A Cliché Christmas Page 12

  Though I hadn’t said much, I wanted to retract every word. My pulse quickened as I replayed the conversation again and again in my mind, searching for a missing link that could solve whatever misunderstanding stood between my interpretation of the past and a better, less pathetic version.

  But another voice drowned out my own. “Sympathy never makes us stronger, Georgia. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and start focusing on how not to make the same mistakes I did.”

  I couldn’t help but think I was the mistake she spoke of. The thing that held her back, inhibited her future, preyed on her weakness.

  Several miles later, after the speedometer finally registered our slow pace, Weston spoke.

  “What aren’t you saying?” he asked.

  This conversation was beginning to feel like a fresh hangnail—equally as painful as it was annoying. “Nothing. She’s happily married now, living in Florida with her family.”

  “With your family, you mean.”

  “Right, that’s what I mean.”

  When Weston’s eyebrows creased with understanding, my temples began to throb as I prepared for my deepest hurt to be exposed.

  But he said nothing.

  Lifting my hand, Weston laced his fingers through mine once more, and my fear was quieted, blanketed with relief.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The wind howled down Nan’s darkened street as we crept toward her house. No lights were on. Anywhere.

  Though it was only eight in the evening, the blackout gave Lenox an eerie, post-apocalyptic feel.

  On the way home, I’d had spotty cell coverage and never managed to reach Nan. As we pulled up to the house, I finally released the breath I’d been holding.

  A frozen wind gust whipped my ponytail violently as Weston took my arm and led me toward her front porch. I tried the door and then knocked. No one answered. I tried again—harder. The wind was so loud she might not have heard me. No answer.

  “Do you have your key?” Weston asked.

  Frigid cold seeped through every layer of my clothing. I bent and lifted the doormat, revealing the old key. Weston took it from my shaky hands and slid it in the lock with ease, pushing the door open a second later.

  No light. No noise. No sign of Nan.

  “Weston?” A fog of panic began to cloud all of my senses at once.

  “Where are the flashlights?”

  I walked toward the kitchen, realizing for the first time that there was no heat coming from the wood-burning stove.

  Nan, where are you?

  I bumped a dining room chair and nearly collided with the table, when Weston’s hands gripped my waist to steady me.

  His soothing voice sent chills down my spine. “Careful, Georgia. Let your eyes adjust a bit more.”

  I put my hands out in front of me and grasped the countertop. Nan always kept a flashlight charging in the corner. Here it is. Searching for the switch, I fumbled before finally—

  Click.

  The entire room was illuminated in an instant.

  We saw it at the same time: a note.

  Weston reached it first and held it up to the light as our heads huddled together.

  G,

  At Eddy’s house.

  Franklin had another episode today. She needed me.

  I tried to stoke the fire for you. Please call me as soon as you get in.

  Nan

  I exhaled and leaned my head against Weston’s chest.

  “She’s okay, Georgia.” He kissed the top of my head. “Try your phone again, and see if your call goes through now. I’m gonna start the fire and check in with my folks. I’m glad Willa and Vannie aren’t coming home till next week.”

  I nodded my head in agreement, the knotted muscles across my back slowly starting to release. As soon as I heard her voice, my nerves relaxed. I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay when she told me of the day’s events: Eddy making her infamous “storm chili” that tasted like a hot mud bath, and Franklin forgetting to turn off the sink again, which flooded the bathroom.

  “Did you kids have fun at the mountain? I worried about you getting home in that awful weather, but then I figured if there was any trouble, you two would just pull off the road and start necking.”

  “Nan!”

  “Well, honey, I might be old, but I know about snow kisses.”

  So did I. I could remember a recent one quite clearly.

  “I think you should stay there tonight, Nan. I’ll be fine here once the fire gets going.”

  “Oh heavens! Did it go out? Georgia, I’m so sorry!”

  “Nan, I’m a big girl. I’ll be okay.”

  “Is your beau there? Put him on the phone.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nan.”

  “Don’t sass me. Put him on.”

  Weston crouched in front of the open stove, adding more wood to the crackling fire. His striking features glowed in the light of the flames as I made my way over to him.

  “Here.”

  I held the phone out to him without further instruction, but his grin indicated he knew what Nan was going to tell him.

  After a few pleasant exchanges, Weston listened, gave a couple of short replies, said good-bye, and hung up.

  “What did she say?”

  He laughed and wrapped his arms around me. “She said you should stop being so uptight.”

  “That’s not what she said.”

  He brushed my temple with his lips. “She told me that I wasn’t to leave here without making sure you were going to stay warm for the night—and then she told me where her secret snack collection is . . . since someone already ate through her box of storm Cocoa Puffs.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder as he kneaded my back with his strong fingers.

  “So . . . you want me to stick around for a while tonight?”

  More than anything. “Hmm . . . well, we’ve already had one scandalous sleepover in the not-so-distant past. I don’t know if we should push our luck. It’s a small town.” My smile curved with mischief as our eyes met.

