by Tawna Fenske
She nods and tucks a shock of hair behind one ear. “And your siblings—they’re mostly on the production side?” She accepts the mug I hand her, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic instead of grabbing the handle. “I find the whole dynamic fascinating.”
“Yeah, Gabe’s directing, alongside our sister, Lauren. She’s the producer.” I blow on my coffee, conscious of an odd sting in my nostrils. “There’s also Mari—Marilyn—she’s a psychologist. The social component was her brainchild.”
“And Lana.” Vanessa twists the mug in her hands but doesn’t take a sip. “Public relations, right?”
“Yep, and then Cooper. Also a filmmaker.”
“That’s a lot of talent in one family.” She lifts her mug in a mock toast, then raises it to her lips.
The instant she sips, her brown eyes bulge. “Holy shit!” She sputters into the mug, spraying coffee as she jumps from her chair. “Did you brew napalm?”
I take a sip from my own mug and choke. “My God. It’s like battery acid.”
She’s wiping her tongue with a paper towel, gagging as she does it. “I thought you went heavy on the grounds, but this is like drinking tar.”
Handing me the roll of paper towels, she bends to rinse her mouth in the sink. Swishing and spitting, she coughs as she edges sideways to make room for me.
“Sorry,” I mutter, scraping my tongue with my teeth. “It’s—uh—my first time making coffee.”
“I kinda guessed by watching you,” she says. “But this is beyond awful.”
I finish gulping water from the tap and stand to face her. Water dribbles down my chin, and this is so far from the interview I imagined that there’s no point in saving it. “You knew I was screwing it up, but you didn’t say so?”
She folds her arms over her chest and stares me down. “It’s not my style to micromanage. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt that you had a different way of doing things.”
“And that I wasn’t trying to kill you?” I shake my head, feeling like an asshole. “I really am sorry.”
“Don’t mention it. What kind of coffee is that, anyway?”
I open the cupboard and pull out the flowery tin. “Jovan’s Special Blend,” I read off the label.
“Jovan?” She frowns. “The cult leader? Weren’t they raided like two years ago?”
I sniff the contents of the canister. “What does tear gas smell like?”
Vanessa grimaces and dumps the contents of her mug down the sink. “I think I’ll skip the coffee, thanks.”
“Good thinking.” I start to dump the canister out, then stop. “Maybe I should have this tested.”
She sniffs the contents and shrugs. “It smells like coffee. Really bad, really old coffee, but still coffee.”
I sniff it myself and she’s right. So maybe it’s a case of user error.
“Come on.” I put the lid back on and set the canister on the counter. “There’s a coffee shop on the other side of the compound. It’s not fully functional yet, but at least the coffee is drinkable.”
Vanessa cocks her head. “Does this mean we’re continuing the interview?”
She’s already hired as far as I’m concerned, but yeah. I should do my due diligence. Failing to do that has burned me in before, and no way am I repeating that.
A chill snakes down my arms, and I wonder if she feels it. The way she’s looking at me is so intense, so intimate, that it stalls the breath in my lungs.
Vanessa takes a step back. “I should tell you up front that I’m here for a fresh start,” she says. “I’ve had bad luck in the past mixing business and—and—not business, so this role would be purely professional for me.”
I stare at her as my subconscious jumps up and down yelling.
You’re hired. You’re so fucking hired.
But I’ve learned not to listen to that asshole.
Clearing my throat, I turn toward the door. “Let’s get that coffee.”
***
Want to read more? Show Time is set to release September 25, 2020, and you can pre-order here:
Show Time
https://books2read.com/b/47E7q7
In the meantime, you might enjoy getting to know Vanessa a bit better. She appeared for the first time in Mancandy Crush, a special Ponderosa novella. Keep reading to check out the first chapter…
Your exclusive peek at MANCANDY CRUSH
VALERIE
“Tell me honestly—is this the weirdest wedding you’ve ever done?”
My cousin’s earnest question has me glancing up from my spot on the floor at her feet. I do my best to offer a reassuring smile through the pins clamped in my teeth. “Definitely not.”
