Home For the Holidays

by Lisa Plumley

  Ready to work, she glanced around brightly. Angela, his dad, and Kayla only continued to gaze at her adoringly. They couldn’t have appeared more smitten if they’d tried. Reno had only seen expressions like theirs a few times before. Mostly they’d involved Nate staring at a box of Christmas candy.

  Reno recognized the feeling though. Rachel awakened a certain hunger in him, too. But the craving he had would not be satisfied with candy canes or rum balls.

  “Nate brought the costumes with him,” he managed to say. “They’re in the living room, ready for fitting.”

  “Nate?” Rachel lifted her eyebrows. “Your legendary friend Nate? You mean I’ll actually get to meet him this time?”

  “He’s •in the kitchen right now.” Angela nodded, her cheeks turning pink. “He’s supposed to be making toast. Knowing him he’s baked a fresh loaf of bread and churned some butter, too.”

  Puzzled, Reno stared at her. Why was his little sister blushing over Nate? “Why are you blushing over Nate?”

  “I’m not!”

  “Yes, you are. You’re as red as these pipe cleaners.” Reno narrowed his eyes, focusing on the “curling iron burn” on Angela’s neck. “Is Nate responsible for that hickey?”

  “No!” Eyes wide, Angela slapped her hand on her neck.

  “Hmmm. Frisky.” Rachel gave her high-school friend a grin. “I guess if Nate’s busy giving Angela hickeys, then I don’t have to worry about you setting me up with him, Reno.”

  Oh yeah. He was supposed to be getting on with that.

  “Actually, Nate is dying to meet you,” Reno gritted out. Ever loyal, he glanced suspiciously at his sister’s neck, then pushed away from the table. “I’ll go tell him you’re here.”

  At that moment, pounding footsteps could be heard in the kitchen. Hinges squeaked. The back door slammed.

  “Nate!” His dad bolted. “Damn it, don’t burn my eggs!”

  An instant later, a flash of brown parka, blond hair, and left-tackle-style speed whisked past the big picture window at the front of the house. Reno pointed. “There he goes.”

  Rachel squinted over her shoulder. Just visible through the snow-frosted panes was Nate, sprinting toward his Chevette.

  “That’s Nate?” She wrinkled her nose. “Where’s he going?”

  Angela folded her arms. “Not the Shoparama grocery store, that’s for sure. They probably have Wanted posters up by now.”

  Outside, Nate’s old clunker of a car whined to life. It veered toward a snowbank, straightened, then headed downtown.

  “Wow,” Rachel said. “Nate really doesn’t want to meet me.”

  Reno frowned. “I wouldn’t say that—”

  “I found this.” His dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, Nate’s knit cap in one hand and a skillet of scrambled eggs in the other. “He left a note, too. Says here he went to buy more eggs. Weird thing is, I’ve got another dozen right in the fridge. I thought I’d practice up on that goat cheese omelet your mother’s always raving about. You know, the one she gets down at the B & B by the lake every year on Mother’s Day?”

  Angela rubbed her neck. “This looks exactly like a curling iron burn. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Reno.”

  Now her flush had traveled all the way to her scoop-neck sweater. Looking flustered (and redder than his Santa suit), she flung napkins on the place settings, then fled.

  “I should have told Nate to get more goat cheese, too,” his dad muttered, obviously preoccupied as he frowned into his skillet. “Judy likes goat cheese. Chèvre, she calls it. God only knows why, but she does. Goat cheese omelets would make a good Christmas morning breakfast, don’t you think so, Reno?”

  “I…” He’d thought their usual Christmas morning breakfast had been canceled due to his parents ongoing feud. “You bet.”

  “Doesn’t anybody want to hear about Madison and Olivia?” Kayla demanded, throwing up her arms in exasperation. She shook her head at the adults. “What happened to my story?”

  “You tell it, Kayla.” Dismissing the runaway Nate, Rachel shrugged out of her coat, then went to sit beside the little girl. She glanced at the array of pipe cleaners and the garland in progress, then picked up a fuzzy length of green and set to work with an immediate grasp of the project. “We’re all dying to know what you did after Madison and Olivia were silly enough to boot you off their lunch table. Aren’t we, Reno?”

