A Cliché Christmas Page 9

  “And that makes you an expert on me?”

  His gaze roamed my face. “Well, am I right? Are you obsessed with clichés because you feel some sort of pent-up resentment about your own life and childhood?”

  I swallowed, my palms starting to sweat. No. Yes. Maybe.

  “I remember the relationship you had with your mom growing up was sort of . . . strange. She seemed pretty controlling.”

  “She just wanted the best for me. You don’t know her.” Am I seriously defending her?

  “No, I don’t. But I do know you.”

  “You keep saying that, Weston. But seven years can change a person a great deal. We grew up. We had experiences apart from each other. We’re not who we were in high school anymore.”

  He was quiet as we pulled into Nan’s driveway.

  He put the truck in park. “I don’t want to fight with you, I’m sorry. I just want to understand you . . . to know what I’ve missed.” He leaned over the seat and touched my chin, tilting my face to his. “You’re right. I knew Georgia the girl . . . but the stunning woman sitting next to me now is no longer a girl.”

  I let out a tension-filled breath and inhaled Weston’s fresh scent of wood chips, ocean, and leather—a scent so distinguishable it could make even a dead heart beat again. He brushed his lips across mine and kissed me gently.

  “I want you to know her, too,” I whispered.

  He kissed me again.

  I didn’t need a new pair of slippers to go cloud walking anymore.

  I only needed Weston James . . . and his kisses.

  CHAPTER TEN

  By the second week in December, everything was on schedule . . . except for the snowfall. Though the temperature had dropped below freezing, precipitation remained elusive. There had been slush on the streets when I first arrived in Lenox, but no new snow had fallen.

  The enormous mountain range to the east glistened with white, having experienced a fresh dousing of winter’s finest blessing over the weekend. And I secretly hoped it would come our way soon. I might love the year-round sunshine of California, but standing in a fluttering of snowflakes was one childish indulgence I’d never give up.

  I drove down Main, noting the lights woven through every tree and bush that lined the street. Wreaths and garlands, sleighs and reindeer, Nativities and baby Jesuses filled the town. Lenox was one giant holiday show.

  After turning onto Maple, I pulled into Weston’s driveway. He’d asked for my final approval on some of the smaller set pieces and props at his workshop. The larger pieces were still at school for his class to finish prior to winter break. It sounded like they were making great progress.

  But my stomach plummeted when I saw a familiar SUV parked across the street. Tugging my coat tighter, I stepped out of my car. I was three steps outside his shop when I heard an unmistakable blend of voices. I pressed my ear to the door and strained to hear.

  Why is Sydney Parker here?

  Just then, the high-pitched scream of a saw blade pierced my eardrum, and the door jerked open. I stumbled forward, steadying myself on the massive Louis Vuitton bag slung over Sydney’s shoulder. Once I righted myself, I forced a tolerant smile—though the disdain I felt for her at that moment was hardly smile worthy.

  “Georgia?” Her eyes widened briefly before shrinking to two tiny slits.

  What was she talking to Weston about?

  Although we’d never been friends, I’d never considered her an enemy—until now.

  Her jealous little prank had cost me seven years without Weston.

  Seven years! That was hardly a forgivable sin. Right, God?

  I didn’t wait around for an answer.

  Pulling the door closed behind her, she guarded the entrance to the shop with her surgically enhanced and artificially tanned body. She flashed me a phony grin, nearly blinding me with the shade of her Chiclet-white teeth. What I wouldn’t give for a black light right now.

  “Why are you here?” Her words were clipped, dipped in candy-coated poison.

  I wanted nothing more than to ask the same of her.

  “Weston asked me to come over,” I said, hoping to shock the snotty expression off her face. Didn’t happen.

  “Old flames rarely rekindle, Georgia.”

