Together for Christmas (46 page)

“Why not?” Kristen smiled. “There’s always ketchup.”

At her teasing, Casey gave her an affectionate smile.

They’d spent a few days together in California, exploring all the ways they could “celebrate” their togetherness. To Kristen’s surprise, it had turned out that T-shirts and shorts made very comfortable attire for tree-trimming parties and light-stringing shindigs. Eggnog still tasted delicious while being sipped beside the ocean. Christmas carols sounded good even when not juxtaposed with howling winter winds. And sunshine didn’t dampen her enthusiasm for Christmas a single bit—not when Casey was there beside her to share the holidays with, now and forever.

All the same, they’d decided together to come back to Kismet for Christmas. Because Kristen hadn’t forgotten what Casey had said about wanting a big family—even if he
had
meant a big family made up of quirky, unrelated oddballs, all with an excess of enthusiasm for renovated fifties gas stations, sugary sweets, and being together to celebrate the holidays.

“Didn’t Kristen tell you?” Gareth looked up from her supersize creation. “All Kristen’s pies-in-a-jar come in a Godzilla-size, I-dare-you-to-eat-all-this version first.”

“That’s right,” Avery agreed. “Each of us has a pie-in-a-jar dedicated especially to us. It’s a tradition.”

“A tradition that only happens for really special people,” Talia said, shooting a loving glance at Walden.

“A tradition that, in this case, seriously taxes the resources of the pastry department,” Walden added, “since Kristen put everything except the kitchen sink in there.”

Leaning against the booth beside Casey, Kristen put her arm around him. “Well, I had to do that,” she said warmly. “Casey’s got a lot of making up for lost time to do. So I had to fit
everything
Christmassy in there.” She gestured at her multilayer extravaganza. “It’s got several layers,” she told him, “so as you go, you’ll taste fruitcake, spritz cookies, gingerbread, peppermint bark, sugar cookies, plum pudding . . . the works. All topped with whipped cream. And sprinkles!”

Casey’s eyes lit up, like . . . well, like a kid’s at Christmas. A kid who’d finally, at long last, gotten his heart’s desire.

Casey looked at his custom, gigantic pie-in-a-jar. “I’m going to share this, of course,” he informed them all with a smile. “If this is some kind of hazing, I’m not doing it. I learned the hard way that
sharing
is where it’s at.”

Everyone nodded. “Go on! Dig in!” Gareth shouted.

Casey looked more closely. He seemed puzzled. “What’s the lighted candle in the middle for? It’s not my birthday.”

“It’s for you to make a wish.” Contentedly, Kristen nudged Casey sideways with her hip, then snuggled up next to him in his designated booth. They’d had his RESERVED sign professionally laminated and affixed to the diner’s wall nearby, so there would never be any confusion about who belonged there. She shrugged. “I can’t remember how it started. It’s just what we do. So go ahead,” she urged Casey. “Make a wish.”

“Make a wish!” Avery chanted. “Make a wish!”

Gareth, Talia, and Walden joined in, too, clanging their forks on the table with comical fervor. “Make a wish!”

“You’d better give in,” Kristen advised Casey with a jostle from her shoulder to his. “They’re not going to quit.”

“Okay.” With his face lit by the glow of his
welcome to the Galaxy Diner family
candle, Casey closed his eyes. He paused to make his wish. Then he blew out the candle.

Everyone cheered. Kristen squeezed his hand.

Casey opened his eyes. He gazed into her face.

“My wish just came true,” he told her.

And she knew as he said it that hers had, too.

Because all she’d ever wanted for Christmas was to feel happy. With Casey, Kristen did. Now and forever and for every single crazy Kismet Christmas that would come next.

Because life was sweet. And so was love . . . especially when it came along at Christmastime!

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading
Together for Christmas
!

I had so much fun writing about Kristen and Casey and the whole crew at the Galaxy Diner. They really found their way into my heart. I couldn’t wait to dream up happy endings for them! If you spotted a few familiar faces in this story, that’s because this is my third visit to Kismet, Michigan. It’s my favorite place to visit for Christmas!