  “Absolutely.” Still kind of pissed at Nate for escaping—again—Reno took the chair opposite Rachel. He focused on his niece. “What did you do, Kayla? Did you wow them with some other outfit? One that wasn’t a Pussycat Dolls clone?” He hoped.

  “No, Uncle Reno.” Kayla rolled her eyes. “Not everything is about fashion. Geez.” She shared a glance with Rachel. “All I did was start my own lunch table. I made sure it was fun, too. Pretty soon, Madison and Olivia were begging to sit with me!”

  Surprised, Reno tilted his head. That was pretty sensible advice. So sensible, he couldn’t believe it had come from the same woman who’d refused to put her luggage in his naked truck bed. “That’s what your mom told you to do, right? Not Rachel.”

  Rachel was a superficial L.A. girl. A diva supreme.

  She wasn’t down-to-earth and sensible like Angela.

  “No, that’s what Rachel told me to do. She’s awesome.”

  Impressed, Reno glanced at her. Rachel didn’t notice. She was too busy adding another loop to Kayla’s wobbly garland. The two of them compared pipe cleaners, seemed to become inspired at the same moment, then animated their pipe cleaners like tiny fuzzy people, marching them across the kitchen table in a miniature pipe-cleaner boogie. They laughed uproariously.

  Reno only shook his head, feeling himself slide ever deeper. Ever faster. Ever harder and more unstoppably.

  It was a good thing Rachel Porter wouldn’t be in Kismet for long. Because the only thing worse than agreeing to set up his best friend with his dream girl, Reno realized at that instant, was falling for that dream girl himself. All too quickly, that’s exactly what was happening.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dreamily, Rachel wound up her tape measure, twisting the yellow length of it round and around her fist. She’d finished taking measurements and assessing the costumes for Kayla’s Christmas pageant almost half an hour ago, but she still couldn’t get the experience out of her head.

  How had an ordinary man actually made a Santa suit look sexy?

  It was baffling, but there was no denying it. When Reno had come out from the bedroom after changing, looking chagrined but macho in his red velour getup, he’d made something inside her melt. Just looking at him had made her sigh. And when he’d actually smiled directly at her…

  Whew. If her hands had trembled any more, she wouldn’t have been able to take his measurements at all. As it was, she’d nearly swallowed a ball-headed pin when she’d glanced up at him after marking the hem (still on her hands and knees on the living room floor) and caught an eye-level look at his…

  Well, let’s just say that following an inseam upward had never been more scintillating. Plus now she knew that when Reno played Santa, he did it wearing boxer briefs under his baggy britches. Boxer briefs, a tight round butt, taut abs…

  “So how long have you been crazy about my brother?”

  Startled, Rachel glanced up. “What?”

  Angela merely went on wrapping the gift she’d brought with her, spreading shiny gold paper beside the scissors, tape, and ribbon already arrayed on the coffee table. She’d confided to Rachel that the present in front of her was something for her mother. Rachel hoped it was a new pantsuit.

  “Did your crush on Reno start in high school?” Angela asked. “Because some girls tried to be friends with me just to get close to my brother. I never thought you were one of them—”

  “No! I wasn’t. I—” Rachel stuffed her measuring tape in her sewing bag, stashing it between a pack of pins and the sketchbook she’d taken to carrying with her, just in case inspira
tion struck for one of those repurposed designs she’d been fiddling around with—cool clothes made out of bits and pieces of other garments, like her new winter coat. “I’m not crazy about Reno!” She tried to laugh. “That’s silly.”

  “Please.” Angela flipped up a neatly folded end of wrapping paper. Apparently, she wrapped gifts the way she did everything else—carefully and serenely. “It’s all over your face when you look at him. Your eyes kind of glow, your cheeks flush—”

  “Look who’s talking. What’s the story behind that hickey?”

  “—and you bite your lip a lot. Like this.” Angela gave her lower lip a coy nibble, moaned, then sighed elaborately. “It’s like Nate staring down a batch of iced gingerbread men.”