Which comes out more like, “mwfnly nrt,” because pins.
Bree smiles anyway and smooths the red sash circling the A-line bateau sweep train gown I designed to flatter her ever-growing baby bump.
“Thanks,” she says. “I keep second-guessing everything, you know? Wondering if we should wait ‘til after the baby comes or just scrap the whole silly Christmas wedding fantasy.”
Spitting the pins into a magnetic dish beside me, I release the hem of her dress and give her my full attention. “No way.” I sit back on my heels. “I mean, yes, this is the first time I’ve stitched snowflake lace for a July wedding. But it’s your wedding. Yours and Austin’s,” I add quickly. “If he wants to cruise down the aisle on a unicycle with his cop uniform inside-out and a pork chop between his teeth while you juggle flaming gerbils at the altar, the two of you can rock on with your weird selves and screw everyone else.”
Bree’s smile widens, and she stops fussing with the sash. “That’s why I picked you for this,” she says. “You always say the right things.”
That is literally the last thing anyone has ever accused me of. More likely she picked me because my dresses have been featured everywhere from Premier Bride to The Knot, plus we’re related. Bree’s big on working with family.
Besides, she knows I love summer weddings. Especially summer weddings with reindeer and mistletoe and a ceremony set in the middle of a snowfield.
I still haven’t figured out how she’s going to pull that off. It’s ninety-two degrees in Central Oregon, and I spent the morning swimming laps in Ponderosa Resort’s outdoor pool.
“I think it’s awesome you know what you want.” I anchor one last pin into the hem before clambering to my feet. “You want a Christmas wedding, and Austin doesn’t want his kid to be a bastard. Problem solved.”
And with a fair amount of creativity, I might add. That bodes well for their relationship skills, though I’m hardly the best judge.
“Thank you.” Bree tucks a dark curl behind her ear and smiles. “Austin’s been great about everything. He came up with the idea for having guests shake jingle bells as our recessional.”
“You landed a perfect guy.” And I swear I’m not at all jealous she’s marrying the hottest, most charming cop on the planet. “Let’s take a look at the dress.”
I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her to face the full-length mirror that I dragged in here this morning. The light in her office is gorgeous, and it’s bigger than most bridal dressing rooms I’ve seen.
Bree’s eyes go wide as she stares at her reflection. “Wow.” She blinks hard, tears gathering along her lashes. “Oh my God, it’s amazing. It’s so perfect, Val.”
She throws her arms around me, squeezing so hard I hear my ribs creak. Pride ripples through me, along with a good bit of relief. A Christmas gown for a knocked-up July bride was a tall order, so I’m glad she loves it.
“See?” she says against my hair. “This is why those Hollywood guys have been hounding you to do that TV show.”
I appreciate the compliment, though I’d sooner superglue my nostrils shut than go bopping around the globe doing episodes for Best Dressed Brides. “You’re the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.”
That’s the God’s-honest truth, and I hope she knows.
“Thanks
, Val. I love you so much.” She releases me and dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “God, I swear this baby has taken over my tear ducts.”
I laugh and hand her another tissue. “And bladder. Remember that summer Aunt Stacy wouldn’t take us anywhere until she’d mapped out all the bathrooms along the way?”
“Now I get it.” Bree laughs again and turns to survey the dress’s train, which is a cloud of snowflake-dotted lace. “I can’t wait for the rest of the family to get here. You like Vanessa’s boyfriend well enough?”
It’s an innocent question. One that shouldn’t sock me in the gut like a sack of wet rags.
“He’s great!” This is true, and I’m pleased I mustered such enthusiasm on behalf of my twin. “Nessie’s excited to introduce him to everyone.”
It’s a perfect response. Nice and breezy, with bonus points for casual use of my sister’s nickname.
But Bree must hear the off-note in my voice.
“What is it?” She turns to face me, green eyes scanning for signs of trauma. “What’s wrong?”
I consider lying. Just making up something about jet-lag or cramps.
