Decked Out with Ivy (Red Maple Falls #13)

Chapter 1

Cody Chance rubbed his arms as he stepped off the curb of the airport and into the waiting Black SUV. His agent had arranged the ride for him to some town in the middle of bumfuck New Hampshire. The long sleeve shirt, while fine in LA, was not doing its job in the brisk late November air of the northeast. He slipped his phone out and called Ronnie.

“Are you in the car?” Ronnie asked before he could even utter a hello.

“Yes, but other than my carryon, I have no luggage. This wouldn’t have happened if I flew private.”

“That’s what you get for flying private all over God’s green earth this summer and getting on the radar of climate control activists. Now you’re stuck flying commercial like the rest of us peasants.”

“You fly private, too.”

“Yes, but I’m not a recognizable A-list Hollywood actor.”

“A-list?” He laughed. “If I was A-list, I wouldn’t be in the middle of nowhere about to film a Christmas movie.”

“It’s not just any Christmas movie. Bex Shepard is starring opposite you, and she’s still Hollywood’s It Girl. I would suggest becoming friends with her. She went through a scandal and came out on top. You could use some pointers.”

“Or I could accept this for what it is—a paycheck.”

“With that attitude, you won’t have many more paychecks. Go find some clothes until I can figure out this luggage situation, and I don’t know… maybe try to evoke the Christmas spirit.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because nobody likes a Scrooge, and right now, nobody likes Cody Chance, either. Find you a Tiny Tim and realize there’s more to life than money and fame.”

“Coming from the woman who made me who I am.”

“I got you roles. I helped make you a star. Your shit attitude is all you, sweetheart.”

Ronnie had discovered Cody at sixteen when he did a casting call for a fruit snack commercial, and with her faith and his work ethic, he quickly went from commercials to background actor in major films to leading roles. He owed his success to her, but she was right. The attitude was all his, thanks to a chip on his shoulder he’d been carrying most of his life.

“I know,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Words mean nothing—”

“Without the actions to back them up,” he finished.

“That’s my boy. Make me proud. Now check your phone. I’m sending you a link for a clothing store in Red Maple Falls. Hopefully, they’ll have something to hold you over.”

Ronnie hung up, and Cody glanced at his screen. He rattled the address off to the driver and closed his eyes as he prepared for what could only be considered his biggest nightmare.

A Christmas movie.

He’d rather stand naked in the middle of Antarctica or free dive with great whites. There was nothing about Christmas he liked. Everything from the sounds to the smells to the colors pissed him off.

He leaned toward the driver. “Can you please put anything else on other than Christmas music?”

“Not a fan?” the driver asked.

“No.”

“Of the music or Christmas in general?”

Great, the driver was chatty. “Christmas in general.”

“Then may I ask why you’re going to Red Maple Falls? They love them some Christmas in that town.”

He swallowed and ran a hand under his chin, pulling at the stubble. “To shoot a Christmas movie.”

The driver bellowed out a laugh that would put Santa to shame. Cody waited for him to say something else, but he just kept laughing as if he’d heard the funniest joke in his life.

Maybe he did. Cody’s life seemed to play out like one big joke these days.

He settled into the seat and glanced out the window, watching trees fly by. Finally, a house appeared. Then two. Then three. Cody rubbed his eyes, trying to determine if he was actually awake or somehow fell into the ninth ring of hell.

Every house, every lawn, was decked out in Christmas décor. Light up reindeers and sleds, blowup snowmen and polar bears, lights strung from every tree branch, and was that a life size Santa and workshop?

“What the hell is this place?” he mumbled.

“Welcome to Red Maple Falls!” the driver announced.

“Are all the houses like this?” he asked.

“Some prefer the more traditional décor. Garland and candles in the window and the likes. But a few years ago, the town started a holiday lights competition like that show on TV. Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“Of course not. You hate Christmas. Anyway, the mayor of the town loves the show, and she wanted to make her own competition. The local businesses already have a window contest, but she had a bigger vision. Her house was the one with Santa and his workshop.”

“So she used her position in power to live out her personal fantasy.”

