A Cliché Christmas Read online

  I flattened my hands on his chest, and his fingers hooked into the belt loops of my jeans, tugging me closer. “Thank you, for these past few weeks. I never thought I would feel this from anyone but Nan.”

  “Feel what?”

  “Support . . . without limits or conditions.”

  Several expressions ranging from adoration to concern to something like weary resolution flickered across Weston’s face. “Please don’t ever forget that. No matter what happens.” He cradled my face in his hands. “You will always have my support.”

  His lips brushed across mine.

  And then he was gone, trudging toward his truck.

  “Hey . . . didn’t you have something you wanted to say?” I called to him.

  Even from ten feet away, I saw his hand hover with hesitation over his door handle. His reassuring smile was strangely unconvincing. “Not anymore. Good night, Georgia.”

  Though the drive to Nan’s was short, I was grateful for a few moments of quiet solitude. The prayer on my heart took flight the second I pulled out of Willa’s driveway. Tomorrow was a big day. Not only was it the day before dress rehearsal, it was also the day I’d be making an offer on the biggest purchase of my life, and from the sound of it, the theater was as good as mine.

  I checked again for the peace I’d felt inside me when I first had the vision of making it into something more—something so much bigger than me. It was still there, calming my fear, doubt, and anxiety.

  And then I thought of my mom. It was almost midnight her time, but she was headed to Disney World with her family tomorrow. Do I send an e-mail? Do I text? As I sat in the dark driveway of Nan’s cottage with the heat blasting, I reached for my phone.

  I would send a text.

  If she were up, she would call me.

  If not, I’d wait till her trip was over to tell her. But by then, there was a good chance I’d be the new owner of Lenox Community Theater.

  My phone rang thirty seconds later.

  “Hey, I’m sorry it’s so late,” I said.

  “It’s fine. I’ll be up for a while packing. What’s up?”

  “Well, um . . . I have something I want to tell you.”

  “Sounds serious. Oh my goodness! Did your agent call? You’re getting a real movie deal, aren’t you? Georgia—”

  “No. That’s not it. I did talk to my agent recently, but not about that. I haven’t heard anything back on that script yet.”

  “Oh.” I could feel the disappointment in her voice even from three thousand miles away.

  “I don’t really know how to say this exactly, so I’ll just try my best. This trip to Lenox has changed me, given me a new perspective—a new focus. Helping out at the theater and working with these kids has made me fall in love with the arts again . . . and I haven’t felt that in a really long time. I’ve decided I want to stay here . . . to give back. I can write scripts from anywhere.” I took a deep breath of courage. “I was preapproved for a loan, Summer. I’m gonna make an offer on the community theater tomorrow. I want to reopen it for good.”

  Silence.

  “Mom?”

  Silence.

  “That is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard, Georgia.”

  My heart stopped with a hard thud. “What?”

  “I did not raise you to be some small-town girl with no future. You are ambitious, determined. Meant for more than I ever was. Where is this really coming from?”

  Before I could open my mouth to respond, she seemed to have an epiphany. “Is this about a man? Is it that Weston guy Nan talks about? Please tell me you are not making a life decision for a man!”

  “Why not? You did!” I clapped my hand over my mouth the second it was out. Oh my gosh . . .

  “Georgia! I was thirty-one years old when I married Brad.”

  “And you left me for him, Mom . . . You left me.”

  “Oh, good grief, you were sixteen! You were going off to college anyway.” Her voice intensified. “I stayed in that nowhere town so that you could grow up there, around Nan, what else did you expect from me? That I put my life on hold forever so you’d have someplace to come home to for Christmas? That’s not reality, Georgia.”

  A sob caught in my throat as I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel.

  “No, Mom, it never was my reality. You’re right. I never spent a holiday with you . . . here or elsewhere.”

  “Georgia, I hadn’t the first clue what it meant to be a mom when I had you.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that you were one. You still are. My mom. The only one I have.”

