The Christmas Tree Wars Page 2
He blinked. The woman couldn’t possibly be little Suzette. Not eighty-five-pound Suze with more hair than bones? Not the frizzy dorky kid who’d worn black framed glasses with lenses thicker than candy jars?
“Spence, don’t tell me you forgot what happened with the Bunsen burner.”
“Suzette Forrester?”
“Very good. I see you’re still a brainiac. Have you come clean to all your jock friends or are you still a closet intellectual?”
She still had her sass.
He missed sass. “I grew up, Suzette. No one cares about high school anymore.”
“In most places that might be true, but you’re back in Merryvale now.”
“Riiiiight. Nothing ever changes in this town.” They hadn’t exactly been friends in high school. Suzette had been a grade behind him and more like a pesky little sister, but she’d been a damn good lab partner. She’d also pretty much saved his scholarship. If she hadn’t tutored him in chemistry, his GPA might not have been high enough for UConn. And unless she’d blabbed, she remained the only person in Merryvale, besides his dad, who knew he earned an academic scholarship, not an athletic one. He couldn’t exactly tell the town the Furniture Fairy had gotten an artsy-fartsy ride to college.
Why it still mattered, he didn’t know. Maybe because his old man still hadn’t gotten over the disappointment of not seeing him in Tarhill blue. Odd considering his dad owned a third generation antiques store.
“You look great, Suze.” Did she ever. Better than great. Spence wondered what presents were hidden inside all that pink-and-black fuzz wrapping. “Why are you still in Merryvale? Didn’t I hear you’d moved away?”
“You heard I’d moved?” Suzette narrowed her eyes. “I did. When will your dad be back?”
What had crawled up her spotted butt? “Not nearly as soon as either of us would like.”
She nodded, but the spunk seemed to have gone right out of her. “In a hurry to get back to your wife?”
“No wife.”
She squinted one eye. She’d worn the same expression when she solved a difficult equation. Did she now consider him one of her problems?
“Girlfriend?”
“No—” Crap. He couldn’t lie to Suzette, even if he really wanted to pretend Darlene didn’t exist. “Actually, I do. Sort of.”
Of course he did—he’d decided to move in with Darlene. Actually, he’d agreed with her decision but what was wrong with him? Just because Suzette had grown up hot didn’t mean he should forget three years with Darlene. Besides, she was just as hot as Suzette—almost as hot anyway and she had the New York sophistication he preferred.
“So when will your dad be back?”
“Eh—” He’d been dismissed. “Probably not for a while. He’s in pretty serious condition.”
“Really? I’d heard it was mi—You know what, I should go.” Suzette nodded, seeming to have come to some decision and he hadn’t even identified the issue. “See you around. Or maybe not. Tell your dad I said hello.” She reached for her bag.
Without rhyme or reason, keeping Suzette in the shop suddenly became the most important thing on his to-do list. He reached for her arm. “Wait. I’m sure I can help with whatever you need.”
She pulled her arm beyond his grasp and shook her head, sending her mass of curls into a mesmerizing dance. “You probably can’t. Your dad was pulling some strings. I didn’t know his heart attack was serious. If he’s convalescing, I’m screwed. Katarina Snodgrass is going to win the Christmas Tree Award. Again.”
“They’re still doing the tree wars thing?” He stifled a chuckle, knowing the annual event was a big deal.
“No. I just made that up.” She tightened her grip on her bag. “Of course Merryvale still has the Christmas Tree competition. It’s tradition. And the event brings in a lot of tourists.”
“Oh, well maybe I’ll check it out. For old times’ sake.”
She didn’t smile. If anything, she seemed more miffed. “We also still do a production of A Christmas Carol in the town square. The town actually snared a real Hollywood star to play Ebenezer this year.”
“Really, who?”
The look she shot him made him feel like reindeer road kill. “Maybe you’re not such a brainiac after all, Spence. Tripp Anthony is coming home to play the part. Wasn’t he your best friend? I guess you didn’t keep in touch with him either, huh?”