The driver laughed again. “I think whoever you were talking to was right. You need to find yourself some Christmas spirit.”

“The only Christmas spirit I want is in the form of a glass, but I can’t have that, because apparently, I have a problem.”

“Me too. Or at least I did. Twenty years sober. Best decision I’ve ever made.”

“So far it’s the worst decision I’ve ever made, but it was that or give up my career. Since that’s the only thing I have worth anything to me, I had no choice.”

“It gets easier, especially when you find something or someone that fills that need in you.”

“It’s what I’ve heard, but so far I’ve been shit out of luck.”

“Who knows? Maybe your Christmas miracle is just around the corner.”

“Yeah sure.”

The driver eased to a stop in front of a store displaying snowboarding mannequins dressed in god-awful Christmas sweaters and—to complete the ridiculous ensemble—a Santa hat.

“What the hell is this place?”

“The address you gave me.”

Cody glanced out the window again, eyes roaming the other store fronts, confident the store he was looking for was next door. But their display of a winter wonderland log cabin and the sign ‘Let Us Find Your Home Sweet Home’ made it abundantly clear they did not sell clothing.

“Great,” he muttered.

“Take your time,” the driver said. “I’m not going anywhere.” He reached behind him for a newspaper and settled into the seat.

Cody nodded and eased out of the vehicle. He walked across the sidewalk and pushed open the door, only to be blasted in the face with heat, the smell of cinnamon, and the sound of Mariah Carey belting out her infamous song.

This might very well be the ninth circle of hell. His body involuntarily cringed as his eyes took in the overload of Christmas clothing and décor. He’d heard the phrase, Christmas threw up in here , and if that was the case, this was violent.

On the other side were displays of… tuxedos.

“Hi! Can I help you?” a perky voice said from his left.

He cut his eyes toward the blonde-haired, light, brown-eyed woman who was wearing the same ridiculous sweaters as the mannequin in the window. Something that beautiful should not be wearing something so hideous.

Her hair hung in loose waves just above her shoulders, framing her oval-shaped face. She had soft, delicate features with a slightly pointed chin. She was a natural beauty and nothing like the women he’d been surrounded by the last few years who worked to afford more cosmetic surgery.

He waited for the realization to settle over her. For the shrieks to start. That’s how most woman reacted when they realized they were speaking to Cody Chance.

After a second, her eyebrow arched. “Can I help you?” she asked again, her tone unsure.

“You don’t know who I am?” he asked.

“Am I supposed to?” Her head tilted, blonde hair falling with it. “Did you visit here as a kid? Or did you go to elementary school with me? No, that can’t be it. I remember everyone.”

“I’m Cody Chance.” It came out with the arrogance he’d been accused of one too many times.

“Nope, no Cody Chance that I remember.”

“Never mind. Look. The airport lost my luggage. I need a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to get me through the next day or two. Do you have any Sevens or Tom Fords?”

She laughed entirely too loudly. “Tom Ford? Are you serious?”

He stared, waiting for the punchline, but it never came.

“Why don’t we start over here?” She moved past him, engulfing him in the scent of sugar cookies and vanilla—a scent he wanted to hate, but instead, it made his mouth water. “We don’t have much of a selection, but we have these.” She picked up a black and red…

“Is that a onesie?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s tacky.”

“It’s our bestseller.”

He stared at her again, waiting for another punchline that again never came. She stepped toward him, once more surrounding him in sugar cookies and vanilla, holding the onesie up to his frame. “I think it would look good on you.”

“I think you’re delusional.”

“Okay, not a plaid kind of guy. What about…?” She tapped a delicate finger to her full lips before snapping her fingers. She twirled away, hurrying toward a display that held an unnecessary amount of folded sweaters like the one she was wearing.

She gave him a once-over, eyes narrowing toward the smooth and slender bridge of her nose. “I’d say you’re a large.” She grabbed a sweater from the bottom of the pile and shook it out.

He nearly fell backward as the reindeer with the too-big red nose glared at him.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It has a reindeer on it.”

“Isn’t it adorable?”

In the blink of an eye, she tossed the sweater over his head and yanked it down. She stood back and clapped. “Perfect!”

