The Rock Star’s Christmas Reunion: Charisma, #4

Chapter One

YAKIMA WANNASSAY CLIMBED out of her catering van and stared up at her former neighbor’s impressive white-shingled house, set back on a long drive. The trim had been freshly painted black and silvery Christmas icicle lights dangled underneath the eaves, reminding her of a studded leather jacket. It gave the house an appropriate rock-and-roll edge. Evergreens created a shield of green around the manicured lawn and at this time of year, were decorated with tiny white lights. They twinkled despite the mid-afternoon remnants of daylight. Bax Connolly had come a long way since he’d left his parents’ modest house with little more than a guitar and his first tattoo.

She could tell just by staring at the outside that he had a double-height living room and a backyard even more impressive than the front lawn. Not to mention the large, two-story outbuilding. She imagined the interior held sports cars, off-road vehicles, an RV, a boat for enjoying the local rivers here almost at the border between Oregon and Washington State. A touch of whimsy in the form of a doghouse built to match the main property crouched in the side yard, next to the wintery remnant of a huge clematis on an ornate, Tudor-arched trellis.

The bad boy who’d gotten away from tiny Battlefield, WA, that was Bax. His fame had made him accessible to everyone through the lens of the media, and he’d been on fire for a few years there. What had gone wrong? Why had he come home after twelve years away?

She glanced back at her van, still proud of the attractive lettering along the side. Yakima Catering. With any luck, Bax would be her first client. The only celebrity this town had ever spawned would be a fantastic start for her.

Before she could traverse the entire covered walkway and ring the doorbell, the front door opened. Framed in the doorway was Bax Connolly, first a boy band star, then a guitar hero. But before all that, he’d been the oldest of the Connolly boys. Her brother’s friends, her tormentors, her champions, her first crushes.

Bax, she whispered. An obsessed fan couldn’t have checked him out more thoroughly. His feet were bare, despite the chilly December wind. He wore black jeans, cupping every part of him in just the right places, and a navy Henley, which hid any and all tats. His tousled brown hair blew around his head. He needed a haircut. And a good night’s sleep. He’d never had those circles under his eyes as a kid.

She blinked, cleared her throat. This was a job prospect, not a date. She needed to act like an old friend, not a stalker. Her slight, lifelong acquaintance of Bax and his family had moved into high gear when he was thirteen and his family had moved into a larger house, next door to her family’s home, to accommodate his four cousins who’d been orphaned. She’d been eleven and he’d been her perfect dream.

His eyes went from dazed to focused. How did you get my address?

You left it on my voicemail, she said, confused. Bax? Didn’t he recognize her?

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. Look, this is a private home. I applaud you for craftiness, but I don’t sign autographs at my front door.

She knew she was to blame with her fan stalker-ish once-over of him, but she held her ground. She needed this job. Baxter Connolly, I’m not a super-stalker. You. Called. Me. She pointed to her van, just visible in the drive, and then to her face.

Yakima? That really you? He peered out of the doorway, his hand shading his perfect almond-shaped eyes, hiding their famous brownish green spirals.

Yes, Bax. She pulled off her white leather newsboy cap in case it was hiding her face.

Wow, you cut your hair.

Just about three inches. She touched her long ponytail self-consciously. It’s not down to my ass anymore.

He grinned, his posture relaxing. It’s you, all right. You never used to put your hair back. I remember that gorgeous black hair more than your face. He held out his arms.

She stared at him, a bit concerned about how quickly he switched gears but willing to go with it, and set down her purse and clipboard. Oh. Moving forward, she tucked her arms around his lean waist. She didn’t remember him being so thin, but he’d whittled down to Mick Jagger-in-1967-Morocco proportions, all muscle and sinew. He smelled of mint.

She pulled back and grinned at him, delighted. You’re still obsessed with mint M&Ms!

Much easier to get these days. He winked at her and dropped his arms. So you’re a caterer now?

Just starting out.

I should have known. How many Yakimas could there be around here? Come on in and let’s talk about my party.

Absolutely. Whatever had made him so thin, it must not be that he had given up candy.

He turned immediately to the left. A large arch framed a handsome living room. The Christmas tree took pride of place in front of the tall, multi-paned front window. The massive spruce looked to have been curated by a professional decorator. Like the trees around the lawn, the only lights were twinkly white ones, and the rest of it was dressed solely with crystal icicles and red glass balls. Nothing like the popcorn and cranberry strings she remembered from his first Christmas as her next-door neighbor, before his mother had died. After that, they never had trees at all.

