Tis The Silly Season

“That card has been denied.”
Lisa Mahoney closed her eyes and pressed the pay phone receiver closer to her ear. The lunch rush was noisy, and maybe she’d misunderstood.
“I paid the minimum balance,” she said, turning toward the wall and away from the watchful eyes of customers and co-workers. “I sent it a few days ago.”
Did yesterday count as a few?
“I’m sorry, but I can’t process your order. Do you have another credit card?”
Yes, and it was more overdue.
“How many do you have left?” Lisa asked.
“They’re going fast, ma’am. We expect to be out of stock by midnight tonight.”
Lisa’s heart dropped like Santa on a chimney freefall. There’d be no Mighty Motor Remote Control Stingray under her Christmas tree. No Mighty Flight Remote Control Viper under there, either. She choked back a dry cough. Who was she kidding? She’d be lucky if there was a tree.
Which normally would have been just fine. But this year, this black and blue and bruised year, was supposed to be different.
“Thank you for shopping with Kincaid Toys,” the woman added cheerfully, as though Lisa had actually shopped.
She hung up the phone and peered around the corner to the dining room. A couple settled into her two-top and table six had their menus closed and those four ladies from Raleigh looked low on coffee.
Behind her, a pointed throat clearing yanked her around as effectively as if her boss had put his hand on her shoulder and spun.
“Done shopping, Lisa?” Ben Censky’s cold gray eyes hardened to silver beads as he held out the order pad she must have dropped in the kitchen. “Think you might be able to wait on a customer or two now? I mean, if it’s not too inconvenient.”
She snagged the pad from Ben’s hand. “They haven’t even looked at their menus. I’m watching them.”
He pointed to the dining room. “Then go sell them alcohol while they chat. Tipsy people order more.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. It just wasn’t worth it to argue with the man who controlled her hours. Not this close to Christmas. She needed every dime to keep her promise to the boys. Maybe she could find the toys on eBay and pay cash.
If she had any cash.
Glancing at the newly-seated couple to gauge tip potential, she saw the woman inch closer to her companion, and something in the intensity of her coppery gaze froze Lisa’s step. From her vantage point, Lisa couldn’t see the man’s face, but she knew women well enough to read a ‘listen to me I’m only going to say this once’ expression. Whatever it was, Lisa wasn’t doing her bottom line any favors by barging over now to get their order.
Ben gave her shoulder a shove. “Move it,” he insisted. “Tables don’t turn if you let them camp.”
Sliding a vile look at him, she flipped the pad and headed to the table, trying to catch the woman’s eye before she started talking and Lisa had to interrupt.
Just as she got into hearing range, the woman propped her elbows on the table with a thud.
“I want you, Clay Slater,” she said. “I want you bad.”
Oh boy. Definitely not the time to announce the soup of the day.
“But not until you settle down,” the woman added, clearly unaware that Lisa was headed straight into their conversation. “Sure you’re good. You’re great. You’re phenomenal. You thrill me every time you cross the finish line...”
The finish line? That was a new one.
“But, sorry, no deal.” The woman sat back and folded her arms, her gaze still burning across the table. All Lisa could see of the man was a few locks of thick, dark hair curling over the collar of his shirt and some seriously well-developed shoulders. “I need to see some changes, Clay. I need to see permanence. Being good isn’t enough. You have to be committed, accountable, responsible and decent enough for what I need. Otherwise, no. Not this year. Maybe not ever.”
“Yes!” Lisa hissed out the response before a single brain cell could engage and stop her. “You tell him, girl.”
The woman jerked her head up to look at Lisa, her expression only slightly more surprised than the one Lisa must have been wearing. When would she learn not to blurt out her thoughts?
But this was important. If only she’d had the nerve to say that to her ex-husband.
“Good for you,” Lisa continued as she sidled up to the table. “You know, the world needs more women like you.”
Next to her, the man blew out a soft breath. “Yeah, cause barracudas are an endangered species.” At Lisa’s glance of disdain, he added, “Look, it’s not like it sounds. You don’t get it.”
One look at him and Lisa most definitely got it. Of course he had to be smokin’ hot. His kind always was some version of mouthwatering. This one happened to be the too-cool-for-a-haircut, too-hip-for-a-shave, too-sexy-for-his-own-good version.
“Oh, I get it all right,” she assured him, forcing herself to look away from his smoky gaze to face the woman. “Be careful what you wish for,” she said with raised eyebrow. “I’m living proof that sometimes you get it.”
The woman’s eyes sparked with mirth and she brushed back a long strand of auburn hair. “Unanswered prayers, huh?”
They nodded at each other with that silent connection women can make, but Lisa couldn’t resist one more glimpse at the boyfriend.
He leaned back on two legs of the chair, a mix of amusement and appreciation crinkling his bedroom brown eyes. “When you two are done male bashing, I’ll take a glass of chocolate milk.”
Chocolate milk? So he had maturity issues as well as commitment problems. “And you?” she asked the woman.
“Just coffee, please.” She closed her menu. “I can’t stay.”
