Already emotionally drained from the experience, Kat couldn’t wait to secure the brooch and head back home, where she could leave the entire ordeal behind her for good.
* * *
Lost in his thoughts, Jack didn’t even notice the black smoke curling from the cast-iron skillet.
“Whoa! You’re taking charred chicken to a whole other level.” Yanking on an oven mitt, Colt quickly removed the skillet from the heat and switched off the burner.
Snapping to attention, Jack jammed on a lid before the murky cloud set off the smoke detector. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened.”
Okay, so that wasn’t technically true. He’d been daydreaming about the enigmatic stranger who’d nearly broken his arm. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Colt. He also wasn’t going to admit that he’d asked her out after a grand total of five minutes. Even if he did, his friend probably wouldn’t believe him. When it came to dating, Jack wasn’t exactly known for taking chances.
“Don’t tell me Vick and I need to start babysitting you around the stove,” Colt teased.
Jack rolled his eyes. “If anyone needs babysitting, it’s you. Every time I turn my back, you’ve whipped up a new recipe.”
“That reminds me. I wanted to talk to you about doing a special holiday menu.”
Saved by his vibrating phone, Jack eagerly slipped it out of his back pocket. “Hold that thought.” Glancing at the caller ID, he realized he’d forgotten to return his sister’s call. “Hey, Luce.” He pressed the phone to his ear as he stepped into his cramped office at the back of the kitchen. “Sorry I didn’t call back. I got sidetracked. How long ago did you leave LA?”
“About an hour ago.” Her voice crackled in her car’s Bluetooth speakers.
“Great! So I’ll see you for a late dinner. What would you like? I’ll make you anything you want. Except for sushi.” He chuckled, recalling how her tastes had evolved since she moved to Los Angeles after college to pursue her dream of designing movie sets for Hollywood.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you…” She trailed off, and Jack glanced at the phone, checking their connection when he didn’t hear anything for several seconds.
“Luce?” he prompted, reclining in his battered leather chair. He thought about pushing aside the mountain of paperwork to prop up his feet, but he stretched them under the desk instead.
She released a crestfallen sigh. “I can’t come this year.”
“What?” He bolted upright, banging his knee against the sharp corner of an open drawer. Suppressing a groan, he rubbed the sore spot. “What do you mean you can’t come?”
“I want to, but Mom got it into her head that she wants to throw a huge party on Christmas Day and needs my help to plan it.”
“You don’t say.” He couldn’t help the bitter edge that crept into his voice.
Accustomed to being in the middle of their feud, Lucy ignored his sardonic droll. “Why don’t you come to Primrose Valley for Christmas this year? It’s less than an hour away.”
“You know I can’t do that. Besides, Mom’s elaborate parties aren’t really my thing.”
“What about wassailing? The whole family is going. You used to love it when we were kids.”
Closing his eyes, Jack pressed his fingertips to his temple as memories of their family caroling tradition came rushing back. They used to borrow Victorian-era costumes from Sylvia Carter, the local theater director, and carol around town, serving hot cider—classically called wassail—and homemade sugar cookies. Since both of their parents loved to sing, the skill had been passed down to Jack and his siblings. He was surprised to learn they’d maintained the tradition all these years. Although, he imagined their private chef made the wassail these days. And the cookies probably came from some pricey boutique bakery.
When he didn’t respond right away, Lucy pleaded, “Please come, Flap Jack. Everyone misses you, especially Mom and Dad.”
He had to snort at that one. Her statement oozed irony considering they were the reason he’d been alienated from nearly his entire family. “Sorry, Luce. You know I can’t. Are you sure Mom needs you for the whole month?” Only a few days into December, they still had weeks to plan a Christmas party.
“You know how she is. If her event doesn’t rival a White House gala, it’s not worth throwing.”
Oh, he knew all too well. And he hated that their mother’s pretentious extravagance had usurped their time together. “Well, if anything changes, let me know. I’ll be here. And I’ll saveHoliday Innin case you can come after all.”
She laughed although it lacked some of its usual mirth. “Deal.”
Silence filled the speaker, and Jack got the sense she had more to say.
“Something else on your mind?” he asked.
“No, nothing,” she said unconvincingly, bidding him a hasty goodbye.
