by Robin Weaver
“Your lies grow exponentially, Spence. You won’t be thirty until February sixteenth.”
“You remember my birthday?” He grinned as if he hadn’t become the Grinch who lied until Christmas.
And she’d been trapped. So what if she’d looked up his zodiac sign and occasionally checked his horoscope? She’d been sixteen and in the thralls of her first serious crush. And what the hell was wrong with her? He was the one who’d committed the grievous error. “Don’t change the subject, bucko. Did Katarina ask you to keep me from getting my decorations?”
“I promise, Suze, Katarina didn’t ask me that.”
Jerk couldn’t just give her a simple “no.”
“You know what, Spence? Just forget it. Forget. It. I’ll go and see if your dad will help me. Even sick, I bet he can get a supplier on the phone.”
And exactly why did she feel like crying?
She marched out of the store, practically biting a hole in her tongue to hold back the tears as she stomped down the sidewalk. If Arnie couldn’t help her, she’d just have to figure another way to beat Katarina. It really didn’t seem fair that the woman had a perfect life—fake boobs and all—and still had Spence James at her beck and call.
“Ms. Forrester?”
She glanced, seeing a little girl she’d almost toppled. Big blue eyes peeped out from beneath a white fuzzy hat with enough sequins to bedazzle the Easter Bunny.
“Yes?”
“Eh...Well, um…”
Great Scrooge. She’d scared the poor child. Suzette bent down on one knee, not really caring if she ruined her favorite pants. “It’s okay, sweetie. Did you need something?”
The fear evaporated from her expression, replaced by a smile that glittered brighter than the little girl’s sequins. She nodded her head in rapid succession. “Yep. A man asked me to give you this.” She pressed a card in Suzette’s face. “He’s on television. For real.”
The child dropped the card and ran down the sidewalk toward a woman waiting with her hand out. Suzette gave a quick wave, not recognizing her. Still, the woman’s hat matched the child’s, so she had to be the mother.
After the pair disappeared into the Christmas Village, she picked up the paper. And laughed.
The little girl had given her one of Tripp Anthony’s autograph cards. She stopped at the recycle bin, intending to toss the paper into the trash. Just before she dropped the card, she noticed the note on back.
Meet. Coffee. 11:00.
Suzette glanced at the display on her cell phone, then at the clouds. White and fluffy despite the winter grayness. “Perfect timing. For once.”
She could think of no better way to get over a lying butt than having coffee with a man who’d been on television. For real.
Chapter Five
What Childishness Is This?
“What the devil did I say?”
Maybe he’d been an idiot to hope Suzette still had a crush on him, but she had remembered his birthday. Of course, that memory could be leftover from their high school days. Looking back, he could see she did have a thing for him. Too bad he hadn’t paid her more attention. Of course, she’d been a geeky kid with braces and he’d lived his life on the soccer field. And he’d used every spare minute to practice his renderings.
Still, even with braces, Suzette had something...drive, personality. Whatever she’d had then, she had more of it now. And he wanted some.
And he was letting her get away.
And he had a girlfriend.
He scratched his head. Hell, coffee wasn’t going to get him coal in his stocking. He grabbed his jacket and hung the “Back in 15 Minutes” sign.
Suzette had almost reached the Brew Mistress. Since traffic was light, he didn’t wait for the WALK sign.
When he reached the coffee shop entrance, she’d already gone inside. He opened the door, pausing to inhale the familiar smell of coffee, chocolate, and peppermint—one of his favorite things about Christmas in Merryvale.
Frig. He sounded like a furniture fairy.
Suzette had her back to him, but he’d recognized her pink fuzzy coat anywhere. You could spot that thing atop a ski lift on a crowded slope.
She’d placed her purse on the back of a chair and had gone to put cream in her cup, which meant she’d be staying a while. Might as well order first. Give her time to cool off. And he had a serious craving for a raspberry Danish.
