The Rock Star's Christmas Reunion: contemporary holiday romance (A Charisma series novel, The Connollys Book 1)

by Heather Hiestand

  “Funny that all of my siblings and yours stayed though.”

  “We’re unusual.” She shrugged as another yawn ripped through her body. “I need to get some sleep. Couple of big days ahead.”

  “Then what? Do you have more work?”

  “Well, the Figueroas were really happy with the party and a couple of their guests took my cards.” She crossed her fingers and held them up.

  “Good deal.” He leaned forward. She smelled his oceanic aftershave as he bussed her cheek. “I’ll get rid of her soon, Yakima, I promise. I’m sick of this G-rated deal with you.”

  “Me too,” she whispered, then, feeling daring, she leaned into him, stopping when her lips were just a breath away from his. She let her hips graze his upper thighs, her belly rub against the front of his jeans.

  “Stop that. You’re making my feet warm.”

  She laughed and patted his chest. “Maybe you can become a comedian for your next career.”

  “Nah, I’m writing songs again.” He held out his hand. “Come closer. I was liking that.”

  She wriggled her hips then climbed into her driver’s seat. “No deal. Get rid of the princess, then we’ll talk.” From her perch just above him, she squinted her eyes, waiting for his response.

  She saw him nod slightly, but he didn’t make any promises. “See you around, Yakima.” He sketched a wave.

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  He put his hand on the top of his head. “I told you she was out of here soon. You have nothing to worry about.”

  She waved back as he shut her door, then put on her seatbelt. Her smile was back, and not just because of her catering pay, this time. Bax hadn’t entirely crossed over to the Remy side, not yet.

  ~

  The second to the last Friday before Christmas. Battlefield should have been hopping with parties. People wouldn’t be traveling in from out-of-town quite yet, but the locals should be busy. Holiday bazaars would be popping up all around the county for last minute shoppers.

  Bax, though a native, felt like an outsider as he pushed his cart around the smaller of the two grocery stores. He received a couple of admiring glances from young mothers as they pushed their oversized carts with car seats through the store, but he was no longer sure if they admired him because he was recognizably famous or because he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Either way, no one spoke to him. He hadn’t moved back here to leave the limelight. In fact, he’d thought he’d be more noticeable here, hometown boy or not. He guessed the opposite was true. Bax Connolly with his three number one hits and two songwriting Grammys was just another anonymous local.

  Lost in thought, he was jarred back to reality when his cart collided with another. His carton of eggs slid across the wires, but didn’t bump the side hard enough to break any of them.

  “Sorry about that,” said a fifty-something woman with gray-streaked black hair.

  As his eyes went to her face, her own gaze narrowed. “Bax? Is it really you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with the countrified recognition-by-the-fans grin he’d picked up from Will Dealy. “And you are?”

  Her tone oozed disapproval. “Nancy Wannassay.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How are you, Mrs. Wannassay?” What an ass he was, not recognizing Yakima’s mother and his father’s next door neighbor.

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “Just picking up a few things?” Bax saw a party tray in her cart, along with a couple of bottles of wine, some good cheese, and high end crackers. “I guess you aren’t a vegetarian.” He pointed at the meats on the tray.

  “No. Yakima picked that up from one of her teachers in high school.”

  “I thought I remembered hot dogs at Jay’s birthday parties back in the day.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Wannassay seemed to be forcing herself to be social. “All moved in now?”

  “I had a decorator handle the basics. Now I’m trying to personalize, and of course, decorate for the holidays. Are you coming to my party tomorrow? I left an invitation tucked into your door.”

  “My husband and I are promised to an event in Portland. Thank you for the invitation, though. I’m sure Yakima has something delicious prepared for you.”

  “Yes, she did a great job with my little family dinner. You must be proud of her.” Now he was talking like a suburban mom. Mrs. Wannassay, he now remembered, had always made him nervous. She was more forbidding, like Quin, compared to her easygoing daughter.

