The Rock Star's Christmas Reunion: contemporary holiday romance (A Charisma series novel, The Connollys Book 1) (13 page)

Remy made a face as she came to stand next to Bax in the doorway, radiating hostility.

“Yeah, so I can see you’re busy,” Yakima said, thrusting her package at him. “Have some cake. See you later.”

Chapter Eight

Yakima stepped off Bax’s porch and made rapid steps toward her van. Why had she believed him when he’d said he wanted to talk? Of course Remy had gotten her hooks back into him. Who had she been kidding? She needed to look for a man somewhere else. But she’d been so busy, between nursing her aunt and then starting her business. No one had asked her out for eight months or so and she hadn’t even noticed.

Time to install Tinder on her phone. There must be some single men in a twenty-mile radius. Her vagina might collapse from lack of use if she wasn’t careful. She made a face as she opened her van door.

“Wait up.” Suddenly, Bax was on the other side of the door. She hadn’t even heard him coming out behind her.

She glanced down and saw his feet were bare. “Are you nuts? It’s too cold and you aren’t dressed.”

“Tough feet from all those years of jogging on beaches,” he said.

“What do you want?” she asked. “I’m going to do the shopping for your party tomorrow and start the prep.”

“I’m not worried about the party,” he stated.

“Good.”

“Did you really mean it, about not getting involved with me until Remy was gone?” He had a hang dog expression on his face that made him look about thirteen.

“Of course. You might not know it, but we’re battling for you and I’m not sure I’m going to come out the winner.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She nodded for emphasis.

He closed his hand over the edge of her door. “You ought to have more confidence.”

She laughed harshly. “That’s crazy.”

“You’ve had a crush on me a lot longer than Remy has,” he said. “Claiming to be my baby mama back in high school? That’s almost half a lifetime ago.”

“Not quite, buster.” She poked his chest to get him away from the door. “But I’m glad you see the humor in it now.”

He grinned. “Pretty hard to knock up a girl I never even kissed.”

“We were naïve back then. I think we thought we could get pregnant just by fooling around.”

“Oh, to be sixteen again,” he said.

She snorted. “I know you were fooling around with girls in your class out at the lake.”

“Yeah, but no one would go all the way with me when I was sixteen.” He grinned.

“What about at seventeen?”

His grin broadened. “No comment.”

“Yeah. I don’t think you left Battlefield a virgin.”

“I’m a gentleman,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Don’t be. We run into someone you slept with, I want to know, okay? That is, if Remy ever leaves and we go on a date or something.”

“Deal. I’ll tell you all the dirty details. But with any luck, all my exes left town.”

“Not too many people stay,” she agreed. “Not enough jobs around here.”

“Funny that all of my siblings and yours stayed though.”

“We’re unusual.” She shrugged as another yawn ripped through her body. “I need to get some sleep. Couple of big days ahead.”

“Then what? Do you have more work?”

“Well, the Figueroas were really happy with the party and a couple of their guests took my cards.” She crossed her fingers and held them up.

“Good deal.” He leaned forward. She smelled his oceanic aftershave as he bussed her cheek. “I’ll get rid of her soon, Yakima, I promise. I’m sick of this G-rated deal with you.”

“Me too,” she whispered, then, feeling daring, she leaned into him, stopping when her lips were just a breath away from his. She let her hips graze his upper thighs, her belly rub against the front of his jeans.

“Stop that. You’re making my feet warm.”

She laughed and patted his chest. “Maybe you can become a comedian for your next career.”

“Nah, I’m writing songs again.” He held out his hand. “Come closer. I was liking that.”

She wriggled her hips then climbed into her driver’s seat. “No deal. Get rid of the princess, then we’ll talk.” From her perch just above him, she squinted her eyes, waiting for his response.

She saw him nod slightly, but he didn’t make any promises. “See you around, Yakima.” He sketched a wave.

“That’s all you have to say?”

He put his hand on the top of his head. “I told you she was out of here soon. You have nothing to worry about.”

She waved back as he shut her door, then put on her seatbelt. Her smile was back, and not just because of her catering pay, this time. Bax hadn’t entirely crossed over to the Remy side, not yet.

~

The second to the last Friday before Christmas. Battlefield should have been hopping with parties. People wouldn’t be traveling in from out-of-town quite yet, but the locals should be busy. Holiday bazaars would be popping up all around the county for last minute shoppers.

Bax, though a native, felt like an outsider as he pushed his cart around the smaller of the two grocery stores. He received a couple of admiring glances from young mothers as they pushed their oversized carts with car seats through the store, but he was no longer sure if they admired him because he was recognizably famous or because he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Either way, no one spoke to him. He hadn’t moved back here to leave the limelight. In fact, he’d thought he’d be more noticeable here, hometown boy or not. He guessed the opposite was true. Bax Connolly with his three number one hits and two songwriting Grammys was just another anonymous local.

Lost in thought, he was jarred back to reality when his cart collided with another. His carton of eggs slid across the wires, but didn’t bump the side hard enough to break any of them.

“Sorry about that,” said a fifty-something woman with gray-streaked black hair.

As his eyes went to her face, her own gaze narrowed. “Bax? Is it really you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with the countrified recognition-by-the-fans grin he’d picked up from Will Dealy. “And you are?”

Her tone oozed disapproval. “Nancy Wannassay.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How are you, Mrs. Wannassay?” What an ass he was, not recognizing Yakima’s mother and his father’s next door neighbor.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Just picking up a few things?” Bax saw a party tray in her cart, along with a couple of bottles of wine, some good cheese, and high end crackers. “I guess you aren’t a vegetarian.” He pointed at the meats on the tray.