  “It seems I could say the same to you, Syd.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t know what you’re implying—”

  “Oh, yes, you do.” Three blinks and two shallow breaths later, I knew exactly what I wanted to say to Sydney Parker. “You may have driven me out of this town once by blaming Weston for your jealous deceptions, but I can assure you, it won’t happen twice. Whatever game of intimidation you’re bent on playing to make this town bow to your every whim, you can count me out. I don’t care who your ex-husband is, or where you live, or how much money is in your bank account. This isn’t high school anymore, Sydney. Mean girls don’t win.”

  For a moment, all she could do was blink and swallow and blink again.

  “Be careful, Georgia. This may not be Hollywood, but Lenox is going somewhere, and I’m the one blazing the trail. You don’t want me as an enemy. Trust me.”

  Then, with a single huff, she marched down the driveway. Taking in a deep breath, I tried to dispel the toxic aura she had left behind.

  I stepped inside Weston’s shop, and the shrill sound of the saw blade ceased. I watched as Weston hunched over his desk, studying a set of blueprints and pushing his hand through his shaggy dark locks. An uneaten sandwich lay beside him. Lord only knows how old that was.

  “Should I come back later?”

  He jumped. It only took him a half second to steady himself, and once he did, his gaze roamed over me lazily, from my feet to my face.

  “You look nice.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped me. “I’m in yoga pants.”

  “Yes, well, not quite as nice as you looked in the towel but still.” He shrugged, his eyes teasing.

  I picked up a pencil from a shelf and threw it at his chest. He caught it easily before it could make contact. Dang those reflexes.

  “So . . . I just talked to Sydney in the driveway. Are you two friends?” I hoped my tone was casual, but as soon as I spoke her name, a bitter taste filled my mouth.

  “I wouldn’t call us friends. She was just dropping off some plans for me to look over.” His eyes searched mine. “There’s no reason to feel jealous, Georgia. I promise.”

  A rush of sweet relief washed over me. “I’m not jealous.”

  He laughed. “Good.”

  As he brushed sawdust off his blueprints, I glanced around his workshop—a converted garage with tables, saws, workbenches, and more tools than I could name. It was quite impressive.

  “I’m glad you came. I’ll have my students start painting these tomorrow if you sign off on them.”

  “Wow, I feel so important.”

  His arms encircled my waist as he leaned his chin on my shoulder. “You are important.”

  His touch had always made me feel invincible—at ten, at seventeen, and even now at twenty-five. Age wasn’t a factor. The security and comfort I found in Weston’s touch would never change.

  “Yes, well, the jury’s still out on that.”

  He spun me around and kissed me while I giggled.

  “Stop laughing,” he scolded, as he continued to plant soft kisses all over my face. “I’m doing something very wrong if you find my skills so hilarious.”

  I just laughed harder. Then something caught my eye, and I gave Weston’s chest a hefty push.

  “Oh my gosh.”

  I knelt in front of the most beautiful dollhouse I’d ever seen. It was amazing. No, it was incredible. I blinked away the tears filling my eyes.

  “The tiny furniture at the school . . . it goes with this?” I asked, touching the porch steps. Weston
appeared behind me, carefully spinning the house around so I could see inside. The details were so intricate. The staircase, the windows, the bedrooms . . . all of it—breathtaking.

  “It’s for Savannah. For Christmas.”

  I ran my fingers along the textured roofline. “You’re so talented.”

  As his eyes locked with mine, heat flooded my face. Holding his hand out to me, he pulled me into a standing position. My chest contracted, like I was suddenly breathing through an accordion. I could feel my pulse thrum hard in my neck and wondered if he could see the way his presence affected me. Toe to toe we stood, staring at each other as if the last seven years had passed in a single blink. His finger traced my jawline, dipped to my chin, and came to rest under the curve of my bottom lip. “You’re no amateur yourself, Queen of the Red and Green.”

  He leaned in, his lips grazing my cheek as his breath tickled the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “I always knew you’d blow this town away.” He exhaled into my hair, and my legs trembled.