  “I do not do that! Besides, I never eat gingerbread men.”

  “You probably don’t have room.” Angela’s mouth quirked as she tied on a shiny piece of ribbon, then fussed with the edges. “You really plowed through Dad’s bacon and eggs this morning.”

  “I couldn’t help it. They were so delicious!” Momentarily distracted, Rachel cast her gaze heavenward. She’d really been depriving herself on her L.A. diet regimen. She might never eat another protein bar again. “That toast was like ambrosia!”

  “That was probably the Parkay. It’s addictive. Anyway, what’s the deal with you and Reno? Because he keeps talking about you meeting Nate, but the way you act around Reno—”

  “Is Nate really the one who gave you that hickey?”

  Angela slapped her hand over it again. She fixed Rachel with a serious look. “We’re talking about you and Reno.”

  Dreamily, Rachel sighed. “I’d let Reno give me a hickey.”

  Another solemn look. Angela was not a frivolous person.

  “You’re right. I sound like a seventh-grader. I don’t want a hickey.” I want to explore what’s under Reno’s Santa pants. “I like Reno. I guess I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s enough! I didn’t exactly come to Kismet to spark up a hot holiday romance.” As if she’d thought that might be a possibility. Even a remote possibility. Who knew they made men so appealing out here in the boonies? “Besides, my judgment isn’t that great. I’ve been wrong about people before.”

  Like I was with Alayna, Tyson, Jenn…the list went on.

  Angela added a sticky-back bow. “Haven’t we all?”

  Something in her demeanor tugged at Rachel. Someone, she realized, had disappointed goody-two-shoes Angela Wright. Someone had…oh yeah. Someone had loved her, made baby Kayla with her, then abandoned her. All of a sudden, finding your not-that-serious boyfriend in flagrante delicto with your biggest client (and friend) didn’t seem all that earth-shattering.

  But Angela would probably understand what she’d been through, Rachel realized. Kind, thoughtful, corduroy-wearing Angela would probably even have some good advice for her.

  Looking at her friend now, Rachel felt a bizarre compulsion to come clean. To finally admit that her life in L.A. hadn’t been all sunshine and glitzy premiere parties. It had also been smog and traffic and taking abuse from spoiled celebrities who didn’t care if she spent part of her time on her knees just so long as the hems on their red-carpet gowns were perfectly tailored. It had been living on Diet Cokes and undressed salads and Pepcid. It had been BlackBerry thumb and cell phone tinnitus. It had been setting aside her dreams to chase success.

  It had been lonely.

  “Look. Pretty, right?” Cheerfully, Angela showed Rachel her wrapped package. It even sported an old-fashioned gift tag, written by Angela herself—not a shopgirl or delivery service.

  “Very pretty. But you forgot this.” Setting aside her sewing bag, Rachel snatched a receipt from the coffee table.

  “Why would I want that?”

  “To put with the gift package. For easy returns.”

  “Returns?” Angela laughed. “If my mom returns this gift, I’ll kill her. I spent hours scouring the stores to find it.”

  Baffled, Rachel waggled the receipt. “At least keep it to give to her afterward. It’s what people do.”

  “People who don’t appreciate the spirit of the season maybe.” Angela gave her a curious look. “Does everyone you know return their Christmas gifts?”

  “Not everyone.” Staring at the receipt, Rachel felt a weird sense of disconnectedness from her usual glam self. “Okay, yes. Everyone does it. Or they have their assistants do it. Or they regift things. I don’t think I’ve given a gift in eight years that’s been kept by its intended recipient.”

  “Oh, that’s sad. You probably put a lot of thought into the gifts you give people, too.” Angela gathered up wrapping paper scraps with placid, steady efficiency. “You always were really good at knowing what people liked—what they truly wanted. Even back in high school. It was as if you could peer straight into people’s heart of hearts or something.”

  Right. Straight into people’s hearts. Except her own.

  Otherwise how could she explain being with Tyson-Like-The-Chicken? How could she explain giving up her dreams of designing and creating beautiful things to become a glorified gofer?

