A Cliché Christmas (16 page)

Ten minutes later, I buzzed away the last patch of Weston’s hair, watching it curl into a half-moon against the tile floor. Running my hand over the rough texture that remained on his scalp, a hypnotic pull seemed to tighten the invisible cord between us.

Weston had always been striking, but until that moment, until I saw him in such a rare state of vulnerability, it was hard to separate which of his features caused my insides to ache whenever his gaze met mine. But now, there was no doubt.

His eyes.

I glanced away, the walls pressing in on me as I reached for the broom.

His warm hand braceleted my wrist.

My pulse hammered under the pressure of his thumb. His touch both strengthened and weakened me. As the broom slipped from my grasp, he hooked a finger under my chin. Our eyes met, embraced in a silent understanding.

“Thank you for being here tonight. For doing this for me.”

My spine tingled as his whispered words fluttered across my cheek.

Gripping my waist, he lifted me up onto the counter, pushing my legs to either side of him. His gaze held steady, focused. I struggled for breath as his fingers ran through my hair. One, tw
o . . .
ten seconds passed before his hand brushed against the nape of my neck. And then oxygen ceased to matter at all.

I pulled him close to me, clutching his shirtfront while clinging to this moment in the fear that it could slip away, that he could slip away.

When our mouths finally touched, there was no ravenous greed propelling us, no irrational drive making us forget who we were.

Because for the first time in my life, I
wanted
to remember the details.

The tender awareness of his lips against mine created a perfect symphony of emotion. And with one kiss, Weston had reached deeper into me than anyone before.

I’d been sliding in the wrong direction for years, and something—God, maybe—had finally led me back to home base.

To Lenox, Oregon.

To Weston James.

And I’d fallen wholly, madly, completely in love with him.

A tiny whimper escaped my throat just before he broke contact with my lips. Though his eyes still blazed with hunger, he took one step back and then another.

A full ten seconds of silence spun around us.

“I don’t think I’ll ever go back to my regular barber again.”

I suppressed an anxious giggle.

He cleared his throat. “Um, that being said, I should probably handle the cleanup—alone.”

Without need for further explanation, I slid off the countertop and on wobbly legs made my way toward the kitchen.
Alone.

We needed to add a good thousand feet of space between us if we were going to accomplish anything that night—
other than kissing.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

W
orking alongside Weston in the kitchen as we waited for Willa and Savannah to arrive proved no simple task—not when the spark between us felt hotter than the candles I lit on the dining room table for ambiance. Or the steam rolling off the casserole inside the oven.

It was ten minutes past six when they came through the front door, both looking exhausted.

Willa’s eyes welled with tears when she saw the beautifully set table. “Wow, thank you both! We’re starving.”

Weston knelt before a fragile, beanie-wearing Savannah.

“Where’s your hair?” she gasped, running her fingers over his prickly scalp.

Weston’s chuckle made my stomach flip. “I thought this was the new style. Was I wrong?”

She grinned and pillowed her head onto his shoulder. “Mom said I’ll get hair agai
n . . .
maybe for Easter.”

“Well, I’m sure your mom’s right. But you’re still my little princess. A really cool, hat-wearing princess.”

After we took their luggage to their bedrooms, it was time to eat. We joined hands, bowed our heads, and blessed the stolen casserole and bread.

I also whipped up some chocolate mousse, Savannah’s favorite dessert. She beamed when I placed it in front of her. I was thrilled to see her eating, and by the look of it, Willa was, too.

As I stood to gather the plates, my phone buzzed on the counter. I felt like my organs were fusing when I read the number on the screen.

“U
m . . .
I’ve gotta take this.”

I made a quick exit out the front door, answering just in time.

“Hello, is this Georgia?”

“Yes—yes this is Georgia.” Adrenaline mixed with the bite in the wind made me shiver.

“This is John Harvey from the credit union. I know it’s after-hours, but I thought you’d want to know so you can make plans for tomorrow. You’ve been approved. You can make an offer on the theater.”

With a soft whoosh, I expelled the breath I’d been holding. “I’m
approve
d
?”

“Yes. I’ll e-mail you the contact information I have for the realtor. I know him personally, so I’ll put in a good word for you. With any luck, you could have a signed offer before Christmas. That theater hasn’t had any movement on it in years.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harvey.”

The call ended just as Weston opened the front door. He narrowed his eyes questioningly as he draped my coat across my shoulders.

“Why do you insist on freezing to death?”

“Weston—”

“I mean, there were other rooms you could have escaped to. But no, you must have some kind of freaky need to shiver and chatter and—”

“I’m approved. I can make an offer on the theater.”

Weston’s mouth clamped shut.

I laughed and then leaped at him, my coat falling onto the ground. His strong arms snaked around my back, holding me as I buried my face into his neck. I drank in his scent.