  “Yes, well, I’m telling you that if you stay in that town, if you give up your future,” she spat the word, “it will be the biggest regret of your life.”

  Tears trailed down my cheeks.

  Just like I was to her.

  A regret.

  It took several seconds to find the courage to speak again. “Well, I’m doing it. I’m making the offer. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “Well, don’t call me crying when it fails.”

  Don’t worry, I won’t.

  I hung up the phone and closed my eyes as my tears fell in earnest. If only my faithful Hallmark audience could see me now. Crying in my car. Alone. Five days before Christmas.

  Everything I knew about holiday traditions came from TV specials and fictional families who ate ham and fruitcake and opened shiny, bright packages tied with ribbons and bows.

  But the truth was as fake as my Holiday Goddess name.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  In just twenty-four hours’ time, I met with the realtor, signed an offer agreement, and ordered enough food and drinks to feed an army of hormonal teenagers. It was dress rehearsal night, and I welcomed being busy. Staying focused on the play was easier than thinking about the other things that weighed heavily on my mind.

  As the students, stagehands, tech team, and makeup mafia filed in at half past four, my nerves buzzed to life. This was it. What I loved most about theater—watching a script come to life before my eyes.

  “Um . . . Miss Cole? We have a problem back here!”

  Uh-oh.

  A handful of townsfolk sat in the audience and strained their necks, trying to get a glimpse of whatever disaster was occurring backstage.

  It was Kevin—otherwise known as the Angel Gabriel.

  He was squatting in the corner, puking into a garbage can.

  “Oh no, is he sick?” I asked Josie.

  “Well . . . you could say that, I guess.” She gave me a don’t-feel-too-sorry-for-him shrug.

  “What do you mean?” I closed my eyes briefly. I was afraid I knew exactly what she meant.

  “I don’t think that Orange Crush he was drinking was just soda.”

  Kneading my temple, I said, “Go get Mr. James, please.”

  I knelt down beside Kevin and placed a tentative hand on his upper back. “Kevin, do you need me to call someone?”

  He lifted his head as I watched the color drain from his face. “No, please don’t, Miss Cole. I was just nervous . . . and I thought maybe—”

  “You could calm your nerves by spiking your drink?”

  He looked at the floor.

  I sighed heavily. “Kevin.”

  “I know . . . I’m sorry. I haven’t had a drink in over a month. It was stupid.”

  “Yeah, it was,” a deep voice said behind us.

  Our heads snapped up in unison. Weston stood there, his face stern.

  “He knows he made a poor choice. He said he was nervous.” The protective edge in my voice sounded more like a mother’s than a director’s.

  Weston’s eyes shot daggers at Kevin. “I’ll handle this.”

  “I don’t think he—”

  “Miss Cole, Kevin is a student of mine. I can take it from her
e.”

  My eyebrows pinched together as Weston dared me to argue. Stopping midway through my eye roll, I turned to assess the crowd that had gathered around us.

  “Okay, people . . . Let’s take our places. Who knows Kevin’s lines and can fill in for him tonight?”

  “I can.”

  Every muscle in my back tensed.

  Sydney Parker, leader of the makeup mafia, batted her eyelashes at me, waiting with feigned hopefulness. Behind her sweet and seemingly helpful tone, I heard the poisonous drip of venom.

  “Um . . .”

  “I know his lines. Weston can just help me into the harness, and I’ll be fine.”

  Over my dead body.

  “The Angel Gabriel is male,” I objected.

  “And Mary is supposed to be wearing a robe and riding on a donkey,” she bit back.

  Touché.

  I cut my gaze to Weston, who was ushering Kevin off the stage, and heaved a sigh.

  What else could I do?

  “Georgia . . . curtain call was ten minutes ago,” Misty called to me. “People are getting restless out here.”

  “Fine. But only for tonight. Kevin will be back for the real deal tomorrow.”