Nice, right? he asked, dismissing the tree without a second glance. He led her to a Mid Century-style leather sectional. Nothing hung on the walls, nor were there rugs on the ebony hardwood floor.

Stark, she had to admit. But you just moved in.

Day before yesterday. He paused. It’s hard moving in December, but I’m looking forward to spending Christmas with the fam, even if I had to give up all those industry parties in Los Angeles.

Is that what you want for Saturday? she asked, setting down her purse and placing her clipboard in her lap. An over-the-top, high-end party?

In Battlefield? He snorted. Nah, time to give up the old ways and get back to basics. This will just be family. You hired my little cousin, right?

Haldana, yes. She injected a chiding note into her voice But she’s twenty-one now with a birthday soon. Not so little.

I guess I haven’t seen her since she was nine. Huh. Twenty. Bax pushed up his Henley sleeves, displaying forearms that were covered in a light dusting of dark hair, but no obvious tattoos. He wore an expensive-looking watch without any numerals on one arm and a rubber band on the other.

Yes, well, she and I both went to culinary school, a couple of years apart. It was great to reconnect with her at an alumni party and I was happy to hire her when I started my business. Did she tell you about it?

No, not at all. I found you on social media. Battlefield has that main page and everyone in town posts on it. He shook his head. Crazy. I saw your van too; you must live nearby.

It’s a small town. That’s the best way to advertise since no one reads newspapers anymore.

Yeah, it’s a shame. They stared at each other.

She fought to keep from being lost in those gorgeous eyes. Since she’d known him in real life, she’d never felt it appropriate to have his poster up on her walls, but friends of hers had. She’d woken up to those eyes on numerous sleep-over Saturdays during her late high school and college years. Okay, so I can figure out the guest list then. Your father, your two brothers, your four cousins.

You babysat for the younger three? he interjected.

Yes. Rah Rah hated babysitting so I got the job.

She had depression, Bax said of his oldest cousin. We never talked about stuff like that, but since she was the oldest of the sisters, her parents’ deaths hit her really hard. Fifteen is an awful time to lose your parents.

You guys had a hard few years there, Yakima agreed. I’m so glad you’re back and want to reknit the family. The girls are all vegetarians like me, so I already know they’re going to love my food.

Bax’s expression took on an almost comical level of confusion. What?

I’m a vegan caterer, she explained. She bent down and fished her card out of her purse. See?

It doesn’t say that on your van. His gaze drifted up and down her seated body, lingering on the curve of her waist.

Her body warmed under his heated stare. Somehow, over the years, she’d forgotten how potent he was in person, how he had a way of stealing attention away from anything but him.

Just as she was about to do the most stupid thing possible and ask if he was dating anyone, his gaze returned to the card.

I don’t want to scare anyone off. I’ll prepare fish if I have to. She trailed off because he was paying more attention to her card than her. Yikes. She did not want to lose this job. He would be the perfect referral, a rich guy she’d known her entire life. The only celebrity she’d ever even met. She’d be okay if she never met another, too, because they were way too much for a mere mortal to handle. He was too beautiful for words.

Yeah, fish, he said finally, setting her card on the naked side table. Salmon, right? That would be great. Smoked salmon, for the Norwegians.

Sure, but you know, your cousins have lived here since they were young. I don’t know if they are that in touch with Norwegian holiday traditions these days. But they do eat fish.

You’d know better than me. Okay, then, salmon however you like. He waved his hand dismissively.

I could do smoked salmon, dry-cured Norwegian style, as an appetizer, she offered. Do you want additional appetizers?

His mouth worked. I would say I’d just leave it up to you, but now you’re making me nervous. He pushed his hand into his shaggy hair. As he had lifted his hand, she saw what looked like a scar running the length of his inner wrist and a tattoo she hadn’t noticed before.

With the vegan thing?

Yep. He tilted his neck from side to side, until she heard a cracking sound. Life is compromise. You know what we always loved?

She thought of him, half-undressed, roaring fireplaces, drinking grasshopper hot chocolate on a thick rug. What? Her voice sounded cracked, drunk with arousal.

Fish and chips. He licked his upper lip. She melted. How about you make that? Smoked salmon appetizer, and then fish and chips for dinner. Just fried deliciousness with coleslaw and maybe some kale salad for the girls. Girls seem to live on a steady diet of kale these days.

Oh, shoot, she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth. She’d been travelling the erotic highway, and he’d been planning a menu. What an idiot.

What? No kale in Washington State? Is that a California thing? His brows knit.

