Second Chances: A Magical Holiday Romance Page 6

  “Mommy said it’s time to get up!” Brady shouted, sliding back to the floor. “She’s making pancakes!”

  Carter’s stomach growled as the scent of bacon reached his nostrils. “Sounds good,” he rasped, sitting up and running his hands through his hair. “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute, okay? I need to go get a shower.”

  “Okay!” Brady said gleefully, running into the kitchen.

  Carter got up, stretching his aching muscles while yawning hugely. The night before, his mind had raced as he’d planned the big date, and he hadn’t managed to fall asleep until long after midnight. He’d tossed and turned after that, partly due to the discomfort of sleeping on the couch . . . partly, he was sure, due to nerves over whether his plan would work.

  He showered and dressed quickly, not wanting Kenzie to think he didn’t appreciate her making breakfast. He did take the time to shave, however, tired of the beast growing on his chin. He scowled at his closet full of denim and flannel, wondering slightly at the absence of suits and ties. There was one dark gray suit, the elbows and knees shiny with age, and Carter decided he’d have to find time during the day to find something to wear for his date. He couldn’t take Kenzie to dinner at Aurora dressed in plaid.

  As for how to get a reservation at Aurora on such short notice . . . well, that was something he was going to have to address once he got to work. There were certain perks that came with working in the media. He hoped they also applied to small weekly newspapers on the Olympic Peninsula.

  He slipped on a pair of worn boots and made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He couldn’t hold back a smile at the sight of the two children sitting at the breakfast bar. Brady was rolling his bacon up in his pancakes and dipping the roll into syrup before taking a bite. Peyton, apparently, didn’t like syrup, opting to eat her pancakes dry. Kenzie looked up, handing him a cup of coffee, and her mouth dropped open.

  “You shaved,” she said.

  “Um, yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his now-smooth cheeks. His stomach sank at her stunned expression. “You don’t like it?” Maybe she preferred the beard. Had he screwed up already?

  “I don’t know,” she said finally. “You’ve had the beard for so long, I . . .” She blinked and shook her head. “It’s fine.” She looked away and wiped her hands on a towel. “Hungry?” she asked quietly.

  “Starving.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Carter sat down next to Peyton, a little of the hesitancy from the day before reappearing. “Morning,” he said quietly.

  Peyton turned her hazel gaze on him briefly. “Morning, Daddy,” she said, taking another bite of her pancake. “You look weird.”

  “I know.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged, chewing.

  “Uh . . . how did you sleep?” he asked.

  Peyton’s brow creased in confusion. “In my bed.”

  Carter chuckled. “I meant, did you have good dreams?”

  “Oh.” Peyton shrugged, talking through another bite of pancake. “I don’t ‘member.”

  “I dreamed I was Superman!” Brady shouted, dipping his pancake roll in more syrup. “I was flying and I fought the bad guys!” He swung his fist to emphasize his story and inadvertently knocked over his milk.

  “Brady,” Kenzie chided, yanking a towel from the oven handle and blotting up the spill. “You need to be more careful.”

  “Sorry, Mommy,” Brady replied. “You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

  Kenzie finished wiping up the milk and tossed the towel in the sink. “Why would I cry?”

  “I don’t know,” Brady answered with a shrug. “But Grandma Claire says you shouldn’t cry over spilled milk.”

  Kenzie laughed, and Carter felt his heart warm at the sound as he joined in. Kenzie caught his eye, and for the first time since he’d arrived the day before, a genuine smile lit her eyes before she turned back to Brady.

  She tapped him on the nose. “I’m not going to cry,” she assured him, pouring him some more milk. “Just try not to knock over your glass again, okay?”

  Brady agreed, carefully picking it up to take a long swallow as Kenzie set a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of Carter.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. Kenzie nodded in acknowledgement and moved to the sink to wash some dishes.

  Carter finished his breakfast, and after a rather involved goodbye ritual with the kids, stood awkwardly in front of his wife.

  “So, I’ll be back at five,” he promised.

