Holiday by Candlelight Read online

  “Caleb?” Zach’s sister broke into the conversation. “Zach’s been terrible at keeping me up to date—have you and Meiko both moved here?”

  Caleb’s unscarred hand flattened on the small table. “Uh, no. We broke things off a while back.”

  With a sympathetic expression, Marisol reached over and covered his hand with hers. “So sorry to hear that.”

  Yeah, right. Garnet gritted her teeth to stop herself from laughing in disbelief.

  Caleb shrugged and drained his beer with his free hand, not bothering to move the one that Marisol was squeezing.

  She could let go anytime now.

  Ugh, why do I care?

  Because the two seconds he had his hand over hers at lunch yesterday had been the freaking highlight of her week.

  “You didn’t come back to film the reunion tape,” Marisol commented, finally releasing Caleb’s hand.

  His complexion turned a little green at the mention of the memorial film Zach and the other survivors had created to honor the avalanche victims. Garnet hadn’t realized Caleb hadn’t participated. Interesting.

  He busied himself pouring another beer, then slamming back half of it. “Yeah, well, work didn’t allow it when Zach went up.”

  Their tablemates’ shifting gazes made it obvious no one else was as insensitive as Garnet had been when she’d asked about his avalanche experience. Caleb might have claimed he preferred it when people didn’t coddle him, but he’d probably just said that to be kind. Shame burned her cheeks.

  Nodding and changing the subject, Marisol made a joke about the New York Islanders that had Caleb laughing but made absolutely no sense to Garnet.

  A wash of being entirely out of place swept over her.

  She picked at the hem of her plaid tunic, wishing for some frame of reference—hockey, yeah, they were still talking about hockey. One of her ex-boyfriends had been a Minnesota Wild fan, so naturally she’d also started following the team for a few months, and...

  And blech, she had really sucked in college. She’d also gone through stints of loving ballroom dancing, stock-car racing, eating vegan, listening exclusively to Baroque music—whatever the guy she’d been dating had loved, she’d loved it, too. And yeah, trying new things wasn’t wrong, but when she did so at the expense of the things she actually loved in life? Not healthy. She’d spent the five years since quitting grad school figuring out what she loved. And she wasn’t giving up that progress.

  It was easier to avoid relationships than risk sliding back into being that wishy-washy woman again.

  Flirtatious laughter broke into Garnet’s thoughts as Marisol reached across the table and playfully swatted Caleb’s wrist. “At least your team made it into the playoffs in the past few years,” Marisol grumbled.

  Was Caleb into the playful attention? Garnet couldn’t tell. He had that neutral expression of his on. Very emergency room-ish of him. He’d probably trained himself to catalog everything about a situation without ever letting on to what he was thinking.

  “Figures you’d be into hockey, being from Canada,” Garnet blurted when Marisol laughed again.

  Oh, frick. Talk about rude.

  Marisol’s generous smile turned wooden, and the others at the table, including a few ’trollers, looked at Garnet like her hair had turned to snakes. By the fact she could feel her skin crawling on her neck, there was a possibility it had.

  “You know us Canadians,” the other woman said carefully. “Ever the clichés.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Garnet said, closing her eyes. Even with her lids blocking out the world, the weight of her friends’ stares was heavy on her skin. She opened her eyes and faced Marisol straight on. “I was—” Insecure...jealous... “Thinking about something else and not watching my tone. That came out wrong.”

  An arm slid along the back of her chair. Not quite around her shoulders. Close enough, though.

  She shouldn’t want it there. When was the closed-off, bolting-from-the-coffee-shop guy from earlier going to come back?

  “Garnet just feels sorry for you that you cheer for Vancouver,” he said. A bit of a Brooklyn accent marred the low, smooth tone.

  Marisol’s gaze landed on the position of Caleb’s arm. A knowing light dawned in her green eyes and she nodded. “I feel sorry for me that I cheer for Vancouver. It’s painful at times.”