To learn more about my other Kismet Christmas books,
Home for the Holidays
and
Holiday Affair,
please visit my Website at
www.lisaplumley.com
. While you’re there, you can also read free first-chapter excerpts from all my contemporary, historical, and paranormal romances, sign up for my new-book reminder service, catch sneak previews of my upcoming books, request special reader freebies, and more.

Are you curious about how to make Kristen’s apple pie-in-a-jar? Interested in getting recipes for other Christmas goodies and helpful holiday hints? If so, please follow@Heather_Hotline on Twitter, where I’ll be posting recipes and tips this holiday season!

Finally, I love hearing from readers, so I’d be thrilled if you would “friend” me on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/lisaplumleybooks
, follow me @LisaPlumley on Twitter, or e-mail me at [email protected].

Until next time . . . happy holidays!

Lisa Plumley

P.S. If you want to read about how Natasha and Damon got together before their surprise visit to Kismet, turn the page for a peek at
Melt Into You,
available in paperback and as an eBook wherever books are sold.

Chapter 1

La Jolla, California
September 2002

Damon Torrance believed in a lot of things.

He believed in perfect surf, unassailable integrity, and the ultimate Baja fish taco. He believed in making connections, making things happen, and making a never-fail margarita (it was all about the blue agave tequila). He believed that nudity was better than wearing . . . anything at all, no matter how pricey the clothes were or where you happened to be going.

He believed that rules were made to be broken and that whoever had said virtue was its own reward probably hadn’t tried hard enough to be bad first. He believed that person shouldn’t have made that decision so damn hastily. Or so publicly. Because that idiot had ruined it for everyone else who just wanted to have a good time.

When it came right down to it, more than anything else, Damon believed that life was too short to waste time with anything less than one hundred percent pleasure. Plain and simple.

That’s why, when he found himself spending a week with an attractive, capable, flirtatious, and ultra-available journalist (she made it bluntly, sexily, one-step-short-of-manhandling-him obvious that she was single) who was writing a profile of him and his family’s company, Torrance Chocolates, for
Oceanside Living
magazine’s “Getting to Know . . .” feature, Damon took the only reasonable action.

He let her seduce him. On his desk. In full view of the glittering Pacific Ocean outside. Right between his stapler and his office phone, with his brand-new, full-size desk calendar for a cushion. Not that Kimberly (the journalist) bothered to scout a prime location before she smiled, dropped her notepad, and lunged at him.

It would have been rude to say no, Damon reasoned. So he met her kiss with a sliding, seductive, nice-to-meet-you lip-lock of his own . . . and before he knew it, they were “Getting to Know . . .” each other pretty damn well. Kimberly’s warmth was a sharp contrast to the brisk ocean breeze coming in off the Pacific. Her perfume added synthetic flowers and spice to the sugary smells of the confectionary shop downstairs. Her breath panted over him. Her I’m-a-professional suit jacket hit the floor. So did his I’m-supposed-to-be-working shirt. They kissed a little more. Then they kissed again, more passionately.

A discordant electronic jangle startled them both.

Kimberly quit kissing him. She frowned. “What was that?”

“Who cares?” Right on cue, it happened again. At the sound, Damon glanced sideways. “Oh. It’s my father’s BlackBerry.”

At her mystified expression, Damon nodded at the device.

“It’s used to get e-mails and appointments on the go. I gave it to my dad as a birthday present, but he didn’t take to the technology the way I hoped he would. That’s why it’s in here and not with him.” Damon smiled at her. Confidingly, he added, “I think he’s afraid he’s going to drop ‘that expensive gadget’ into a vat of bittersweet chocolate ganache or something.”

It was semilikely. Jimmy Torrance spent most of his time and all his creativity on the family business. That’s how he’d turned a tiny seaside sweetshop into one of San Diego’s favorite “hidden treasures” for thirty years running. That’s how he’d earned himself the very office that he shared with Damon today.

“Aw. You gave your dad a birthday present?” Kimberly cooed, running her fingers over his bare chest. “That’s
so
sweet!”

“It’s not that unusual, actually. He
is
my dad, after all. I give my mom something on her birthday every year, too.”

