by Lisa Plumley
Determined to get back on track, Reno picked up the chainsaw and camp light. “We’d better get started on the next tree. Are you sure that’s the one you want, Kayla?”
With the camp light, he pointed to an enormous pine tree at the edge of the clearing. Although it wasn’t late—only a little after seven—it got dark early in wintertime. The tree’s top branches were barely visible against the almost-starry sky.
“I’m sure. It’s perfect!” Excitedly, Kayla skipped to her feet. “I thought you’d never get to it. Let’s go, Rachel!”
“Go where?”
“To cut down that tree.” His niece grabbed Rachel’s hand and tugged. “The big one for the town square, where the parade is. My mom’s taking me. And Uncle Reno. And probably Nate, too. Everybody, absolutely everybody, goes to the Christmas parade!”
Rachel blanched, looking vaguely guilty at Kayla’s excited rendition of the holiday events in Kismet. Apparently their returned-to-town rebel still planned to boycott the whole thing.
“Are you sure you won’t be there?” Reno asked.
Not answering, Rachel got to her feet. She brushed off the seat of her pants, then eyed him dubiously. “You provide the Kismet Christmas tree? The official tree? And you chop it down yourself? Is there anything in town you don’t take care of?”
Reno shrugged. He toed the fallen fir beside him. “I needed a Christmas tree for my house anyway, and I like fresh-cut organic ones. The tree farm helps me out every year. Why not?”
“Because…well, I just don’t have that much civic pride, I guess. I couldn’t wait to skip this burg and hit the big city.”
Kayla frowned at her. So did Reno.
Rachel noticed and changed the subject. “So…that’s the one, huh?” Her gaze zoomed upward as she examined their target. “Shouldn’t your friend Nate be helping you with that?”
“He should be.”
Reno still couldn’t believe Nate had freaked out and pulled a disappearing act on him at the last minute. He’d been a no-show tonight, claiming he needed to “wax his eyebrows” before allowing Rachel to see him up close. Which had to be total bullshit. Seriously. Who cared about eyebrows?
How was Reno supposed to match him up with Rachel, the way he’d promised, if the two of them never officially met?
“But Nate couldn’t make it. So this time, you’re helping.”
“Oh no.” Rachel held up both hands. “If you asked me to do some themed decorating on that tree, maybe. If you wanted that tree to look chic for an awards show, definitely. If you planned to start a pine-tree trend, I’d be your gal. But cutting it down? No way.” In the glow of the camp light, her face looked quirky, rosy, and adorable—now that she’d abandoned those idiotic sunglasses. “I am not equipped to live the wilderness life.”
“It’s just a tree.” He squinted, gauging its height and probable ferocity. “I’m not asking you to skin it and eat it.”
“Very funny. Look, my Christmas tree in Malibu comes custom-delivered from a local greenhouse nursery, already in a tree stand and ready for a stylish celebrity Christmas.”
“It drinks too much, then goes into rehab?”
“For all I know,” she bulldozed on, “my Christmas trees never even experience the great outdoors. Kind of like me.”
“Come on,” Reno coaxed. “You grew up here. You know there’s still a down-home Kismet girl someplace inside you.”
“She moved to L.A. and became fabulous. End of story.”
Kayla crossed her arms. “There’s nothing fabulous about skipping the Christmas parade,” she announced. “Why aren’t you going, Rachel? It’s really, really fun. Santa is there, too.”
“I…”
“You’ve got to go. Come with me and my mom and Uncle Reno and Nate. Nate is super nice and funny. You’ll like him, too.”
Rachel patted Kayla’s head, then cast a helpless glance at Reno. “I just can’t, Kayla. Your uncle understands why.”
“I do?”
“Play along,” she said through gritted teeth. She offered his niece a beaming smile. “But I hope you’ll have fun.”
“You said you’d go with me, Rachel,” Reno fibbed in an overloud, nagging voice, unable to resist. “You promised.”
If looks could shoot icicles through a guy’s heart…
“No, I didn’t! I specifically told you—”
“Yippee! You’re going, you’re going,” Kayla sang.
