by Jayne Denker
“This is a professional operation!”
“Still . . .”
“You tell your father—” Ray started, pointing at her with the corner of the clipboard, but Niall broke in.
“Hey, Ray, can I talk to you for a second?” Ray swiveled his head around till he fixed on Niall. “Maybe we can all take five?”
“What do you want, Crenshaw? We’re in the middle of something here.”
“Exactly the reason to take five,” Niall muttered low enough for only Celia to hear before he gave her waist a quick squeeze and vaulted up onto the stage.
Celia resisted the urge to take a series of photos of Niall just to capture how smoothly he moved. Instead, she took more photos of the participants while Niall and Ray conferred behind her while she tried to eavesdrop. What she heard was Niall speaking low and indistinctly, his sexy tenor rolling over Ray’s barks as if to smooth out the other man’s rough edges. The only things she could make out were occasional outbursts from Ray, including “What?! Are you insane?” and “You are insane,” and finally, “This will never work,” but punctuated by a resigned sigh.
It was a miracle; Niall had calmed Ray down. A bit, anyway.
Then there was an intimate little scritch on the top of her head. She looked up to find Niall above her, crouched at the edge of the stage.
“What just happened?” she asked.
“The singer I got. I told Ray.”
“It didn’t sound like he was too open to the idea.”
“It’ll be perfect.”
“Who’d you—?”
And then everyone turned to see someone new marching down the aisle.
“Oh my God,” Celia said quietly. “You didn’t.”
“Can we move this along? I’ve got the lunch rush coming up.”
Nobody answered Nora; they were all too stunned to see her there in the first place.
“Ray? Did you hear me?” the diner owner demanded.
He blinked at the woman standing at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, her halo of hair framing a very irritated expression. “Right!” he finally exclaimed. “Right. Of course. Let’s continue, everybody. Er, change of plans, thanks to Crenshaw. Nora will be joining us as a contestant—”
“No,” Nora stated plainly, cutting him off.
“What’s that?”
“I’m not competing.”
Ray’s impatience finally won out over his shock. “Then what are you here for?”
Niall spoke up. “She’s going to be one of the pros.”
“Oh, come on now!” Ray burst out. “These teams have been very carefully—”
“And it’s worked out so well for you already. Make her a pro, and give her somebody—”
Ray grabbed Niall’s elbow and pulled him farther upstage, away from the group, which was talking excitedly among themselves. After a moment, he barked, “Celia! Get up here!”
“I’m busy taking photos, Ray.”
“Quit it and get up here.”
With a heavy sigh, Celia climbed up onto the stage and approached the men in time to hear Niall say, “Pair up Nora with Brianna, and maybe that’ll calm her dad down.”
“Brianna’s going to be with Alice Dermody, a sweet old lady from the Lutheran church choir. Nice and safe. Which I would have told her, if you hadn’t interrupted with your own bombshell, Crenshaw.”
“Which one is Alice?”
“Couldn’t make it today. But she’ll be ready for rehearsals.”
“What about Nora?”
“We don’t even know what Nora sounds like! She could have a bullfrog croak for a voice after all these years. What in the hell were you thinking, getting her to participate at all?”
Niall shrugged. “I just thought it would be a good idea. For everybody.”
“Crenshaw, you don’t know diddly about this town or anybody who lives here, so don’t start acting like you do—”
“You told me to go with my gut, so I did.”
“I take it back.”
“Put her with Laurie.”
Both men stopped arguing and stared at Celia like she’d started speaking in tongues.
“What?” Ray fought out.
“Put Nora with Laurie,” Celia repeated. “You said you didn’t have another pro to pair her up with; now you do. Nora doesn’t hate Laurie like half the town does, so she’d be willing to sing with her.”
“Are you kidding? I’d pair myself up with Laurie before I’d make anyone else do it. In fact, I was planning on it.”
“You’d sing with Laurie to sabotage her,” Celia snapped. “Don’t deny it.”
