by Leslie Meier
“What are you talking about? You forget your words all the time,” Randy joked, before leaning toward Conner with a sly smile. “English is his second language.”
Sergio playfully swatted Randy on the back of the head with his open palm.
“I’d rather be a star on television. At least you get to do retakes if you mess up,” Bruce said.
“I’m not a big fan of television,” Conner said.
“What about movies?” Bruce asked.
Conner scrunched up his nose. “It doesn’t have the same thrill as the rewards of being on stage. I’m not knocking it, it’s just not something I’m all that interested in pursuing.”
“But these days a successful actor has be versatile enough to do it all. Film, TV, stage, Web series, not to mention have a Facebook account, a Twitter presence, and a ton of Instagram followers,” Randy said breathlessly, outlining his own goals if he was back where Conner was now, just starting out.
There was something wistful about Randy as he interacted with Conner, as if thoughts of what might have been were suddenly bubbling to the surface. Hayley knew her brother loved his husband, his business, his family, and living in Bar Harbor, but she suspected there was always a little pang of regret deep inside him, wondering what might have happened if he had stuck with acting, what path his life ultimately would have taken.
“All right, can everyone clear out and give me some room to breathe, please? I still have to make my Yule log cakes and it’s time to decorate the tree,” Hayley ordered, shooing everyone out of the kitchen. “Make sure you have a full glass of eggnog. The decorations are in the boxes in the living room, so go get started.”
She placed the rest of the pigs in the blanket on a ceramic plate with a reindeer design and handed it to Sergio. “Here, take these with you.”
They all filed out, down the hallway, veering right into the living room. Hayley caught Bruce, who was the last to leave, by the arm. “I’m counting on you to supervise. Randy usually gets too tipsy on my eggnog and starts breaking the ornaments, and Mona has a tendency to drown the tree in tinsel!”
“I’m on it,” he said, kissing Hayley on the cheek and dashing out.
She opened the refrigerator and removed a giant bowl of chocolate cake batter from the top shelf and set it down on the counter. Then she opened a cupboard and pulled down her mixer to whip the cream filling for the Yule log cake.
Gemma casually wandered back into the kitchen.
“Did you forget something?” Hayley asked.
“I just want to get your opinion. You haven’t told me how you feel about Conner.”
“Oh . . . I like him,” Hayley lied, a frozen smile on her face.
Gemma studied her mother, trying to discern if she was telling the truth or not.
It was obvious Hayley was faking.
Gemma frowned, then asked, “Can I help with the Yule log cakes?”
“After making them all these years, I’ve got it down to a science. You don’t have to hang out in the kitchen with me all night. Go rescue Conner from Uncle Randy’s third-degree interrogation.”
Hayley then searched a drawer for a big wooden spoon and noticed Gemma was still leaning against the counter, staring at her.
Hayley sighed. “Okay. I have nothing against Conner. I just feel moving in together is a big step, and maybe you’re not quite ready for that kind of commitment.”
“Like I said, it’s more of a financial decision. New York is very expensive. I can’t afford it on my own.”
“I know, but—”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen between Conner and me down the road, but what I do know is I want to make a go of becoming a professional chef, with my own restaurant someday, maybe a line of cookbooks, or, who knows, perhaps a cooking show on TV or online. And I really feel like I should be in New York. It’s a gut feeling I have, and I really want to give it my best shot.”
“I’m proud of you, Gemma, and I want you to be happy doing whatever it is you want to do in life. But I thought you wanted to be a veterinarian.”
“I thought so, too. But I’m allowed a few false starts while I figure out what it is I want to spend my life doing, right?”
“Of course.”
“And right now, I really, really want to pursue this. And maybe in five years I’ll wake up one day and say to myself, ‘You know what, I’m done with food’ and I’ll be on to something else, but I have time. I’m young.”
“How on earth did I raise such a mature and thoughtful young woman?”
Hayley hugged Gemma tightly.