The shop’s aroma bolstered his spirits. Suzette had declined his coffee offer, but fate had tossed him a second chance. He’d definitely give her the ornaments tomorrow—he’d delayed long enough. With only days until the competition, she might need them to plan her arrangements or something.
In his defense, his intentions were...maybe not honorable, exactly, but definitely good. He’d wanted to spend time with her and couldn’t think of any other way to ensure she’d come back to the store.
He ignored the little voice that insisted: just be honest with her. How could he do that when he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted? All he knew was he couldn’t imagine a day that didn’t include seeing her.
Brushing the snow off his collar, he stared at the sweets behind the glass counter. Maybe if he got one of those chocolate things with the gooier chocolate in the middle, Suzette would be a bit more forgiving. What woman didn’t like chocolate?
He ordered his pastry and pointed to the candy. A woman—an older woman he’d never met—scooped up the goodies with wax paper. A new face. Maybe things did change in Merryvale. The woman put his purchases in a bag and handed it over the counter.
He smiled, reading her nametag. “Let me ask you a question, Deidre. If a man bought these chocolates for you, you’d give him a second chance, wouldn’t you?”
The woman winked while she took his money. “Honey, if that man was you, I’d definitely give him a second chance—over and over again.”
He spun, feeling encouraged if somewhat red-faced.
Until he spotted the man who sat down at Suzette’s table. The interloper smiled at the intended recipient of Spence’s chocolate.
Tripp. Damnation. Had Suzette gone to the shop to meet Mr. Television?
He really should say hello. Tripp had always been a good friend, but now was clearly not the time. Especially since he wanted to put his fist in Tripp’s Hollywood face.
As if to blow away sprinkles on his Danish, Suzette leaned forward, her face far too close to the soap star for Spence’s liking. The whole damn scene seemed a bit too intimate.
Talk about sticking his nose in it.
Spence jerked his Danish out of the bag and pasted a smile on his face. Making a one-eighty, he faced the counter again, glad no one had lined up behind him. He shoved the candy toward the woman with flour in her hair. “Here. These are for you.”
Then he hightailed it to the street.
He couldn’t get the image of Suzette and Tripp out of his head. Probably just as well. He did have a girlfriend.
Only he didn’t feel so good about his good life.
Crap. He needed to warn his dad about Suzette’s pending visit or call. Spence wasn’t sure exactly what he’d tell him. His old man seemed to be bending over backward to get along with him. Maybe a simple, “Don’t tell Suzette the decorations arrived last week,” would suffice until he had a chance to explain.
The phone rang. And rang.
The voicemail picked up. Where was his dad?
His lungs seemed to expand in his chest. Then he remembered. Tuesday. Mavis McDaniel always visited on Tuesdays, bringing a batch of her prize-winning cinnamon buns. His dad would never answer the phone if he had guests.
He glanced back at Suzette. She and Tripp hadn’t even noticed him.
Frig. Time to go back to New York.
Chapter Six
Chestnuts Roasted
“Ms. Suzette. Don’t go, lass. I’m here.”
The old man hurried toward his house, almost jogging. Funny. Arnie didn’t look sick. For a man who’d just had a heart atta
ck, he raced up the porch stairs without losing his breathe. How could Spence not see that his dad was healthy as a reindeer?
Arnie unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter. “Come on in. I’ll make tea.”
She smiled, hating to put a sweet old man in an awkward position. “I really can’t stay.”
He looked disappointed so she added, “Maybe we can have tea tomorrow. If you’re available?”
“For a pretty girl like you?” He grinned, looking far too much like his son. And apparently having the same irresistible charm. “Always. And with Spence at the store, I have nothing but time.”
Maybe it had been a mistake to come to the man’s house. So she proved Spence was helping Katarina? The damage was done. Did she really want to come between father and son?
She’d become friends with Arnie in the past year. When she’d been at the bottom of her Christmas barrel, Arnie James had given her hope. He’d come up with the Dresden paper ornament idea.
