Every Little Kiss (10 page)

“For heaven's sake! Couldn't you have
pretended
to like his beer? Your face looked like you'd swallowed an entire bag of Sour Patch Kids.”

“I'm sorry! I wanted to like it. But it tastes like he crossed Malt-O-Meal with stollen bread.”

Audrey eyes widened. “It does not. It's really good.”

“You're right. It tastes more like a fruit cake had sex with a potato roll.”

Audrey clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to keep the laughter at bay. But it was useless. It sputtered out until the two of them were cracking up together.

“You're terrible!” Audrey said. “Dave is a really nice guy.”

“Without question,” she agreed. “But his winter ale is not nice. It's definitely on the naughty list.” She lifted up her glass. “Lump of coal for you,” she said to her still-full pint.

Audrey rolled her eyes. “If he comes back, can you just pretend to like it? Here, dump some in my glass so it looks like you actually drank a bit.”

Casey dutifully poured ale into her younger sister's glass, feeling small. Dave was creative and hardworking, so what was her problem? Why wasn't she even trying?

Abe Cameron.

She turned her head, thinking she saw him in her peripheral vision. Her heart raced until she realized it was just a burly farmer whose hair was close to the same color.

Her ears strained, and it took her a moment to understand why, until she figured out that she was hoping to hear Abe's rumbling voice over the Wheelhouse's jukebox.

Which was, of course, foolishness. She needed a man like Dave, not a man like Abe.

Right?

The answer was that she needed to get laid already. She needed to get something checked off her list already. She needed to prove to herself she was changing.

She was almost ready to call Dave over and try again—to see if she couldn't force herself to light a spark between them—when Quinn, the firefighter who'd pulled her out of the elevator and responded to the fire at Robot Lit, grabbed the next seat over at the bar.

“Hey,” Casey said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Quinn studied her for a moment until recognition dawned. “Oh, right! You're the lady from the elevator.”

Casey stuck out her hand. “Casey Tanner. I didn't get to thank you personally for coming to my rescue. Or for responding to the Robot Lit fire.”

“Iris Quinn. Happy to meet you.” She blew her dark bangs off her forehead.

Casey blinked. “I'm sorry, I thought Quinn was your first name. Iris is lovely, though.”

“My mom's favorite flower. I go by either, really. Quinn's fine.”

“In that case, Quinn, it's nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Busy week at your place, eh?”

“What are the odds we'd have an elevator break
and
a fire? This is my sister, by the way. Audrey Callaghan.”

Audrey leaned over and shook the firefighter's hand. “Thanks for saving my sister. She's usually a lot more careful about getting into dark places with strange men.”

Casey shot her sister a warning glare.

“No offense, but I wish you'd been a farting dog or an old man with bad breath,” Quinn said. “We would have let Abe suffer in that elevator for a while longer. Since we knew he was in there with a pretty lady, though, we got him out quick.”

Casey laughed. “Thanks for the speedy rescue.”

“It wasn't that hard, once we got the mechan—”

Quinn's words died on her lips when Dave appeared, ready to take her order. Her long-lashed eyes traveled from his tattooed forearms, up his chest, to the very top of his dark hair before settling back on his face.

“What can I get you?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to her long look.

“I…” She paused for a second, as if needing to regroup. “I hear you've got a seasonal beer on tap.”

“He brewed it himself,” Audrey chimed in. “It's delicious.”

“You made it? Really?”

“Dave here makes the seasonal asparagus ale, too,” Audrey said. “Also the bomb.”

“I love that stuff,” Quinn said, her dark eyes sparkling. “I never knew the brewer would be the bartender, too.”

“Dave the bartender, meet Quinn the firefighter,” Casey said.

Dave smiled. To Casey, he looked like he was standing up just a little bit straighter. “I wish I could make the special flavors year round. I have to keep it to every once in a while. For now, anyway.” He glanced over at the edge of the bar, where a runner had just placed some freshly fried cheese curds. “Listen, some food's up and I need to tend to some customers here, but once I'm done, let me get you that beer because you should have a drink in your hand if you're going to be on a first-name basis with me.”

“That sounds great,” Quinn said. “The beer part, I mean. Not the part where you leave. I mean…never mind.”

Dave laughed. She could have sworn Quinn clutched the bar to keep herself upright. “Be right back,” he said, giving her a wink.

Quinn turned to the sisters when he was gone. “Ugh. A cute bartender shows up and I get so flustered he probably thinks I'm cognitively challenged.”

Casey studied the young woman's heart-shaped face, her enormous dark eyes, and her strong, athletic fireman's build.
Challenged
was probably not what Dave was thinking at all.
Hot
would be more like it.