“No. Yakima picked that up from one of her teachers in high school.”

“I thought I remembered hot dogs at Jay’s birthday parties back in the day.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Wannassay seemed to be forcing herself to be social. “All moved in now?”

“I had a decorator handle the basics. Now I’m trying to personalize, and of course, decorate for the holidays. Are you coming to my party tomorrow? I left an invitation tucked into your door.”

“My husband and I are promised to an event in Portland. Thank you for the invitation, though. I’m sure Yakima has something delicious prepared for you.”

“Yes, she did a great job with my little family dinner. You must be proud of her.” Now he was talking like a suburban mom. Mrs. Wannassay, he now remembered, had always made him nervous. She was more forbidding, like Quin, compared to her easygoing daughter.

“I hope she can make a go of it. Not the easiest business around here. But she’s stubborn.” Mrs. Wannassay tucked the strap of her purse more securely into her cart and pushed her purse to the side.

He caught a glimpse of the headline of the night’s Vancouver newspaper folded into her cart. The headline read:
Christmas Thieves Strike Hockinson Area
. “I’d better let you go,” he said. “Very nice to see you again, and I promise I’ll do what I can to help Yakima succeed.”

Her eyes narrowed again, like they had at the start of the conversation. Not knowing what to do, he sketched a wave and pushed his cart toward the checkout stands, randomly tossing stuff from the ends of shelves into his cart as he went.

~

Bax, with no invitations to any gatherings, prayed as he made fat-free feta omelets for himself and for Remy an hour later. He’d learned the technique in rehab as a way to release himself from resentments. Praying for people, wishing them happiness, made it impossible to be upset at them. Prayer filled up all the room in his head. So he prayed for his brothers, completely AWOL from his life, he prayed for his father, who had texted him yesterday, his only communication in days. For his cousins, Haldana who had added him to her joke-of-the-day email list, for Rah Rah, who had her hands full of wiggly kids as it came so close to Christmas vacation, and for the twins, who like his brothers, were nowhere to be found.

Yeah, he’d thought he’d be the life of the local party by now. He pushed that thought aside and prayed for the Wannassay clan’s wellbeing, even Quin, who had gone out of his way to cause trouble.

Remy slinked into the room, clad in a black leather jumpsuit with skintight leggings and a barely there top.

“Where you going all dressed like that?” Bax asked, sliding his messy omelets onto two plates.

“Thought you could take me out. Portland must have some decent clubs.”

“I’m thirty now. Clubs aren’t my scene,” Bax said.

“You don’t have to drink. Just dance. You can be the designated driver.” Remy wiggled her tiny hips. “I’m bored, and I’d rather dance than work out.”

“Okay,” he said, surprising himself. But Remy had been pleasant all day. And if they stayed around the house, it would lose that perfectly clean look he wanted for tomorrow night’s party. A party that seemed like it would be rather small, from the slender volume of RSVPs.

They polished off their food in minutes, then agreed to reconvene at ten to consider their options. Remy drifted upstairs and Bax went into the living room. He picked up his guitar and sat cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree. After he stretched his hands, he played “Jingle Bells,” as easy as they came, then began to practice more complicated tunes, visualizing a group around the tree the next night, singing along to the music he could still make with his guitar. He might not be able to shred it like a pro any more, but he could manage Christmas.

When he heard the voices, he thought he’d imagined the accompaniment into being. He leaned his guitar against a rocking chair and listened. No, the voices were real, and coming from outside. He slid between the tree and the picture window and saw carolers coming up the driveway.

The tune they sang was familiar, but the lyrics weren’t. It sounded like a comedic ode to eggnog. He took that as a sign that they expected libations. Of course, he had no alcohol in the house. He went into the hallway.

“Remy!” he called up the steps, then went to open the front door, grabbing a pack of Frangos mints as he did.

The carolers were on his porch by the time he had the door open, mouths open as they sang their saucy tune. White puffs of air streamed around them. He recognized Yakima, her hair tucked into a green and red elf-hat. Haldana was next to her, which explained why they came to his door. None of his other relatives were there, but he thought he recognized Jess and Amanda, Yakima’s besties from high school.

The group was rounded out by a portly, badly dressed middle-aged man, two elderly women he probably ought to recognize, and another female maybe five years older than him.

Remy came down the steps. She’d added cherry red thigh high boots to her leather catsuit. The single man in the caroling group hit a pitchy note and stopped singing, his face going as red as Remy’s boots.

They finished their song, more raggedy than it had begun, then Haldana stepped forward and sang the intro to “Silver Bells.” She paused, obviously waiting for him to continue.

Instead, Remy came alongside him, tucked her arm into his, and began to sing, imitating Marilyn Maxwell in
The Lemon Drop Kid
, obviously hoping he would play the Bob Hope character. Not wanting to look churlish in front of relative strangers, not to mention his cousin, he played along.

When the last notes of their duet had drifted into the cold night air, the carolers clapped for them. Remy obviously expected it, and bowed, delighted.

"I shouldn't have done that without warming up,” she said. “How daring of you to brave this night air.”

“Come out and sing with us,” Haldana invited.

Bax sneaked a look at Yakima. Her face was impassive, her cheeks pink in the cold air.

“Oh, thank you, boo, but we have plans,” Remy said. “In fact, I need to get my face on.” She sketched a wave and went back up the steps.

“Remy Rose,” breathed one of the women reverently.

Bax shook his box of Frango mints at them. “I don’t have any eggnog, but how about a mint? Haldana and Yakima know they’re my favorites.”

The portly man’s eyes lit up. “I’ll take one.”

“Actually, as Alvin knows,” Yakima said forbiddingly, “we’re raising money for the Salvation Army.”