A wave from one of the Raleigh ladies pulled Lisa from the table, but when she returned with coffee and the big boy’s glass of chocolate milk, it was clear the conversation had gone south. And Lisa couldn’t resist lingering a moment as she set out the cream and sugar.
“I can’t change who and what I am, Shelby,” Bedroom Eyes said without looking up at Lisa. “At least not by next Friday.”
“Then you’re all wrong for Kincaid Toys.”
The creamer slipped out of her fingers with a clunk.
Kincaid Toys?
He seized the creamer without even looking at it, righting the tiny pitcher before a teaspoon spilled. Lisa looked from one to the other, taking in their intent gazes. Did one of them work for Kincaid Toys?
“Give me a chance, Shelby,” he said quietly. “If I can talk to David Kincaid, we can seal this deal.”
David Kincaid? The owner of Kincaid Toys? She bet he could get his hands on a Mighty Motor and a Mighty Flight before Christmas.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, glancing at her watch. “I just can’t take any more time on this, Clay. Even in the off-season, we’re crazy over there.” She stood and placed her napkin on the table.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said calmly. “All I need is one chance. One chance and I can prove you wrong.”
“I only have one chance to give, Clay, and I just can’t risk it on you. Thanks for coming out today. That was fun.” She pulled her handbag on her shoulder and scooped up the leather jacket she’d hung on the chair with one last look at him. “It’s a shame because you really can do amazing things in a Monte Carlo.”
Lisa had to keep her jaw from dropping as she watched the redheaded beauty saunter out of The Lodge. After a minute, she turned back to Bedroom Eyes, and shook her head with a tsk. “You’re crazy to let that one go.”
He picked up the chocolate milk in a mock toast. “I’ve been called worse, doll.”
“I bet you have.”
“You’re an opinionated little thing, aren’t you?” He took a sip and held her gaze over the thick rim of the glass.
“I’ve been called worse, doll.”
He choked so hard he almost spit chocolate milk on her. Taking a napkin to wipe his mouth, his eyes danced with a trapped laugh. “Touché...uh...” His gaze dropped to her chest as though he might be looking for a name card, but she wasn’t wearing one. His attention lingered anyway. Naturally.
“Lisa,” she said. “My name is Lisa and I was going to be your server. Still can be, if you want lunch.”
“I’m Clay.” He raked a hand through his hair, taking the locks from uncombed to unkempt. “And what I want is a ride, but I guess I’ll settle for a burger.”
She nodded, writing on her pad. “And just where do you need to go?”
“Victory Lane.” He crossed his arms and leaned back again, sweeping her with open appraisal. “But it appears I need a wife and two-point-five kids before I can get there.”
Huh? Add certifiable to the list of his problems. If Lisa had a brain, she’d drop the check and run. Fast. But she had one more question for the cute and crazy commitment-phobe. Giving the kitchen a quick peek, she crouched down to whisper. “Do you really know David Kincaid?”
He frowned, a look that made his already great looking features just a little more...great looking. “I’d like to.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her tone. “That’s too bad.”
“Don’t tell me you want to drive for him, too?”
“What I want is two of the most elusive toys in America, a Mighty Motor Remote Control Stingray and a Mighty Flight Remote Control Viper. Can you get them for me? I’ll pay you,” she offered quickly.
The quick flash in his eyes sent a ripple of awareness through her. As though he wondered exactly what she’d use for currency and a number of ideas occurred to him. None of them cash.
“I can give you a check by the end of this week,” she added pointedly.
“Sorry. To be honest, I don’t know diddly sh...squat about Kincaid Toys. I just want to drive the car they’re going to sponsor.”
Lisa rocked on her heels, a glimmer of understanding dawning. “You’re a race car driver?”
“Guilty.”
“And that woman...” She indicated the door with her head. “She wasn’t your girlfriend?”
“Shelby Jackson?” He sounded as if she’d suggested he sleep with his sister. “She’s the co-owner of Thunder Racing. She’s looking for a driver, but, as you heard, I don’t measure up.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Amazing? Phenomenal? And...what was it? A thrill every time you cross the finish line. Sounded like you measure up just fine.”
Now he grinned, a slow, lazy affair that changed his gorgeous features from dangerous to downright deadly. “I also heard the words irresponsible, undependable, indecent and a whole boatload of other things that make being single sound like a mortal sin.”
“What does being single have to do with driving a race car?”
“Good question.” He jutted his chin toward the empty chair. “You busy?”
She shouldn’t. For more reasons than she could think of, she shouldn’t. She glanced around for an excuse. Her other table had already paid. And she’d just seen Ben Censky sneak out back for a smoke. Not to mention that the invitation was issued from a man who should come with a safety warning to all female consumers. She just shouldn’t.
“Talk to me,” he said in a voice so low and inviting that her toes curled in her sneakers.
Who could possibly say no to that? Other than Shelby, the smart redhead who just walked away.
And there was that potential connection to Kincaid Toys.
She rested her backside on the edge of the chair across from him. “I know racing is like a national pastime around here,” she said, “but I just moved to North Carolina this fall, so I don’t know much about it.”