  “I hope she can make a go of it. Not the easiest business around here. But she’s stubborn.” Mrs. Wannassay tucked the strap of her purse more securely into her cart and pushed her purse to the side.

  He caught a glimpse of the headline of the night’s Vancouver newspaper folded into her cart. The headline read: Christmas Thieves Strike Hockinson Area. “I’d better let you go,” he said. “Very nice to see you again, and I promise I’ll do what I can to help Yakima succeed.”

  Her eyes narrowed again, like they had at the start of the conversation. Not knowing what to do, he sketched a wave and pushed his cart toward the checkout stands, randomly tossing stuff from the ends of shelves into his cart as he went.

  ~

  Bax, with no invitations to any gatherings, prayed as he made fat-free feta omelets for himself and for Remy an hour later. He’d learned the technique in rehab as a way to release himself from resentments. Praying for people, wishing them happiness, made it impossible to be upset at them. Prayer filled up all the room in his head. So he prayed for his brothers, completely AWOL from his life, he prayed for his father, who had texted him yesterday, his only communication in days. For his cousins, Haldana who had added him to her joke-of-the-day email list, for Rah Rah, who had her hands full of wiggly kids as it came so close to Christmas vacation, and for the twins, who like his brothers, were nowhere to be found.

  Yeah, he’d thought he’d be the life of the local party by now. He pushed that thought aside and prayed for the Wannassay clan’s wellbeing, even Quin, who had gone out of his way to cause trouble.

  Remy slinked into the room, clad in a black leather jumpsuit with skintight leggings and a barely there top.

  “Where you going all dressed like that?” Bax asked, sliding his messy omelets onto two plates.

  “Thought you could take me out. Portland must have some decent clubs.”

  “I’m thirty now. Clubs aren’t my scene,” Bax said.

  “You don’t have to drink. Just dance. You can be the designated driver.” Remy wiggled her tiny hips. “I’m bored, and I’d rather dance than work out.”

  “Okay,” he said, surprising himself. But Remy had been pleasant all day. And if they stayed around the house, it would lose that perfectly clean look he wanted for tomorrow night’s party. A party that seemed like it would be rather small, from the slender volume of RSVPs.

  They polished off their food in minutes, then agreed to reconvene at ten to consider their options. Remy drifted upstairs and Bax went into the living room. He picked up his guitar and sat cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree. After he stretched his hands, he played “Jingle Bells,” as easy as they came, then began to practice more complicated tunes, visualizing a group around the tree the next night, singing along to the music he could still make with his guitar. He might not be able to shred it like a pro any more, but he could manage Christmas.

  When he heard the voices, he thought he’d imagined the accompaniment into being. He leaned his guitar against a rocking chair and listened. No, the voices were real, and coming from outside. He slid between the tree and the picture window and saw carolers coming up the driveway.

  The tune they sang was familiar, but the lyrics weren’t. It sounded like a comedic ode to eggnog. He took that as a sign that they expected libations. Of course, he had no alcohol in the house. He went into the hallway.

  “Remy!” he called up the steps, then went to open the front door, grabbing a pack of Frangos mints as he did.

  The carolers wer
e on his porch by the time he had the door open, mouths open as they sang their saucy tune. White puffs of air streamed around them. He recognized Yakima, her hair tucked into a green and red elf-hat. Haldana was next to her, which explained why they came to his door. None of his other relatives were there, but he thought he recognized Jess and Amanda, Yakima’s besties from high school.

  The group was rounded out by a portly, badly dressed middle-aged man, two elderly women he probably ought to recognize, and another female maybe five years older than him.

  Remy came down the steps. She’d added cherry red thigh high boots to her leather catsuit. The single man in the caroling group hit a pitchy note and stopped singing, his face going as red as Remy’s boots.

  They finished their song, more raggedy than it had begun, then Haldana stepped forward and sang the intro to “Silver Bells.” She paused, obviously waiting for him to continue.