  The conversation drifted to other things. Cadie and Zach sloughed off probing questions about when they were getting engaged. The two of them looked like they’d be happier if they were attached with Velcro, though they were doing a good job of trying to replicate that with Cadie snuggled on Zach’s lap.

  How nice would that be, spending the evening cozied up in someone’s embrace?

  Oof. That was not a fantasy she could afford to dwell on. But the silent assumptions Marisol had made when Caleb had put his arm around Garnet? Garnet couldn’t quite bring herself to correct the other woman.

  Nor could she bring herself to nudge his arm away.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Caleb braced his hands on the pool table and watched Garnet methodically annihilate Zach. His friend was holding his own a little better than Caleb had—given his awkward grip on his cue, she’d managed to beat him in five shots—but the striped balls still outnumbered the solids three to one on the table.

  “Four in the side pocket,” she called, then tapped in the purple ball with ease.

  Zach scowled good-heartedly. “You’re no fun, James.”

  She straightened and sighed. “Sorry. Do you want me to lose? I could try.”

  “Hell, no,” Zach said as she lined up to sink the eight ball. “Either way, my pride’s demolished.”

  The ball landed in the pocket with a soft thunk, and an apologetic look crossed Garnet’s face. She hadn’t acted nearly so sorry when she’d beaten Caleb.

  Her competitive streak was so damn adorable. Made him want to find a game they could play where he’d have half a chance of beating her, so he could actually give her a real challenge.

  “Aw, Zach,” Marisol razzed from her perch on a nearby barstool. She had been deep in conversation with Lachlan Reid during Garnet’s reign over the pool table. “You didn’t hear Caleb complaining about his masculinity.”

  He caught Garnet’s gaze. A hint of interest there, quickly covered by irritation. And a little bit more sympathy than he liked. He preferred her earlier grilling of him.

  “You need to feel like a man, Zach? I have some ideas,” Cadie said, sidling up to her boyfriend with her beer bottle dangling between her fingers.

  He pointed at her with his cue. “Now we’re talking.” He turned to Marisol. “Want a ride home? Or are you going to cab it later?”

  She whispered something to Lachlan, who nodded, his eyes brightening. Drawing a circle in the air to frame her brother and his girlfriend, she said, “Go home to your adorable kid and ratty-sweatpants domesticity. Lachlan and I are going to catch a late movie. I’ll let myself in.”

  Zach sized up the vet tech for a second, then shrugged and handed Caleb his pool cue. “Your turn again. See if you can gather up the remaining dregs of your ego.”

  The two couples said their goodbyes and headed for the door, Zach and Cadie with that close ease of an established couple, Marisol and Lachlan with the curious spark of two people who were sizing each other up.

  Garnet went to put her cue back on the wall rack, but Caleb covered the slot with his hand. He didn’t want to go home yet. It had been way too long since he’d stayed up until midnight for reasons other than his overnight on-call shift at the Sutter Creek hospital. “Teach me your tricks, Sharky.”

  Her eyes widened, glinting in the lights hanging over the pool table. “I—I don’t know what to tell you. I just have a knack with physics.” She motioned up and down at his body, then hers. “And it’s not like I could spoon you and sh
ow you how to hold the cue or anything—you’re too tall.” She reddened and coughed. “That’s not what you meant, was it?”

  His brain stuttered at the suggestion of her sexy body plastered against his, guiding him to make a shot. “I’m not hitting on you, Garnet. I just don’t feel like going home yet.”

  Relief tinged her smile. “I wasn’t sure. We were almost flirting earlier, and then you put your arm on my chair. I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I was thinking you needed a save.” Nothing beyond that. He needed to look for someone more in line with his newfound nine-to-five-and-don’t-take-chances mentality.

  She cleared her throat. “And the flirting?”

  “I just want to play pool, Garnet.” When she didn’t lose her uncertain expression, he tossed a little more honesty. “And to make a few friends. That hasn’t come quite as easy as I expected.” Hard when most everyone in town spent their spare time on the mountain.