Ray didn’t; he just went red in the face as she read his mind. Niall turned to Ray with a “your move” look on his face, eyebrow cocked, a broad grin stretching his mouth.
“Fine,” he snapped. “Nora with Laurie.”
“Great idea, Ray,” Niall exclaimed, thoroughly enjoying the whole incident, as Ray marched back to the edge of the stage. To Celia, he murmured, “Excellent strategizing there, Miss Celia.”
“How did you get Nora to agree to this?”
“Oh, I just turned on my charm, you know.”
“You don’t say.”
“All right,” Ray announced, and everyone in the auditorium quieted down again. “Here are the teams. Nestor Otero and Missy Preston. Lorenzo D’Annunzio and Rachel Dwyer. Brianna, you’re staying—no arguments. As I was going to say before we were interrupted, you’ll be with Alice Dermody.” Ray plowed on to keep Brianna from protesting. “Nora will be one of the pro partners, and she’ll be teaming up with Laurie Hoffman. Yeah, yeah, I don’t like it any more than you do,” he muttered as the singers murmured in shock and turned their attention to Celia, who pretended she didn’t see them staring.
“Okay? Four teams. Like I said before, two songs each. Er, limited to whatever songs DJ Alfie has on his karaoke machine he’s lending us, so good luck picking your song. Choose carefully, pick one that’ll play to your strengths. The second will be a surprise. You won’t know what it is until we cue it up.”
“But . . . Ray, that sucks!” Rachel burst out. “We won’t have time to practice that one!”
“Exactly,” Ray countered. “I want rough, I want edgy. Raw talent is more interesting than too polished. Now, don’t worry—I’m picking songs you’ll know, songs that will match your talents and your styles. But I want this to be interesting, got it? Expect curve balls. No mercy.” Celia and Niall exchanged concerned glances. “The teams won’t all meet at the same time—I’m keeping you apart so you won’t know what the others are doing. Wardrobe . . . flashy but not trashy—and I’m looking at you, Lorenzo—” The large man chuckled and pretended to flex. “Audra will be our wardrobe consultant.”
“What!” Missy Preston exclaimed. “That cheap—”
“You got time to do wardrobe, Missy?”
“I could!”
“No, you couldn’t. I want you to focus on your performance. Now listen up, people—this show is really important, so I want everyone in it to take it seriously. This is just one phase of my plan to make the summer arts program big again, to benefit the town and, by association, everyone in it, especially those of you with small businesses. Like you, Missy. Let Audra take care of the clothes and makeup. It won’t kill you. Likewise, Lorenzo and Nora, I don’t want you thinking you can do concessions during intermission. You plain old won’t have time either.”
“Then who is going to be doing concessions?” Nora asked, frowning suspiciously. She was very critical of the other food establishments in town.
“Beers is doing some bar food, and I’m going to see if George can make a few dozen pies. Oh—and Paulie’s going to have his usual table.”
Ray waved down the sudden wash of groans as Celia informed Niall, “Local vintner. Don’t drink his stuff if you want to live.”
“If it’s so bad, why is Ray letting him sell it?”
“Local is everything,” she answered with a shrug. “That’s why
Ray wouldn’t go outside of town to find singers. His motto is ‘keep everything local’—always.”
“So he solicits me to host. Makes perfect sense.”
“You’re the exception,” Celia said with a smile, then added, “to everything, apparently.”
“I keep telling you that, but you never believe me.”
Chapter 20
“Tell me you love me.”
“Dude . . .”
“Say it, or I’m not telling you the good news. Say, ‘Trent, I love you. You are the most amazing personal assistant anyone could ever have. I’m doubling your salary.’ ”
“Trent, you are the most annoying person on the planet, and if you don’t tell me right now, you’re fired.”
“Empty threat. I have the advantage.”
“Come on—!”
Trent sighed through the phone. “Okay, okay. The good news is you’re almost in the clear.”