  “I’ll be ready,” she said. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise,” he told her, seizing a moment of courage to lean in and kiss her cheek. He was grateful she didn’t pull away.

  “Just dress nice,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  Carter got into his car, clutching his business card in his hand as he started the little sedan. He made his way to the address of the Woodlawn Weekly, frowning slightly when he saw the small sign on a strip mall storefront.

  “Well, it’s no network news spot, but it’s all mine,” he said under his breath as he parked and made his way to the front door. A bell rang as he walked in, and an older woman sitting at a messy desk looked up, her eyes widening in surprise.

  “What happened to you?”

  “What?” Carter froze in front of the open door.

  “Your face. It’s bald.”

  “Oh, uh.” He was ready to kick himself for shaving. “Just trying something new?”

  “Well, you look real nice,” the woman said after perusing him for a long moment. “Different, but nice.”

  She seemed familiar, and after a moment, Carter recognized her as the former secretary at Woodlawn High.

  “Mrs. Evans?”

  The woman laughed boisterously. “Mrs. Evans?” she repeated. “Since when have we gone back to that? I haven’t been Mrs. Evans to you for years, Carter. Especially since you became my boss.”

  Carter forced a laugh. “Oh, just had a flashback, I guess . . .” He surreptitiously glanced at the nameplate on her desk. “. . . Sandi.”

  She giggled. “Oh, before I forget, Maddie wanted me to tell you she’s up at the Rez covering the school board meeting. She said she’d drop by and get some pictures and quotes for the story on the new community center while she’s there.”

  Carter nodded, his eyes drawn to a huge whiteboard on the wall behind Mrs. Evans’—Sandi’s, he corrected—desk. Scrawled in dry erase marker was a list of the stories for the next issue, along with the reporters assigned to each story. From what he could tell, they were operating on a skeleton crew. No wonder he worked so much.

  “Are you still heading up to Manaskat for the firefighter story?” she asked.

  “Firefighter story?” he repeated.

  Sandi rolled her eyes good naturedly. Apparently, absent-mindedness was not unusual for Carter. “The file’s on your desk,” she reminded him, “as well as the one for the food bank feature. You’re set up for that one at one o’clock.”

  Carter started to panic. He had to drive to Manaskat, do the interviews for this firefighter story—whatever it was—as well as a food bank feature, find a suit, make reservations at the restaurant and the hotel, order flowers and a limo, as well as find some decent champagne in a town well known for its affinity for beer and peanuts. The list was growing by the minute.

  He started to feel dizzy, wondering if he could pull it off.

  “Carter, is everything all right?” Sandi asked, a concerned look wiping the pleasant smile from her face.

  Carter rubbed his temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “It’s just that . . . I hoped to plan a special night for Kenzie . . .”

  Sandi’s eyes softened. “That explains the new look. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Carter’s eyes widened at the offer. “Could you? It would mean a lot to me.”

  She waved a hand. “It’s no problem. So, you want a special table at The Mill?” She picked up
the phone.

  Carter frowned at the mention of Woodlawn’s only nice restaurant. It was nowhere near nice enough for Kenzie. “No, I had something a little more special in mind.” With that, he outlined his plan for Sandi Evans.

  Sandi stared at him for a moment when he finally finished. “You want to do all of this tonight?” she asked.

  “Yes. Can you do it?”

  Sandi sighed heavily. “It’ll take some doing, but yes, I think I can. You know this is going to cost a fortune, right?”

  Carter smiled. “It’s a special occasion.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a credit card, then thinking the better of it and handing her three of them. “Just put it all on those,” he said.

  Feeling a weight lift off his shoulders, Carter made his way toward an office in the back of the room with a glass door boasting a brass placard declaring him Editor-in-Chief. He found the files Sandi had mentioned on top of a mountain of paperwork on his desk and flipped through them quickly. Evidently, the firefighter story was a look at the impact of budget cuts on the Wishkah County Fire District. The food bank feature was a typical story about the need for donations with the shelves pretty bare after the holiday rush. It all looked relatively cut and dried, and he felt he could easily get both stories done in the time allotted.

