Together for Christmas (24 page)

“Someone told me you’re here to derail the production.”

Shane frowned. “I’m guessing that ‘someone’ was Casey?”

Well, she’d never claimed to be skilled at subterfuge, Kristen told herself. Shane had seen right through her attempts to get more information. Caught, she glanced toward the dance floor. But she could no longer see Casey discoing in its center.

Surprised, she scrutinized the rec center. The party was in full swing now, with gifts being piled beneath the Christmas tree, music pumping from Gareth’s speakers (currently, “Run, Run, Rudolph”), and more seniors cutting a rug.

Deliberately and determinedly, she looked back at Shane. “It doesn’t matter who told me. I’m asking
you
face-to-face. Are you going to ruin my sister’s TV special? Because it really means a lot to her. She’s put in a lot of work already. And if everyone would just step off for a second and let her focus—”

Shane’s smile broke into her dedicated defense. “If I were in town to cause trouble for Heather, would I be here hanging out with you? Wouldn’t I be stirring up trouble on set instead?”

“You can’t. Everyone’s probably gone home by now.”

He laughed. “You haven’t spent much time down there, have you? Making a TV show is not necessarily a nine-to-five gig.”

Kristen had no defense for that. She
hadn’t
spent much time on the set of Heather’s holiday TV special. “All the same—”

“All the same, you have nothing to worry about.” Shane gave her a flattering look. “I admire your loyalty to your sister, Kristen, but you’re looking in the wrong direction. I’m not the enemy.” He scoured the rec center with a telling glance—a glance that suggested
Casey
was the enemy, not him. “Give some thought to that licensing deal, okay? I promise I’ll be in touch.”

Then, before Kristen could remind Shane that she wasn’t interested—now or later—in his promises or in his licensing deal, he ducked into the crowd and disappeared from sight.

Chapter 15

Kismet Senior Center
T-minus 16.75 days until Christmas

It took all the forbearance Casey possessed not to stalk over to where Shane Maresca was looming smarmily over Kristen, drag him forcibly away from her, and then punch him in the face.

He figured his former best friend would look pretty good laid out on the rec-center floor with a black eye forming and maybe a tooth or two missing. It would only be poetic justice. Because Shane had caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people over the last decade or two of his life. It would be only fair if he experienced some of the pain he dished out for himself.

But then Casey saw Kristen shake hands with him. He saw her smile up at him. And he realized that, now more than ever, he could not resort to brute thuggery to get what he wanted. His days of using his fists to solve problems were behind him. He had to remember that . . . even if, somewhere in his caveman brain, he wanted to grab Kristen by her hair and haul her off someplace where they would finally be alone together long enough to enjoy . . .
everything
there was to enjoy about being alone together.

Before he could think about that, though, he had to deal with Shane. Because the only thing worse than having Shane in his face in full anti-fixer mode was having Shane lurking behind the scenes in stealth anti-fixer mode. Casey needed to get to Shane before he went underground—before he set in motion whatever underhanded schemes he’d arranged to derail Heather’s TV special and then disappeared the way he always did.

So Casey waited until he saw Shane make his move. He tailed him through the jolly crowd of shimmying seniors. And he caught up with him outside, just as Shane was pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Shane tapped out a smoke, pulled out a lighter . . .

. . . and then found himself smacked against the fake garland and twinkling lights that adorned the senior center’s exterior cinderblock fence. His body made a satisfying thud when it hit, too.

Okay. So maybe Casey
wasn’t
quite over the brute force approach yet. He wasn’t perfect. Or anywhere close to it.

“Hey!” Belligerently, Shane shoved him back. “Watch it.”

Casey stumbled a few steps backward. He made fists.

Then Shane saw that it was Casey who’d followed him outside. His pugilistic attitude softened. He even grinned.

“Jesus, Casey! Lighten up with the bro-hugs, dude. You almost made me drop my cigarette.” Shane raised that slender cylinder in demonstration, then propped it between his lips. His lighter flared. A few practiced motions later, his cigarette burned brightly, sending up tobacco smoke. “What’s up?”

“That
wasn’t
a ‘bro-hug,’” Casey informed him, shoulders tense. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not friends anymore.”