  No. What was she thinking? She loved her job! It was fabulous and glamorous, and the minute one (just one) of her former big-shot clients actually accepted a call from her antiquated cell phone, Rachel would be right back at it.

  Gratefully.

  Briskly, she glanced up. “That’s right. And I can still do it, too. For instance, I can tell that what you really want is an excuse to get all dressed up and come to an amazing party.”

  “A party?”

  “I’m throwing an L.A.-style Christmas party tomorrow night. It’s kind of a bet I have with Reno. You should come.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have much to wear…”

  “Psst—you have a surefire ‘in’ with a famous stylist.” Rachel smiled at Angela, feeling glad to have reconnected with her old friend. With Angela, she didn’t have to be dazzling or trendy or gossipy. She only had to be herself. It was really nice. “I’ll help you find something awesome to wear.”

  “Reno said you were boycotting Christmas.”

  “I was. But ever since I got back to Kismet…”

  A burble of laughter came from the other room, catching Rachel’s attention. Reno’s hearty chuckle drifted down the hallway, followed by Kayla’s giggle. They must be packing up the Christmas pageant costumes. “I don’t know,” she told Angela. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s changed.”

  “You’re just not used to the Christmas music blasting from the speakers all over downtown, that’s all.” Angela made a face. “It makes everyone a little crazy this time of year.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe. They did play ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ four times when I was hitting the boutiques and gift shops yesterday.” She’d had some gift-buying to do, too.

  “Or maybe you’re just crazy in loooove with my big brother. I think the two of you make a wonderful couple. Reno needs someone like you. Someone who doesn’t worship his every move. Someone who doesn’t need rescuing.” She grinned. “Someone who doesn’t flash him her—”

  “Stop it.” Laughing, Rachel held up her palm. The very idea was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Especially for her. “People don’t just fall in love within weeks, even at Christmastime.”

  “Even if those people are perfect for each other?” Angela, busying herself with more gift wrap, looked pensive. “Because if those people are perfect for each other, why should it matter how much time passes before they realize it?”

  For a long moment, Rachel studied her friend. It occurred to her that Angela was a lot like Mimi. Both of them were quiet, gentle, and unconcerned with impressing people. Both of them were also a little too shy to say what they meant sometimes.

  “‘Perfect for each other’? Are we still talking about me?” Rachel asked. “Or you and hickey-boy?”

  Angela pressed her fingertips to the telltale
spot. If touching it had the power to make it disappear, it would have vanished faster than the first strip of bacon this morning.

  And that was saying something.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Angela cast a furtive glance down the hall, then leaned closer to Rachel. Her eyes sparkled. “But I’ve never made out in a car in my life! I couldn’t resist. It was really exciting.”

  “I’ll bet. There’s nothing wrong with just going for it, believe me. I recommend doing it all the time.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. And I recommend bringing hickey-boy to the party.”

  “Mmm. Maybe I will.” Angela smiled. “And maybe I won’t. I’ve got another date tonight. For the first time in my life, I’ve got options. I intend to try out all of them.”

  In his bedroom, Reno finished tucking the Santa suit into its vinyl carrying case. He pulled up the zipper, stowing away all the red velour and white fake fur until Rachel could apply her expertise to making sure his costume pants didn’t fall down.

  Although given the way she’d been eyeing him…maybe catching him with his pants down was exactly what she had in mind. When Rachel had been there on her knees, adroitly measuring his inseam with her tape measure and talented fingers, it had been all he could do not to haul her upward and kiss her hard and fast, right there in front of his family and everyone.

  Everyone except Nate. The weenie. He still hadn’t come back “with the eggs” as promised in his bogus note.

  But that was just as well, given how tricky it had been for Reno to spend time with Rachel today…without revealing that every smile, every joke, every brush of her skin against his made him want her. He’d stood as still as a statue while she’d taken his measurements, calculating football statistics in his head, and trying not to do something stupid like caress her hair. Or hold her hand. Or gaze inanely, sighing at her.

  Because Rachel was his best friend’s dream girl, and a loyal, trustworthy guy like Reno did not poach his best friend’s dream girl. No matter how funny, naughty, or ridiculously hungry for bacon and eggs she happened to be.