Hotter than Casey, certainly. She looked down at her boring black sweater and her plain jeans. She was still so practical, even when she was trying not to be. Audrey, in contrast, had on a suede knee-length skirt with a flirty cream-colored top. On the other side, Quinn sported a snug black shirt and black leather pants.
She looks like a total firefighting badass
, Casey thought with a small twinge of jealousy.

Not that she suddenly wanted to challenge Quinn for Dave the bartender's attentions. It was just that she wanted so badly for someone to be utterly captivated by her.

She glanced at her unfinished beer, wondering if it had been a fool's errand to have made a list in the first place. She could feel her cheeks pinking with the brazenness of it. The sheer balls she and the Knots and Bolts group had to spell out everything they did like that!

Suddenly, Abe Cameron was back in her brain, and she shifted on the barstool.

“Hey,” Audrey said, “you okay? You look flushed all of a sudden.”

“I'm fine,” Casey said. “I'm thinking about the fire at Robot Lit is all.” It was a terrible lie. She could see the doubt in her sister's face. To her relief, Quinn took the bait.

“Lu's got an investigator looking into it. He'll probably ask you whether you can think of anyone who would want to harm the place. Maybe a disgruntled employee or something?”

“I barely know everyone's names,” Casey said. “I haven't been there long enough to have a clue. My boss, Ingrid, will, though. It was her mom who started the place. She's been there since the beginning.”

Quinn nodded. “The investigator will be in touch. Keep an eye out in the meantime.”

“Keep an eye out for a certain tall, handsome bartender, you mean?” Casey asked, watching Dave approach them, a pint of winter ale in hand.

“If you are God-fearing women, please start praying that I don't say anything ridiculous,” Quinn muttered.

Based on the grin Dave was sporting, Quinn could probably start speaking Icelandic and Dave would be happy about it. So long as she was still talking to
him
.

The way Dave's eyes were locked on to Quinn's, Casey knew that Audrey's hopes of getting her together with the well-meaning bartender had failed. Which was just as well. It was hard to fall for a brewer—or an artisan of any kind—if you didn't like what they made.

The night would be a total bust, Casey thought, if she weren't so grateful to her sister for trying at all. For coming out and attempting to introduce her to people and helping Casey feel part of the community.

She squeezed her sister's hand. “You want to go back to my place and watch a Christmas movie? I have
Miracle on 34th Street
and
It's a Wonderful Life
.”

“Best pickup line I've heard all night. As long as there are more cookies.”

“Cookies and popcorn and a chardonnay in the fridge.”

“Sold!” Audrey said. She leaned in and dropped her voice. “I also feel like we're doing a good deed here, letting Dave focus on his new friend, Quinn. Look at the way he's zoned in on her.”

“She can't stop
smiling
,” Casey whispered.

“Maybe that was why we were meant to be here tonight,” Audrey mused as Casey pulled out her wallet to leave money on the bar. “To introduce those two. We can leave feeling good.”

Casey studied her beautiful, well-meaning sister and her heart swelled.

Casey might not have been lucky in love tonight the way she was thinking—but she was lucky in a different way. The relationship she was happiest about and most grateful for was right there with her as they exited the bar.

There was also the fact that they'd ruled out Dave Englund as potential list fodder, which left her with Abe Cameron as the only viable option.

The thought warmed her more than she thought it would as she and Audrey headed out into the frozen night.

T
here may not have been much of a spark between Dave Englund and herself, but nevertheless Casey was still thinking about fire the next morning. Something about the Robot Lit blaze wasn't right. She mulled over the details as she pawed through the unpacked boxes in her house, searching for her Christmas items.

She'd started enough bonfires and blazes in the fireplace to know that lighting paper wasn't always a guarantee something would burn. You needed kindling, maybe even something more.

So why had someone lit the paper, and only the paper, to start the blaze? It was a half-assed job if it had been arson. Which didn't make much sense. Didn't arsonists want to be successful?

Then again, it could have just been a fluke. A pile of papers got tipped over and…maybe there was an exposed wire somewhere? Except Casey had been down there the day before installing the smoke detectors and fire extinguisher, and there were no papers strewn about, no sparking wires laid bare.

Puzzled, she plunged her hands into packing peanuts, hoping to land on an ornament, a wise man, an Abominable Snowman—anything. But all she felt were the squeaky Styrofoam bits. She sat back on her heels, frustrated by her search and frustrated by the fire. Things weren't adding up on either account. Her ornaments and tinsel and sleigh bells should
be
here. And if someone had really lit the Robot Lit fire, they'd done a piss-poor job of it. So why go through all the hassle of starting a fire at all?