  Instead, Remy came alongside him, tucked her arm into his, and began to sing, imitating Marilyn Maxwell in The Lemon Drop Kid, obviously hoping he would play the Bob Hope character. Not wanting to look churlish in front of relative strangers, not to mention his cousin, he played along.

  When the last notes of their duet had drifted into the cold night air, the carolers clapped for them. Remy obviously expected it, and bowed, delighted.

  "I shouldn't have done that without warming up,” she said. “How daring of you to brave this night air.”

  “Come out and sing with us,” Haldana invited.

  Bax sneaked a look at Yakima. Her face was impassive, her cheeks pink in the cold air.

  “Oh, thank you, boo, but we have plans,” Remy said. “In fact, I need to get my face on.” She sketched a wave and went back up the steps.

  “Remy Rose,” breathed one of the women reverently.

  Bax shook his box of Frango mints at them. “I don’t have any eggnog, but how about a mint? Haldana and Yakima know they’re my favorites.”

  The portly man’s eyes lit up. “I’ll take one.”

  “Actually, as Alvin knows,” Yakima said forbiddingly, “we’re raising money for the Salvation Army.”

  Bax tossed Alvin a cellophane wrapped Frango, handed the box to Jess or Amanda, he wasn’t sure who was who, and pulled out his wallet. He’d replenished his five hundred dollars walking-around money, and didn’t make a ceremony of pulling out all five bills and handing them to Yakima.

  Haldana’s eyes widened as she bit into a Frango. “Nice going, cuz.”

  He thrust his wallet back into his jeans. “It’s going to a good cause. Have a great night, and I hope the next house has some eggnog for y’all.”

  “Y’all?” Haldana repeated. “You’re from Washington State.”

  He winked at her. “I’ve been converted to Southern boy.”

  “I believe it,” Jess or Amanda said. “I have the first Dealy Band album and I’ve never heard so many country clichés. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the songwriting credits and found our own Bax Connelly’s name all over them.”

  He straightened, refusing to take it as criticism. “That album went triple platinum. I think we gave the core audience exactly what they wanted.”

  “It was a great album,” Yakima said loyally.

  “You aren’t making any money for the Salvation Army standing here,” Bax said. “Have a great night, everyone.” He stepped back, waved, and shut the door.

  As he walked back into the living room, he heard the carolers start a version of “Deck the Halls.” For a second, he wished he was going with them, but he had an ex in a catsuit waiting to go dancing with him. She had to change the boots though. They made her look more dressed for Halloween than Christmas.

  But when he made it upstairs, he discovered she’d paired the catsuit and boots with an off-the-shoulder forest green cashmere sweater, making the outfit almost holiday-like, especially for a music industry girl. He decided he’d have to put up with the boots.

  But the image of Yakima, in her sturdy jeans and Ugg boots, thick wool sweater and pretty pink cheeks, stuck with him as he drove into Portland. And in his mind, “Silver Bells” played on a loop. He had his earworm for the night.

  ~

  “Do we have any idea how many people are coming to Bax’s party tonight?” Yakima asked, as she placed candy buttons down gingerbread men for the afternoon’s Battlefield Holiday Bazaar. “Do you think people aren’t going to show again?”

  “I told him to stop by with his guest list.” Haldana opened the oven and pulled out a tray of thumbprint cookies.

  Yakima took a deep breath of the delicious almond butter cookie, studded with a glistening cone of chocolate ganache. “Save me one of those.”

  “Will do. How are we keeping the party and the bazaar cookies separate?”

  Yakima pointed to the racks along the far wall. “You didn’t notice those? One for each event.”

  “Oh, nice. You splurged?”

  “Used the dinner party money. If we’re doing more than one event at a time we’ll need them. And I had good news.”

  “More bookings?”

  Yakima grinned. “A New Year’s Eve buffet from the dinner party, and a cookie delivery for one of the city council members. That’s for Tuesday, so we’ll be baking again on Monday.”

  “Wow, you’re actually keeping us busy, then.”