  Sydney flashed me her Colgate grin. “Sounds perfect. I just want to help.”

  Sure you do. Like a boa constrictor wants to cuddle.

  Misty beckoned me to the stage, her eyes pleading. And it was then I remembered I was expected to open the show. Though there were only fifteen people sitting out front—most of them members of the senior center—my knees turned to gelatin. Weston’s kiss may have given me the confidence to stand on the stage without passing out, but talking while standing on the stage was a whole different scenario. My heart raced as the tech guy in the back pointed to the microphone. I fumbled with it as the deep whooshing sound in my ears drowned out the melody Nan played on the piano.

  “Hello . . . um, I’m Georgia Cole. Welcome to the dress rehearsal for the Lenox Community Theater production of Modern Mary.”

  Am I smiling?

  Weston walked back into the theater and stopped at the corner of the stage, watching me. I could practically hear his thoughts from there, urging me to overcome my ridiculous stage fright.

  “I hope you enjoy the show and buy some cookies. I mean, tomorrow. I hope you buy some baked goods tomorrow night . . . to benefit Savannah Hart. She has cancer. Okay. Thanks.”

  With that, I set the microphone down and exited stage left as fast as my wobbly legs could carry me. If there had been any doubt of how awful my little speech was, the pitying look on Weston’s face confirmed it when he made his way backstage.

  “I think we need to work on your public speaking, babe,” he whispered in my ear.

  I groaned. My cheeks were so hot I could fry a strip of bacon on them.

  He pecked me on the forehead and pointed backstage. I nodded. He was needed in the back, to direct the stage crew.

  Urgh. And help Sydney Parker into a harness.

  I erased that particular mental image and focused my attention up ahead.

  Let the show begin.

  With only five stops due to lighting disruptions and three missed lines, the night was a great success. Even Sydney as a last-minute understudy had performed perfectly. And acted almost normal. When I saw her chatting and laughing with the students after rehearsal, I swallowed a big wad of pride and headed her way.

  “Hey, Sydney?”

  “Yes?” She raised a thinly shaped eyebrow.

  “Thanks for helping out tonight.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I forced a smile and started to turn away when she called my name.

  “You know, I’m pretty comfortable on stage. I’d be happy to handle the opening announcements tomorrow evening if that would help you.”

  I blinked. It was painfully obvious to everyone in this town that I was horrible on stage . . . but Sydney Parker?

  “Um . . .”

  “I mean, I understand that you’ve put a lot of time and energy into this play, but if it would free you up to handle other things tomorrow night, then I’d gladly take it over for you. It’s no problem at all.”

  I stared at her, measuring the inflection in her voice, the gleam in her eye, the perfect placement of every blond hair atop her head.

  Something didn’t feel quite right—

  Stop it, Georgia. Anyone can change. Isn’t that what Nan is always saying?

  “I . . . uh . . . I guess that would be okay.”

  She grinned and pulled me in for a quick hug. I was so shocked by her display of affection that I almost gagged on her musky perfume.

  “See you tomorrow night, Georgia.”

  “Yeah. See ya.”

  I watched her leave, the four-inch boot-heels and bedazzled backside making her exit hard to ignore.

  Nice or not. Good or bad. Right or wrong. Sydney Parker was my new emcee.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  My phone rang as I walked into the theater. Arms full of thank-you gifts for my cast and crew, I pressed my cell to my ear with my shoulder and held the door open with my foot.

  “I can hardly hear you. What did you say?” I asked.

  Static and strange, robotic sounds followed.

  “News . . . your offer,” my realtor said.

  “What? You’re breaking up.”

  I dropped the box carrying twenty-eight bags of Christmas candy and faced the parking lot. Pressing my hand to my opposite ear to drown out the surrounding noises, I heard the sickening slam of the theater door at my back.

  Oh no!

  “Um . . . can you please repeat that? What about my offer?”