So that’s why she was mad. He should have kept in touch with both of them. Before he could apologize, she gave him a little wave.
“Good seeing you, Spence.”
He almost crawled over the counter to stop her as she headed for the door. “Suzette, please wait. I know it’s been ten years, but I do know a thing or two about antiques.”
“I’m sure you do, but it’s too late.” She let the door slam, causing the bell to jangle.
He leaped over the counter, but she’d already headed across the street. Through the slightly smudged glass, he watched her jaywalk and then enter the Brew Mistress—odd name for a coffee shop.
The walls turned boa constrictor and closed in. Maybe he could close a little early and catch up with Suzette. A cup of cocoa might be just the thing to chase away the winter blues.
Well, not blues exactly. He had no reason to be gloomy. In two weeks he’d be returning to his life. Perfect job, great city, nice girl. Everything he’d always wanted, right?
His rational thinking didn’t help his mood. Maybe if he knew what his dad promised Suzette, he might be able to help her. Would be good for Merryvale if Katarina lost to the underdog. He remembered more and more about how much importance the townspeople placed on the Christmas Tree Wars.
He pulled out his cell. “Dad? Oh good, you’re awake. What did you promise Suzette Forrester?”
“Dresden paper ornaments.”
“Dresden?” For a Christmas tree? That couldn’t be right. “As in the china maker?”
“As in Dresden trim. The ornaments are from the Victorian era.” His father launched into another antiques soliloquy he didn’t want to hear.
“Dad—Dad. Do you have what she needs or not?”
“Of course I do. We planned out the entire tree before I got sick. I ordered six original ornaments for the front and commissioned a whole packet of reproductions. The ornaments are under the left counter. The originals are in a red box, wrapped in acid free paper. Be careful with them. The little chariot alone cost fifteen hundred dollars. And don’t you dare mark up the price. Poor girl can’t afford it.”
“I thought her mom was rich.” Spence bent over to check. Sure enough. A big red box. Funny, he’d cleaned all the counters last week when sheer boredom threatened to have him creating a hemp noose. He could have sworn the box wasn’t there. “When did these come in?”
His father coughed. “Her mom’s got money. Suzette doesn’t.” The old man coughed again.
“Dad?” Spence’s alarm bells dinged. “You okay?”
His father wheezed. “I’m fine.”
Spence asked a third time before realizing he sounded like a washer woman. “Okay. I’ll be home in a couple hours. I’ll bring you some soup.” He hung up before the old man could ask why he’d be late.
Chapter Three
Do I Have to Be Home for Christmas?
What a complete and total butt.
He might be a fine hunk of man, with those big shoulders and piercing brown eyes, but Suzette couldn’t believe there’d ever been a time when she dreamed about becoming Mrs. Spence James. She’d idolized him. Not that he’d ever noticed. Worse, he’d treated her like a kid sister. A platonic being with no sex appeal.
Thank goodness she’d gotten over that nonsense. Totally. But she’d considered Spence a friend—a good friend. He’d promised to keep in touch before he went away to college. She’d actually believed there might be a legitimate reason he hadn’t.
Obviously, she’d been delusional. Well, bah, hum-butt. The man could just take his T-square, or whatever architects
used these days, and stick it.
Her phone rang. She glanced at the display. Her mother. Again.
She glanced at the sky. “Haven’t I had enough for one morning?”
With a sigh, she clicked the “on” button. “Hi.”
“Suzette, please don’t tell me you entered that stupid contest.” Her mom had used her boardroom tone. Never a good sign.
How in the name of Scrooge did her mother manage to find out everything that happened in the town? Carol Cartwright—her mother wasted no time in dropping “Forrester” and taking back her maiden name—abhorred Merryvale. Who was talking to her?
“Um, okay.”
“Okay what, Suzette? Okay you won’t tell me or okay you didn’t enter?”