  Until he actually got to Manaskat.

  His phone rang non-stop on the drive and he spent most of the time on his headset, putting out fires at the printer and with other reporters in the field. He was exhausted by the time he pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the fire station, and finally had to shut his phone off when he sat down to do the interview with the fire chief and a few of the firefighters who’d had their hours cut back because of the budget cuts. He snapped a few pictures with his digital camera and headed for the only department store in town, turning on his phone to find he had seven voicemails.

  He listened to them briefly, relieved when he found there was nothing pressing that couldn’t wait until after he’d found a decent suit, which proved to be a little easier said than done. He scanned the racks, finally deciding on a dark gray one that fit him relatively well—no time for alterations—and a pair of black shoes that squeaked slightly, but looked pretty good. He opted for a white shirt and dark blue tie, since the selections were limited, and put the whole thing on the one credit card he’d held back from Mrs. Evans.

  Carter had a moment of panic as he handed the card to the cashier, wondering if he had enough available on the card to cover the near-thousand dollar total. He breathed a sigh of relief when the young woman handed him the slip to sign and thanked him for his business. He put in a call to Sandi as he walked back to his car.

  “How’s it going?” he asked when she answered the phone.

  “So far, so good,” she said. “I got ahold of Lester Reynolds, and he’ll meet you at the airport at five-thirty. I called in some favors and got you the okay to land on the ABC affiliate’s helipad in Seattle. The limo will meet you there to take you to Aurora. The suite at the Four Seasons is reserved in your name, and Lester will be back to pick you up at nine in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Sandi. You’re a miracle worker.”

  “I know,” she said smugly. “Oh, and one thing?”

  “Yes?”

  “At Aurora,” she said hesitantly. “They may be under the impression that you’re a food critic from the New York Times.”

  “What?”

  “Hey,” Sandi replied, her voice taking on a defensive tone. “It was the only way I could get you a reservation so quickly. Plus, you’ll probably get a few extras,” she pointed out.

  “Okay,” Carter rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering how he could pull off posing as a food critic.

  “And the Four Seasons might be under the impression you’re writing an article for Conde Nast,” she added.

  “Good Lord,” Carter muttered.

  “You ask for miracles, you’ve got to be willing to pay the price,” she pointed out.

  “It’s . . . fine, Sandi. It’s great. I really appreciate all your help.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Just have a great time.”

  Carter hung up and checked his watch. With a low curse, he realized that he was already fifteen minutes late for his appointment at the food bank. He got into the car and turned the key.

  And nothing happened.

  “Come on,” he encouraged the little car, as he turned the key again.

  Nothing.

  “No, no, no,” he muttered, popping the hood and getting out of the car to stare at the engine. Which was pretty much useless, since he knew virtually nothing about engines.

  “Car trouble?” An older man paused on the sidewalk, peering in at the motor.

  Carter fought back a sarcastic retort. “Yeah. It won’t start. And I’m already late for an appointment.”

  The man leaned in, examining the engine closely and wiggling a few wires. “Try it now,” he suggested.

  Carter got back in the car and turned the key, hoping the wire-wiggling had fixed the problem.

  It hadn’t.

  “Looks like a dead battery,” the man said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his hands. “I’ve got some cables in my truck. I’d be happy to give you a jump.”

  “Really?” Carter was shocked at the stranger’s willingness to help him. It wasn’t something that happened often in New York. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Sure, no problem,” the man said, waving a hand in dismissal. “I’ll go get my truck.”

  While Carter waited, he called the food bank to let them know what was happening, then scrolled through his phone numbers, breathing a relieved sigh when he found an entry for Mom. He placed a quick call to his mother, who was more than happy to take the children for the night, and Carter was thankful at least that hurdle had been cleared.

  He waited for the man to return, checking his watch every few minutes. Finally, forty-five minutes later, a rickety old Ford pickup pulled up in front of him, the engine rattling loudly. Carter suppressed his irritation and pasted a smile on his face.