  A thousand words flittered through my mind, yet I couldn’t catch even one.

  Weston pulled back slightly and scanned my face in a way that both touched my soul and seared my heart.

  “I’m so proud of you—of all you’ve accomplished,” he said.

  My throat burned with unshed tears. “Thank you, Weston. That means . . . so much.”

  He kissed my forehead and then gently tilted my chin to his. Our lips connected for several seconds of head-dizzying perfection. He pulled back. “I should probably show you the sets, huh?”

  “Probably,” I said, hoping he couldn’t detect the disappointment in my voice.

  I could have stayed in his arms the rest of the evening.

  “I just don’t think it fits,” Misty whispered to me.

  “I know.” I scratched my head. “I’ll take care of it.”

  She nodded, but she expressed her lack of confidence in my people skills in the way she scrunched her nose at me.

  Though I handed Betty full rein of all musical aspects of the production, I now regretted that decision the way one regrets wearing suede in a rainstorm. I had expected Christmas classics to be sung intermittently throughout the production: “The First Noel,” “Angels We Have Heard on High,” “Silent Night.”

  I had not expected ‘N Sync’s 1998 Christmas album. Apparently, we had different interpretations of the term modern.

  I approached her with caution. “Um, Betty?”

  She pounded away on the piano, not hearing me.

  “Betty?” I tried again.

  More pounding.

  I tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped, her sheet music falling to the ground.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I knelt down and gathered up the pages, cringing at the titles.

  “Were you trying to get my attention?” Betty asked sweetly.

  “Yes, actually. Can we talk for a moment, please?”

  “Right now? We’re just about to start ‘Kiss Me at Midnight.’ ”

  “Yeah . . . I think we should probably talk before that.”

  It didn’t go well.

  “Was that Betty who just left? She almost plowed me over in the parking lot.” Weston sat down next to me.

  I put my head in my hands as Misty stood up. “Want me to tell the kids to run it again from the top, Georgia?”

  I nodded.

  Weston’s face was open with curiosity. “So, what happened?”

  “I suck as a human being is what happened.”

  He laughed. “Okay?”

  “Betty quit.”

  “What? Why? Isn’t she doing all the music?”

  I raised my head and stared at him. “Was—as in past tense. Again, I suck as a human being.”

  “I’m sure we can fix it.”

  I shook my head. “Somehow she translated Modern Mary to mean nineties pop music and not the traditional Christmas carols I had envisioned.”

  His mouth opened and closed twice before he finally said, “Um . . . wow, how did that happen?”

  “Again, I suck—”

  “As a human being. Got it. So, you didn’t communicate your expectations to her?”

  I shook my head, ashamed at such a rookie mistake. “We have no music now. None.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders. “Don’t fret, my cute little elf. We’ll figure this out.”

  “Do you have a list of annoying Christmas nicknames to call me?”

  “Who needs a list when one is gifted with such an astounding brain?”

  I sighed, the reality of our predicament taking its toll. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, I have someone in mind, but you should probably make peace with Betty before we ask that person to fill her place, this being a small town and all.”

  True. “Who?”

  He winked. “Someone you know quite well, actually.”

  My hope surged.

  Of course. Nan.

  It was Ladies’ Book Club night at Nan’s house. I’d offered to help with dinner since she’d been working so hard organizing bake sales and fund-raisers, not to mention keeping up with her piano lessons at the chapel. And it was the least I could do since I’d just added Christmas Pageant Accompanist to her list of titles.

  “I can’t believe you wanted to stay,” I whispered to Weston in the kitchen.

  “And miss such a great opportunity to build up my ego?”

  “You hit the ceiling on that one in the fifth grade, pal. Your ego is at max capacity.”

  He popped a walnut in his mouth and grinned. “So . . . I was wondering.”

  “Yeah?” I grabbed the dressing from the fridge.

  “When can I take you out for date number two?”

