The Holly Hearth Romantic Comedy Collection

by K B Cinder

  Mama and Papa were chatting up Dash’s parents, the Banes, and Juni’s stepdad, Hugh, near the fireplace, the quintet snagging me for hugs in passing. Each embrace wore down the urge to cry more than the last, and by the last, my pesky nerves had settled again.

  In the kitchen, I found Mabel, Juni’s mom, and Talita hurrying around prepping dinner, the two culinary whizzes whipping up magic in the form of filets.

  “Hi!” I called, not wanting to get in their way. While I wasn’t as bad as Juni in the kitchen, I was hardly Julia Child. If it required more than three pots, I didn’t cook it, basically.

  “Hey, Rini!” Mabel smiled as she mixed a bowl of mashed potatoes, the swirls of herbs dancing as she did. “How are you, sweetheart?”

  I perched at the kitchen island, the mouthwatering scents summoning my roaring stomach demon. I’d only had a fig cookie before running off to the lawyer’s office, anxiety winning out over hunger. “Great. How are you?”

  “A little starchy,” she laughed, waggling her brows. The same way Sage did.

  “Can I help with anything?” I asked, forcing the thought away.

  She stood on her tippy-toes as her eyes skimmed the counters. “Can you light the candles in the dining room, please? I have a lighter around here somewhere.”

  “Sure.” I spied the purple square and headed to the dining room with it, relieved I hadn’t found Sage yet. If I had to guess, he was hiding in the den like the bear he was.

  As I entered the dining room, I was proved wrong, finding him sitting at the table alone in a sweater. An olive green sweater. I would’ve loved to have been a fly on the wall when someone forced him to wear it, not that it didn’t look amazing on him, the fabric gripping his shoulders.

  His eyes flicked to me instantly, though he stayed quiet, his mouth a thin, emotionless line.

  I was the first to break the ice after freezing in the doorway. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” His voice was rough, but at least he answered.

  I headed to the buffet and marveled at the display of candlesticks and flowers, Mabel always one to go overboard with decorating. There had to be thirty damn candlesticks on the cabinet along with a bed of cupcakes stacked into a mini wedding cake at its center.

  “Nice sweater,” I offered, extending to reach the candles in the back first, a tough feat given the height of the dang buffet.

  He laughed, coming to pluck the lighter from my hand after watching me struggle for a few seconds. “Thanks. I call it the asshole look.”

  “You pull it off, spectacularly,” I complimented with a smile as my heart hammered in my chest.

  “Thank you.” He grinned, lighting the first candle. “Nice dress.”

  I leaned back on my heels and crossed my arms. “Thanks. I call it flirty in the fast lane.”

  “Ah, joining me?” he chuckled, moving on to the second candle.

  “I have the last few days,” I said, watching his massive hand cradle the tiny lighter. “It’s tiring.”

  The constant back and forth between the lawyer, the leasing office, and my home office felt like I was running on a treadmill while phonebooks were hurled at me.

  “I told you,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on the flames. “It’s a rough gig.”

  “But life is going to be fast for me for a while,” I explained with a sad shrug.

  His attention remained on the candles. “I heard. Congratulations.”

  “How do you do it?” I was exhausted, and it’d only been a few days. I missed my old routine. My quiet, safe life.

  He finished the far row and handed me the lighter, his eyes meeting mine. “I was driving in circles, so I’m not the best person to ask for directions about that.”

  “Circles?” I asked, raising a brow. I turned to the candles and started to light the section in front of me.

  “I lost something during the trip,” he explained, watching as my hands drifted candle to candle. “I was looking for it. Well, her.”

  I dropped the lighter, the plastic square landing in the center of a cupcake with a sickening squish. Well, there went that cute buttercream flower. “Did you find her?”

  He hooked a finger under my chin, tilting my face to him. “Yup. She wasn’t too happy when I did, but that’s because I’m an asshole.”