  “Did you get lost?” he asked jokingly.

  The man just blinked at him. “No,” he said, before pulling a set of jumper cables out of the bed of his truck. He quickly hooked up to Carter’s battery, and when the car started, Carter thanked him profusely before finally setting off toward the food bank. His foot anxiously pressed the gas pedal while his eyes scanned side streets and the rearview mirror, hoping to avoid getting a speeding ticket.

  He pulled up in front of the food bank more than an hour late. He wasn’t so much worried about the interview—the director was happy the paper was doing the story at all and bent over backward to accommodate Carter. But with the car trouble, Carter was on a tight schedule to get home in time to pick up Kenzie. He’d have to speed through the interviews, snap a few pictures, and get out of town as soon as possible.

  Unfortunately, the schedule at the food bank was not quite as tight. He found the director, Jason Matthews, helping to unload a truckload of produce at the back door, and waited rather impatiently for him to finish.

  “I can interview you right here,” Carter offered, glancing at his watch again and wincing at the passing time.

  “No, we’ll be more comfortable in my office,” Jason said. “This will only take a minute.”

  When Jason finally finished with the truck and led Carter to his office, it was almost three o’clock and Carter’s teeth were on edge. Jason was a tedious interview—slow speaking, and Carter felt like he had to drag every quote from his lips. When he finally finished with him and the two food bank customers that Jason had recommended he interview as well, Carter was nearly frantic. He took a few pictures of the empty shelves as well as the outside of the facility before practically running to his car. It was after four o’clock. He barely had time to get home and change before they needed to meet Lester at the airport.

  Of course, the car wouldn�
�t start.

  “Damn it!” Carter exclaimed, pounding on the steering wheel in frustration. He still needed to get flowers on the way home, and his battery was dead again. “You stupid! Stupid! Car!”

  “Having trouble, Carter?” Jason’s face appeared at his passenger side window, his voice muffled by the glass.

  Carter rolled down the window, fighting to control his frustration and smile hopefully at the man.

  “Got any jumper cables?” he asked.

  By the time Jason and Carter managed to get his car started, Carter was in a near panic. He called Kenzie, getting her voicemail, and assured her he was on his way, and would be there as soon as possible. He left the car running when he dashed into a small florist shop to pick up a bouquet of red roses. He knew they were cliché, but didn’t have any other options.

  Finally . . . finally, he sped down Highway 160, his eyes compulsively drifting to the dashboard clock. No matter how many times he looked at it, it still told him the same thing.

  He was late.

  He’d called Sandi and asked her to contact Lester and let him know what was happening. Things weren’t going quite as planned, but Carter was determined not to let the day’s events ruin everything.

  Carter’s new suit slid off the back of the passenger seat and he reached over to straighten it quickly. He had no time for a shower, that was for sure. He sniffed at himself. Not too bad. A quick spritz of cologne ought to do the job.

  His gaze flicked back to the suit. He had wanted to be wearing it when he picked up Kenzie—not running through the front door in a crazed hurry to change.

  Kind of ruined the romance.

  He eyed the suit speculatively, then examined the empty road ahead of him.

  He could pull over and change, but it would be much quicker to just do it while he was driving. His eyes narrowed at the plastic-wrapped garment next to him. The shirt and tie would be no problem. He was already wearing dark socks, and changing shoes would be easy.

  The pants, though. The pants could prove challenging.

  “Heck with it,” he muttered, reaching over with one hand to unbutton the shirt and pull it off the hanger. Of course, the jacket came with it and Carter cursed lightly as he shook the shirt free, then draped the jacket over the seat back. He only bothered to release the top two buttons on the shirt he was wearing before quickly tugging it over his head, the car swerving slightly. Gritting his teeth, he threw the flannel over his shoulder before slipping an arm into the crisp, white shirt. He leaned forward, his left arm flailing behind him as he tried to find the sleeve opening, the seatbelt cutting across his neck. By the time he managed to get his arm in the sleeve he was damp with sweat. He tried to pull the shirt up onto his shoulders.