She took a deep breath and tried to bring her heart rate back to normal. Down the hall in the living room, holiday music played softly. She looked at all the boxes stacked in her guest room and figured she should give up on the ornament search and just unpack everything already. She knew where everything needed to go—she'd figured it out on graph paper the day she bought her house—and now she was ready to tackle it all.

If there was part of her that had been procrastinating because she'd wondered if she'd fit in in White Pine, it was fading. The relationships with her colleagues at Robot Lit, with the Knots and Bolts crew, and with Audrey were beginning to feel like rope she'd been braided into. It was getting harder and harder to unwind her existence from theirs.

There was a time when the idea would have terrified her.

Now, it delighted her.

She placed a book on the nearby shelf, and gave herself a mental high five. One down, and too many to count to go.

As if cheering in response, her cell phone buzzed once next to her. A text.

I need my coat. I suppose I could get it from you today at the tree lighting.

Casey stared at it for a minute before bursting into laughter.
Abe.
It was either the worst way to ask someone to accompany you to something—or the most hilarious. She could picture Abe's stone face as he typed it. A prickle of excitement traveled down her spine.

If I said I gave your coat to needy children, would you still want to go?

A pause. Then:

No. But I wouldn't deprive you of my company. I'm selfless like that.

Casey giggled.

What time do you want to pick me up?

Who said I was picking you up?

You did. When you gave me your coat.

You hold me to my word. I'll hold you period.

Casey's hands trembled slightly.

I'd rather be picked up than held if we're still talking about the lighting
.

Right. Pick you up at 3 to catch the parade. Lighting is at 4.

OK. Don't try to pull into driveway. It's not shoveled.

Why not?

My butler didn't get around to it.

I can help. I'm good at shoveling.

Casey smiled.

I'm ok. And btw, doesn't the fire truck need to be in the parade?

Yes. But I don't have to be on it. I'm the lieutenant.

Not a captain, then. Too bad.

Why is that?

I can't call you O captain my captain.

Are you trying to seduce me with poetry?

Casey cracked up, the sound echoing in the quiet of her home. She knew she should type no, but instead, she typed the opposite:

Yes.

It's working.

Her muscles tensed. How had texting turned into such a thrilling thing? She sent Abe her address. He asked if he should look for a cardboard box at that street number. She told him she'd upgraded to a shipping crate.

Good for you.

And then, as quickly as it had started, it was over.

Casey stared at her phone, her breathing shallow. Her body was taut and achy. What was Abe Cameron doing to her? How had texting turned her inside out?

She set down her phone. From the living room, the strains of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” floated through the air. Casey rocked her hips to the chorus, humming along to the lyrics about wishing for a person—not a present—for the holiday.

In her mind she painted a picture of Abe holding her by the Christmas tree. His strong arms would encircle her, his warmth would encompass her. And the ornaments—when she found them and hung them—would sparkle like snowflakes in the sun.

She shook her head. She needed to stop fantasizing about Abe already, unless it was as him checking things off her holiday list. The thought didn't repulse her anymore, though. Not by a long shot. She'd left the bar last night with him front and center in her brain. He was even strong enough to override the memory of that awful Christmas ale.

She glanced at her watch. She had three hours before Abe got here.

She was determined to be as pulled together as possible.

Meaning in three hours, she was going to unpack everything she possibly could, find her missing decorations, hang them, shovel the drive, shower, and get ready.

Casey liked nothing more than a challenge. She tore into the box at her feet and got to work.

Abe checked the address before he knocked again. Supposedly this was the right place, but no one was answering. He thumped on the front door one more time and listened. He could hear the strains of holiday music playing. He glanced through the window beside the door and saw a candle burning, as well as one of Robot Lit's fund-raising brochures. This was likely Casey's house, and it looked like someone should be there—so why wasn't she answering?

Behind him, a car drove past on the road—a young couple in a minivan. The car's undercarriage was clotted with clumps of snow and slush. Abe glanced at his own Jeep, bright and clean in spite of the weather. He was fastidious about his car getting washed frequently.

Abe glanced down at his snow-covered boots. Casey was right about her driveway not being shoveled. In fact, her cozy little Cape Cod had a curved sidewalk that looked like it hadn't been touched since
November
. His boots were covered in powder.

He rang the doorbell once more, but still got no answer. Disappointment weighted his insides. Had she forgotten about him? After texting early this afternoon, he figured the date was locked in. He'd been looking forward to it.

Maybe she just had to run out for something quickly
, he thought. The idea gained traction in his mind after a moment or two. Willing himself to believe it, he trudged back through the snow to his car. If Casey was out running late somewhere, he'd just keep himself busy until she returned.