But I’ve never been able to lie. I once tattled on myself at recess for stepping off playground property when I tripped and fell with my hand outside the gate.
I suck at fibbing, even a little.
Instead, I sigh. “It’s not a big deal. Just—Raleigh and I knew each other from volunteering with Big Brothers Big Sisters. I’m the one who introduced him to Vanessa.”
Bree nods in sympathy. “I see.”
The weird thing is, she does. She’s six years older than I am, and though we grew up seeing each other just once or twice a year, she’s scarily sharp at reading the vibe between my twin and me.
Bree steps back from the mirror and gives me one of those soothing smiles that’s going to make her a perfect mother. “Did Vanessa know you had a crush on him?”
I shake my head, determined not to get emotional. This is Bree’s time, this lead-up to her perfect, fairytale wedding. I’m not going to be the wet blanket tossed over her twinkle-light tree.
“No way,” I assure her. “Ness was mortified when I admitted it. I wasn’t going to say a word, but she started hammering me with questions about why I got all weird around him and—”
“—and you can’t lie.” She nods, fully grasping the situation. “That’s unfortunate.”
“It’s fine.” I start gathering up my sewing supplies to give my hands something to do. “Really. I’m over him now. Totally happy for my sister, and everything’s going to be great.”
I paste on a smile to prove it as I turn Bree back to face the mirror. “And you’re going to be the world’s most stunning bride.”
She looks dubious, though it has nothing to do with the gown. “I worry about you sometimes, Val. Always putting everyone else’s joy before yours instead of—”
“—and there’s my phone.” I whip it out and wave it to show I’m not full of crap. I really am being saved by the bell.
“Val? Hellooo?” My sister’s voice echos through the office and I curse my stupid phone.
“Sorry,” I tell Bree, backing out of the office in a hurry. “My phone answers by itself sometimes. It’s kind of an asshole—”
“Who’s an asshole?” My sister shouts through the line.
“Not you,” I tell her. “Hang on a sec.”
I press the phone to my chest and address Bree. “You’re gorgeous, and I’m so glad you invited me out here. See you at dinner?”
Bree nods, still wearing that mother-hen look. “Don’t forget the Tumalo Mountain hike in the morning,” she said. “We’ll have ugly Christmas sweaters for everyone if it’s chilly.”
“Got it.”
I marked it on my calendar so I could be sure to have alternate plans. Shaving off my eyebrows with a rusty switchblade, maybe. All the outdoorsy stuff is optional, just Bree’s way of offering fun activities for out-of-town guests.
I’m the lame-ass who’s opting out of most of it.
“See you soon,” I call as I scurry from her office and through the lobby, pushing through the front door and into the juniper-laced sunshine.
I lift the phone to my ear. “Hey, Nessie.” My sandals make squishy noises in the freshly-watered grass as I shortcut my way to the quiet side patio I discovered yesterday. “How’s it going?”
“So good.” She laughs. “Man, it’s great to hear your voice.”
I settle on a live-edge bench and stretch out my legs, admiring the blue glitter polish on my toes. Vanessa painted them right before I left, and I’m struck by a fierce wave of missing my sister. “I can’t wait for you to get here.”
“I miss you, too.” There’s a rustling on the line, and I picture her puttering around her sunny yellow kitchen. “I know it’s only been a few days, but—”
“I know. Me, too.”
Twin connection. It’s a thing.
“Are you absolutely loving it there?” Her voice is Christmas morning breathless.
I nod and lean back against the side of the lodge, breathing in the warm cedar smell. There’s a jagged line of mountains in the distance topped with whipped-cream white. I take in the sun-drizzled meadow, the juniper-laced breeze, the pond glittering with the juicy green flutter of aspen leaves.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell her. “You were right.”
As always. I’d hate my sister if I didn’t love her so much.
“I’m so happy you could go out early,” she says. “I always felt bad I got to visit that one summer while you were stuck at that weird college prep camp with Phillip.”
“I wanted to be at that weird college prep camp.” With Phillip, yes. I was eighteen and smitten.
“I know, but still.”