“Yeah. It’s hard to stay friends with someone who wants to kick your ass. Although God knows I’ve tried.” Through a haze of cigarette smoke, Shane eyed him. He squinted, plucked a stray bit of tobacco off his lip, then flicked it toward the senior center’s sidewalk. “About that ‘friends’ thing. I think we should—”

But Casey didn’t want to hear it. He wished Shane had never brought it up. “I thought I told you to stay away from Kristen.”

“You did.” A shrug. “I said I’d think about it.”

“Think harder,” Casey advised.

His former friend’s smile flashed at him. “Hey, girls like me. I can’t help it. Am I supposed to hurt her feelings?”

“Am I supposed to believe
she
came on to
you?
”

“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.” Shane drew deeply on his cigarette. He examined its glowing tip. “But since it’s Christmastime and all, I’ll do the generous thing—”

Casey chortled. As if Shane could ever be generous.

“—and let you know, before your inner Hulk comes out again, that Kristen and I were talking business. That’s all.”

“What kind of business?” Casey asked suspiciously.

“Personal business.”

A growl forced its way from Casey’s throat. He started. Since when had he become some sort of club-wielding Neanderthal?

Oh yeah. Since Kristen. Since he maybe-fell-in-love with Kristen. Since he started thinking they could have a future.

“Oh, calm down, He-Man.” Shane laughed at Casey’s undoubtedly murderous expression. He spread his arms in an ostensible show of harmless goodwill. “Your lady friend wants to set up a licensing deal to distribute and sell her baked goods nationwide. I guess she thought I could help with that somehow.”

“Why would she think that?”

A shrug. “Maybe I look smart. Or connected. Or both.”

“
I’m
smart. And connected.” Too late, Casey heard the aggrieved tone in his voice. Viciously, he tamped it down. Smoothly, he asked, “What did you tell her?”

“About the licensing and distribution deal?”

“No, about the true meaning of Christmas.”

Another laugh. “Look, we both know I’m the wrong guy to try to put a deal
together,
” Shane told him. “That’s hardly my specialty.” It was the closest he’d ever come to acknowledging his shady business practices. “All I can say is that Kristen seemed pretty keen to get in on something soon. Especially if—”

Abruptly, he quit talking. Casey glared at him. “If what?”

“Nah. I shouldn’t say.” In the multicolored glow of the damn twinkly holiday lights, Shane waved his cigarette. He took another deep drag. The smell of tobacco
almost
overpowered the ever-present Kismet-specialty gingerbread aroma that Casey had come (against his will) to enjoy all over town.
Almost
.

“I should get back inside,” Shane said. “I promised one of those old coots I’d take a turn at calling Christmas bingo.”

Casey narrowed his eyes. “Screw bingo,” he said . . . only in much cruder terms. There was no need for subtlety between them.

“Fine.” Shane rolled his eyes. Seeming resigned, he hunched against the cold. “If you’re going to drag it out of me—”

“I could beat it out of you,” Casey offered good-naturedly. He cracked his knuckles to prove it. “I’m pretty sure I have some lingering frustrations that need expressing.”

Shane clucked in disapproval. “You should get some therapy for those anger issues, dude. Seriously. What’s done is done. It was a long time ago!” He gazed toward the town surrounding them, examining the houses with their frosty Christmas-light-strung eaves and their windows shining with togetherness. “I already told you I was sorry. I don’t know what else I can do.”

Sorry
could never replace what Casey had lost. He knew that. He couldn’t believe Shane didn’t. That meant he had to be twisting the knife on purpose. Or he was impossibly kludgy—to the point of being unable to function in society. Since
that
was obviously not true . . . Barely able to speak, Casey settled for delivering Shane a killing look. His former friend seemed to realize he was treading on thin ice. He sighed theatrically.

“Kristen didn’t say it outright,” Shane relented, “but I got the impression she’d be especially interested in a licensing deal that involved her sister somehow. She and Heather are really tight.” He tossed down his cigarette, then ground it out beneath his boot. He frowned at Casey. “Consider that piece of intel a peace offering, from me to you. Again . . . Merry Christmas.”