Yes. To both. But Suzette didn’t voice her answer aloud.
“Never mind. I know you. I already know the answer. I just don’t understand you. I still don’t understand why anyone would move into that creepy house and run that insipid little flower shop.”
She knew better, but she restated the obvious. “Because Nana left the house to me, Mom.” And the cottage was charming, not creepy. Even if the roof leaked and the furnace made rather frightening noises at the oddest times.
“Yes. And she left you that shop complete with debts and that ridiculous clause. Thank goodness you only have one more month, sweetheart, then you can blow off that town.”
But did she really want to? Suzette had loved growing up in Merryvale—even if it meant only seeing her mother once a month or so. To be fair, her mom hadn’t wanted to leave her behind after her father died—Suzette was certain of that. But Carol Cartwright couldn’t make enough money for the life she envisioned while taking care of a ten-year-old. And she couldn’t make any real money in Merryvale so she’d moved to Miami. And Suzette had been secretly relieved. Her mother was...intense.
The summer before Suzette turned eighteen, everything changed. Her mother sold her vitamin water to a major corporation and insisted that Suzette join her in Miami. Spence had graduated and Kaley had become an exchange student, so Suzette didn’t have much argument in her.
“Honey, you know we plan to leave for Paris on December tenth. That contest will ruin everything. Is it too late to back out?”
Suzette sucked in a breath. Her mother telling her to back out of a commitment? Had the sky fallen and Chicken Little forgot to warn her? “I need to do this.”
She listened to a long pause. Her mother could say more with nothing than most people could convey with several paragraphs.
“It’ll just be a little delay, Mom. I’ll fly out a week later.” Her mother had rented a villa for the full month. Did Carol even realize how hard she worked to make sure the holidays were as different from Merryvale Christmas as possible?
“In the long run, sweetheart, I’m not sure staying there for a year has been worth the sacrifice. If you’d stayed at the University you would have finished your research internship and—”
“I know. I know. I could be making some real money.” No need to be snarky to her mother. The parental unit just wanted her daughter to succeed and live well. Only the carrot of a six-figure income no longer held much appeal, especially if it meant she’d get her paycheck from a major pharmaceutical company.
“I know you love that DNA stuff, honey, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t earn a decent living.”
Her mother, as always, was right. But once upon a time, Suzette had loved Forrester Florals. She’d just never wanted to work there. Yet she’d spent her last eleven months doing just that. Her grandmother’s will stated clearly that she had to serve as proprietress for a full year before the business could be sold. Carol considered Nana’s last will cruel, but Suzette knew exactly what her grandmother hoped. Nana wanted her to fall in love with Merryvale again.
Only she hadn’t. And now that Spence had turned out to be such a jerk, she should probably get back to Florida and get on with her life.
“You do know I want the best for you, right, sugar?”
“I do, Mom.”
“All right, fine. If you must enter that silly contest, do the best you can.” She paused again. “Maybe you should hire a designer?”
Her mother meant well, but Suzette didn’t want to talk about the contest. “I can’t do that, Mom. You know it violates the rules for a company to get expert help. Look, it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Okay?”
“Sure, yes. I know you’ll do well.”
Suzette might have believed her mother if the answer hadn’t been fired back accompanied by a nervous titter. “Bye, Mom.”
Somehow she had to design a killer tree, pull together all the components and be ready to make it all fit on whatever tree she was assigned by the contest committee. And do all that better than Katarina, who’d beaten her every time they’d competed.
She was so screwed.
Chapter Four
Angels We Have Heard on High—Spence Hid
the Ornaments
Tripp waved at the crowd as he got out of the limo. Suzette couldn’t believe a star of his magnitude had decided to spend Christmas in Merryvale. Even harder to imagine he’d arrived early to rehearse for a local play. His agent had probably gone ape-shit.
She’d been flattered when the mayor asked her to greet Tripp Anthony. She actually wanted to say hello. The super jock turned superstar—or as superstar as a soap actor could be—had always been sweet to her. “Tripp? Hi.”