He froze for a moment, the absurdity of the situation hitting him. He could feel her light brown eyes on him, waiting for his reaction, and for the briefest second, a ridiculous thought flashed through his mind.

It’s not so bad.

But then he caught sight of the reindeer again, its garish nose practically glowing in the store’s lighting. “It’s hideous. I don’t know who in their right mind would want to wear this.” He ripped the offensive material off his body.

She gasped as if he just admitted to being a serial killer and looked down at her own ridiculous sweater. Hers had a Santa face on it.

“You’re wearing it because you work here,” he said, reasoning with her. “It’s not like you’d actually wear that in public.”

“I wear it because I made it.” Disappointment flashed in her light brown eyes. Shades of green sparkled slightly under the lights. “And I like it.”

Oh, for fuck's sake. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not the sweater, per se. I just don’t like Christmas.”

“You don’t like Christmas ?” she exclaimed.

Cody barely registered the shock in her voice, too busy fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. It wasn’t like he owed anyone an explanation. Christmas was just another damn holiday he could do without.

He didn’t bother to soften his tone. “Hate it, actually.”

She held her hand to her heart. “Who hurt you?” There was a little humor in her voice, but there was nothing humorous about it.

“Where do I start?” he mumbled, then shook his head. This woman did not need to go down the rabbit hole that was his life. Besides, all she needed to do was do a quick search on the internet to find out his entire life story.

She reached out, her hand resting on his bicep, sending heat rushing through his body. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Her hand dropped away too quickly, and he felt the loss immediately—a chill settling where her touch had been. It had been so long since anyone had affected him this way, since he’d felt the spark of connection so raw, so undeniable. He wanted to grab her hand, place it where it had been, keep feeling that warmth swirling inside of him. The imprint of her touch lingered, and he couldn’t shake the desire to make it last.

He cleared his throat, focusing on their conversation. “Why not? I don’t give a shit.”

She let out a sigh. “Excuse me for saying this, but you’re kind of a jerk.”

“Yeah, well, being nice has never paid off for me.”

“That’s just sad.”

“Such is life.” He turned away, his body tense, trying to distance himself from the heat rising inside him. But it was pointless. The pull toward her was like a magnetic force. Every nerve-ending flared with the need to close the space between them. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge that threatened to break through his control. “Do you have anything here that doesn’t make me look like a buffoon?”

She snatched the reindeer sweater and marched toward the front of the store. She dropped the sweater on the counter and spun toward him, finger pointing at his chest. “You will buy the sweater, for me having to put up with your crankiness.” She marched off before he could manage a single word. When she returned, she held a pair of khaki pants. “I’m assuming you're about a thirty-four waist, thirty long.”

“Um, yes, but how did you…?”

“I’ve been measuring for tuxedos for years.”

“What’s that about, anyway?” He nodded toward the tuxedoed mannequins.

“It’s how this business started. I wanted to keep that end going while also modernizing the store and bringing in more options for the town, since not many people in this area are looking for tuxedos. I also picked up knitting and put a few items on sale. Despite what you say, they are a big hit. People love my sweaters and my mittens. Speaking of mittens.” She grabbed a navy pair with a big white snowflake on them and slammed them on top of the pants and sweater. “You can buy these too as a thank you for me not kicking you out of the store.”

“I’m sorry if I insulted you, but I’m never going to wear—”

She cut him a glance that could freeze over LA. He snapped his lips shut. There was no use continuing to poke the bear.

“Besides. All of this will be a fourth of what you would have spent on a single pair of Tom Ford jeans.” She mashed her finger into the register keys. “Tom Ford,” she scoffed under her breath.

She didn’t even bother saying the total aloud, but it was clear in glowing green on the register screen. He tapped his card, and she handed him the receipt.

She tossed the items into a brown paper bag that was covered with a big green stamp of Merry Christmas on the front. She thrust the bag at him. “Enjoy.” She glared at him until he took the bag from her grasp.

“Thanks,” he said, never feeling so unsure in his life as he walked out of the Christmas nightmare, away from the spirited blonde, and into the waiting SUV.