herself as she watched Casey perform a few semiacrobatic maneuvers to one-handedly add candy-cane trim to his spicy gingerbread skyscraper. She simply hadn’t met anyone who made her
want
to take things more seriously yet. She couldn’t help that. She couldn’t help liking the adventure and excitement and breeziness of a fast-and-casual relationship.

Most of all, Kristen realized, she couldn’t help liking Casey.
In spite
of the fact that any relationship between them would be (necessarily) casual. Not
because
of that.

It didn’t seem to matter that they’d only just met. Kristen
liked
him. She liked the way he looked, the way he sounded . . . even the way he smelled, like soapy studliness and fresh air rolled into one. It was a heady mix, especially when combined with his promise to make sure she had a nice Christmas this year.

That was already impossible, of course, but still . . .

“So . . .” Cheering up, Casey gazed at her. “Having fun?”

“Well, you
did
arrange some cookie decorating for me,” Kristen mused, “which was one of the things on my list of official Christmas favorites. So . . . yes.” A nod. “I am having fun.”

He beamed. Then he leaned sideways as far as he could without endangering the structural integrity of his skyscraper.

“Hear that, Maresca?” he asked. “She’s having
fun
.”

On Kristen’s other side, Shane Maresca leaned past her.

“Yeah, I heard. I’m really glad.” He offered Casey’s wobbly structure a pitying look. “Too bad about your gingerbread hut, though, dude. I think it’s going to have to be condemned.”

For a nanosecond, a wounded expression flashed across Casey’s face. Without thinking, Kristen reached out to him.

“I think it’s charming!” she insisted.

But she was too late. The two men were already off.

“Ha,” Casey shot back. “Your
face
should be condemned.”

“Really?” Shane offered in a blasé tone. “If you think you’re man enough to do it, have at it, punk.”

“Good idea.” Casey scowled threateningly, still holding up his gingerbread walls. “I’ll use your face as a wrecking ball.”

Shane sneered. “You’d have to let go of your ‘creation’ to do that. It won’t stay up without your stupid elbows.”

“You’d know about stupid, with your big, stupid face.”

At that, Kristen shook her head. She ought to break up this potential showdown, she knew, but their over-the-top machismo was actually kind of entertaining. She had enough guy friends to know that sometimes men related to one another strangely.

On the other hand, although most people had decamped to other Christmas activities by now, there were still a few children present at the gingerbread house table. They probably didn’t need to hear two grown men taking potshots at each other.

“At least
I
know how to get my ‘big, stupid face’ under the mistletoe at the right moment,” Shane was boasting when she tuned back in. “Unlike
you
, Jackson, I know how to take advantage of an opportunity.”

Galvanized by his words, Kristen momentarily lost the ability to play referee. Shane
had
to be talking about the harmless Christmas kiss they’d shared under the mistletoe—and he was using it to goad Casey. Judging by the thunderclouds darkening Casey’s expression, Shane’s jab had hit its mark, too.

That was . . . surprising, she thought. By anyone’s standards, it had been a pretty harmless kiss. It had been on the cheek. It hadn’t involved tongue (which—on the cheek—would have been both gross
and
weird). And it had been a simple by-product of Christmas cheer. That made it officially harmless.

Apparently, Casey and Shane didn’t see it that way.

“Hey.” Kristen rose. “I’m
right here,
” she told Shane. “And I’m not some kind of prize to be won with Christmas kissing.”

Shane relented. He spread his hands. “Kristen, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. Of course you’re not a prize.”

He cast a chastising scowl in Casey’s direction. “Even if
some people
want to behave as though you are.
I
won’t do it.”

Kristen sighed. “You just did! You did it again.”

Casey scowled anew. “Do you want me to smack him for you?”

At his pugnacious, bloodthirsty expression, Kristen almost laughed. Whatever had happened between these two, it must have been a doozy. Because while she fancied herself a newly minted archrival, Shane and Casey really
were
sworn enemies.

Which was strange, given how curiously alike they were . . .

“No, thank you, Casey,” she said politely.