Niall stumbled and nearly went ass-over-tip on the back steps of the inn. Pushing the door open, he whispered into his phone, “Are you serious? Don’t toy with me, man. You’d better be for real.”
“For real. You think I’m lying to you just to drive you crazy?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. So . . . really? That’s it? Tiffany and I are done?”
“Mm, almost.”
“See? Lying to me.”
“There are just one or two minor things to tie up.”
Niall leaned against the wall in the back hallway with a sigh. “Like?”
“Well, I’ve got the letter of dissolution, and I can e-mail it to you now. Sign it and send it back. The question is, how long does it take the Pony Express to travel from there to here? And will it cost you an extra feedbag of oats for express delivery?”
“You know more about horses than I’d have given you credit for.”
“I have a thing for Bonanza reruns.”
Niall sighed. “This town does have enough technology that I can print it, sign it, scan it, and send it back.”
“Shut up!”
“Internet connection works fine when it rains and the water wheel is rolling.”
“Well, do it, then.”
“And then I’m free?”
“Mm . . .”
“Again with the noise.”
“Well, Tiffany wants one last thing.”
“I knew it,” Niall hissed. “Okay, what?”
“She wants to break up with you.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
“She wants an official, public breakup.”
“A fake breakup to mark the end of the fake relationship. Of course she does.”
“And she wants to script it. Guess who ends up being the bad guy?”
“Oh, for Chrissakes. Fine. Like I care. What does she want to do? Drop insulting little bomblets on Twitter about being betrayed? Post photos of herself out partying with a dozen guys on Instagram to show the world she’s a free agent again? Publish tell-all interviews in Star Magazine and People? I don’t care. She can even hint that the size of my package isn’t the stuff of legend. Because anyone who matters will know it’s a lie anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I just want this over with now.”
“To go after Ms. Hottie Not-A-Model?”
“If this phone conversation ever ends, my man. Wish me luck.”
A female voice behind him asked, “Luck for what?”
Niall spun around to find George . . . and Celia.
“Hey!” he exclaimed as he hung up on his assistant and slipped his phone into his pocket. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
He made a face at George. “Not you, smartass.”
“Watch it, or there’ll suddenly be a shortage of fresh towels for the rest of your stay.”
To Celia, he said, “Where have you been? Ray was looking for you at rehearsal. I . . . we’ve missed you.” Niall came closer to the two women as George glanced cautiously at Celia. “You okay? You look funny.”
“I’m fine,” she murmured with a weak smile, but she looked a little pale.
“Hm. AWOL for two days? Why didn’t you answer my texts?”
“I was . . . busy.”
Now Niall was alarmed at how subdued she was. “Are you sick?”
Celia said, “No,” just as George snapped, “Yes.”
“Okay, what? Do you need to lie down? What do you need?” He ignored George’s cocked eyebrow that communicated she was impressed with his attentiveness but still skeptical of him overall. He ducked down a little to catch Celia’s eye. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing—” Celia said, still looking away, but George interrupted.
“Let’s just say Celia’s being stretched a little thin,” she growled protectively. To Celia, she said, “It’s not nothing. Nothing new, maybe—”
“Could somebody please speak English around here, and not Mars . . . dinian, or whatever?”
That got a small smile out of Celia, but it disappeared just as quickly. George sighed and touched Celia’s arm.
“Go on inside, honey. Just . . . take a breather. I’ll get you something to drink. And you’re staying for dinner tonight. No arguments,” she added preemptively, as the other woman had indeed opened her mouth to protest. “Your family can just screw off for one night. Not that it’d be any different than usual.”
As George headed for the kitchen, Niall dared to put his arm around Celia. She didn’t flinch, which was good. She even leaned into him a bit, and that was better.
“Can we go out on the front porch? I need some fresh air.”
“Whatever you want.”