He grinned. “Well, hello. This welcoming committee is certainly an improvement over the usual mayor and marching band combo.”
Too suave for the shy boy she remembered. And judging from his face, he didn’t recognize her. That hurt.
To be fair, she had changed, but had she changed that much? “Tripp, I’m—”
A woman darted in front of her. “Baby. Here I am.”
Katarina Snodgrass. Who else?
Suzette dropped her hands by her sides. Might as well forget about talking to Tripp today. In high school, the man had been fish-eyed for Katarina. Rumor was he’d begged the socialite to go to Hollywood but the woman wouldn’t leave the Merryvale pond.
Katarina threw her arms around Tripp. The movie star winked at Suzette while he patted the other woman on the back—no doubt aware cameras clicked from every angle.
Suzette did her best to smile. Then she turned away.
“Who was that?” Tripp asked.
Suzette kept walking.
“Who?” Katarina echoed from behind. “Oh, her. Pay no attention to the woman behind that curtain. I have some good news, Tripp. I’m divorced.”
Gag. Suzette stomped across the street to the antiques store wondering why the woman wouldn’t let her have one little morsel.
Worse, the mayor would be furious. “I wanted you to keep him away from Katarina,” Madame Mayor had insisted.
Suzette heard the door slam hard behind her and winced. Just because she wanted to roast someone’s chestnuts didn’t make it okay to throw a hissy-tissy in Arnie’s store. She could have damaged something.
Seeing Spence behind the counter didn’t do much to improve her mood. She might be completely over him, but his presence did strange things to her libido, which also propelled her mood into no-woman’s land. She really needed to get out more.
“Hi.” Did the man seriously think that smile would fix everything? He’d promised her the ornaments three days in a row and she’d yet to see even a hook.
“You said you had my ornaments.”
He grinned again, somehow making it harder to stay mad and simultaneously making her angrier. “No, Suze, I said I thought your decorations would be here today. And they should have been. I’m just trying to find the supplier’s number so I can call again.”
What the ho-ho? The Spence she remembered had been very organized. Everything right angles and straight lines. Now he couldn’t find a phone number? “Just a thought, but have you tried looking at your recently called list? You said you talked to him yesterday.”
“Really.”
He flashed his “aren’t I charming” grin again, not knowing he’d been busted down to the rank of scoundrel first class. She’d helped his dad buy and install the new answering system. And wonder of wonders, the unit came with an easy-to-read call log.
The man really should talk to his dad more. She’d love to have had a father like Mr. James.
“Not to worry. I tried again just before you got here. The main guy is at lunch—”
“At ten-thirty in the morning?”
Spence shrugged. “Hey, you run your own business, you can pretty much do as you please.”
He was digging a deep hole. Man should dig deeper if he wanted to hold the dung heap he was spinning.
“Really?”
He nodded, apparently having lost his sophisticated pallet required for fine sarcasm. “But let me make it up to you. How about I buy you an espresso?”
It would have to be a triple to dent the vile taste in her mouth. And despite that taste, she really wanted to sit across from him and sip a latte. Which made her even more determined to resist his lying, scheming whatever.
“But I still won’t have my ornaments.”
“Well...”
If Suzette didn’t know better, she’d swear he stalled. Wait...“Oh. My. Deity.”
“What?” His entire body went rigid. Had her former-friend finally realized he’d been bagged?
“Spence James. You’re working with Katarina. How could you?” She didn’t want to believe Spence could stoop so low, but the explanation fit. He’d always had a thing for Ms. All That. “Back in high school, it almost made sense your testosterone would start churning whenever she brought her fake boobs within your vicinity—”
“Katarina’s boobs were fake?”
“Holy Scrooge, Spence. You’re twenty-nine. Shouldn’t you be through puberty?”
“What are you talking about? And incidentally, I’m thirty, not twenty-nine.”