Parade Banter: A Christmas Romance Page 2

  An amused smile crept across Simon’s face. “Same old Rae. Afraid of a challenge, afraid of losing.”

  Seriously? You as a challenge? She wrapped her hands around the candy cane, imaging it was his neck. “Just what is that supposed to mean, Mr. Morning Coffee? Do they even bother with a script for that show, or does your meaningless banter come naturally? That would be a miracle, considering what we had to go through on the morning show.”

  “Oh, please.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard your new co-host a few times. You could get a stuffed bear to sit in for that kind of commentary.”

  “That’s it.” She hitched her skirt and turned to leave. “Have a nice time hosting the parade alone.” Let his perky TV hostess take this kind of abuse for the holiday season.

  “Hey, wait a second.” Simon caught her elbow. The coolness in his dark eyes melted a little. “This is no picnic for either of us. But if we just put aside our mutual hatred for a couple of hours it’ll be over. Remember, we’re doing this for a good cause. ”

  She bit her lip and looked away. There was no arguing with his point: the proceeds from the parade tickets were slated to go to the local children’s hospital. The previous year had been the nursing home, and the animal shelter the year before that.

  “You’re right.” She glanced up from her snow boots and forced her lips into a tight smile. “We are two grown people after all. Perfectly capable of working together for a worthy cause.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He patted her shoulder. “So no more drama queen stuff, right?”

  Drama queen? She opened her mouth to fire back, but a crewmember interrupted, armed with a clipboard. “Let’s climb into the sleigh, guys. The director wants to see a read through for the commercial.”

  A nervous tingle invaded her mouth and she stole a glance in Simon’s direction. Probably the hotshot TV anchorman wasn’t tense at all at the thought of a lens trained on him like a giant staring eye. Her only consolation was that he didn’t look any happier than she felt. Maybe they had more in common than she realized.

  Climbing into the sleigh was no easy task with the gauzy outer layer of her skirt snagging on a jingle bell and every possible sharp corner. Simon extended a hand but she pretended not to notice. If he thought those remarks about her fear of confrontation were water under the bridge, he had another thing coming. She managed to cram herself into the seat, where Simon tucked the flannel blanket over her knees.

  A cocky smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Close quarters, huh?”

  “Too close.” She turned her face away, afraid he would see the slight flush in her cheeks. And interpret it as something other than a simple case of stage fright.

  “Just like old times, Rae.” His voice was quiet with an unexpected note of bitterness. “That radio booth was always too small for us. I guess this parade is too.”

  She kept silent as she flipped open her script. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  *****

  Simon groaned as the director yelled “Cut!” for the fifth time. He and Rae had been stuck in this sleigh for nearly an hour, pretending to pass floats from Christmas parades past. The archive footage would be spliced in later, so all they had to stare at was a color screen and a shower of fake snow.

  It was anyone’s guess how many more takes they could do this without coming to blows.

  The director, a former station manager named Art, sent them a frown and scratched his head. “I’m sensing some distance between the two of you. We need to fix that, show a little human connection or something.”

  Tell me about it. He didn’t dare glance at Rae, afraid some of that distance might be visible in her face right now. Unless the director had some magic fairy dust on hand, there was no quick solution.

  Art broke into an inspired grin. “Here’s a thought. At the point where the sleigh is supposed to drive by the float with Scrooge and Jacob Marley’s ghost, Rae could look scared and dive in your arms.”

  “Um…” Simon turned slowly in Rae’s direction. She looked scared all right, but it wasn’t due to any ghostly apparitions. Was the mere thought of being in his arms enough to send chills up her spine? She was looking as if Art suggested she embrace a giant lizard or maybe Frankenstein’s monster.

  “What’s the problem?” Art snapped, seeing Rae’s eyes roll. “It’s exactly the kind of cutesy thing people expect from this sort of ad. We’re doing this, got it?”