  I whipped around and tried the door. Locked.

  “Driving on pass . . . bad signal.”

  The line went dead.

  I threw my head back. Awesome. Not only was I still in the dark about my offer, I was locked out of the theater as well. Dressed in a black skirt, tights, and heels, I buttoned my coat and checked the windows. Why must security be such an important thing to people? Urgh!

  Weston picked up on the first ring. “Hey, you at the theater already?”

  My heels clicked the ground in the rhythm of a Celtic dance as I tried to keep warm.

  “Sort of.”

  “What’s that sound? And why are you panting?”

  “My feet . . . and because I’m locked out.”

  “What? Where’s the key?”

  “Inside—thus the reference to being locked out.”

  He sighed that long, drawn-out sigh of his, and I could imagine the face to match it. “Oh, Georgia.”

  “Hey! My realtor called, and I was trying to balance boxes of Christmas goodies and listen at the same time—”

  “What did he say?” Weston’s voice became a taut wire, stretched between two points.

  “I don’t know. He was driving on the pass. The signal was bad.”

  “I’ll be there in a second. Go wait in your car . . . please. I don’t want an ice sculpture for a girlfriend.”

  I laughed. “Fine, but please hurry. The cast will be here in twenty minutes.”

  Weston pulled into the parking lot six minutes later and jumped out of his truck, crowbar in hand.

  “What do you plan to do with that thing?” My heels clipped as I scurried over to him across the frozen parking lot.

  Stopping dead in his tracks, he looked me up and down. A wide, mischievous grin appeared on his face.

  “Weston?” I waved my hand in front of his face. “I asked you a question.”

  His eyes danced. “You look gorgeous.”

  My stomach flipped. “Thank you . . . but why do you need a crowbar?”

  “Don’t change the subject. I’m not focused on the crowbar right now.”

 
I shook my head as my body tingled. I tried to ignore it. “Well, I kind of need you to be focused on the crowbar. We have a play to put on, and we can’t get inside the theater, remember?”

  He exhaled. “Fine. But later—”

  “Later we’re making an appearance at Nan’s bake sale—the one benefiting your niece.”

  His eyes cleared, and his focus shifted.

  “Okay, let’s go break in.”

  I followed him to a window in the back, still confused as to how he was going to use his apparent tool of choice. Weston stood on the balls of his feet as he shoved the curve of the bar under the lip of the window. Within a second, the seal creaked and popped.

  “How did you—”

  He winked. “I may have spent a few evenings here in high school. This window doesn’t have a latch.” Pointing to my heels, he added, “Kick those off, and I’ll give you a boost.”

  “What? No. I’m in tights, Weston. Not to mention a skirt. I can’t climb through a window!”

  “Well, I’m sorry I forgot my Go-Go-Gadget shoes. I can’t exactly jump inside. You’re all we’ve got, babe.”

  I rolled my eyes and glanced down at my outfit again.

  “Here, I’ll throw my coat over the sill so it won’t snag your . . . uh . . . stockings. Okay?”

  “Fine. But don’t peek.”

  He grinned innocently. “Of course not.”

  I slapped his shoulder. “I mean it, Weston. Keep your eyes down.”

  “I’ll keep them on your pretty legs, okay? Don’t completely rob me of the beauty of this moment.”

  Men. Shaking my head, I placed my stocking foot into Weston’s cupped hand.

  A minute later, I was climbing through the window, skirt and all.

  I should win a prize for this. Seriously.

  Once I was inside, Weston tossed my heels up to me and winked.

  “I’ll meet you at the front, gorgeous.”

  The murmuring of the crowd heightened my senses.

  Breathe, Georgia. Just breathe.

  Everything was set. Everyone was in his or her place.

  This is it.

  Savannah and Willa sat in the front row. When I saw them, my heart took flight. All of it had been worth it. That little girl’s smile could melt a glacier. She waved to me as I peeked out from behind the curtain.