Not at all what she’d hoped for as a first catering job. But who was she kidding? This was Battlefield and she was lucky not to be hired to barbeque hot dogs with bottled sauce from the local Kroger grocery store. Of course we have kale. You bet, great menu. Let me work up an estimate. Let’s see. Eight people.

Nine, including me.

Right. Hands shaking with embarrassment, she quickly did math on her phone’s calculator, then held up her sheet to him. It was a triplicate form that had his order all costed out. How about this?

He tapped the page. Did he realize his finger was basically hovering over her vagina? Perfect. We can do great things together.

She knew he meant her food, but her body heard his words in an entirely different fashion. Oh? She wished she didn’t sound quite so sexually excited.

He tilted her clipboard toward himself. I’m going to have at least one more party this month, and probably some dinners too.

Her voice cracked. A big entertainer? Oh, shoot, she was talking in porn dialogue now. I mean, large entertainment. I mean, you know, a party. She waved her hands.

He must be an expert at ignoring hyper-sexual women and their come-ons, because he continued speaking as if she wasn’t an idiot. Yes, and I sure don’t cook. I remember your grilled cheese and tater tot dinners from when you would babysit my cousins. It’s all coming back to me.

I’ve come a long ways, she assured him. Not sixteen anymore.

His eyes fixed on hers, serious. No, I loved that stuff. I could go half the night playing guitar after carbing up when my dad was gone. It was all meat when he cooked.

Maybe you’re a natural vegetarian, she suggested.

He snorted. Everything in moderation. Brush up on your fish skills, Yakima, because you’re going to need them.

A rock star that followed the creed of everything in moderation? She didn’t buy it. I understand.

I’ll run up and get you a check. I’m sure you’d love to be paid ahead of time.

In sexual favors, please. But no, she needed the money. She pointed to her sheet. This is the deposit I ask for.

I’ll pay for everything now, he said. I trust you.

She had the feeling he didn’t remember her very well, despite that big hug at the front door. Trustworthy hadn’t exactly been her middle name in high school. She wouldn’t refuse the money though. A new business devoured money like kids eat Christmas cookies.

HOW ARE YOU GOING TO serve the smoked salmon? Haldana Connolly asked in Yakima’s rented commercial kitchen on Friday as she took off her coat. She had no features in common with her cousin Bax that Yakima had ever noticed. Other than beauty, of course. But otherwise, she was tiny where Bax was over six feet, curvy where Bax was rangy, blond where Bax was dark-haired.

With lime juice and lingonberries. I found them at Ikea, Yakima said. She took a square of tofu out of her specialized press and set it on her cutting board.

Great. How long did you cure the fish for?

I bought that salmon on Monday afternoon. It’s been curing ever since. I turn it every day.

Haldana opened the commercial refrigerator and lifted the plastic wrap the covered the fish. I can smell the dill. Delicious.

Yakima picked up her knife and sliced down the short side of the tofu block, cutting it in half. Then she diced it into even one-inch pieces. All we have to do is rinse and slice it, then we’ll assemble with crackers, a squeeze of lime, and berries tomorrow right before the party.

Sounds good. Are we doing other apps?

Red onion jam on focaccia toast.

Yum, Haldana said. Love me some Persian food.

Good stuff, Yakima agreed.

So, Bax? Haldana’s tone was expectant. What did you think?

Yakima reminded herself that she was speaking to the man’s cousin, practically his sister, really. Have you seen him since he came back?

No. He’s been holed up in his new house. I talked to him once. That’s when I told him I worked with you.

The kitchen’s phone rang. Thankfully. They needed business. She hit the speakerphone button. Yakima Catering.

Yakima, dear, said a cracked, elderly voice.

Yakima recognized the voice instantly. It belonged to her old piano teacher, widow of the town’s former general practitioner. Mrs. Roth! How good to hear from you.

You’re sweet, dear. Is your catering business open?

Just started Monday officially. Yakima pointed at the tofu, then the glass container that already had a marinade ready. The tofu was going to be turned into buffalo-style appetizers that she was taking to a city council meeting in order to network. Haldana nodded and started dropping the tofu cubes into the marinade.

Well, my arthritis is acting up, but I need to have Christmas cookies for my grandchildren. They are coming over Sunday afternoon. My son only has them on Sundays.

Yakima knew all about that divorce, the wife who’d been caught red-handed in bed with the mechanic who’d long babied her elderly BMW. Such a pity, Mrs. Roth. Do you want me to decorate them for you?

"Oh yes. Nothing absolutely spectacular, you understand, but I think