  “There’s no way I’m doing this,” Rae whispered, her face pale as her winter costume. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  At that moment, she could have easily passed for the damsel in distress. Beautiful, anxious, vulnerable. His combative edge vanished like a fresh snowflake as he fought the urge to defend her. Ironic, considering the reason she was upset.

  “Just pretend I’m someone else,” he urged in a soothing voice. “Some dashing, heroic guy like Zorro or James Bond.”

  A smile flickered across her face, the first he’d seen since they arrived that morning. “I don’t think my imagination is active enough to pull it off.”

  “Okay then. Pretend you’re running from a monster. One with fangs and a set of claws that rival Edward Scissor Hands.”

  “I’d have to be, wouldn’t I?” The words were harsh but the tone was unmistakably playful. Could it be that Rae Randall was warming just a little to his friendly persuasion?

  He let his own smile crawl back in place. “Whatever it takes. Let’s just get this commercial done, all right?”

  “All right. After all, it’s just acting.” Her voice carried a nervous tremor despite her outward disgust. She squared her shoulders and blew a stray strand of hair from her green eyes.

  He cleared his throat and glanced away. Aware that he didn’t have a smart comeback line. And for once he didn’t care.

  “Action!” Art yelled, prompting Simon to move. In the back of his mind, he knew each line brought him closer to embracing his former co-host, a gesture of familiarity he and Rae never showed each other in their two years together.

  Well, almost never. Which was part of the problem.

  When the moment came, Rae took her cue and dove against his chest with a squeal of fright. Her honey-colored hair felt soft and warm against his cheek. His pulse thudded in his ears as he wrapped a protective arm across her shoulders and held her tight.

  A whiff of strawberry reminded him how she used to comb a little perfume through her hair on days she had a big date planned. Was she still dating stuffed suits or had she decided to take a chance on someone more adventurous?

  “Cut!” The director’s words echoed through the spacious auditorium and cut through Simon’s memories.

  An instant later, Rae had moved back to her side of the sleigh. Cheeks red, she covered her awkward appearance by smoothing her tousled hair. He thought he detected a tremor in her fingers, but it could have been his own rattled emotions playing tricks on his mind.

  “Good job, kids.” Art’s eyes were focused on the monitor, watching playback of the footage. “That’s a wrap.”

  “Great,” said Rae, adjusting her rumpled skirt. “We‘ve just given audiences another reason not to eat in front of the TV.”

  And, we’re back. Simon frowned, wishing their one moment of partnership had outlasted the two minutes it took to film it. “Could have been worse, right?” he suggested, trying to gauge her feelings about the brief embrace.

  She shrugged and turned towards the backstage area. “It’s over; that’s what counts. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get out of this winter warlock costume.” Without waiting for his retort, she stalked away to the dressing room.

  He closed his eyes briefly, wondering if their spark of chemistry had been just that–a spark. The kind easily smothered by a mountain of personal and professional conflict. One thing was certain: it was going to take a lot more than a fake hug to melt the friction between himself and Rae Randell.

  *****

  “Don’t look!”


  Rae leaped forward in an effort to block Tippy’s view of the TV–and more importantly the commercial for the parade. The two of them were putting the decorations up in the station break room. The afternoon movie from KTRP, Christmas In Connecticut, murmured in the background. And then smack in the middle of the holiday cheer came the image of herself and Simon on a pretend sleigh ride.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Tippy snorted with laughter as the cheesy footage rolled across the screen. Then let out a shriek of mirth as the infamous hug flashed before their eyes.

  “Shut up,” Rae said, pushing the “off” button on the remote. Her face flaming with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. No doubt Tippy’s wild imagination would twist this little scenario into a plotline fit for a soap opera.

  “Looks like you and Simon picked up right where you left off.” Her producer grinned knowingly as she unsnarled a string of half-dead twinkle lights. “The chemistry between you two practically leaps off the screen.”

