She spun around, frowning. “It’s crowded in here. Do you want to head back?”
What I wanted was to take her home for a more private couple’s yoga session. But since that was off the table, I said, “Nah, let’s get that coffee.” I lowered the bill on my cap. “I’m feeling a bit bold with this disguise.”
Dani and I grabbed a couple of lattes and found a secluded table near the fruitcake display. People streamed past me, eyes focused on other things, not even noticing M.C. Bradford in their midst. The baseball cap was working, and so was the fact that no one would ever expect to see a semi-famous person here, in this remote resort.
After we’d laughed our way through our coffees, rehashing the partner yoga disaster, Dani picked up her gigantic bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. “Well, we should probably get back. I’m sure Jane has put out an APB on you by now.”
I glanced at the clock. Almost six. Jane had taken most of the afternoon off to look at wedding dresses with her sister, which was why she missed yoga, but she was probably back at the house by now. “I texted her before we left to let her know where I was.” She texted me back sixteen hearts, a doughnut, and an eggplant.
Very mature.
Though not far off. That yoga session, if Dani and I had been able to make it through without making giggling jackasses of ourselves, might have indeed ended in doughnuts and eggplants.
Dani stopped at a table on our way to the exit and examined a hat covered in red and green sequins. “This place is maybe a little too Christmasy, even for me.”
“Normally, I’d agree with you,” I said, “and maybe this is the years of my ignoring the holidays talking, but I’m kind of digging it.” The yoga, the whole concept of drinking coffee out in the real world like a regular person, and okay, the company had put me in a refreshed state of mind. I could even see myself enjoying an eggnog or two. Jane was right—maybe not about me having sex with Dani but about me taking some time for myself out of the house and away from the computer. I started walking toward the festivities.
Dani planted her feet. “You have to get home,” she whispered, “to write. You’ve been gone for an hour and a half. That’s way more than your usual run.”
“I know, I know,” I said. “Five minutes.” I picked up a set of Russian nesting dolls painted to look like Santa. “I think this place is giving me all kinds of inspiration.”
She plucked the tchotchke from my hands. “You’re planning on putting a lot of Santa references in your book, are you? Is the king going to sit on his lap and tell Santa about how he poisoned his wife and seduced his niece?”
“Wait,” I said. “How do you know about that?” She’d said she had no clue who I was, and now she was talking about stuff that happened in book two?
She blushed. “I may have started reading your books after I found out who you were.”
“Really?” Now it was my turn for my cheeks to go hot.
“Fantasy’s not normally my thing.” She examined the nesting dolls. “But I’m really enjoying the series.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “I think I like how they’re mostly realistic. I’m not big on dragons and elves and stuff.”
I smiled. She got it. Not that it mattered, but I was relieved she saw things my way. “That’s by design. I’m not, either.”
Her eyes were back on the Santa dolls. “That scene with Markys, Danyl, and Tatyana, though…”
Shit. That scene was both the bane of my existence and the reason I was where I was today. “It’s a bit over-the-top,” I said.
“It’s…” Her eyes widened. “There’s a lot going on there, let’s say.”
Looking to change the topic, I snatched the nesting dolls from her hands. “You know, you got me thinking, I’m not going to put Santa in the books, but there are a lot of religious undertones in the series. Maybe there does need to be some kind of reckoning, like at some point all the bad people do need to be held to account—kind of like Santa’s naughty list, but more existential.” I glanced over at her, and she was staring at me, of course. I’d just changed the topic on a dime from sex to spirituality.
She set the Santa down and moved us along to the next table. “I think it’s pretty cool how you can find inspiration like that. I mean, I just mentioned something random from the book, and you knew exactly where to go with it.”
“I wish it were that easy. I mean, you”—I gestured to her, once again in an attempt to steer the chat away from me—“you’re the one who gets inspiration from nothing. Like those eggs you made for me the other night—”
“Migas,” she said.
“Jane told you I was hungry, and apparently you looked around the kitchen, saw what we had on hand, and whipped that up.”
Now it was her turn to blush. “People always make such a big deal about following recipes, but it’s simply knowing what to do with each ingredient and remembering the principles of taste and texture. Anyone can turn a few humble ingredients into a tasty meal.”
“Not everyone.” We’d stopped at a booth full of holly and poinsettia arrangements. I rubbed a velvety petal between my fingers. “Jane’s completely hopeless when it comes to food. She can barely boil water,” I said. “I’m glad she let you take charge of the menu for the premiere party.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’s that about, anyway?”
I dropped the flower and looked at her. “What?”
“The premiere party. It doesn’t seem on-brand for you.”
I headed to the next table. “It’s not,” I said. “My publicist thought it would help with my image.”
“What’s wrong with your image?” she asked.
Suddenly, I longed to return to the discussion about Markys’s threesome. “Ah, you know, in this business it’s always about selling yourself.” I picked up an item from the display in front of us—mistletoe—and then dropped it as if I’d been bitten. Now was certainly not the time for that dreaded plant to make an appearance.
“Yeah…” She let that hang there for a moment before moving on to another topic. “What about the holidays? You said you’re here to spend time with a friend’s family, so where’s yours?”
“They’re not around.” This entire conversation was a minefield of topics I never discussed with anyone, and I was utterly out of practice when it came to talking about anything real, anything beyond my word count, running, or television, which was not even an option with Dani. Rather than allowing myself to go deeper, I did what I always did: I turned it back on the other person. “What do you and your family do on Christmas Eve?”