“It’s no trouble,” he insisted. “I’d be happy to do it.”

“I said I can handle it,” Kristen told him, not bothering to elaborate. If Casey had really done as much reconnaissance on her as he seemed to have done, he already knew she was self-sufficient and capable. She didn’t need a man to fight for her.

“I can smack him myself,” she added. Then she did.

Her playful wallop to Shane’s shoulder was more gratifying than it ought to have been. Especially since Shane played along by yelping and exaggeratedly grabbing his shoulder. “Hey!”

“There,” Kristen said with a self-satisfied grin, dusting off her hands. “Now we’re square.”

“
I
would have done that,” Casey grumbled.

“
She
did it better than you would have,” Shane goaded.

But this time, Casey didn’t take the bait. Instead, his gaze swerved from Shane to a spot someplace over his shoulder. He squinted, his attention momentarily diverted to . . . something.

Probably to something imaginary. Something that would get Shane to look, too. Kristen used to play this game with Heather when they were kids. They called it the “made you look!” game.

“
And
my gingerbread house is bigger than yours,” Shane added. He nudged Kristen. “Did you see my chocolate terrace?”

“Do you ask all the ladies that question, or just me?”

Shane laughed. “Just you. You’re special.”

Briefly, he shifted his gaze to Casey, who was still looking outside. In the yard, a light snow had begun to fall. Some of the B&B guests were assembling for an activity.

But Casey missed his chance to catch Shane looking, so Shane handily returned his attention to her. “Hey, don’t leave me hanging here, gorgeous. Go on. Take a look.”

Obligingly, Kristen leaned toward his gingerbread house. It was about the same size as Casey’s, but . . . “Wow. You’ve got yourself a regular gingerbread pied-à-terre there.”

“It’s a model of my summer apartment building in the 16th arrondissement,” Shane told her proudly. “Near the Trocadéro.”

“In
Paris?
” Impressed, Kristen looked more closely. Now that she knew its origins, she could spy the candy architectural details that gave Shane’s creation a Parisian feel. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris. Do you go there every summer?”

“I try,” Shane said. “I have a lot of friends in the area.”

Kristen smiled at him. “Lucky you.”

“Honestly? I feel luckier to be here right now, with you.” Shane fleetingly touched her hand, then moved his fingers away. “Who needs a bunch of French diplomats and designers to pal around with? Give me a nice, down-home Christmas and I’m happy.”

“Me too.” Kristen nodded, reminded all over again that Shane had a talent for conversation that was very much like Casey’s. For whatever reason, though, Shane’s banter didn’t affect her the same way Casey’s did. Neither did his touch. Which was probably for the best. Her life was already complicated enough. “At this point, I’m kind of pinning my hopes on next year’s Christmas, though,” she confessed.

“Really?” Shane looked concerned. “Why?”

“Well . . .” Hesitant to confide in yet another newcomer about her Heather-related holiday travails, Kristen shrugged. “It’s complicated. Forget I said anything.”

“Is it because of that lunkhead over there? Is he spoiling your Christmas already?” Shane joked, nodding toward Casey. “He’s a verifiable Grinch. Has been since he was just a kid.”

That perked up Kristen. “You knew Casey when he was a kid?”

That would give the two of them more history together than she’d originally thought. Lots of things could have happened between them to cause the rift they were experiencing.

“Since I was twelve,” Casey broke in curtly from the other side of her. He aimed a censorious look at Shane—a look that held a confusing amount of what looked like . . .
fondness?
It vanished before she could be sure. “We were in the same foster home for a while, raising hell and stirring up trouble.”

“Really? That makes you an odd choice to become a troubleshooter,” Kristen said, picturing the two of them as rowdy preteens. It was an entertaining—and surprisingly heart-tugging—image. She turned to the man on her right. “But I don’t even know what you do for a living yet, Shane. What—”

“Another time.” With a fleeting smile, Shane stood, too. He squeezed her hand, then leaned in to brush his lips against her temple. It was a very European gesture. “I just saw someone I know. I want to go say hello before they get away.”