Then Shane held up his hand and turned into the night, leaving Casey alone to wonder . . . Could he trust Shane? Ever again?

Could it be possible that he really wanted to mend things between them and was trying a stupidly ham-fisted way to do it? Or was he trying to keep Casey busy while he pursued Kristen?

It would be just like Shane to do whatever he had to do to impress a woman—even one who would never be his.

Even one like Kristen.

Either way, Casey decided, he couldn’t afford to overlook whatever information came his way—however specious its origin.

After all, Shane had been right about one thing: Kristen and Heather really were close. He knew that was true. Probably the rest of what Shane had said was true, too, and Kristen
did
want a licensing and distribution deal that involved her sister.

Casey had to beat Shane to making that deal happen. Because even though he couldn’t claim credit for this Christmas party (one of the must-have items on Kristen’s wish list, he remembered), he
could
try to arrange a very special gift for her this year. A gift that would bring her closer to Heather, solve her financial problems,
and
change her life forever.

As far as Casey could see, there was no downside to that.

Just like Shane,
he
had connections, Casey reminded himself, feeling combative all over again. In fact, he probably had
more
connections—in higher places—than Shane Maresca ever thought of having.

Casey had smart ideas. He had marketing expertise. He had—when he decided to take advantage of it—the kind of unfettered access to Heather Miller that Shane could only dream of. And he had persuasive ability to spare. All that remained now was using those qualities. For Kristen’s sake. To make her happy.

Because that’s what people in love did. Right?

Casey wasn’t one hundred percent sure. He’d never been in love before. Not like this. But he did know of
one
surefire way to make Kristen feel very,
very
happy . . . and it didn’t involve marketing or networking or on-the-job expertise. All it involved was him, her . . . and about sixteen days’ worth of getting-to-know-you time. All compressed into a single mind-blowing night.

Galvanized by the thought, Casey swiveled on his heel. The motion brought him face-to-face with the Kismet Senior Center’s modest sided exterior, extravagantly strung Christmas lights, and overall aura of hominess. It smelled like gingerbread and evergreens and medicinal arthritis ointment. It sounded like the holidays had gotten wedged inside, circa 1976, and couldn’t get out. It swelled with laughing residents and generous workers and friends and families and locals who’d just stopped by to boogie.

And Casey would be damned if he didn’t kind of like it.

He especially liked it at Christmastime, just like this.

Shuddering at that traitorous thought, he shrugged more deeply into his suit jacket, then deliberately crunched down some snow on his way back inside. He was going to find Kristen and make her his . . . but there was no way in hell Casey Jackson was going to fall in love with Christmas while he was doing it.

Despite her determination to grab Casey and duck out of the Christmas Disco Night party early (for once) for the sake of enjoying some long-awaited private time with him, in the end, Kristen discovered that she just couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t because she couldn’t find Casey; she did, shortly after her talk with Shane. It wasn’t because she changed her mind; she
really
didn’t do that. After all the kissing she and Casey had done in her office, Kristen felt more ready to go than ever. And it wasn’t because Casey didn’t provide the necessary ingredients to keep her motor running; he really did, in spades.

In fact, in his well-fitted wool suit, shiny oxfords, and pristine button-up shirt, Casey provide all the inspiration a girl could have asked for—and more. Which was to say that he looked
fine
. Like an amalgamation of James Bond and an action-movie hero, with a dash of outdoorsiness and a lot of friendly approachability thrown in. Just looking at him as she laughingly crossed the dance floor to join him in her own version of the hustle made Kristen feel all
fluttery
inside. It was as though, if she didn’t get Casey alone soon, she might have to relax her policy on getting lucky within earshot of all her friends and neighbors and just try out a vacant room. Since she’d already tossed aside her famous litmus test for him (at least preemptively), she had to retain some standards.

Not that it was going to be easy . . .

In the end, the only reason Kristen couldn’t simply bash Casey over the head with a Yule log and drag him home to her den of disrepute was a simple one. Because, as they finished dancing and meandered down the senior center’s central corridor to find a quieter place to take a breather (and maybe discuss ditching the party altogether), Kristen unexpectedly heard Casey say something that surprised her.