“Can you even believe it? He said there’s been no activity on it in years. This is
really
happening, Wes. I’m going to buy a theater.”

I pushed him away suddenly as the words fully registered inside my brain.

“Oh my gosh. I’m going to
buy a
theater
!”

Weston’s grip on my waist strengthened. “Whoa, Georgia. Do not faint on this porch,” he said, pulling me out of my fuzzy, half-frozen delirium.

Before I could rock back on my heels a second time, Weston forced me into the warmth of Willa’s house. He deposited me on the couch with a single kiss to the temple. “Sit here, I need to make a quick call.” I could only nod in agreement.

And then Savannah was at my side, dressed in pj’s and holding a tattered book in her hand.

“Would you read this to me, Georgia?”

I cleared my throat, hoping it would also clear the fog from my brain.

“Absolutely.”

She snuggled into my side while Willa loaded the dishwasher in the kitchen. I felt a bit guilty sitting down while Willa cleaned up, but when her eyes met mine, she winked her approval.

“This is my favorite book. It’s about a princess.”

“I see that. I’m sure I’ll love it, too.”

And love it I did. It was a sweet story, filled with happily ever afters, the kind we all hoped would be in Savannah’s future. With a scrappy-looking blanket wrapped around her hand, she laid her head on my shoulder. And then I remembered a question I wanted to ask her weeks ago.

“Savannah? Do you remember when I visited you in the hospital? You said you’d always wanted to meet m
e . . .
because of our names?”

She lifted her head and played with my hair.

“Uncle Wes picked my name. When I was in mommy’s tummy.”

“He did? I didn’t know that.”

She ran her tiny hands over the ends of my hair, and then she curled a lock around her fingertips.

“But what does that have to do with me?”

The back door slid closed, and Weston sauntered into the living room, breaking Savannah’s concentration. In one smooth movement, he swept his niece into his arms. “Come on munchkin, it’s time for you to go to bed. Can I tuck you in tonight?”

She nodded, grinning at me before leaving the room.

Willa dried her hands on a towel and slumped down across from me. Her petite body was swallowed up by the old recliner. Exhaustion imprinted her every feature. As I studied her, I realized the kind of beauty Willa Hart possessed would never be found in Hollywood. There was nothing superficial or contrived about it. It was pure and untainted. She was lovely in every sense.

I remembered watching her in school, emulating her speech and mannerisms, envying from afar the kind of natural perfection she possessed.

But here she sat now, a young widow and mother in a fight to save her daughter from the deadly web of cancer.

A thick, bitter taste coated my throat as I tried to swallow.

Her eyes crinkled in the corners as she smiled faintly at me. I prayed she couldn’t detect the pity that filled my heart.

“She’s right, you know.”

“Who? Savannah?”

Willa nodded. “When I lost Chad while I was pregnant, I wasn’t in a good place mentally. Daily tasks were nearly impossible, much less thinking about having a baby without my husband. I don’t think I could have made it without my family. One night Weston told me he found a name, and I loved it, immediately. But I’ll never forget what he said about it.” She paused, as if recalling his exact words. “He said that the strongest girl he’d ever known was Georgia Col
e . . .
and if he could give any gift to his niece, it would be that kind of strength. He said, ‘Savannah is a name forever connected to Georgi
a . . .
even if only on a map.’ And you know what? My daughter
is
a fighter.”

He named his niece after me?

“U
m . . .
you girls all right in here?”

Weston stood looking at us, his eyes going from one to the other. I wiped at my eyes hastily, and Willa nodded. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.

“Would you mind running to the store for me, Wes? I need a few things I forgot to grab when we left the hospital.”

“Sure thing.” Weston turned to me. “Do you want to stay here or come with me?”

“Actually, I should probably be getting home. I have a few things I need to do.”

Weston nodded and grabbed my coat as I hugged Willa good-bye.

“I’ll see you at the show, Georgia. We’re looking forward to it.”

I smiled. “I can’t believe dress rehearsal is only two days away.”

The weight of Weston’s hand warmed the small of my back. As we approached my car, he turned to face me.

We spoke at the same time.

“Georgia—”

“Weston—”

“You first.” He rubbed his palm on the back of his neck. I still couldn’t get over how good-looking he was, even without hair. He waited for me to speak, but I found it difficult to utter a single word. But I had to. He’d given me so much in the last few weeks. And it was time I said so.

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?”

“Suppor
t . . .
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.

“He
y . . .
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, u
m . . .
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 agai
n . . .
and I haven’t felt that in a really long time. I’ve decided I want to stay her
e . . .
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 gos
h . . .

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

“And you left me for him, Mo
m . . .
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 yo
u . . .
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.”