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a proposal was in the works. This thought and the day’s events had brought on a strange dream. Martin knelt under the mistletoe. Celia’s family was on one side of the room, his family on the other.
    He was about to pop the question when Randi walked in. She stood, arms crossed, giving him a cynical look. She started to turn, and then asked, ‘Martin is this what you really want?’ He came awake fast, sitting up, thinking, No, it isn't what I want.
    If he could find a way to stop the party before it started he would, but so many people had made plans that it wouldn’t be fair to cancel. It had made sense when he’d agreed to it. He and Celia both wanted to spend time with their families, and his home was large enough to comfortably hold twenty guests, so he’d agreed.
    He could see now that combining his parents and hers would give signals that wedding bells could be ringing. Thankfully, he and Celia had never talked about a wedding. He wondered if she was expecting a ring under the tree. He’d have to be sure and let her know that one wasn’t going to happen.
    After the way she’d been acting of late, he was wondering if by the end of the year they would even be living under the same roof. That would make his mother happy.
    Martin also had other problems on his mind. He wasn’t looking forward to running into Randi. It wasn’t going to be easy looking into those pretty eyes and saying, I’m Martin Taylor. He hated to lose the connection. It was great to have someone that treated him as if he was just the limo driver.
    Many women would put on airs and say what they thought he wanted to hear. It was a nice change to have someone be honest, and not handle him with kid gloves. Randi was attracted to him, but she didn’t treat him as if he was a king. It took him back to the days when he was doing community theater in Toronto.
    He smiled as he dismounted his second bike, a K-650. The memory of the way Randi pulled his hand under the cold water flashed through his mind. She didn’t care if the action might offend him, or worry that her actions or words might affect her chances of becoming the next rising star in Hollywood.
    “How do you stand to ride that thing, all laid over? Doesn’t it kill your back?” The voice of his good friend Mike Jackson brought him out of his thoughts. He laid his helmet on the bike, turning to shake hands with the broad-shouldered man.
    “I don’t ride often, and you can ride sitting up. You just look old if you do.” Martin laughed at his own comment.
    “I’ll stick with nice comfortable bikes.” Mike gestured to two chairs. “I was just getting ready to go down to the pond and do some fishing. Want to join me?”
    “Sounds like a plan.”
    A few minutes later the two men sat in folding chairs, both with a pole in hand, and a chest of drinks between them. Mike propped up his pole, took out a can, popped it open, and spoke. “You don’t look so chipper. That party mess getting to you?”
    Martin pulled on the line, thinking he had a bite, then glanced at Mike. “My agent all but told me to dump Celia.”
    “Did he now?” Mike pursed his lips.
    “Sure did. I hate to admit it, but his comments and other things have me thinking he might not far from the mark.”
    Mike took a sip of his cola and set the can down on the armrest. “I think it’ll be one of the best moves you made since you did The Outback. I can’t stand the woman, and other than her looks, I’m not sure what you see in her.”
    “That’s harsh. Why didn’t you say something before?”
    “It’s none of my business. But . . . since you came all the way up here, I can assume you wanted my honest opinion.”
    “I do. I just didn’t think you disliked her so much.” Martin opened up his own cola and looked up at Mike with a smile. “I guess I’m not the only one around here that can act.”
     
    Chapter 8
    Angry Mistress
     
    Randi almost toppled off her stepping stool. Celia’s tirade could be