Grabbing a shovel from the back of the Jeep, he started carving a path along the sidewalk. He hurtled great piles of snow off the cement, his muscles burning with the effort. God, but he liked this part of winter. Battling the elements reminded him that he was a survivor, that this is what humankind had done for years, that he was part of a long line of Homo sapiens who had worked for millennia to keep the cold at bay and to carve out a comfortable existence amid the ice and snow.

He felt so good when he finished the sidewalk that he started in on the driveway. It wasn't a big one—just a little patch of blacktop, really—and he was making good progress when he heard his name.

He stopped his work and turned back toward the house. Framed in the doorway with golden light all around her was Casey. And she was wearing…shorts and a tank top. He had to blink to make sure he wasn't imagining the summer-like outfit on her. Or the fact that her legs looked long enough to wrap around him. Twice.

Holy shit.

“Oh my God, how long have you been out here?” she gasped. “I'm so sorry, I got in the shower late, and I must not have heard the door.…” She was wringing her hands. Leaning the shovel against his car, he started back up the now-clear sidewalk.

“Please, come in. And to think you were out here
working
. Look at all you did! I've been meaning to shovel. I'm so used to apartment living that I forget about it, but I—”

He was close enough to her now to see the moisture still beading on her skin. Her dark brown hair clung to her shoulders in damp tendrils. He could smell a simple, clean fragrance that had him wanting to pull her close.

“Please, come in,” she said. She held the door wide, and he stepped into her home, which smelled like sugar cookies and fresh pine and frosting. He inhaled deeply.

In the living room just to the right of the door, there was an undecorated tree shoved in the corner. It was still bound in twine, its stump resting on the hardwood floor. Straight ahead was a cheerily colored kitchen, and then a small hallway to the left.

“Nice place,” he said, and meant it. The floors were bright and clean, the furniture classic, the colors warm without being overpowering. He went to take off his boots, but she waved her hands.

“No, no need for that. Please, keep them on. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be ten minutes, max. Can I get you anything?”

Scarlet color was working its way up her neck. She shifted from one foot to the other. She was mortified, he realized. It didn't stop him from appreciating the way the red brought out her collarbones, two long and delicate lines under her tank top straps. He wanted to run his hands across them.

“I'm fine,” he said instead. “Lester Lawsick organizes this thing, and he's always running late with the animals.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Who's Lester? And what animals?”

Right. She was still new to town.

“Lester's the large-animal vet. He always tries to get some goats into the holiday parade, or a llama from Vick Henderson's place. It's usually a mess. Means the parade never starts on time. And then the lighting is late, too.”

“Oh,” she said. At the top of her tank was a dusting of freckles. He had to consciously keep his eyes trained on hers to keep from staring at the smattering of color on her smooth, pale skin.

“Please, have a seat. I'll be ready shortly.”

She padded toward the kitchen and down the hallway. He watched her retreat, thinking of how soft she looked. Her sister, Audrey, was athlete-hard and toned, but Casey was rounder and smoother in a way that had his cock thickening. He forced himself to take a calming breath. He wasn't going to get worked up before they were even out the door. Not if he could help himself, anyway.

Wiping the snow off his boots, he walked over to the tree in the living room. It was starting to brown, and he wondered how long it had been here. The thing needed water—and soon.

“You got a stand?” he called down the hallway. “I'll get this tree sorted out for you if you want.” He heard the click of a door, maybe a closet, and the sound of a drawer opening. He tried not to wonder whether she was naked, or if she was pulling on a pair of panties right this minute.

“My poor tree. I can't find the stand, but I haven't caved in to buy a new one yet. I keep thinking it's going to turn up any minute.” There was the sound of more shuffling. “I'm going to run my blow dryer for a few minutes. Sorry.”

The electric whir started up before he could answer. He stared at the tree as the noise filled the cozy house, thinking that White Pine Hardware would have tree stands. And Main Street was only about a minute away if he floored it in his sturdy Jeep. He figured he could take the side streets in to avoid the parade traffic, double-park while he got the stand, and be back before Casey even noticed he was gone.

He hesitated for only the briefest of seconds. Shoveling Casey out
and
fixing her tree might be a little presumptuous, but he couldn't deny the pleasure it gave him. He'd always liked helping people. He just wasn't prepared for how much he liked helping
her
.

He told himself it was what anyone would do. Casey was adjusting to small-town life and home ownership, after all. He was just being friendly. It was no big deal.

Nevertheless, he was already grinning as he pulled the front door closed behind him with a soft click.