  “Whatever.” Rae fiddled with her half-empty cup of hot chocolate, the swirling liquid reminding her of Simon’s dark eyes. Why did he act like a jerk one moment, then turn charming and helpful when she least expected it? He could have made the scene in the sleigh ten times more awkward if he wanted to. So why did he pass on the perfect opportunity to make her miserable?

  “Earth to Rae.” Tippy pushed a cardboard box full of tinsel and old Christmas cards in front of her. “There’s no time for daydreaming if you’re filling in for Dr. Rick’s show this afternoon. Although I can’t blame you,” she teased, “seeing as how Simon’s as smoldering as ever in the looks department.”

  Rae’s face burned as she struggled to think of a stinging retort. None came, so she busied herself digging through the box’s pile of holiday junk. Outdated Christmas cards stared up at her, depicting carolers, Christmas lights, and snowy landscapes. An unfortunate number of them involving couples on romantic sleigh rides and mistletoe.

  “Shouldn’t you relax now?” Tippy asked, pouring herself another cup of cocoa. “You won’t see him again until Monday night for the parade.”

  “If only,” Rae groaned. “We have to decorate a float at the warehouse tomorrow morning. Not exactly my dream Saturday, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sounds like fun,” said Tippy, mischievously. “But then, I’m not fighting an attraction for an archenemy.” As she dodged a well-aimed cluster of plastic mistletoe, courtesy of Rae.

  She couldn’t deny part of Tippy’s words were true. There was something about Simon that escaped her reason and even her harshest judgment. She argued with herself time and again, even when she found herself melting beneath the gaze of those dark eyes. How many arguments had she lost during their partnership because of that gaze? More than she was willing to admit.

  Over cold tuna fish casserole in her apartment that night, she watched a rented movie to avoid the boring lineup of reruns. When she turned it off and the ten o’clock news appeared onscreen, she couldn’t help but anticipate the commercial’s appearance. Feeling a tingle in her spine at the thought of the moment in the sleigh.

  “Oh, grow up,” she told herself, turning it off. As if spending her holiday season trapped with a self-absorbed jerk was anything to feel excited about. She was lucky this afternoon didn’t end with the two of them crossing swords via a pair of oversized candy canes.

  How could she let herself get suckered into believing that smile again? Their on-again, off-again partnership taught her a thing or two in the past about where his priorities really lay. Each time an opportunity came their way, Simon was always the first to argue his side of the situation.

  More than once, they threatened to break up their partnership over “irreconcilable differences.” And more than once, their relationship threatened to become something more than a morning stunt for ratings. The times they shared a touch or a glance that seemed like something more than friendship.

  What mattered, however, was what he did. He dumped their partnership for the first big opportunity that came this way. Now that was loyalty for you.

  *****

  “If you ruin this day for me, I will kill you.”

  These were the words that Rae planned to say when she confronted Simon at the parade float site on Saturday. She would look him in the eye and defy his charms with a freezing glance. Then she could turn her attention to the business at hand.

  Funny how those words never made it out of her mouth. Instead, she found herself laughing at his jokes one minute, glowering silently the next as he flirted with the nearest cute volunteer.

  When she arrived that morning, the parking lot was already full since parade preparation was in full swing. The warehouse was decked out like Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade on a small scale. Skeletal frames of floats were parked haphazardly in the building, with characters and sets frozen in stages of decoration. Volunteers and designers pounded nails and slapped paint across everything from the Queen of Heart’s court to a small-scale football field.

  “Hi there! You must be Rae Randall from the radio.” The head of the volunteers sounded chirpy despite the early morning. Rae almost suspected she must have been a morning drive host at one time.

  “Yes, I’m here for our float,” Rae replied. Her smile was partly genuine, since there was no sign of Simon anywhere.

  The woman across from her beamed. “I’m Mrs. Michelotti–if you need anything today, just ask me, since I’m the one who coordinates this effort.” She took Rae by the elbow and steered her towards a float in the middle of the building. “I chose an absolute beauty for you two. It’s Aladdin’s Palace, complete with a flying carpet. Practically begging to be Best of Show this year.”