Clearly caught and unwilling to disappoint Kayla, Rachel gave in. She nodded, still looking a little hesitant.
All the same, Reno nodded at his niece approvingly. Now that Nate had bugged out on the Christmas tree-cutting, he needed another opportunity to pair up his behemoth best buddy with his dream girl. Involving Rachel in a few of the town Christmas activities would work just fine. He’d have to talk to her about volunteering for the decorating committee.
“It’s one little Christmas parade,” Reno told Rachel in an undertone, steering her toward their next Christmas tree target. “Maybe some decorating. That’s it. You won’t feel a thing.”
She stomped restlessly beside him. “That’s what you think.”
“What’s the matter? Scared of a little hometown Christmas? Worried it might sand off a few of those rough edges?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m tough as nails.”
Ha. Right. Tell that to the woman who’d almost burst into tears at the airport when he’d told her everything was going to work out okay. “You’ll like the Christmas parade. In fact—”
“Come to my Christmas pageant at school, too!” Kayla piped up, kicking up snow as she bopped along. “Please, please—”
Now Rachel appeared really trapped. She bit her lip.
“It’s kind of goofy, but it’s tradition,” Reno told her. “And it’s fun. Besides, you haven’t really experienced Christmas until you’ve experienced a Kismet Christmas.”
“I have experienced a Kismet Christmas,” she protested, watching as he readied his chainsaw. “I grew up here, remember?”
Reno shook his head. “You haven’t experienced a real Kismet Christmas until you’ve experienced it as an adult. In my neighborhood, everybody pulls together to help decorate each others’ houses, hanging lights and stuff, because some of the older residents aren’t spry enough to do it on their own anymore. That’s something you can’t appreciate as a kid.”
“Somebody could make good money charging for that service,” Rachel said. But he could tell she was weakening.
“If you come to my Christmas pageant, you’ll get to see Nate in an elf costume with curly shoes,” Kayla said, obviously trying to sweeten the deal. “And Uncle Reno all dressed up with a big fat belly and a long white beard as Santa Claus!”
“Uh, Rachel doesn’t care about Santa, Kayla.”
“It’s hilarious!” his traitorous niece enthused.
“Really? Santa Claus, huh?” Stifling a smile, Rachel shot Reno a knowing look. Then she bent down and hugged Kayla. “You know what? You sold me. I’m totally up for that. I’ll be there.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Okay. Concentrate this time.” Near the dairy aisle of the local Shoparama grocery store, Angela levered upward on tiptoes, the better to assess Nate’s hairstyle. She licked her finger, then gave his buzz cut a swipe. “There. That’s better.”
“Eww!” Recoiling, Nate swabbed his damp forehead. “Come on, Angela. This is stupid. I don’t want to meet any of these women. They’re not”—he paused, sighing dreamily—“Rachel Porter.”
“Snap out of it, hot stuff.” In her best no-nonsense manner, Angela steered her protégé past a display of molasses, cranberry sauce, and brown sugar at the end of aisle six. The store’s holiday Muzak made her want to be eating cookies and drinking eggnog, not trolling the aisles for female test subjects. “The whole reason this works is because you don’t want to meet these particular women. There’s no risk involved.”
“Hey, a sale on marshmallows!” Nate veered
sideways. “Did you know you can make excellent fudge with these? Just add a bag of chocolate chips, some sugar, a can of condensed milk—”
“Zip it, Betty Crocker.” Her stomach growled in direct defiance. “We’re not here to buy fudge-making ingredients. We’re here to get you a date. I’m not leaving until we do that.”
Looking hurt, Nate studied the marshmallows. Held in his big, gentle hands, they appeared twice as mini and defenseless.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “See? There’s a likely looking woman right over there. Go get her.”
She gave him a shove. Or at least she tried to. Moving Nate was like moving a Buick. A Buick up on blocks in someone’s yard.