On the broad porch with a view of the valley, Celia looked like she was going to settle herself into one of the rocking chairs, but Niall was having none of it. He wanted her next to him so he could touch her when needed. If not when she needed, then when he did. He guided her to an old-fashioned metal-framed glider; the weathered vinyl cushions crackled under their weight as they sat down. He plumped up a couple of embroidered throw pillows and propped them against the metal arm rest.
“Stretch out, relax like George said. Talk to Dr. Crenshaw. Oh, and I do my best work when I’m massaging my patient’s feet, so put ’em here.”
Another small smile from Celia. “You don’t want my manky, smelly feet in your lap.”
“You have no idea how much. And yes, I did mean that in an absolutely filthy way. Besides, did you know I can turn off my sense of smell? It’s one of my superpowers. I’m a crappy superhero, if you hadn’t noticed. My other superpowers are opening stuck jar lids and killing spiders. Unless they’re bigger than two inches. Then I’m out.”
He was rambling. But he didn’t know what else to do besides try to make her laugh. It sort of worked, but not enough. Obviously she didn’t need a comedian right now. He slipped off her flats while he started the glider moving with his heel.
“Talk, woman.”
Celia sighed, closed her eyes and, resting her elbow on the back cushion, rubbed her forehead with her finger and thumb. “It’s really nothing.”
“That’s not what George said.” Celia didn’t answer. “Come on. Let it out.”
She was silent another moment or two; Niall concentrated on rubbing first one instep, then the other, with his thumbs. Her feet didn’t smell. Of course they didn’t.
Finally she murmured, “Let’s just say my parents aren’t topping my list of favorite people at the moment.”
“Okay, that’s a start,” Niall answered carefully. That was all? Annoying parents? He pushed aside his first thought, that he’d pay good money to have that kind of a problem, and focused on what it meant to Celia, not him. Obviously it wasn’t a trivial issue—not from the way she was acting. But she didn’t say anything else. She did, however, make small happy noises in response to his foot massage, so he redoubled his efforts while he waited for her to say more.
The screen door banged open and George backed
onto the porch with a metal tray of glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. “Well?” she demanded as she set the tray down on a small table.
“I’m getting a foot massage.”
“I can see that. Is it helping?”
“It certainly isn’t hurting.”
George poured a glass of lemonade and put it on the table in front of the glider, within Celia’s reach, then poured another for Niall. “Everything clear now?”
“Not a bit,” he answered.
“Figures,” George said. She plopped onto a chair facing them, her back to the view, and filled him in. “Celia’s parents are good people at heart, but they’re fucking selfish.”
“George,” Celia protested, but weakly.
“Shut up. I’m talking. And they are.” She took a sip of lemonade, then said to Niall, “This whole thing with Holly? They should have been able to take care of it themselves. But they always leave it to Celia—even to the point of dragging her back here from New York to handle something they should have been able to deal with. Then they don’t even help. They have to go golfing. Or they have to go away for the weekend. Or they have to mow their own lawn, no time to do Holly’s. I could go on, but the more I talk about them, the more pissed off I get. So it falls to Celia to get Holly to agree to go to the senior living place, and now Alan and Wendy expect Celia to pack up a hundred years’ worth of crap in the house, find a real estate agent, list the house, show the house, and probably wipe their asses in the meantime.”
“I’m getting a picture. Didn’t need the last visual, but all right.”
“Not to mention Celia’s got to deal with Holly’s . . . current state . . . all by herself.”
He turned to Celia. “Is she worse?”
“She’s not better. Of course, it’s not like she’s going to get better, is she?”
“What’s going on?”
“She’s . . . had her moments, let’s say. More than just calling me by the wrong name. This morning I caught her taking a second round of her pills because she’d forgotten she’d already taken them. I’m afraid she’s going to hurt herself.”
“Get her to the doctor.”
“I’ve tried. She won’t go.”
Niall felt his throat closing up. This was too familiar. Too close to home. He heard himself saying, “Let me help. With your grandmother, with the house.”
