You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(17)

Maddie laughed. “He’s not scary, silly billy.”

Crash.

Jared ran, stopping in dismay at the kitchen door. Globs of spaghetti sauce encircled the high chair and Rocco’s bowl was rolling across the floor toward him. Leaning forward, his son followed its progress with interest. “Uh-oh.”

Jared grabbed paper towels from the pantry. “No. We don’t throw food.”

“No,” Rocco repeated gleefully.

Maddie tugged Dimity into the kitchen. “He won’t bite unless you put fingers in his mouth.”

“Stand back, you two, until I’ve cleaned this up.”

“No, you need to get cleaned up.” Dimity confiscated the paper towels. “For a start, take off that greasy apron. We need a sexy soulful vibe, not a short-order cook. And your hair’s flat. Madison, run and get your daddy a comb. Hurry now, the TV crew will be here any minute.”

“What TV crew?”

“Don’t worry, the kids won’t be in shot. But we’ve got to make the most of this.” Her cell rang. “It’s Zander.”

“Make the most of what?”

She held up a hand. “Hi Zee. Yeah, I’ve found him.”

“Okay,” Jared said. “I’m losing it.”

“And why wouldn’t you?” Seth Curran, Rage’s drummer, walked into the kitchen with a grin like Christmas Day. He grabbed Jared in a man hug. “I’m trying not to tear up myself.”

“How did you get in?”

“Maddie let us in.” Skirting the spaghetti sauce, Seth went to Rocco, who was going ballistic with excitement. Every living creature loved the band’s affable Kiwi sticksman. He was a walking, talking charm offensive.

“Us?” Jared repeated. Had he been dropped into an alternate reality?

Moss McFadden, Rage’s lead guitarist, entered the room, a bottle of vodka under one arm and a rare smile in his green eyes. He punched Jared’s shoulder. “Congratulations, buddy. Let’s get this party started.”

“Not until after the news crew leaves.” Dimity threw Jared her cell. “Zee wants to talk to you.”

“Will somebody please expl—Hey, don’t touch that.”

Too late. Moss had already taken a handful of walnuts and a wedge of blue cheese, ruining Jared’s careful display.

Giving up, he put the cell to his ear. “Zander?”

“Capitalize on this,” his mentor said from New Zealand. “Wring everything you can out of it, publicity-wise. It couldn’t have happened at a better time for you. I’m proud of you, man, it’s well deserved.”

Jared watched Dimity throw Moss some paper towels. “I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do,” Dimity said from her knees. “The news has been out for two hours.” She and Moss were smearing the sauce around the floor with the ineffectiveness of two people who never cleaned.

Seth studied him as he took Rocco out of his high chair. “He doesn’t know,” he said, and started to laugh.

In his ear, Zander said. “Seriously, you haven’t had a call? The Grammy finalists have been announced. You’re up for Song of the Year with ‘Kayla’s Song.’”

The news was too much to take in. Her song. The one he’d poured his emotions into. Lonely and homesick, he’d written it through the three-month auditions and performed it on the show finale. It had sat at number one on iTunes for a week and been recorded as part of his prize. And it had become a popular addition to the set list on Rage’s tour, along with several other of Jared’s songs, as Zander tried to manage the demands on his failing voice.

And now it was up for an award. Damn.

He needed Kayla. This was her nomination as much as his. He couldn’t even think about what this meant without her.

He reached for his cell, then remembered the battery was flat and picked up the land-line, but his hands were suddenly shaking so much he kept missing numbers.

Maddie skipped into the kitchen carrying a comb. “There are more people at the door.”

“The press.” Dimity leapt into action. “Seth, entertain the kids. Moss, keep cleaning the floor. Jared, put down the phone, look humble, yet confident and take that damn apron off!”





Chapter Seven





Still lost in a Jimmy Stewart afterglow, Kayla arrived home at seven forty-five to a front yard full of cars and motorbikes, one of which she recognized as Moss’s. She’d switched on her cell outside the theater to see that Dimity had texted a message:

Great news. Phone Jared at home!

She’d figured it could wait another fifteen minutes until she saw him. Was this why he’d wanted her out of the house, to get ready for a surprise party? Because nothing said great news like trashing the house you’re about to put on the market.

When she opened the front door, music blasted from the speakers, and not Christmas carols either. Hard rock. The living room was crowded with Rage’s tour family—roadies, techs, security, a lawyer or two—all of whom greeted her with hollers and raised glasses.

Plastering a smile on her face, she dodged attempts to stall her and stalked through the house looking for Jared, moving a glass of red wine sitting perilously near the edge of the coffee table en route. And we have freaking white carpet! On what planet was this stupid, inconsiderate party helping me with Christmas? Bottles and cans of alcohol were piled up on every available surface and a cigarette butt smouldered in her rubber plant. I’m going to kill Mr. “I’ve got this.”