  Rae stumbled over a pile of fake flowers as she followed along, her eyes glancing towards the elaborate scenes in progress. Someone was gluing shiny shingles all over Santa’s peaked roof, as pulleys swayed overhead for hoisting the chimney into place.

  “Here we are,” announced Mrs. Michelotti. She handed Rae a brush and a can of gold enamel paint. “The photographer from the local paper said he’d be here at eleven. I’m sure Mr. Harte will be here any minute, won’t he?” Already, she peered past Rae as if expecting to see the handsome morning anchor strolling through the doors.

  Simon was late, almost a half-hour late. Rae mentally cursed the charm that had the female volunteers practically eating out of his hand in the first five minutes. Already, two giggling college girls had fetched him coffee, while one middle-aged librarian was helping him locate an extra pair of work gloves, her eyes aglow with star fever.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Celebrity, do you think we could get things rolling?” Rae’s foot tapped impatiently as Simon surveyed her with a casual smile.

  “I think the palace is half-finished, so we’re not exactly launching the Sistine Chapel,” he pointed out. The plywood walls were coated with a single layer of paint, the colorful paper-mache domes mounted atop like upside-down turnips.

  Rae scowled and dipped her brush in the nearest open can. “Leave it to you to make every little event a self-promotion,” she grumbled. The words were under her breath, but clearly audible to Simon. For a moment, his face registered a hurt look, which vanished as quickly as the wood beneath his paintbrush.

  She regretted it for a split second, until Mrs. Michelotti appeared again. “I hate to trouble you, Mr. Harte,” she tittered, “but I wondered if you would mind autographing this for me?” She held out a pen and notebook, on which Rae could see scribbled various float ideas.

  “Sure,” Simon answered. His pen flew across the page in an expert way that told Rae he’d done this before. “Glad you’re a fan of the Early Bird.” He looked at Rae with a helpless shrug of his shoulders that only irritated her further. Why not just wear a neon sign that said “Local Star Here”?

  Once they were occupied with the float, things seemed a little better. Simon, in her estimation, was far less obnoxious when his hands were occupied with busy work. He helped the volunteers f
rame the scaffold inside the palace so the Princess could lean out the window and wave to the crowd.

  Rae was busy stenciling an Oriental rug pattern on what she assumed was Aladdin’s magic carpet. It was a curved board affixed to a spring, resembling the preschool playground rides she remembered as a child.

  “This thing ready to go for a spin?” Simon hopped up on the platform beside her and crouched next to the carpet.

  Rae rolled her eyes. “How about spending some time on those flower gardens, pal?” She gestured towards the crews of high school volunteers, who were helping glue fake flowers around the palace.

  “Listen,” Simon edged closer to her. “About all this. It wasn’t my idea, you know.” He reached over and dipped a second brush in the paint can. Something in his smile was irresistible; Rae found her defenses weakening.

  “And it wasn’t mine, either,” she answered, carefully avoiding his eyes as she slapped a fresh coat of paint across the stencil. “So I guess there’s no reason to bring it up.” She wasn’t letting him twist this into surrender.

  “I realize that the last time we saw each other was ... a little tense,” he continued. “I just want you to know that I didn’t mean it the way it seemed.” He sounded awkward, even a little guilty; something which caught Rae’s ear.

  “You mean the part where you dumped our show for a bigger career?” she answered. “Yeah, I guess I always read that part as–well, sort of self-absorbed.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm; now she was in the zone, no danger of being wooed into believing him.

  “It wasn’t about the job, Rae.” His paintbrush slowed to a crawl as he spoke. “You know what it was about.” He looked at her, those dark eyes trying to read her depths.

  Resisting, she inched away from him. “Maybe you should give me a hint. Was it the money–or the fame?” There was nothing teasing about her tone, despite her best attempts to seem indifferent.