  Weston’s throaty laugh caused my heart to cartwheel. “Then let’s not sleep. Show me where the candles are, and we’ll stay up, keep the fire going, listen to the wind, and talk. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I promise.”

  “This is turning into the longest date in history.”

  “Correction—this is turning into the best date in history.”

  “I think it should count for dates three, four, and five.”

  Weston pulled me in closer and whispered huskily into my ear, “I think we should just stop counting.”

  Through the glow of ten votive candles and one heavy-duty flashlight, Weston and I chowed down on Nan’s secret stash of sugar. It was snowing hard again. We sat on the floor, legs outstretched, backs against the couch, each with a ratty afghan across our laps, as we watched the flakes fall.

  It was past three in the morning, but being with Weston invigorated me. My head rested against his shoulder. He lifted our connected hands to his mouth and kissed my fingertips, each gentle caress singing through me like a personal melody.

  “I used to watch you at the park. From my bedroom window,” he said.

  I tilted my chin, meeting his gaze momentarily.

  “I always wondered what went on in that head of yours.” He chuckled. “Although now I’m convinced you were plotting screenplays under that old oak tree, while the rest of us struggled to complete our math story problems.”

  I suppressed a yawn and nuzzled into his shoulder. “You never struggled in school. You got straight As—always had the right answers to your story problems.”

  “Not always. There was one story problem I could never figure out . . . a story that kept me awake at night and gnawed at me for years.”

  Wes
ton’s finger traced a pattern onto my open palm, and my pulse skipped.

  “We’ve always been intertwined, Georgia. Our pasts are impossible to separate from one another. It would be like trying to extract salt from the ocean.” He shifted his body, and his hand cupped the side of my face, his fingers sliding easily into my hair. “This is the story we were always meant to live.”

  A shallow sigh escaped my lips. “So . . . you’re saying you want me to stay? Even if it means that I buy a run-down theater?”

  Weston laughed as he pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m saying whatever I have to do to keep you from leaving, I’ll do it.”

  “I think I like this story.”

  My words were silenced as he kissed me gently, and my heart was fuller than I could have ever imagined.

  And for the first time ever, I doubted the story line I’d loved so much as a young girl.

  Maybe Louisa May Alcott did get it wrong.

  Maybe, just maybe, Jo and Laurie could have been happy together.

  Despite our goal to pull an all-nighter watching the fire and talking, we fell asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I was on the couch while Weston slept on the floor next to me, several pillows tucked under his head. It was just after six when the power came on, the light from the kitchen blinding me.

  “Weston—Weston, wake up.”

  He lifted his head and rolled over groggily to face me. “Is it next week yet?”

  “What?” I giggled.

  “I think I need to sleep for a week.”

  I nudged his leg with my foot. “No, you need to go home and shower. You have to salt the church parking lot, remember? You told me to wake you if you fell asleep.”

  “Urgh, right. Okay.” Weston rubbed his eyes and then ran a hand through his messy hair. I couldn’t help but smile. He was adorable—like a bear cub coming out of hibernation.

  He stood and planted a kiss on my head. “Best. Date. Ever.”

  I yawned. “Agreed.”

  “I’ll see you later this morning at service?”

  I nodded, rubbing a kink from my neck.

  His eyebrows pinched together. “Be careful on the road this morning. I’m sure the plows were working all night, but it’ll still be slick.” He shook his head. “Actually, why don’t you tell Nan I’ll pick her up and bring her here in a bit. I don’t feel good about her driving.”

  I smiled. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” Confusion clouded his eyes.

  “Being so wonderful.”

  He grinned and tipped an imaginary hat before walking out the door.

  The church service was small.

  Though winter storms were common in the mountains of Oregon, they tended to keep people indoors. My pulse jumped when I noticed Nan’s friend Mr. Harvey in attendance. He was the owner of Lenox Community Credit Union. I made my way toward him, brimming with excitement, joy, and—

  Am I seriously going to do this? Am I really going to buy a theater?

  Just as quickly, my doubts were replaced with peace—an oddly reassuring peace. Even the thought of telling Summer didn’t dispel my mysterious sense of calm.

  “Mr. Harvey. Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

  “You’re Nan’s granddaughter.” His puffy cheeks and bald head glistened under the lights.

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m Georgia. It’s nice to see you again. I was wondering . . . Could I come by the bank tomorrow morning and see about getting a preapproval for a real estate purchase?”

  His eyes lit up. “Oh, are you looking to buy a house?”

  “Um . . . not exactly. But I’d love to sit down and talk with you about it in detail.”

  “Sure thing. Can you come by around ten? I would love to help you if I can.”

  I beamed. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  I spotted Nan talking to Violet, the owner of Sunshine Books, and I remembered the debate about Little Women that I’d agreed to a couple of weeks ago. So much had changed since that day in the bookstore.

  Violet winked at me.

  Okay, maybe you’re right, Violet. But the jury’s still out.

