Chapter 2
Chapter two
“We’re revisiting the scene of last month’s crime,” Mom whispers, leaning in, her dangly silver earrings glint under the twinkly lights strung across City Hall’s ceiling. “I hope Mrs. Helmsley doesn’t take her disappointment about losing that pie contest out on you.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s out for revenge tonight. She knows how angry you’d be if one of us ended up on her list. Payback’s a bitch.” Mom’s perfectly arched brows furrow into a frown.
“Sorry for cursing,” I quickly add, drumming my fingers on the large oval table we were able to snag at the front. I’m close enough to feel the heat of the spotlight, but far enough to dream of escaping.
Pressure builds in my sternum as the seconds tick by.
I try to distract myself by listening to the Wren Cutler band play “Jingle Bell Rock,” but it’s no use.
The crotchety biddies who run this Christmas debacle could waddle onto the stage any minute, and I can’t sit still.
“I’m going to grab a cookie or something.
Don’t give my seat away,” I tease Mom, pushing back my chair.
“Don’t be long.” She sends me a warning look, playfully pointing at me.
“Wouldn’t dream of being late for my own demise,” I murmur under my breath, weaving through the packed tables, dodging elbows, and the occasional flirtatious wink from old flames.
I finally reach the end of the auditorium and the cookies.
I grab one in the shape of a bell and steel myself for what’s coming.
***
Winter
“Stay close,” I whisper to Lauren. My voice is barely audible over the hum of chatter as we enter a transformed, glittering winter wonderland.
The air is buzzing with families clustered around tables decorated with red-and-green tablecloths, and the scent of spicy mulled cider and fresh-baked gingerbread fills the air.
We slowly work our way through the packed auditorium under twinkling lights to the refreshment area at the back of the hall.
Lauren immediately snags a chunk of gingerbread, and I eye the peppermint-dusted sugar cookies piled high on silver trays, but I’m too nervous to eat.
We hurry past the snacks, serenaded by the band belting out a jazzy version of “Winter Wonderland.”
“There?” My roommate points to two empty seats at the last table near the coat rack.
“Perfect.” I rush over to claim them and slide into a chair. My scarf tangles around my neck in the process. I unwind it with a flustered tug and brush the hair off my forehead.
“Try not to worry,” Lauren says, plunking down next to me. Crumbs tumble from her cookie as she takes a crunchy bite, and gives my arm a reassuring squeeze.
My heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, bashing wildly against my ribs. I have enough stress with my job teetering on deadlines and client demands. Who knew I was being spied on all year by a bunch of nosy ladies who don’t even know me?
I twist the hem of my sweater and watch six older women slowly shuffle onto the stage in a procession of sequined sweaters and sensible heels, with their clipboards gleaming under the spotlights.
The only person I recognize is Mrs. Helmsley; her silver hair is pinned in an impeccable bun.
I lean closer to Lauren. “The woman picking up the microphone seems to be on the board of everything in this town.”
“Wasn’t she in charge of the pumpkin pie palooza and the library fundraiser?”
“That’s her.”
I almost jump when Mrs. Helmsley clears her throat.
The words, “Attention, please,” blasts through the speakers and on command, the room falls into a hush.
I can hear the wind howling outside as she welcomes everyone to the twenty-year anniversary of the Mistletoe Gala.
Her voice booms with pride as she explains the month-long extravaganza begins with the announcement of the naughty and nice lists.
She starts with the “nice” list, of course, drawing out the suspense, listing the achievements of the five Passion Pines residents with glowing praise: the baker who donated pies to the food bank, the teacher who organized toy drives, and on and on …
I’m on the edge of my seat.
My throat is so dry it feels like I’ve swallowed yarn.
My heart is thudding in my ears. I have to force myself to stay glued to my chair instead of bolting, as each winner accepts their prizes: dinner for two, once a month at twelve different local “hot spots.” Our town is so small, most of the restaurants aren’t anywhere near Passion Pines, but we all clap anyway.
Thankfully, this ordeal is almost over. So far, Mrs. Helmsley has called three naughties up to the stage, conveniently not mentioning the dirty deeds they committed to put them on her list. Two more to go.
I’m in the clear. My shoulders sag in relief until I hear, “Naughty number four is Winter McAllister. Winter, please join us.”
I gasp, temporarily stunned.
“Oh no.” Lauren turns to me with eyes as wide as saucers, forgetting her cookie mid-bite. “Just smile and get it over with. I’m so sorry.” She squeezes my hand.
“Thanks.” I scoot out from the table with legs that feel like overcooked noodles. Reminding myself to square my shoulders, I hold my head up and make my way to the front as sympathetic, judgmental, amused murmurs ripple through the space.
After climbing the few steps up to the platform, Mrs. Helmsley gestures for me to stand with the other three naughties. They give me sheepish grins and subtle waves as I pass the rest of the women on the board, seated at a long fold-up table decorated with red ribbons and swaths of garland.
“This is insane,” I grumble, joining my partners in crime under the blinding stage lights that turn the audience into a sea of shadowy blobs.
Thank goodness for the little things. It’s impossible to make out any individual faces, but I hear Mrs. Helmsley announce the final name with glee in her voice: “Tanner Stone.”
The sound of the crowd whooping it up for him with cheers and whistles is deafening.
The man is either very popular or extremely naughty.
When he bounds up the steps two at a time, over six feet tall with broad shoulders straining against his flannel shirt, super fit like he chops wood for fun, and a killer smile that could melt the snow outside, I consider the high probability that he’s both, naughty and popular, which is probably why he’s on the list with me.
“Hey,” he shoots me a cocky grin with his white teeth flashing as he sidles up beside me, smelling unbelievably good.
“Hey,” I answer softly, trying not to stare at his dimples, his eyes, or the way his dark hair curls a little just above his collar. As if the heat of the stage lights weren’t enough, now I’m so hot I feel my hair sticking to my sweaty forehead.
We all bide our time on stage, shifting from foot to foot as Mrs. Helmsley hams it up while dividing us into groups, handing out our assignments on embossed cards.
There’s one group of three. And it’s crazy to admit: I have to bite down a smile when I’m paired with Tanner.
If there’s a bright spot tonight, it’s him.
I’ll even give him bonus points for appearing just as bothered about this as I am.
Our task is to paint the interior of the Veterans Hall, which, as chores go, is fine with me. My dad was in the Navy, and our local organization desperately needs help. The minutes turn to seconds as the ceremony mercifully ends with a round of applause, a thank you for sprucing up the town.
Tanner guides me off stage with a gentle hand hovering at the small of my back. He isn’t touching me, but almost touching is enough to send sparks charging up my spine as he leads me away from the others, to a shadowed alcove behind a velvet curtain.
“Looks like we’re in this together, Miss Naughty.
” He cracks a smile that is so pinned on me, intense, playful, with eyes the color of a big blue Montana sky, crinkling at the corners, that I can’t help but smile back.
Oh boy, there go those dimples. An involuntary nervous, turned-on giggle bubbles up.
“Sure looks that way.”
“When do you want to get started?” He tilts his head, exuding an easy, and dare I say, naughty confidence, that almost makes me burst out laughing, but I manage to compose myself. Barely. What a night.
“I have a full-time job, so I’ll need to work nights and weekends. I’m free tomorrow and Sunday.”
“Perfect.” He pulls out his phone from his back pocket, unlocks it with a swipe and I give him my number before Lauren joins us.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says in a sexy low voice. His gaze lingers just a second too long before he melts into the crowd with a smile.