She’d always had good ideas. And she knew how to decorate a tree, but her critiques were always the same: The ideas weren’t original—nor unexpected. With the Dresden ornaments, she thought she might just impress the frou-frou judges.
And Arnie had missed his son. During her visits to the store, the old man had talked about nothing else. Did she really want anything to mar their visit?
“Speaking of Spence, how long is he going to be at the store? You look like you’ve recovered completely.”
Mr. James swallowed. Had she said something wrong?
“Can I ask you to keep a secret?”
Ah, sugarplums. A no-win situation if ever she’d heard one. Either answer would lead to agony. Hers.
“The doctor cleared me to go back to work last week. My heart attack was mostly pretty mild.”
Whew. Was that all? No-win situation averted.
“But I haven’t told Spence.”
Elf to the max. “I’m sure you have your reason, Mr. James.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it when he rushed back. I told him he didn’t have to, but he came anyway and I love having him here. I’m bein’ selfish—I know that. Probably come back to bite me in the ar—Well, you know.”
Did she ever. She tightened her scarf and edged toward the door. She couldn’t tell him his son should be on the “naughty” list. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“No.” Mr. James’ voice cracked.
Another crud-fest headed her way. She loosed her scarf and re-plastered a smile on her face.
Mr. James shook his head. “My boy will never forgive me when he finds out. I just wanted him to come home.”
An ancient memory surfaced—Spence complaining his father lived and breathed soccer, bellyaching that the old man didn’t understand he’d rather be drawing. Spence had believed his own father actually thought he was a pencil pansy because he loved buildings more than soccer fields.
She’d loved talking to Spence about his dad problems—Scrooge knew she had more than enough parental complaints of her own. She’d also known she was the only one who made Spence feel comfortable enough so he could complain. That made her feel...special.
She’d truly forgotten that. And Mr. James had changed.
Some of her hostility evaporated. “I’m sure Spence will visit again, Mr. James. New York’s only two hours by plane.”
The old man shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t be here now if he didn’t believe I was a bangin’ on death’s drum. I drove him away, me and my demanding he go to Carolina.”
She wished she could offer some comfort, but she had to side with Spence. “If I’m not speaking out of turn, why did you do that?”
Mr. James snorted. “I was a damn fool. I—I wanted to play football, but my father was from the old country. He expected me to work, focus on grades not playing games. Maybe I tried to live through my boy. Not so good, huh? I didn’t know how smart my Spence was back then. He damn sure don’t take after me.”
She didn’t know about that. Mr. James managed to make an antique business successful in Merryvale—a town famed for gaudy Christmas decorations and state championships. Merryvale might boast about the old Victorian mansions located on main street in the tourist brochures, might tout the houses with National Historic Register status, but the thing that really mattered to the locals was athletics. In just about all sports—football, baseball and soccer. The Merryvale Bucks had more soccer trophies than any school in the state, probably more than any school in the nation. Was it any wonder Spence believed he had to be a soccer star? Hell, the town loved the team so much the damn mascot rode in front of Santa’s sleigh where Rudolph should have been. Arnie had smarts aplenty.
Ah, sugarplums. The Christmas parade—that procession ended with Santa crowning the Christmas Tree champion. A reminder she needed to revise her tree decoration plan. And fast.
As much as she wanted to help, she needed to hurry the old man’s trip down memory lane. “So, Mr. James, you don’t still wish Spence had gone to Carolina. And I know you’re proud of him, right?” Suzette didn’t wait for an answer. “Just be honest with him.”
If only his son had been honest, she might be happily sipping hot cocoa instead of running a scavenger hunt for Victorian ornaments. Spence had asked her out for coffee three times.
Maybe Pot should stop criticizing Kettle and figure out why she was lying to herself. Exactly why wasn’t she hanging out with Spence? Hadn’t going out with him been her dream since high school? And if she really wanted to get back at Katarina Snodgrass, going out with Spence would get her there faster than winning the Christmas Tree War.