Kimberly shook her head, seeming inordinately impressed with his filial devotion. “I knew you were more than just a studly corporate hotshot.” More stroking. “You’re a nice guy, too! I have to say, when I heard I’d be profiling the company’s head of Internet development, I was expecting to meet someone a lot more . . .” Here, she broke off. She gave him a thorough once-over. She shrugged. “Well . . . geekier.”

Damon grinned. “You can’t judge a book by its cover. Any second now, I might start talking about byte serving, hypertext transfer protocol, and compression scheme negotiation.”

“I have a better idea.” Kimberly slid her hands lower. She cupped his ass, then hauled him nearer. “Don’t talk at all.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Agreeably, Damon concentrated on using his mouth for more diverting activities than talking. But even as he did, his dad’s BlackBerry chimed again. Damon began remembering something—something he ought to have remembered earlier.

At the same time, a familiar voice floated down the corridor outside his office. “Damon? Well, I guess you’d say he’s a genius,” his father was telling someone proudly. “His official promotion was a long time coming. He resisted it, but—”

Whatever else Jimmy said was lost to Damon. He was too busy simultaneously enjoying the naughty way Kimberly was nibbling on his ear and trying to remember what his father had said earlier.

All that came to mind was his father saying, as he’d done a million times a day since Damon had been old enough to outwit his first babysitter and go looking for adventure, “You’ve got to
focus,
Damon. Focus! Try to behave for once. All right?”

But all those requests were bona fide lost causes, and they both knew it. Who did his father think he’d been raising all this time? One of the Backstreet Boys? A new Disney teenybopper idol?

Hell, no. There was no fun to be had in being
good
. Damon knew that. There was no glory to be found in staying focused, either. All that mattered was looking ahead . . . and maybe finding out if Kimberly’s freckles meandered all the way to her cleavage. Curiously, Damon started unbuttoning her shirt.

The voices outside grew louder. His father—and his unknown guest—were coming closer. Probably to this office. Damon swore.

With a mighty effort, he wrenched himself away from Kimberly. He peeked down at his desk calendar. It was rumpled. It had slid pretty far sideways. But Damon could still make out something handwritten on the square representing today’s date.

There, right next to Kimberly’s delectable bare thigh, were the words
administrative assistant
and the time,
9:30
.

Having deciphered his father’s unmistakable scrawl, Damon blinked in surprise. “You can
write
on these things?”

Kimberly laughed. “That’s what they’re for, silly.”

“Oh. I thought it was decorative. But in my own defense, I don’t spend much time in the office.” Momentarily distracted again, Damon lowered his gaze to the cleavage he’d revealed, framed now by Kimberly’s silky unbuttoned shirt. He looked at the high, high slit on her
Ally McBeal
-style miniskirt (damn, he loved that trend), then stroked his fingers over her knee. “It made a really fine landing pad, though. You were clever enough to discover that for us.”

“It was my pleasure.
Believe me.
” Kimberly gave him another sultry look. She seemed to specialize in them. “Now . . . where were we?”

“Right about . . . here.” Damon squeezed her thigh. Another kiss kept him pinned atop her, even as he heard footsteps coming nearer. Just then, he didn’t care. Life was all about enjoyment.

“. . . and this is where you’ll be spending most of your time,” Jimmy Torrance said as he opened the office door. “I’m afraid you might be stuck inside a lot, but the view is awfully nice.”

“Oh, yes, it
is
nice,” his father’s female guest said in an appreciative tone. Her footsteps preceded his into the office. “I love the ocean!” There was a pause. Then, in a wry voice, she added, “Will the guy who’s humping like a bunny on the desk be here every day? Or is that a one-time-only thing?”

No one ever answered her question. Natasha Jennings would have been lying if she’d said she wasn’t disappointed by that.

In the few minutes it took for Jimmy Torrance to hastily cross the room, shut off his dinging BlackBerry on the other unoccupied desk, and confer with the desktop Casanova and his nearly naked female partner, though, she did learn several interesting facts about her new workplace.

First of all, she learned that either today was Nooky Monday or Torrance Chocolates was a
lot
more freewheeling than she’d anticipated. Second, she learned that it was both busier and much more charming—given its location inside a two-story former surf shop in La Jolla—than she’d foreseen based on her initial interview. Third, she learned that although her official job title was
administrative assistant
, they might as well have had
miracle worker
printed on her business cards.