As they pulled away from one another, Hayley couldn’t resist adding, “I’m still not sold on Zac Efron out there in the living room.”
“Give him a chance,” Gemma scolded. “He’s a nice guy, Mother.”
Hayley nodded, not entirely convinced.
“Now, let me help.”
“I’ve got this. Trust me.”
“And no one in town makes a better Yule log cake than you, but I’m talking about the presentation.”
Hayley raised an eyebrow. “Presentation?”
“Look, every year all the neighbors rave about how delicious your Yule log cakes are, but when you deliver them, you drop them off in a plain old Tupperware container, and it’s so boring!”
“Boring?”
“Yes, Mother, and then you spend half of January tracking everyone down to get the Tupperware back if they haven’t bothered to return it on their own, or you just forget about it and have to buy new ones. Plus it’s a real pain in the butt when you could just be a lot more festive with what you deliver them in.”
Hayley folded her arms, suddenly curious. “What do you suggest?”
“Well, I picked up these cute little red-and-green baskets at a craft store in Brooklyn a couple of weeks ago. They’re the perfect size for one of your Yule log cakes. How about we wrap the cakes and put them in the basket, and then we tie it to an actual Yule log with Christmas ribbon. That way, the neighbors can enjoy your cake in front of a fireplace while a traditional Yule log burns in the hearth.”
“Who are you, Martha Stewart?”
“She wishes she could come up with something that clever!” Gemma boasted. “And if I’ve learned anything from all of those food competition shows I watch on a loop, presentation is everything!”
Hayley had to admit, it was an adorable idea.
And she really hated playing Tupperware detective trying to locate all of her containers after New Year’s every year.
Maybe Gemma was onto something.
“So if you bake the cakes, I’ll be in charge of wrapping and preparing them for delivery around the neighborhood and at your office,” Gemma offered.
“Deal,” Hayley said, reaching out and shaking Gemma’s hand.
Mona sauntered into the kitchen. “You better go save your boyfriend, Gemma. Bruce is threatening to sing his opening number from Godspell.”
“Oh no!” Gemma exclaimed before rushing out. Hayley poured the cake batter onto a paper-lined tray with the help of a wooden spoon.
“Randy’s already dropped three ornaments on the floor, so you might want to think about cutting him off from the spiked eggnog,” Mona said. “Any more of those piglet things?”
“Pigs in the blanket, and, no, I sent them all out to the living room. Don’t worry, I have a few more appetizers ready to go in the oven. Now that it’s just the two of us, Mona, I have to ask . . .”
“No, I don’t like him.”
“Who?”
“The actor. There’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way.”
Hayley was grateful that finally someone agreed with her.
Mona was not a fan of Conner.
But it should not have surprised her.
Hayley had already strongly suspected Mona would be on her side, and so she felt validated knowing she wasn’t the only one not cheering for Team Conner.
But asking Mona how she felt held very little risk be
cause when it came to Mona and her strong opinions about people, one thing was perfectly clear—Mona Barnes pretty much hated everybody.
Chapter Four
Liddy Crawford’s Christmas party was obviously the most anticipated social event of the entire holiday season in Bar Harbor. Liddy had once again tried to keep the guest list smaller this year by only mailing out seventy-five invitations, but more than two hundred people showed up, cramming into her house, devouring her food, and emptying her wine rack. The catering staff made a valiant effort to circle around to everyone and serve Liddy’s carefully selected menu of appetizers. However, the waiters barely managed to feed just a handful of the hungry guests before having to retreat back to the kitchen with their empty trays to reload.
Hayley and Gemma volunteered to help out in the kitchen because Liddy’s caterer was completely overwhelmed and on the verge of a meltdown. On the one hand, Liddy was flattered that her little soiree was widely popular with the locals, but on the other hand, she was taking down the names of those who had rudely crashed her party, some even arriving with tagalong friends she didn’t even know.