The guilt making my sister’s voice quivery has nothing to do with that summer, and we both know it.
“And you wanted to climb mountains and go hang gliding,” I continue. “And bungee jump off bridges and rope wild mustangs.”
I’m not sure about the mustangs, but the rest is true. Vanessa was hell-bent on having adventures the summer after we graduated, and who could blame her?
Our sheltered little boarding school life gave me all the safety and security I craved, but it gave Nessie a big, fat case of wanderlust.
“So listen, our flight gets in at one-twenty on Thursday,” she’s saying now. “Are you sure you’re okay picking us up? Because I could get an Uber or—”
“Ness, it’s fine,” I assure her. “I want to come get you.”
There’s a long pause. “You’re positive this is okay?”
Again, we’re not talking about airport pickups. This time, I take the mustang by the leash. Bridle. Whatever.
“For the last time, I think it’s awesome.” My enthusiasm sounds so real, I push it another step. “You think Raleigh’s planning to propose?”
My conspiratorial tone is too much for my sister to resist. “I think so.” She’s whispering, which means Raleigh must be close. “He’s been acting kind of secretive, and he keeps asking about the schedule. Who’ll be there and what sort of activities Bree’s got planned. That sort of thing.”
“That does seem promising.” I’m happy for her. I really am.
“God, Val.” My sister sighs. “I didn’t want it to happen like this. I want you to find someone wonderful, too. Someone like—”
“Ness, I’m happy.” And I’m glad I cut her off before she said Raleigh’s name again. “Seriously. I’m surrounded by mountains and fresh air and beautiful people. Did you know there’s a spa here?”
“Yeah. Bree mentioned it.” Ness sounds unsure, and not about the spa. “Positive you’re okay?”
“As we speak, I am lying in a hammock in the sunshine with two handsome, shirtless men feeding me blackberries and reading to me from Baudelaire.”
Vanessa laughs, one of my favorite sounds on earth. She knows hammocks make me motion sick, I’m allergic to blackberries, and we share a crip
pling aversion to French poetry after our mother made us take classes in Paris.
“You’re a goofball,” she says. “I love you, Val.”
“Love you, too.” My heart squeezes like a rubber band ball. “Look, I have to go. Bree’s been badgering me to get out and do something fun.”
I picture myself curled up on this very bench with a glass of Oregon Pinot and a good book. Probably not what Bree meant, but it’s my idea of fun.
“Oooh, climbing at Smith Rock!” Vanessa suggests. “They have lots of beginner lessons. Or maybe whitewater rafting?”
Good lord. “I’ve never been rafting in my life, and I’d rather nail my hand to a hotplate than go rock climbing.” For crying out loud, did she forget who she’s talking to?
Vanessa sighs. “At least promise me you’ll try something new. Something adventurous. I want you to be happy.”
“Fine.” I shove as much enthusiasm as possible into that syllable so my sister will quit feeling guilty. “I promise.”
“Good.” She laughs, and I picture Raleigh tugging at her hand, or maybe undoing her blouse. The stab I feel under my breastbone isn’t jealousy. It’s not. Just wistfulness, maybe. “Gotta go. See you Thursday!”
“Can’t wait!”
I click off the phone and turn to shove it in my purse.
When I look up, he’s standing there.
A demigod with tanned arms and rumpled hair and a T-shirt pasted onto washboard abs like someone smeared the cotton with fabric glue. Sunlight bursts behind him in an angelic halo, lending an ethereal glow to his blue eyes.
Eyes that appear to be glaring at me.
Me?
I glance around, but I’m the only one here on this quiet patio. Me and a trio of bunnies hopping across the lawn like it’s a freakin’ Disney special.
Demigod clears his throat. “That was quite a performance.”
I look back at him, too tongue-tied by his pecs to form a response wittier than “Um—?”
“It’s just funny,” he says. “I heard less than thirty seconds of that call and caught five flat-out lies and two careless I love yous.” He folds his arms over his chest and gives me this look that’s a weird mix of annoyed and bemused. “So, I guess not much has changed?”
