Brenda Novak - A Winter Wedding

A second later he realized who it was. Noelle.

With a curse, he put down his beer.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he swung open the door.

She threaded her way through his shrubbery to reach the porch. “My, aren’t you in a good mood.”

“What did you expect? You were peeping at me!”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. Your truck’s in the drive, so I was trying to see where you were. I knocked but you didn’t answer.”

“Because I didn’t hear anything.” He must’ve been too absorbed in researching Lourdes Bennett. “What do you need?”

“I couldn’t get someone to help me with the water heater until after your office closed. A.J. and I have been trying to get in, but—”

“A.J.?” That wasn’t a name he’d heard around Whiskey Creek.

“Yeah. He works with me at Sexy Sadie’s. He took Fisk’s place when Fisk moved to Vegas and a job opened up at the bar.”

Once upon a time, Kyle would’ve known all the bartenders at the local pub. He’d hung out there quite a lot over the years. There weren’t many other places to go for fun in a town of only two thousand. But now that nearly all his friends were married, he spent most of his weekends working.

“I was hoping you’d lend me the key,” Noelle said. “We’ll bring it back after we grab the water heater.”

No way would he ever trust her with access to his office. “I’ll drive over and let you in,” he said. “But...why didn’t you just call me? I could’ve met you there.”

“Check your phone,” she said. “You didn’t pick up.”

His phone hadn’t rung; it hadn’t even buzzed. But when he pulled it from his pocket, he could see why. He’d inadvertently turned on the “do not disturb” feature.

Or maybe he’d done it subconsciously. He really didn’t want to be interrupted tonight, especially by her.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.”

He went to his bedroom to retrieve his coat before scooping his keys off the counter.

It took longer to load the water heater in A.J.’s truck than Kyle had thought it would. A.J. needed to clarify the instructions on how to install it—again and again. Kyle almost offered to do it himself. Obviously, A.J. wasn’t mechanically inclined and wouldn’t be much help to Noelle. But then Kyle got a text from a number he didn’t recognize that said:

This is Lourdes. I can’t get the furnace to come on, and it’s freezing in this house.

“What is it?” Noelle asked.

He lowered his phone so she wouldn’t be able to read the message. “There’s a problem with my new renter. I’ve got to go.”

“So that Meade guy took the place? The farmhouse has been leased?”

He hesitated at her assumption. His tenant wasn’t the man he’d mentioned to her earlier. But Lourdes didn’t want to be bothered while she was in Whiskey Creek. And if he told Noelle they had a famous country singer in their midst, she’d spread the word all over town. She might even show up at the farmhouse, claiming she was his ex and therefore had some right to the property.

He couldn’t allow that to happen. “Yeah. It’s a done deal,” he said.

“That was fast!”

“He was serious. He had me furnish it, remember?”

She didn’t seem to mind that A.J. was tying down the water heater without her help. “I remember,” she said. “But what does someone from Nashville want with a house on a remote piece of land outside Whiskey Creek? This isn’t exactly Tahoe. If it was, maybe I’d have a shot at being discovered,” she added wryly.

If only she would move to Lake Tahoe or LA. Or New York. The farther, the better. But her lack of resources precluded it.

“He’s looking for some solitude,” he said. “An escape from the demands of his usual life.”

“How long’s he staying?”

“For a few months, like I told you.”

“That sucks. You should’ve rented to me.”

Kyle felt his eye-twitch coming back. “The duplex you’re living in is fine. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a dump compared to the farmhouse.”

“Maybe you can find something you’re happier with after Christmas,” he said, but for once, placating her didn’t seem to be necessary. He could tell by her expression that she’d already switched gears.

“How old is he?” she asked.

“About our age.”

“Is he handsome?”

Apparently, she and A.J. didn’t have anything going on romantically, or she wouldn’t be asking such obvious questions with her helper in hearing distance. “I couldn’t tell you,” Kyle said. “I’m not used to judging other guys in that way. But it doesn’t matter. He’s with someone.”

“He’s married?” she asked.

“It might not be that official, but he’s been with the same woman for a few years. So enough with the nosy questions. My renter isn’t an option for you.”

“You’ve gotten ornery,” she complained.

“What are you talking about? I just solved your hot water problem.” And he was standing outside, freezing his ass off because of her when it was about to snow.

“You comin’?” A.J. called as he jumped to the ground and circled around to the driver’s side.

“Yeah, I’m comin’,” Noelle said. Then she surprised Kyle with a hug. “You look good, you know that? You look real good. God, I miss you.”

Before he could react, she released him and turned away. But as she got in with A.J., she called over her shoulder, “Think about what I said before. You’ve got to be lonely. Now even Riley’s getting married. Who will you hang out with when he’s as pussy whipped as your other friends?”

“Baxter’s moving home,” he said. He’d been consoling himself with that news for several weeks...

“Baxter’s gay, Kyle.”

“You think I’m not aware of that?”

“You’re not being realistic. I doubt he’ll be interested in going places where you can meet girls.”

He frowned as he gazed at the wind-tossed branches of the trees. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m just saying I’d be happy to be your buddy if you want me to.” With a wink, she shut the door.

He could never be that desperate. If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to get involved with her in the first place, he’d be married to Olivia. Instead, Olivia was married to Brandon.

He waited until Noelle and her bartender friend drove off before taking out his phone to respond to Lourdes’s message.

I’m on my way, he wrote back.

* * *

Lourdes was wearing a holey Budweiser T-shirt she’d inherited from a member of her stage crew, a pair of Victoria’s Secret sweat bottoms and a belted, big-collared sweater her mother had given her a year ago for Christmas. None of it matched, including her fuzzy socks. She’d bought those for their softness alone. Too bad they weren’t as warm as they looked. She’d forgotten her sheepskin slippers at her estate in Tennessee, which was a mistake. The weather outside was reminding her that even parts of California could get cold.

Since she was waiting for her landlord, she considered changing. Not only was she wearing frumpy, shapeless clothes, she’d removed her makeup and piled her hair on top of her head. But she was too depressed to care. So what if Kyle Houseman was handsome? He was probably married. Even if he wasn’t, she was in a relationship.

A knock alerted her to his arrival. She went to answer the door but paused after peeking through the peephole. Was she really going to let him see her like this? It wasn’t just that he was so good-looking; she’d grown accustomed to maintaining her image. Being famous meant that people had certain expectations of her, and those expectations weren’t always realistic.