  I grinned. “You can’t help it. It’s the sweater.”

  He nodded with a laugh, moving his hand to cradle my cheek. “Very true. I was hoping she might want to be my co-pilot? I promise I’ll share snacks and let her control the radio.”

  “Co-star,” I corrected.

  His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Co-star?”

  I grinned, letting my hands fall to his chest. “You know, in the movie? Coming of Sage. I heard it’s going to be a real blockbuster.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Only if I can co-star in her movie.”

  “The Karine Complex?” I asked, gripping the fabric. As sexy as the sweater looked stretched across his pecs, I couldn’t wait to rip the damn thing off.

  He nodded, sliding his other hand to cup my face in his warmth. “That movie is scandalous. Lots of dildos and anal beads. I don’t know how it’ll be shown in theaters.”

  “When do we start filming?” I asked, my eyes fixed on his lips.

  He smirked, pretending to contemplate it as his brows furrowed. “How does now sound?”

  “Pretty fucking good.”

  Our lips met in a kiss that eased my fears once and for all. Sage was safe. He was all along. He’d come to my rescue, time and again.

  “Fuck!”

  We broke apart, finding Juni hovering in the doorway with Dash behind her, her arms crossed as her face flushed red.

  “Oh, shit,” I breathed, wiping a hand over my mouth.

  Cue epic meltdown over me ruining her engagement party.

  “Pay up, buttercup!” Dash cackled from behind her.

  “What?” Sage and I said in unison.

  Juni frowned as she stepped into the room. “Dash told me you two had the hots for each other, and I bet him $100 he was wrong.”

  “Sorry?” I croaked.

  She waved an annoyed hand at me before elbowing Dash in the ribs as he continued to laugh. “While you’re a total witch for lying, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t tell you if I was sleeping with Lita or Raya.”

  “I’d hope you wouldn’t be sleeping with either of them,” Dash said as he arched a brow. “Though that does sound like something I’d watch if we weren’t engaged.”

  I gaped at my best friend, my skin still humming in shock. “You don’t hate me?”

  “No!” She rushed over and took my hands in hers. “This is the best gift you could’ve ever given me, even if I did lose a bet.”

  “Who lost what?” Mabel asked as she walked in with a bowl of green beans.

  “I lost a bet to Dash. He said these two dingbats were hooking up, and I said no way.”

  “Of course, they are!” Mabel laughed, setting down the ceramic bowl on the table. “People that bicker like them always do; it’s the passion in them. I told Talita to pick an argument with a cute boy while she’s down in the Bahamas during Spring Break.”

  Talita walked in then, her tiny pigtails jutting out from under a beanie as she cradled a bowl of spinach.

  “You’re going to the Bahamas, and you didn’t invite me?” I growled. I’d been begging her to go to Miami with me after I found out Juni couldn’t — a romantic trip to Bermuda stealing my bestie.

  “It’s for school,” she said with a shrug as she set the bowl down. She didn’t make eye contact, but I’d get the details out of her later.

  “So, hold on; you knew we were into one another?” Sage asked finally, turning to his mother.

  Mabel rolled her eyes with a sigh. “You’ve been crazy for each other for years. You were too dumb to admit it, and she was probably too embarrassed.”

  I grinned, and she wandered over to hug me close. “Welcome to the family, babe. If he gets smart w
ith you, tell me. I’ll whoop him.”

  Say, “No way, Trey.”

  Don’t suffer in silence.

  You are important.

  You are beautiful.

  You are loved.

  If you are a victim of domestic violence, help is available.

  Visit https://www.thehotline.org/

  Or call 1-800-799-7233

  Copyright KB Cinder (2020)©

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any way, shape, or form without written permission from the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters, scenes, and dialogue are entirely from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or incidents is purely coincidental.

  For anyone who’s ever handled a dick (literally or figuratively)

  Introduction

  Spending summer break in paradise was a dream come true.

  All expenses paid and the chance to date a Hollywood heartthrob?

