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Lauren Hall has one wish for Christmas this year-raise money to build a new, no-kill animal shelter for the town of Sycamore Cove. And she is prepared to do anything to make...
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He was late.
Lauren's star performer of the evening was late, and by the looks of the snow piling up outside the hotel, he was either cozied up in some love nest because he had forgotten his promise or he was freezing to death in his car in an icy ditch. Either way, she couldn't reach him by phone and he hadn't tried to contact her. Relying on a friend of a friend's cousin might have been free, but it hadn't been smart.
When the snow started falling at noon, she should have known something would go wrong tonight. The fortune cookie that came with her lunch had warned her: You learn from your mistakes. You will learn a lot today. She'd written it off as crummy prophesizing at its finest. She wouldn't be making any mistakes.
Lauren pulled the slip of paper out of her pants and tore it into shreds, then she wadded the shreds in a ball and threw it on the floor.
One mistake so far. She swallowed a scream and settled for stomping her foot. No more. She had reached her quota.
What were the odds she could find another a male dancer to jump out of a cake in the next fifteen minutes?
Lauren paced, checking her phone every time she turned and ignoring the nausea spreading through her stomach. The small changing room off the hotel lobby only gave her enough space to take a few steps before she had to turn, and there was less and less air. In the ballroom down the hall, over two dozen ladies waited for the evening's entertainment she had promised to provide.
They were depending on her, and she owed them for all the help they had given. These ladies had busted their bums to raise money for her project the last couple of months.
She reached for the door at the same time it flew open.
Abby popped in, alone. "The dinner is fab, but they'll be into the desserts soon. Any news?"
Lauren shook her head. Her phone screen remained abysmally dark and lifeless. "Nothing yet."
"Call him again. Do something. These ladies are starting to prowl like caged lions in there, and it's not going to be pretty if they don't get something to appease their appetites soon, if you know what I mean."
Lauren's stomach twisted into a knot. "Keep stalling. All right?"
Abby shook her hair, revealing green and red stripes under the blond. She shut the door, leaving Lauren sinking in her unworthiness.
The Knitting Society of Sycamore Cove deserved this gesture.
Several months ago when Lauren first contacted groups and businesses in town to ask for support for the shelter, the knitters jumped at the opportunity to give back to their community. They wanted to branch out and change their image as stuffy old ladies who sat around, buried in yarn and drinking tea into dynamic do-gooders. After giving the cause their everything, Lauren thought they should have an especially fun end-of-the-year party. The society's president agreed. A male dancer would be the whipped cream and a cherry to the evening.
Maybe there was a reason she couldn't find a job in her field of studies and had been stuck as a waitress since graduating with her bachelor's degree. Or maybe she simply needed to try harder. Lauren needed to show Sycamore Cove, and herself, that she was positively ingenious.
She did what any young woman in need of a hot, male stripper would do.
No, scratch that. She did exactly the opposite of what a young woman in this situation would do. Finding her brother's number in her contacts, she made her second mistake of the evening.
"Hey, Cooper, it's me. I'm in a bit of bind and could use your help tonight."
Cheers and yells blared in the background. "I'm kind of busy right now."
"Yeah. I understand. Remember that time you busted Mom's crystal vase in the entryway and you blamed it on neighbor kids, and got me to back up your story? Get over here and help me with the cake or I'm telling her."
"Is this...blackmail?"
"Be in the Portside Hotel lobby in ten minutes, or I'm calling Mom to ruin her cruise." Lauren's conscious twinged at blackmailing her brother. Then she remembered the time he shaved her Barbie's' heads.
No mercy in the Hall family.
Abby crashed through the door, snapping her back to the here and now. "They are antsy for the surprise, Lauren. What do we do?"
"Stall them. I have a guy coming, I promise."
"That sounds so promising the way you say 'guy.' How about, the 'hunky male dancer' is coming? That has a much nicer ring to it," Abby said. "Don't forget, I have popcorn for us and these little sparkly-confetti shooters."
"Keep your bra fastened. Our cake guy will be here in less than ten minutes. I'm taking a rain check on this performance, though." Watch her brother jump out of a cake and start to shimmy? Yuck.
"Suit yourself." Abby waved her confetti shooter on her way out. "I'm off to stall. Some more."
This would work.
Lauren had a Singing in the Rain-style cake, a pair of free stripper pants (one size fits most) and edible body oil—eggnog flavored for the holidays—ready to go. All she needed was a 'stud-muffin,' as the knitting society president had put it.
Her brother would have to do. Most women found him studdly, at least.
Lauren collapsed in a fold-out chair, holding her head. The sounds of Christmas cheer filtered in from the ballroom. She had to pull this off. This town needed a new animal shelter—one with a no-kill policy and clean, roomy kennels—and she intended to prove she was capable of organizing projects for the betterment of society. Each minute that passed crawled on prickly pin-needle legs down her back.
Come on, Cooper, where—?
"I'm looking for Lauren Hall," a husky, male voice said at the check-in counter. "There should be a cake..."
"That's me," she cried, running out. The friend of a friend's cousin had arrived. "That's me, I'm—" She halted her headlong flight, nearly slipping on the polished tiles.
Holy smoke from a Yuletide fire, her Christmas wishes had been granted. And then some.
A mouthwatering ginger with a trim beard and captivating, green eyes stepped toward her. Broad shoulders filled his wool coat, jeans hugged his narrow waist, and melting snow twinkled in his hair, lashes, and beard. He could be the sexy poster boy for the town's tourist industry.
Those ladies wouldn't know what hit them. They'd be knitting ties and crocheting handcuffs for him to tie them up with in no time. However, Lauren had a job to do. She stood as tall as her five-foot-one-inch'" frame and three-inch heels would allow, and told the hyperactive butterflies in her stomach to take the party elsewhere. Time to crack the whip, but sadly not the kinky kind.
He held out a hand. "Nice to finally meet you, I'm—"
"Here to make me a very happy woman," Lauren said. Craning her neck, she smiled up at him. "Let's get you out of those clothes."
***
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