Rather, Christmas Tree competition.
She sighed. Winning the Christmas Tree title was far more important and the reasons were so complex she didn’t want to exam them.
Not yet.
She’d deal with the Spence issue later. For now, she needed to do what she’d never done. Win.
And unlike her high-school self, she did have a backup plan.
Chapter Seven
Suzette Got Run Over by a Reindeer
“Ms. Suzette, wait?”
Suzette groaned. She’d almost made a clean escape.
“You forgot your hat. It’s pretty cold outside, lass.”
“Oh...thanks.”
He handed the hat to her. “Didn’t mean to ramble on before. Did you stop by for a reason?”
Suzette gulped. How could she say anything now?
“Come on, gal. Something’s wrong. I can see it in your face. Might as well tell me. We’ll both feel better.”
“Well...” Maybe a partial truth. “You might want to come back to work soon.”
“I know. I will.”
Oh no. Did he think she was chastising him for lollygagging? “No, Mr. James. I’m not judging you for pretending to be more ill than you are. It’s Spence actually. I’m not sure...Well, forgive me for being so blunt, but your son doesn’t manage your store the way you do.”
The old man laughed. “Good to know I’m still good for something. But trust me, lass. I don’t care if the store loses money. Having my son home is worth it.”
Suzette swallowed again. “Of course. I understand.”
Mr. James nodded. An awkward silence hovered in the brisk air.
She took a step backward, intent on retreat—both from Mr. James and from the Christmas Tree Competition. She knew defeat when the demon stared her in the face.
“Suzette, when you say...You’re happy with your ornaments, right? I thought they were in mint condition.”
“Mint condition?” She felt a coughing fit coming on. “My ornaments haven’t arrived.”
She detected some stress in the old man’s face. Even with a mild attack, that couldn’t be good.
“Of course your ornaments arrived. And they’re lovely if I do say so myself. I had to sneak them in the store since Spence didn’t know...I told him they were under the counter. You can pick them up today if you like.”
&n
bsp; She bit down so hard on her lip she tasted blood. “Eh...thanks.”
She took a step backward, this time intent on murder. Well, maybe not murder. After all it was the Christmas season, but she wanted a good handful of Spence’s black hair.
“Watch out!”
The sidewalk seemed to disappear. Something bumped into her legs. A jolt of pain racked her body.
She stared up at Mr. James. Funny, all the stress had returned to his face.
Then the sky grew black. Everything else too.
Chapter Eight
12 Days of Lying
“Dad?”
He’d rushed to the emergency room, figuring his dad would have been taken there. What he hadn’t expected was to see his old man putting quarters into the coffee machine.
Relief intermingled with confusion. Deidre called to tell him Mavis called to say an ambulance had pulled up to his father’s house and sped away. He’d raced to the hospital. How had Mavis gotten his number anyway? Obviously, Merryvale hadn’t changed that much.
“Dad?” he repeated. “What are you doing?”
His father grinned, a grin he remembered from his childhood. “As you kids would say, duh. I’m getting coffee, Son. What does it look like?”
The old man grinned again. When Spence was a kid, his dad’s facial expression had been typically followed with something like, “I know you want to go to the movies with your friends, but I really need you to work...”
But he’d just come from work. “I see that, but why are you here, Dad?”
“There’s been an accident.”
“So I gathered.” He stifled down the impatience threatening to erupt. His father wasn’t hurt, he needed to feel good about that. “But you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Other than having to drink this rot-gut.” His dad moved his cup, causing the black coffee to swirl in the paper container. “You know, I think I miss the cream most of all.”
“Dad.” So much for getting a handle on his impatience. “Why are you here?”
“Suzette. Poor darling took a bit of a tumble.”
Spence leaned against the wall, trying to make sense of the world. Suzette? Hurt? “Is she...” God help him. He couldn’t breathe right. “Is she going to be okay?”