  I couldn’t sign up for the Fix Up fast enough.

  Too bad I didn’t read the fine print.

  You see, all it takes is a little editing and poof, you’re a TV villain.

  I went from culinary kid to #cancelled.

  Why?

  I fell in love with Theron Slater.

  The rising star dropped me without so much as a warning.

  Now I’m left with a heart as minced as the garlic in the only kitchen that will hire me.

  A heart that turns to stone when he shows up one day looking for more than just takeout.

  Did he really think a simple sorry would cut it?

  I’m Talita Nunes.

  America’s most-hated girl.

  And the last person who will ever fall for that dimpled smile again.

  Prologue

  Talita

  Death by set light was not how I planned on going out.

  I didn’t plan on going out, period, but I especially didn’t fancy the thought of taking my last breath on camera. My final moments would forever be linked to reality television, and that was a fate no one deserved.

  What would the medical examiner write as the cause of death after he painstakingly scraped me up with a spatula? Thermal exposure to film equipment? Slow roast hastened by dermal lube?

  Would he get all of me, or would my eyebrows seep into the cracks between the patio’s slate tiles?

  My poor parents would have to fly all the way from Jersey to identify the pile of goo that had once been their middle child. Maybe that dental crown from eight grade would come in handy after all.

  At least they wouldn’t have to buy a coffin. Anything watertight would do. Hopefully, my older sister, Karine, wouldn’t be in charge. She’d probably make a lava lamp out of me.

  I shifted my weight to one hip, trying to relieve some of the ache inflicted by five-inch stilettos. My feet weren’t silently planning a mutiny below anymore; they were shouting off with her head after an hour of standing around dressed like a sex-crazed swan.

  The wardrobe guy, Ty, insisted that the haute couture gown gave my body curves, but all the credit belonged to the sticky silicone chicken cutlets stuffed under my boobs. Those puppies boosted my tata score from barely B to a full C, almost making up for the tacky testicle feel of them. Combined with the set lights, I now knew what girls were talking about when it came to boob sweat. I’d happily drop back to next to nothing to avoid it.

  Reality dating shows seemed glamorous before, but filming the Fix Up proved that wrong. The incessant bickering over camera time between contestants and overwhelming stench of self-tanner hammered it home. I’d rather be anywhere else on Earth than trapped in a house with a bunch of strange women thirsting after one man.

  I longed for my restaurant days again. Before Hollywood added the extensions, contouring, and faux lashes. When ugly kitchen clogs cushioned my feet and looking like a cave troll didn’t matter. Those were the days.

  “There you are!”

  Oh, hell.

  I thought I was safe.

  A fresh cloud of hair spray assaulted my senses before I could escape. Not that I would’ve gotten far wearing heels on a tiled lanai.

  The stylist, Trishelle, swooped in to touch up my curls in a frenzy of aqua acrylics and winged eyeliner. “I should’ve added more extensions,” she muttered between inflated lips as she fluffed my hair. “This needs more volume.”

  Was she off her rocker? More volume would teeter into Mufasa territory.

  But I kept my mouth shut.

  Trishelle wasn’t my biggest fan after I’d offered a Benadryl when we first met. As it so happened, her lips were intentionally that puffy with the help of lip fillers. My bad.

  In my defense, I’d never seen those things in person. Women in my neck of the woods weren’t exactly running around injecting plastic in their lips. If anything, they got implants as part of their mommy makeovers after pumping out a pair of fast-talking suburban tots. But those were the wealthy women of Honey Hills. The rest of us would have to make what our mamas gave us work with the help of Victoria’s Secret.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Trishelle grumbled, stepping back to view her handiwork with a frown. The blonde pompadour atop her head shifted with the wind, and the world as I knew it tilted on its axis.

  Holy shit. Theron Slater.

  One look at the star brought first-date nerves rushing back. His dreamy blue eyes. The flashing smile. His cut body with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The total package made panties drop faster than the Dow after a bad jobs report.