  Pulling my coat closed and wrapping Nan’s scarf around my neck, I headed for the exit. Weston was probably helping the elderly cross the slick parking lot. Really, his goodness was annoying at times.

  I went outside to see if I could lend some assistance when I was assaulted by the sight of Miss Perfect Teeth talking to my Weston. Again.

  My Weston . . . really?

  Just go with it.

  Fine.

  Weston’s back was to me, but I heard him clearly. “What I’m saying is, I think you should stick to your original plan, Sydney. You’re getting in way over your head. It’s too much work.”

  She pressed a red-tipped finger to his chest. “We’re both entrepreneurs, Weston. Hard work doesn’t deter us.”

  “Sydney—” Weston’s voice held a warning.

  “Weston?” Forgetting the ice rink beneath my feet, I quickened my steps like that of a charging bull.

  A second too late, I registered the concern on Weston’s face. The world started to spin, and soon I was performing a Mexican hat dance, arms stretched out wide.

  “Georgia, be careful!”

  Too late. Flat on my backside—once again resembling a woman with bladder control issues—I waited for Weston to reach me.

  He stretched his hand out to me as Sydney glared at me and said, “I’ll let you know what I decide later, Weston.”

  As I stood upright, Weston’s face was still crumpled in concern for me. “You okay?”

  “Aside from my wet butt? Yeah. But what was that all about?” I nodded toward Sydney as she carefully navigated the parking lot in spiked heels.

  He glanced at Sydney. “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t sound like nothing, Weston.”

  He massaged his right temple. “I was just trying to give her some advice.”

  I took in a deep breath, desperately trying to pop the jealousy balloon in my chest that was filling at a rapid rate.

  “Hey, Wes, can you assist Mrs. Robertson to her car?” Pastor Herbert called from the church steps.

  Weston put his hand on my upper arm and kissed my forehead with cool lips. “Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Then he gave me his signature dimple-popping grin and trotted across the parking lot without a single misstep.

  It’s nothing.

  I can trust him.

  But somewhere deep down, the word nothing gnawed at me, like hunger pangs in an empty belly.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The bright yellow star swayed to the left and then to the right.

  “A little more to the left I think!”

  “Here?” Weston hollered down at me from the rafters.

  “Um . . .” I put my hand on my hip, debating.

  “Hey, Christmas Diva, I kinda need you to make a decision. Like . . . yesterday.”

  “Hmm . . . okay, I think it’s fine right there.”

  “Thank you, Lord!”

  I couldn’t help but grin. We’d been hard at work all evening, carrying in sets and positioning them on stage. And by we, I mean Weston and his senior brutes. Tonight was our first rehearsal with everything in place. A feeling of relief and satisfaction swept over me.

  Misty nodded in quiet affirmation as we watched the students file onto the stage.

  “It looks awesome, Georgia. I still can’t believe you pulled this off in less than a month.”

  “Honestly, I can’t either.”

  Mr. Harvey leaned forward in his chair, clicking a fancy pen into action before handing it to me.

  “I just need your signature here and here so I can submit this over to our preap
proval department. If you’re approved for the amount you need, you’re free to make an offer with your realtor.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harvey. When do you think I’ll hear back?”

  “Possibly tomorrow. It depends on how bogged down our loan department is. Everyone is trying to tie up loose ends before the holidays.”

  As I shook his hand and headed for the door, I waited for the familiar rush of panic to grip me in its talons or for my mother’s voice to berate me for making such a hasty decision.

  But for once, neither came.

  “You did what?”

  I sighed. “I know . . . It sounds crazy.”

  “Um, no. Crazy is wearing suede when there are rain clouds. Crazy is playing the nickel slots in Vegas. Crazy is what happens on reality TV shows with girls who beg for a rose. You are buying a theater!”

  “Cara. Honestly. You should be an actress. You are way too dramatic to be locked inside a yoga studio all day.”

  “Maybe so. But that’s beside the point. What are you thinking?” She paused a beat. “You’re really thinking of moving away?”

  There was no mistaking what I heard in her voice: a sense of abandonment. Guilt pulsed through my veins. I loved Cara; she was the closest thing I had to a sister.

  “Cara . . . even if I get the loan, it will likely be a slow process. This kind of thing doesn’t happen quickly.” I exhaled. “Something’s happened since I’ve been here, something I didn’t expect. I realized . . . I’ve missed it here. I’ve missed the mountains and genuine smiles, the slow-paced atmosphere, and I’ve really missed Nan. Yes, it’s a small town, but I can make a dent here. Opening this theater could help a lot of kids who need an artistic outlet. It’s hard to explain, but it feels right. I’ll still write, of course, but I want to do more, and being closer to Nan and Weston—” I pursed my lips together. His name rolled off my tongue so easily now. Like I was always meant to say it.

  “But what if . . . what if things don’t work out with him, G?”

  It was a good question—the kind of question a best friend should ask, yet it caused my stomach to roll with discomfort. “It won’t change anything.”