The downstairs living room, dining room, and den were so jammed with people, Sergio feared the whole event was a fire hazard, but nobody seemed to care as they sang impromptu Christmas carols while Randy played the piano.
At one point, Hayley had to rush home and raid her own fridge for leftovers from her tree-trimming gathering from the night before so they could warm them up and serve to Liddy’s guests, since the caterer was already dangerously low on food.
But the bottom line was, it appeared everybody was having a grand ole time, and Liddy’s party was on course to go down in history as a memorable evening.
No one knew at the time, however, just how memorable it was going to be.
As Hayley rushed out a tray of Beef Short Ribs Empanadas to hand off to one of the college-aged waiters working for the caterer, she spotted a dark-haired woman in a slinky red dress, and too much makeup, slip through the front door and try to blend in with the crowd.
As Liddy zipped past her, Hayley reached out and stopped her. “We have another party crasher.”
“Who?” Liddy asked, spinning her head around.
“Kimmy Bradford at two o’clock,” Hayley said.
Liddy’s eyes fell on the awkward woman desperately trying to act casual. “Oh, my God, what is she doing here?”
“Maybe she came as a plus one.”
“No one would dare. Everyone knows I can’t stand her!” Liddy growled. “And look at that dress. Could it possibly show any more cleavage?”
“Don’t be catty,” Hayley scolded, eyeing the even lower-cut party dress Liddy was wearing.
“Seriously, all that’s missing is the embroidered scarlet letter,” Liddy said, shaking her head.
Kimmy Bradford had what you would call a reputation in town.
She had always been a quiet mousy girl growing up, the daughter of a local minister, but after returning home from college in Portland with a teaching degree, she had transformed herself into a buxom raven beauty who could stop traffic. When she showed up for a job interview to teach English Literature, the high-school principal, who hadn’t even recognized his former student, was so impressed with her assets, none of which actually involved teaching skills, that he hired her right on the spot. But sadly, Kimmy was only employed for two semesters before resigning under mysterious circumstances. A few gossips in town suggested Kimmy was forced to leave the school after it came to light that a few of her good-looking male students got a little too much attention than was proper, both morally and legally.
Kimmy was now a receptionist at the company where Liddy once worked before Liddy decided to quit and start her own real estate firm. Liddy claimed her animosity toward Kimmy had nothing to do with jealousy—because Kimmy was younger and prettier than Liddy—and as her closest friend, it was Hayley’s job to take her word for it. Even though, deep down, she didn’t believe it for a second.
“Are you going to tell her to leave?” Hayley asked.
“No, I’m not going to cause a scene at my own party. And it’s not like she’s the only one who showed up without an invitation.”
“I better serve these empanadas before they get cold,” Hayley said, leaving Liddy’s side and pushing her way through the endless throng of guests. She barely made a half circle around the room, when the last empanada was plucked off the tray by Ron Hopkins, the owner of the Shop ’n Save supermarket.
“Moonlighting for some extra cash, Hayley?” Ron asked before popping the empanada in his mouth.
“No, Ron, just helping out. A few more people came than were invited, so the caterer is a bit understaffed.”
“Well, DeAnn and I were certainly invited,” Ron announced loudly. “We would never be so vulgar as to crash, right, sweetheart?”
Ron’s much younger wife, DeAnn, a petite blonde, attractive but with some pronounced worry lines on her forehead, nodded, uninterested in contributing any more to the conversation.
Hayley used to like Ron.
He once was a rather amiable, although beleaguered, friend of hers. Ron never really enjoyed owning a supermarket. He always wanted to travel with his first wife, Lenora, once his kids grew up and were out on their own. But when that day finally came, and he was officially an empty nester, Rob had a midlife crisis. He dumped Lenora and started dating a string of younger women, until finally settling on DeAnn, a single mother from Brunswick, whom he had met in a local bar one spring. DeAnn was in town for a golf tournament with her then-current beau, a married bank executive from Bangor. Once she and Ron connected, DeAnn sent the banker packing, back to his wife in Bangor, and by week’s end she had moved in with Ron and enrolled her little boy at Conners Emerson grade school.
