Christmas Clash by Dana Volney Page B

said, thankful she showed up to do the interview after he’d cut their date short. Misty’s appearance had been an uncomfortable question mark in his mind.
    She extended her hand and he shook it.
Professional. Good.
Her hands were hard, bony, and cold. “We’d like to talk with you on camera.” She positioned herself with the music stage and bouncy castle behind her. “Burt will grab some B-roll, too. Is there anyone else you’d like to have in the interview?”
    “Nope. It’ll be just me again. I’m the official spokesperson.”
    Burt set up a stand for his camera and twisted cords in place. Misty kept her semi-professional streak intact by finding reasons to put her hands on him only twice as she asked him questions about what people could expect when they arrived, how long it would last, and what he wanted to say about their cause. His answers remained the same as when he went on the morning show. She jotted notes in a small black notepad that matched her gloves.
    “Want to grab another drink tonight? My place?”
    He swallowed and search for the right words.
The woman doesn’t give up. I’ll give her credit for that.
    “I’m sorry, Misty. I can’t.”
    He looked over her shoulder and spotted Candace painting a little girl’s cheek in front of Kaye’s yoga studio. Candace nodded at the happy youngster and her new artwork. Suddenly, he was calm and content. He forced himself to pay attention to the pretty woman in front of him.
    “I ...”
What are the right words?
“I’m sort of seeing someone else.”
Liar.
He thought he might want to date someone else who was a specific woman.
    “Okay.”
    She shrugged and he tried not to be hurt that she dismissed him so easily. Then she stepped closer and whispered into his ear, “Call me when
sort of
doesn’t work out.” She pivoted and walked toward Burt, who had parts and pieces of equipment scattered in a circle around him.
    I’ll never understand women.
Then a harrowing thought struck him—he didn’t want to understand
all
women. Only one.
    • • •
    Candace was drawing a butterfly in glittery crayon on a little girl’s face when she saw the reporter step up and kiss Luke on the cheek. Startled, she drew an unwanted line on the child’s cheek.
Shoot.
She used her thumb to smug the mishap away.
    A twinge of jealousy that she was getting way too used to feeling surfaced before she could gather her wits and shoo the green away.
You’re being silly.
They’d shared one itty-bitty kiss and it hadn’t meant anything—to either of them. She didn’t care who Luke dated. He was a big boy. He could do whatever he wanted, and so could she.
I need to call James for that dinner.
Her stomach calmed down.
Get a grip on your life, girl.
    “You should go over there,” Mabel prodded, waving toward the interview cameras. “Make sure the right message is getting told.”
    “He knows what to say.” Candace didn’t make eye contact with Mabel. Even though she controlled her facial expressions, her eyes might betray her.
    “Are you sure? You’ve done such a good job of organizing all of this. I’d hate to see it go down the drain because he can’t form a sentence around that tart.”
    “Mabel!” Candace giggled before she could stop herself.
    “I’m just saying. She’s a looker and we don’t want him getting tongue tied.”
    Tongue tied? Is she
that
pretty?
    “All right, Mabel. If you insist.”
    Candace finished the butterfly with silver highlights, then hurried over to where the blonde and her cameraman were now set up. They had positioned Luke so the shot would look out over the bustling street of people.
Good choice.
She kept her pace casual and wrapped her arms around herself as she sidled up to Luke.
    “Hi.” She outstretched her hand to the reporter.
Be professional. Your family is sort of her employer s
he reminded herself over and over. “I’m Candace. Nice to meet you.”
    “Misty. Pleasure, I’m sure.” Misty shook her hand and