Susan Mallery: A Fool's Gold Christmas

“Sure,” Evie murmured, even though she didn’t believe it for a second. Why would people she didn’t know show up to work on sets for her production? For free? “I don’t suppose these miracle workers can also alter costumes and do hair for the show?”

“Probably not, but there are a couple of salons in town.” Charlie wrote on the paper again. “Someone’s been taking care of all that every year. Start here. Ask them who normally handles the hair and makeup for the show. I suspect it’s either Bella or Julia. Maybe both.” She picked up the second half of her maple bar. “They’re feuding sisters who own competing salons. It makes for some pretty fun entertainment.”

Evie’s recently injured leg began to ache. “Let me see if I have this straight. I’m going to talk to parents of my students to get videos of a production I’ve never seen so I can teach it to their daughters. In the meantime, a man who doesn’t know me from a rock is going to let me into a warehouse so I can evaluate the sets. You’re going to arrange a work party of perfect strangers to repair those sets—all of which will happen for free. Then feuding sister stylists may or may not know who does the hair and makeup for my sixty dancers.”

Charlie grinned. “That about sums it up. Now tell me the truth. Do you feel better or worse than you did before you got here?”

Evie shook her head. “Honestly? I haven’t a clue.”

TWO

EVIE WALKED HOME after her last class that evening. The night was cool and clear and smelled like fall. All leaves and earth and woodsmoke. She might be more a big-city girl, but there were things she liked about Fool’s Gold. Not having to drive her car everywhere was nice, as was being able to see stars in the sky. Now if only she could find a good Chinese place that delivered.

She turned onto her street, aware that most of the townhouses had Thanksgiving decorations in the windows and on the porches. She’d only been in her place a few weeks—it was a rental and had come furnished. She wasn’t interested in putting down roots, and buying furniture wasn’t in her budget. But maybe she should stick a flameless candle in the window or something.

Somewhere a door slammed shut. She heard laughter and a dog barking. Homey sounds. For a second she allowed herself to admit she was, well, lonely. Except for her family, she barely knew anyone in town. The most contact she’d had with her neighbors had been to wave to the young couple who lived across the street. She’d never even seen the people next door.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. The sensation wasn’t new. In Los Angeles, she’d had plenty of friends but no real direction for her life. She’d been waiting for something. A sign. She’d been going through the motions of living without a sense of belonging. She’d always figured “one day” she would have the answer. Now she was starting to think there wasn’t going to be one day. There was now, and it was up to her to figure out what she wanted.

One of those would be a start, she thought with a quiet laugh as a fancy black sedan pulled into the driveway next to hers. Actually she would settle for having over a hundred dollars in her checking account at any given time.

Evie watched the driver’s door open and prepared to at least pretend to be friendly. But her halfhearted wave had barely begun when she recognized Dante Jefferson.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Was he checking on her? Typical. Her brothers couldn’t even get the address right. Dante was in the wrong driveway.

“I live here.”

“Where?”

He pointed to the townhouse next to hers.

She dropped her arm to her side. “Seriously? For how long?”

“I moved in the weekend after you.”

“You knew you were moving in next to me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “There weren’t a lot of choices. I don’t know if I want to buy or not, so I took a short-term lease. Hungry?”

“What?” She was still dealing with the fact that her brother’s business partner was her neighbor.

Dante pulled a large white bag out of the car. “I got Italian. There’s plenty. Come on.” He started toward his front door before she could decide if she was going to say yes or not.

He was her brother’s business partner. That alone was reason enough to say no. He was connected with her family, and she wanted to avoid her family. Mostly because every time she was around them, she got hurt. It was a rule she’d learned early—people who were supposed to love you usually didn’t. Staying far, far away meant keeping herself safe.

“And wine,” he called over his shoulder.

She could have ignored the bag of food and the offer of wine except for two things. Her stomach growled, reminding her she was starving. And a very delicious smell drifted to her.

“Garlic bread?” she asked, inhaling the fragrance of garlic as visions of cheesy goodness made her mouth water.

Dante paused at the front door and laughed. “Sure. Thanks for making it clear your willingness to have dinner with me is about the menu and not my sparkling personality.”

“I really shouldn’t,” she began, even as she took a step toward him.

He smiled and shook the bag again. “Come on. Just this once. You can do it.”

Just this once, she agreed silently. That would be safe.

She walked up and joined him on the porch. He handed her the bag containing dinner, then opened the front door and flipped on the light.

His place was the mirror image of hers, with a living-dining area, a small gas fireplace and the kitchen beyond. She knew there was a half-bath tucked under the stairs. The second floor had a master and a second bedroom with an attached full bath.

Dante’s furnishings were all black leather and glass. From his place in San Francisco, she would guess, setting the food on the table and shrugging out of her coat. Her brother had mentioned Dante had moved from the coastal city just a few months ago.

Dante dropped his suit jacket and tie onto the sofa. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows as he walked into the kitchen. He was tall, she thought, taking in the short blond hair and killer blue eyes. The man was easy on the eyes. Her gaze dropped as he moved to the cupboards. Nice butt. He moved well. Athletic. He’d been a jock once and kept in shape.

“I’m going to use the guest bath,” she said, motioning to the short hallway on the right.

“Help yourself.”

She ducked inside and quickly washed her hands. Her face was pale, her eyes too large. She looked tired. No doubt because she was still healing.

By the time she returned to the dining area, Dante had opened the wine and poured. There were plates and paper napkins. Several containers of food were open on the bar area.

“Help yourself,” he told her.

“A take-out buffet. Very nice.” She took lasagna and a bit of salad, along with two slices of garlic bread. Her brain quickly added up the calories, but she dismissed the number. Staying at her dancing weight wasn’t an issue anymore. Besides, she was tired of being hungry.

They sat across from each other. She leaned back in her chair, picked up her glass of wine and smiled. “How are things in Shanghai?”

“Better. We’re building a high-rise and the permits have come through.” He paused. “I’m going to guess you don’t want the actual details.”

“You can tell me if it’s important.”

“You’ll pretend interest?”

She laughed. “Yes. Even wide-eyed amazement if it’s called for.”

“I’ll take a rain check.” He studied her. “How about your crisis? Getting any better? You aren’t as...” He hesitated.

“Shrill?” she asked.

“I would have picked a different word.”