  “Not surprising, given you use descriptors like ‘woo-woo’ in reference to others’ jobs.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it when no reasonable defense came to mind.

  “Yeah, thought so.” She clicked her cue back on the wall rack.

  “Wait,” he said. “I’m sorry for how I worded that. It was insulting and unprofessional. But do we need to be ideologically aligned to play another game of pool?”

  Why was he pushing so hard? If she didn’t want to associate with him outside of work, so be it.

  But she was interesting, and his life had lacked that since he accepted he wouldn’t be getting on skis again anytime soon, if ever. No way should he consider anything beyond friendship with her. Though it was Friday, and he really liked seeing her smile. She’d made him smile. More than he had in a while. Maybe some innocent flirting was exactly what was needed here.

  “We could up the ante if you like,” he suggested.

  “How so?” Lifting an auburn brow, she took her cue down again and chalked it.

  “A bet of some kind.” He chalked his own cue and started racking the balls.

  Sighing, she nudged him aside and took over, jolting the rack with precision. She motioned to the cue ball. “You break. What are we playing for?”

  “How about whoever loses gets to pick the menu for the party?”

  She shook her head, and a sexy tendril fell from her up-do and fluttered to her jawline. She brushed it behind her ear. “No way. Not good enough.”

  A shiver ran up his spine. “The Peak Lounge can’t be the prize, Garnet.”

  “I know. I wasn’t going to ask that.” Damn, her sympathy was edging into full-on pity.

  A dark frustration ate at his gut. “No, you know what? That’s perfect. The venue it is. Peak Lounge if you win, Loose Moose if I do.”

  He waved at a waiter, pointed at his beer and held up two fingers, then got to work.

  * * *

  Garnet eyed the ball-scattered table and mentally played ahead a few moves. Not an exact science, of course, but like she’d told Caleb, she had a knack for physics, and was usually able to predict where the cue ball would end up. He’d sunk two balls before scratching, meaning Garnet had some catching up to do.

  He’d apologized for the “woo-woo” comment. Simple, to the point, actually expressing regret for what he’d said and not some crappy “sorry your feelings got hurt” type of runaround. She’d been surprised.

  She hadn’t been surprised when she’d opened her big mouth and made that asinine comment about spooning. God, she could slap herself sometimes, the way things ended up coming out.

  His mouth quirked, framed by a dark five o’clock shadow. “Gonna take your turn sometime before New Year’s?”

  “Pool shark lesson number one—patience.”

  With his cue resting on the edge of the table and his unscarred hand splayed on the wood, his forearm muscles stood out in impressive relief. He’d rolled up his sleeves before his turn. Mmm. Something about a turned-up cuff made Garnet’s knees shaky. Like at the coffee shop, he was a little overdressed, but he sure as hell wore it well. Crisp cotton over broad shoulders. His dress pants advertised the fact he had an ass that didn’t quit.

  He coughed. “Is lesson number two to stare at your opponent to throw off his technique?”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks at having been caught checking him out instead of paying attention to the lie of the balls. “Um, obviously. It’s a two-fold lesson. Gotta check your opponent out for weaknesses—” of which he seemed to have none, the jerk “—and play mind games at the same time.”

  Or imagine him unbuttoning more than just the cuffs of his shirt. That could work, too.

  She lined up her first shot, a cut shot to a corner pocket, followed by a combo that sank one ball in each of the side pockets.

  “We’re even,” she said.

  Caleb slowly shook his head. “Like I said—Sharky.”

  “I’ll wear the title. Earn it by winning, in fact.”

  You sure about that? What if he actually has PTSD? Then you’re going to feel like a jerk.

  He eyed her, as if reading her doubt. “Do not hold back on me. If you’re going to win, win.”

  The permission didn’t calm her churning gut. If his losing meant more than just a pool game to him...

  “Don’t,” he murmured.