Defiantly, Nate stuck out his tongue at her, then tossed the bag of minimarshmallows in their cart. So far it held only a jumbo box of detergent (because, as Angela had informed him, women liked a man who knew how to do laundry) and a pint of candy cane ice cream (because there had to be a reward at the end of all this, or Angela was going to go loony). He patted down his sweater and coat, shook out his pants legs above his boots, then eyed the lone woman Angela had pointed out.
“Okay.” He twisted his neck like a prizefighter. “I’m ready. I’m awesome. Dork no more, I’m on the prowl. Here I go.”
“Not like that!” She grabbed his biceps. “You look like a gigantic, demonic Dennis the Menace! Look friendly!”
He showed her his teeth. “How’s that?” he gritted.
This uneasiness was very unlike him. Feeling hopeless, Angela sighed. She made herself let go of his big, warm…surprisingly interesting to touch…arm. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve talked to four different women today—”
“Five, counting that dude with the mullet. My bad.”
“—and you’re no further ahead than you were when we walked into this place.” Crossing her arms, she stared him down. “Are you honestly trying? Do you want to impress Rachel or not?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then get with the program. Be friendly, but not overeager. Talkative, but not domineering. Smile, but not so much that you look like you want to eat the poor woman for lunch.”
Incredibly, Nate’s gaze slipped down Angela’s torso, then came to rest somewhere in the vicinity of her thighs.
She walloped him with a pack of Christmas sprinkles.
“Sorry!” His cheeks turned a shade ruddier. “All this talk about women is making me realize…you’re a woman, Angela. A beautiful woman with a horniness problem. Why did you tell me about that? Hmmm?” Nate stepped closer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help you out sometime? I might not be a sparkling conversationalist, but I can deliver when it counts.”
He gave her a dazzling smile, then winked.
If she’d truly been “beautiful,” Angela realized, and if she hadn’t known he was deliberately baiting her to get out of the task at hand—kind of the way Kayla did, when she didn’t want to take a bath—she’d almost have believed him. There was something undeniably compelling about the slow, seductive perusal Nate gave her. About the unconscious flex of his hands, as though he were preparing to cup her derrière again, then pull her to him, lower his head, bring his mouth to hers and—
“Remember the hints I gave you.” Decisively, Angela spun Nate by the shoulders, then aimed him at the woman down the aisle. “No pickup lines! Just a friendly inquiry, okay?”
Nate frowned at her. All spiffed up for their mission, he looked pretty good, she decided with utter objectivity. Golden-haired and blue-eyed and packed with enough muscles to make his parka fit funny. You know, for women who were into machismo.
“Okay. Here I go.” Morosely, he schlepped down the aisle.
“Wait!”
He turned. Behind him, the woman glanced their way, too.
“Scrunch down!” Angela pantomimed pushing something down. “Try not to look so looming and Lurchlike. It’s intimidating.”
Nate rolled his eyes. Then he made a goofy face at her—one that, to her mortification, made Angela guffaw out loud. Feeling herself blush, she wheeled around and pretended an urgent interest in a row of frosting in plastic tubs. She was clueless about baking. About cooking in general actually. She and Kayla mostly subsisted on frozen chicken nuggets with barbecue sauce, bagged salad with thousand island dressing, and applesauce.
“Uh, hi.” Nate’s voice floated down the aisle, husky and ever-so-slightly unsteady. “Do you know where the condoms are?”
The woman recoiled. “I don’t work here,” she said crisply.
“Well, I’m just wondering, because, uh, you look as if you might be familiar with the Trojans section. A woman like you probably knows all about the grocery store layout—ooof!”
To Angela’s horror, the woman rammed Nate with her cart. Hard. Then she fled down the aisle, shouting for security.
“Nate!” Hastily, Angela rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”
Bent over, clutching his knees, Nate wheezed. “I think so.”
“Oh no! No! You’re really hurt!” Concerned, she patted his back, trying to peer into his face. It looked kind of purple. “Where did she get you? I’m really good at first aid. I took a class before Kayla was born, so I can perform CPR if you need it. I was tops in my class.” Angela pried open her purse, searching for one of her trusty Band-Aids. “Please, Nate. Tell me where it hurts.”