“You will,” he promised. “It’s an addiction in these parts. Even this time of year, the tail end of Silly Season.”
“Silly Season? What’s that?”
“When all the teams and owners regroup before the next racing season and drivers get rides.” He gave her a grim smile. “Or not.”
“So you race stock cars? Like NASCAR?”
He nodded. “I’m in the Busch Series. Think of it like the minor leagues, although it’s still a good ride. She’s...” He pointed his thumb to the door, like Lisa had. “Looking for a second car and driver for her Nextel Cup team. The big time.”
“Oh. This was a job interview.”
“Sort of.”
She put her fingers up to her lips and let her eyes twinkle with an unspoken apology. “Whoops. Guess I didn’t understand.”
“It’s all right.” He winked. “I liked your spitfire.”
An avalanche of goosebumps rolled down her arms. “I assumed she was talking about marriage.”
“She was,” he said, sliding strong, lean fingers up and down the condensation on the side of his milk glass. “The sponsor, your friend David Kincaid, will only put money behind a car and driver who meets his exceedingly high standards of...” He held up his fingers in air quotes. “Family values. Shelby thinks he wants someone whose lifestyle is home and hearth and not...” He paused, searching for a description.
“Fun and games?”
“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”
“Well, that’s just stupid,” she replied, settling further in the chair and crossing her elbows on the table. “I mean, they are a toy company, for crying out loud. They promote fun and games.”
He laughed and reached across the table, playfully tapping her chin with his fingertip. “You’re right, Miss Lisa the Opinionated Waitress.” His touch was so light she might have imagined it. But something sent a very real lightning bolt straight through her. “Wish I could help you get your Mighty Mouth or whatever you want. But I can’t even make the short list to meet the great and powerful King Kincaid, so I’m afraid I’m not your man.”
And for the third time in a few minutes, Lisa swallowed disappointment. Was that because he couldn’t get the toys, or he wasn’t her man? Not that she’d want this particular handful of heartache, but he sure was easy on the eyes.
“Maybe you’d like me to take your order.”
Lisa jumped at the accusatory voice behind her, scraping her chair away from the table.
“Ben, this is--”
“A customer,” he interrupted. “And this is a restaurant. And you are a waitress. So, may I inquire what you are doing sitting down and getting cozy instead of standing up and getting busy?”
Very slowly, Clay slid his chair back and stood, instantly towering over both of them. “She was taking the time to get my order straight. I would think you’d value that in an employee.”
Lisa cringed and turned to Ben just in time to see the red spot right at the baldest part of his head deepen to a nice ripe raspberry color. Then, oh God, it started to pulse.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Ben had his sinister glare set on the customer and Lisa braced for trouble.
“What I value in an employee, mister, is productivity and service. As long as she’s sitting on her skinny butt flirting with long haired hippies, she isn’t doing what I hired her to do.”
“Ben.” She held up her hand. “Don’t. I’ll go check on my orders.” Please, not this week. Not before she had a chance to give her boys the Christmas they’d never had. She knew her days were numbered, but she had to get some money before he let her go. “Just...relax.”
Ben burned her with a look. “Unlike you, I don’t relax when I work. While you were busy exchanging phone numbers with Romeo, I gave table six their lunches. And the women on nine paid their bill. I didn’t see a tip on the table, but then they may have gotten tired of waiting for you.”
“Ben, I--”
Clay stepped around the table. “I asked the lady to join me. She was accommodating my request because she wants to keep her customers happy. Unlike the management.”
The red spot throbbed on Ben’s head. Please say this wasn’t happening. “Oh, I bet she’s very accommodating.”
Lisa’s throat closed up. She knew this was going to happen. The minute she’d pried Ben’s disgusting fingers off her ‘skinny butt’ three weeks ago with a mouthy warning that she’d kill him if he touched her again, she knew that all he needed was an excuse.
Clay took another threatening step toward Ben, looking a good six inches down his nose. “I don’t like your implication,” he said, a deep southern drawl she hadn’t noticed earlier giving his voice an even more menacing tone. “And I think you owe this lady an apology.”
“I don’t owe her crap and I’d like you to leave.”
The bedroom eyes turned...menacing. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please,” Lisa finally stepped in, hating the silence that had fallen over the restaurant, the attention the scene was attracting. “Please,” she gave Clay an imploring glance. “I need this job.”
She saw those eyes soften ever so slightly, but his jaw was still clenched as tight as the fists at his side. His gaze moved from her to Ben then back again to her. “Nobody needs a job that bad.”
She closed her eyes. “I do,” she whispered.
For a long moment, he just stared at her. Then he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and took out a bill, never taking his gaze from her. He slapped the money on the table, and left.
In a second, the buzz of conversation resumed and customers turned back to their lunches.
And Lisa watched the door close behind that gorgeous, dangerous, enigmatic stranger and felt a chill right into her heart. He’d actually tried to rescue her. To fight for her.
And she’d never see him again. And that, she knew, was good for her already damaged heart, even though it might be bad for her very lonely soul.