  Fine. She wouldn’t throw her shot. Taking a centering breath, she leaned over the table to line up, and he sidled close, resting his hands on the table a few inches from her cue stick. “Talk me through what you’re doing. I’m trying to learn here.”

  “I’m going to put spin on it to make the rail shot. English. Uh, side spin.”

  She drew back and took the shot just as he said, “Damn, it’s hot when you get technical like that.”

  A sheer sexual growl roughened his voice. She jolted, screwing up her aim. The cue ball spun too hard, sending the purple four ball careening off the rail.

  She straightened, glaring at him. “You did that on purpose.”

  He smirked.

  “Literally dirty pool, Dr. Matsuda.”

  Lifting a shoulder, he took his turn, sinking one ball and then entirely missing on the next.

  “I hope you’re a better doctor than you are a pool strategist.”

  The corners of his mouth fell.

  She paused, wariness poking at her consciousness. “I...”

  With a long blink, he recovered. He smiled, the set of his lips stiff. “One would indeed hope.”

  Feeling chastened, she stared at the table and sank two balls in short order. God, why had she said that? Of course he’d be sensitive about his job. She closed her eyes briefly. Fricking mouth, going off without permission. “I didn’t mean...”

  “Shark lesson number three, right? Trash talking?” He smiled again, smaller this time, but a little less forced. Stiff fingers holding his cue, he reached toward her with his free hand, brushing a roughened thumb down her cheek.

  A shiver spread from her face through her chest. Oh. Well, then. “Are you left-handed? You have calluses.”

  Wow. Her tongue was really on fire tonight. She swore under her breath.

  Warmth glinted in his deep brown eyes. “No, I’ve had to compensate for all the time I wasn’t able to use my right. And I kayak and canoe for as much of the year as I can. You know how it is.”

  “Sure, yeah. Is that why you bought a place out on the lake?”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Small town, Caleb. Everyone knows everything about everyone. You’ll be gossip fodder for a good few months yet,” she mused. Or until one of the nurses at the clinic coaxed him into a diamond solitaire and a minivan with two car seats. Apparently, there was a betting pool going on as to who would nab him first. She’d stayed far away from those conversations. Until she figured out how to function in a relationship w
ithout losing herself, marriage and babies were not in the cards.

  A shadow crossed his handsome face. “Everything, huh?”

  “Almost everything,” she amended. Though he’d probably be aghast at how much the gossip chain was able to figure out just by guessing.

  “Almost,” he echoed, voice a rasp. He cleared his throat. “You going to finish me off, or will I get another turn?”

  “Are you going to cheat again?”

  He shook his head.

  Disappointment flashed for a second, which was ridiculous. She needed to win this game, not to get distracted by strategic flirting. “Then yeah, I shouldn’t need more than this turn.”

  “Okay,” he said evenly. “And I want step-by-step explanations for how you’re going to annihilate me.”

  She explained a combo shot to him, sinking her last two solids, and the impressed look he bestowed on her warmed her straight through.

  “How’d you get so good at pool?”

  Because my high school boyfriend had a table in his basement and I feigned interest in everything he loved.

  “Practice.” Lining up to sink the eight ball, she called her pocket and drew back. “If you talk during my shot, I may kill you.”

  “Kiss me?”

  Her stomach tightened. Yeah, that sounded good. Those lips of his looked pretty much made for that very act. “No, kill you.”

  “But there’s mistletoe above your head.”

  She struck the cue ball way too hard. The eight ball sank, sure, but in the far corner pocket, not the side like she’d called it.

  She swore, and looked up. Someone had dangled mistletoe from fishing line at various points around the room. Subtle, lounge staff, really subtle. “I lost because of effing mistletoe?”

  “No, you lost because I was being an asshole, distracting you on purpose.” His soft smile vanished. “I’d say I owe you that venue, fair and square.”

  “Caleb, I want the Peak Lounge, but I can’t feel right about forcing it on you,” she whispered.

  His hand tightened on his cue. “You’re not.”

  “Are you sure?”