  “I don’t know. I have a pretty full schedule with the play and the old ladies’ dinners and—”

  Weston leaned on the counter to reduce the space between us. “Let me rephrase that. Can I take you out after your service here is complete?”

  “I think that could be arranged.” I bit my cheeks to conceal my delight.

  “Good, because I was going to persuade a room full of old ladies to turn on you if you’d said no.”

  From the living room, Eddy hollered, “Georgia . . . you’re not going to toss that salad dressing with the salad, right? I’m watching my levels again.”

  “Uh, I can leave it out.”

  Weston’s wide smile was out of control. He looked like a child trying to hide a secret.

  “And grab that low-sodium stuff in the door of the fridge, all right? But check the date first. I don’t want any expired stuff. The way Nan keeps her stockpiles of condiments I can never be too sure.”

  “Eddy, your eyes can’t read those tiny dates any better than mine can,” Nan retorted.

  Weston put his fist to his mouth to mute his snickering.

  “Behave.” I turned away from him to keep my giggles at bay.

  “Oh, and Margaret can’t have dairy,” Eddy called out again.

  I looked down at the lasagna that Weston had just pulled from the oven and shrugged in bewilderment. I entered the dining room several minutes later, and ten women watched me as I approached the table with the salad. Weston carried the main dish.

  “I’m sorry, Margaret. I wasn’t aware of your dairy sensitivity. I’m afraid tonight’s entrée is lasagna.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll just try to eat around the cheese,” Margaret said unconvincingly.

  Pearl lifted the top layer of her lasagna, as if inspecting it for termites. “But it doesn’t have spinach in it, right? I can’t do spinach anymore . . . It makes me bloat.”

  Margaret piped up again, “That’s what cheese does to me. Only I usually end up in the bathroom for quite a long time after.”

  “Ladies, ladies,” Na
n said, hands in the air. “Let’s not scare my granddaughter. She has a nice long cheese-and-spinach-filled life ahead of her. Thank you, darlin’, for this meal. It looks wonderful.”

  The ladies nodded their heads and murmured their thanks. Nan winked at me.

  “Now, run along, dear. Go have fun—and eat whatever your healthy heart desires.”

  “Ooh . . . is she dating that teacher with the nice backside?” Pearl asked.

  Weston winked at me as I tried to hide my blushing cheeks. His eyes danced with amusement. “Shall we?”

  “Please. Let’s get out of here.”

  At Jonny’s Pizza, Weston smirked at me across the table.

  “What?” I said, with a mouth full of pepperoni goodness.

  “I offer to take you anywhere you want within a sixty-mile radius, and you pick Jonny’s Pizza.”

  “I haven’t had it in seven years.” I took a drink of my Diet Dr Pepper.

  “What else have you missed?”

  I glanced out the window. “The mountains.”

  “Yeah? They are pretty spectacular. We should go up there sometime.”

  “Really? I’d love that. But I have to tell you, I don’t have the coordination for skiing or snowboarding. I’m purely a tubing kind of gal.”

  Weston leaned back in his chair. “We may have to remedy that someday.”

  The word sent my heart into a flurry. Someday. As in longer than my holiday stay in Lenox?

  “You know I leave on the second of January, right?” The urge to clarify was too strong to deny. Regardless of what was going to happen between us, I needed to lay all my cards on the table.

  “Yes, I know.” Weston’s eyes were void of expression.

  I scooted my plate away and slid my soda glass toward me. “I mean . . . I’m having a great time with you, Wes. I’m glad I came back to visit, but I live in LA. My career is there.”

  As he raked his hand through his dark waves, I wished I could break into his thoughts and pull them out one by one. But then his stare captured mine.

  “How about we just agree to see what happens, okay? I know that brain of yours wants to figure everything out and make a plan, but I just want to enjoy this—enjoy you.” He held my hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “I like you, Georgia Cole. A whole lot.”