Still breathing funny, he shook his head.
Worriedly, Angela massaged his back more firmly. He felt warm beneath her hand, good and solid and dependable. Unlike any other man she’d ever met. What if she’d actually wounded him?
“This is all my fault. I should have known you weren’t ready for this.” She fussed with his coat, somehow feeling that if it were straightened, everything would be okay. “Do you feel any better? Can you speak at all? Should I go get help, or—”
“She cart-butted my bait and tackle.” Nate cupped his groin, groaning. “The big Natearooni will never be the same.”
“The big…uh…” Angela stammered to a stop.
He meant his penis. His big penis. His Natearooni.
Gee. That was kind of cute, as far as penis nicknames went.
“Quit smiling like that!” he barked.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t expect your penis to have a nickname like a hockey player.”
“Are you staring at it?” Nate gawked. “Because I have to tell you, it’s not in the best shape for viewing right now.”
“Uh. Don’t be silly.” Angela whipped her head upward. “I’m your friend. I don’t think of you in…that way.”
She couldn’t help but wonder though…would Nate be significantly different in the, er, equipment department than Bryce had been? Would he use his equipment differently?
Better?
Nate’s gaze met hers. He knew she’d been looking at it. The knowledge was all over his cocky, increasingly good-looking face. How could this be happening? Had her decision to try dating again turned her into some kind of penis peek-a-booer?
And yet she couldn’t stop looking. Imagining…
“Maybe sometimes,” he said, “I wish you would.”
Lost in a potential comparison that made her ears feel hot, Angela didn’t quite understand him. “Wish I would what?”
“Think of me in that way…sometimes.”
Caught unaware, Angela gazed at him—half doubled over, red-faced, still in obvious discomfort. For one uncharacteristically impulsive moment, she almost blurted out that she already had thought of him in that way. On the day he’d cupped her rear end.
Sometimes she still fantasized about what would have happened if she’d cupped his butt, too. It was a very nice butt. It would probably feel good. He would probably like it. Maybe he would even moan a little, just to let her know he liked it.
But then she came to her senses. “You’re just delirious. Come on. Let me help you back to the cart. I’ll buy you some chocolate chips, and more marshmallows, and what els
e?”
“Condensed milk,” Nate said. “Sugar. Vanilla extract, too.” His gaze arrowed to hers as they limped wounded-soldier style down the aisle, sharing a true camaraderie. “And I’m not delirious. You’re a real friend, Angela. I’m starting to think—”
“Excuse me,” someone interrupted.
Angela glanced up, one arm slung around Nate’s taut midsection to help him down the aisle. A reedy-looking grocery manager stood there in polyester slacks and a white button-up shirt with a holly-patterned nameplate attached to his pocket.
He frowned disapprovingly. “You’re going to have to leave.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ensconced on the world’s coziest sofa, in the butt-shaped niche he’d carved for himself through repeated visits, Nate held a pack of frozen peas to his groin and watched Angela pace.
“Ohmigod! I’ve been banned from the grocery store, Nate! How am I going to buy food for me and Kayla? Christmas is coming up! I promised to bring a ham to my mom’s house for dinner.” She shafted him a forlorn look. “My mom told me ham was foolproof, even for me. But now…” With a groan, she threw up her hands. “We’re going to starve to death. At Christmas.”
“You’re not going to starve to death.”
“Yes, we are! We’re going to starve. There are only two grocery stores in Kismet, and I can’t afford the prices at the Olde Towne Gourmet Emporium on the lakefront.” She headed past the gaily decorated Christmas tree near the TV and beelined for the kitchen with a determined expression on her face. “I know. I’ll inventory everything, then ration it. Maybe if my mom chips in for gas money, we can drive to Grand Rapids to stock up.”
“You don’t have to stock up.” Something about her worried expression and frazzled hair got to him. Even though she’d made him woodenly practice meeting women and “chitchatting,” Nate wanted to make Angela feel better. “You’re not going to starve.”