  Theron wasn’t just some random model picked out of obscurity to be the pretty peen prize of the show. He was the Sinner himself. Women of all ages and backgrounds screamed in passing and begged for his signature on their funbags. Kindergarten teachers, accountants, lawyers: They all went wild for him.

  And I was no different.

  A laugh escaped as the French doors opened, galloping across the sparsely furnished space.

  The lounge chairs that previously dotted the patio had vanished that morning, all signs of life cleansed and replaced with freestanding floral arrangements that said funeral rather than romance.

  It was a funeral, in a way. The taping of the final elimination ceremony meant the end of the show. The final hurrah. Then poof. Reality.

  The playful banter inside earned a scowl from the executive producer, Umi, who immediately started barking orders in her crisp blazer and chinos. Nothing like the smell of fun to ruin her day.

  Of everyone on set, Umi Jonas was the one I’d miss the least. Yes, that included Hannah, the girl who stole my panties on day three, and Synclare, the chick who got drunk just looking at Prosecco. At least they knew how to laugh. I wasn’t sure that Umi had ever learned.

  Trishelle unleashed a final coating of sticky spray before running off, her eyes averted from our set’s dictator as they crossed paths. I wished I could’ve escaped with her.

  Amidst the chaos, Theron strolled onto the patio looking lickable in a custom suit, the black fabric and leather vest keeping with his bad-boy brand, while a navy tie complemented his eyes. The ever-present cocky smirk tilted his lips, his mood unhampered by the fuming woman feet away.

  Someone needed to pinch me. This was it.

  His reappearance apparently made me miss the director, Felipe, shout action at some point. At least that’s what Umi’s glare indicated.

  “Smiles, girls, smiles!” she hollered, clapping her hands like a manic dog trainer. “This is the biggest moment of your lives, and you both look like you’re trying to solve world hunger on the shitter!”

  I forced a smile, appreciating the puff of a dress more than ever for hiding the involuntary tremors in my knees. I wasn’t scared. Just excited. So-happy-I-could-scream excited.

  In a few more hours, it would all be over. No more cameras. No more hair and makeup. No more Umi. Just
me, Slater, and the rest of our lives.

  Beside me, the last of my competition, Staci, rocked a silver mermaid gown, the bedazzled fabric caressing her hourglass figure. She was a pro at the heel game, seeming unfazed at the strappy hell on her feet after years on the beauty competition circuit. I didn’t doubt for a second that she could stand there all night if needed.

  Trishelle had tamed her pageant poof into a waterfall of cascading waves, while the beauty queen’s flesh had enough body oil painted on that I could check my lipstick on her bicep. Slippery circumstances aside, the redhead was drop-dead gorgeous, and any man would be crazy to turn her down.

  But unfortunately for her, the Fix Up was just that—fixed.

  Theron and I were an item before the cameras started rolling, our first meeting on set beginning with a laugh and capping with a kiss. From then on, our relationship was an open secret, with spoon-fed lines filling in the blanks to keep the show running.

  Again, so much for reality television.

  Theron came to a stop with a smile, his teeth an unnaturally white shade that made me regret every cup of coffee I’d ever had. “You two are stunning.”

  His cologne drifted over as the ocean breeze ruffled his sandy hair; the smoky, earthy bite as wild as its wearer. With it came the calmness I craved, settling the anxiety monsters trading blows in my guts.

  “Staci, you entered this house like a mouse,” he started, chuckling huskily at his little rhyme. “But in our time together, you’ve shown that you’re a lioness.”

  Staci nodded her head with a stiff smile, playing along with the little charade to the best of her abilities, which honestly wasn’t much. Girlfriend could charm a room like no other, but acting definitely wasn’t in her future.

  Theron turned toward me, his sapphire eyes stealing my breath. “Talita, there was a spark from the moment we met—something indescribable that I’ll treasure forever.”