DeAnn seemed nice enough, but Ron, who had hung on to the store in order to support his new wife and stepson, never seemed the same as he was when they first met. Once a quietly charming, good, and decent man, he now struck Hayley as bitter and arrogant and sporting a superior attitude, never wasting an opportunity to show off his trophy wife, the one thing in his life that seemed to make him happy nowadays.
Ron suddenly noticed the worry lines on his wife’s face, too. “Sweetheart, is anything wrong?”
DeAnn shook her head. “No, dear, I’m fine. Why?”
“You just don’t seem to be having a good time. Do you want to leave?”
“No, you’ve worked hard all week. You deserve to have a little fun, and the last thing I want to do is spoil your evening by dragging you home early.”
“Too late,” Ron hissed as he spotted someone on the opposite side of the room.
“Why? What’s wrong?” DeAnn asked, more worry lines finding their way to her forehead.
“Over there. Talking to Hayley’s daughter. I’m reasonably sure he was not invited to this party. That creep is nothing but bad news.”
This caught Hayley’s attention. She turned to see a handsome young man, in a ratty white tank top that showed off his muscles and ripped blue jeans. It was a completely inappropriate outfit for the cocktail attire request that Liddy had printed clearly on her party invitations. He was chatting up Gemma, who held an empty tray in front of her, almost as if using it as a shield to keep the aggressive young man at bay. Gemma was smiling politely, but Hayley could tell she was not comfortable talking to him. Gemma kept trying to walk away, but each time she attempted to leave, he would block her with his body, keeping her in front of him.
Hayley instantly recognized him.
It was Ryan Toledo.
An old high-school classmate of Gemma’s.
A bad boy who was always getting suspended for one infraction or another.
They were never close, but Gemma always tried to be nice to him.
Like she did with everyone in her orbit.
Years ago Hayley feared Gemma and Ryan might start dating, since as a rule, high-school girls tend to be drawn to good-looking, bad-boy rebels,
but their relationship, luckily, never evolved beyond a casual friendship.
When Ryan reached out and suddenly gripped Gemma by the arm, whispering something urgently in her ear, Hayley had seen enough. She began moving through the guests squeezed together in such close quarters, trying to make her way across the room. She kept her eyes fixed on Gemma. Hayley could plainly see the tension in Gemma’s face, despite the fact she was trying to maintain a good-natured, friendly demeanor.
By the time Hayley finally reached Gemma, she was close enough that she could smell alcohol on Ryan’s breath, and instantly noticed his bloodshot eyes.
He still clutched Gemma’s arm tightly.
“Gemma, I need you in the kitchen,” Hayley said.
Gemma nodded and turned to Ryan, forcing a smile. “I have to go, Ryan. It was nice talking to you.”
He still didn’t let go of her arm. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, I did. I’m already seeing someone, so going out with you is probably not a good idea right now. But I appreciate you asking.”
“Come on, that guy? I saw him when you two walked in here. He’s like a little mouse. You would do better with a real man,” Ryan said.
Hayley stepped between Gemma and Ryan, forcing Ryan to finally let go of Gemma’s arm, which he had held so hard Hayley could see the imprints from his fingers on her bare arm as Gemma withdrew.
Now even closer to him, she couldn’t help but wince.
Ryan’s breath reeked of alcohol.
Hayley had to turn away.
Ryan tried to shove past Hayley to get to Gemma again.
“Can I get a little kiss?”
“No!” a man’s voice boomed.
Ryan slowly turned, focusing on the much smaller Conner, who bravely stood behind him, holding two glasses of punch.
“Says who?” Ryan laughed.
“Me,” Conner said, standing his ground.
Ryan glanced at the two plastic cups full of red punch and then with his fists banged the bottom of them. The fruit punch flew out of the cups and drenched Conner’s face.