  “I know. You can have Sunday off, since I just have to work the bazaar, but then it’s cookie craziness on Monday.” She heard a knock on the door and wiped her hands on her apron. “Think that’s Bax?”

  “Probably. Should I make myself scarce?” Haldana pursed her lips into kissing position.

  “Very funny. I told him there was no me while Remy was in the house.”

  “Good call,” Haldana called as Yakima walked into the foyer. “Play hard to get with the rock star.”

  Bax stood behind the glass door, rubbing his hands together. He didn’t seem to know how to dress for the cold anymore. Good thing the climate was usually temperate around here.

  She opened the door and gestured him in. “Do you have the final count for your party?”

  He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. His lips were cold and she could smell mint M&Ms on his breath. “No hello?”

  She rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek back. It was bristly with a day’s growth. “There you go. You look pretty good for a guy who went clubbing.”

  “We just danced for a couple of hours.” He shoved his bare hands into his coat pockets.

  “So you didn’t drink?”

  He shook his head. “Never, not these days.” He grinned suddenly. “And I didn’t want any bags of exhaustion under my pretty blue eyes tonight.”

  “Right.” She shook her head at him. “We’re just finishing up cookies for the bazaar at the Community Center. I’m going to run our table while Haldana preps your apps and then we’ll bring everything over before the party.”

  “Sounds good. I’m going to do a Costco run and pick up beverages and cups and everything. I left Remy at home. Don’t want to see how Costco would react to her.”

  “Might cause a riot,” she agreed.

  “All she has to do to stay anonymous is leave off the false eyelashes, wear a hat with her hair hidden, and dress down.”

  “But she won’t do it,” Yakima guessed.

  “She likes attention,” he agreed. “How about you? Do you like a little attention?” His fingers grazed her cheek.

  She stepped away. “Not right now, I don’t. What’s the final count for your party?”

  “Twenty-three RSVPs, plus the out-of-towners, about ten of them.”

  “I’ll assume forty, then,” she said. “Some people just don’t RSVP, and some will bring friends. Four apps, four cookies per person, right? That’s what we decided?”

  “You got it. Should I stop by the bazaar later?”

  “Sure.” She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Remy can solo with the high school choir when it performs.”

  “Mmmm.”
He shook his head. “They’d be scarred for life. Anything else?”

  “Sure, you can buy my centerpiece if no one else does.”

  “What is it?”

  “The most adorable gingerbread house you’ve ever seen. I made two of them, one for each day we have a table. They have icicle frosting lights and everything.”

  “What time does the bazaar end?”

  “Five. Then I scoot back here and on to your house. We’ve been doing bazaars every weekend, so we have it down to a science. Haldana and I will have everything ready to go at five-thirty.”

  “I’ll stop by at four-thirty,” he offered. “We can put the house on the dining room table. If no one buys it.”

  “It’s not cheap,” she warned. “But it’s edible. I just finished it yesterday so it’s even fresh.”

  His lips curved. “How about you, sweetheart? You fresh?” He leaned forward and sniffed her hair.

  “Eau de cookies,” she joked.

  “I do smell chocolate,” he said. “Come at me with some freshly baked pumpkin pie in your hair and I’ll be putty in your hands.”

  She tilted her head. “Good to know, but wrong holiday.”

  “Think I’ll still be here next year for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

  She wanted to make a joke, but something in his voice told her he might really want an answer. “If you want to be,” she said. “But eventually the Dealys will want to record again.”

  “I’m writing songs now. But even though I might travel, I could always come back. This could be home base, if it works out.”

  She took a deep breath. “Then I guess you’d better make good with your brothers.”

  “What about you?”

  “All you have to do is get rid of Remy.”

  His eyes shifted and his voice dropped to a low, sexy purr. “And then you’re mine?”

  Her body responded instantly, but she fought the hormones. “And then you can take me on a date,” she countered. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  A smile flickered on the corners of his mouth. “I’ll have to write you a song. I bet I can get you to give it up for a song.”