A Cliché Christmas(13)

I’d been a fool.

And I realize with painful clarity that my mom’s advice is the only way to mend my broken heart.

The first chance I get, I leave town.

I leave my memories.

And I leave Weston James.



It was just after seven when I pulled up to Nan’s. The puff of the chimney told me she was awake. Awesome. The walk of shame in front of my grandmother. This day was rapidly going downhill, and I had been awake for less than an hour.

“Good morning!” Nan sang out the second I opened the door. She stood near the kitchen table, drinking her morning cup of coffee, swaying gently in her ratty bathrobe.

I grimaced. “Hi, Nan. I promise you, it’s not how it looks. I didn’t sleep the night before because I was up writing, and I must have passed out from exhaustion on his couch, and then he didn’t—”

“Good grief, girl. You’re going to pass out if you keep talking without pausing to breathe. I don’t think it looks any which way.” She smiled over the top of her mug as I exhaled. “That said, you probably shouldn’t go making a habit of falling asleep on every good-looking man’s couch.”

Something about seeing her calmed me. My Nan. My ever-dependable, loving Nan.

“Sit with me, darlin’.”

I did as I was told, pulling out a chair at the dining room table and plunking myself into it with a thud. And a sigh.

“What’s wrong?” She leaned her elbows on the tabletop.

I started to shake my head, but she covered my hand with hers. It was impossible for me to deny the truth. Who needed a lie detector when the world had Nan?

“I feel like I just took a giant step back in time by coming here. Being in Lenox makes me feel like a stupid high school girl again.”

“You are a lot of things, Georgia. But stupid has never been one of them.”

I shrugged. “That’s debatable.”

She chuckled, spinning the mug in her hands. “You and Weston were always the talk of the town. How many times did I have to pick you up from the office after some silly prank? Even as a young boy, he could ruffle your feathers quicker than anyone else.”

“Yeah, I know.” This was not news to me.

“Don’t you ever wonder why?”

I stared at her. “I know why, he’s just so . . .” What is he, exactly?

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

I couldn’t possibly sum him up in one word.

Nan laughed hard. “Sweetheart, I think you might be trying to define the wrong thing.”

I laid my head on the table in silent surrender.

“I can’t be around him, Nan. I just can’t.” I heard his words in my head again, and my eyes stung. “I knew the real you once . . . and I’m willing to bet I still do.”

“Georgia, can’t is a four-letter word in this house. Nothing’s ever stopped you before. You’re a strong, independent, fearless woman. Whatever happened between you two was seven years ago. Don’t you think it’s time to move forward? Just because this town may look the same doesn’t mean there aren’t surprises waiting around every corner. I’ve lived here all my life, and I uncover something new every single day. Allow yourself to see with fresh eyes, Georgia.”

I wasn’t sure if she was referencing Lenox or Weston, but in true Nan style, she let me mull it over without further explanation.



“So . . . you’ve moved up the ladder to director now? Geesh, who knew visiting Nowheresville, Oregon, could have career benefits?” Cara’s playful tone made me smile.

I switched my phone to my right ear as I pulled on my Uggs and jacket. The sun was shining today, but it was still crisp. Regardless of the temperature, I needed the fresh air and the stroll. Cara could keep me company on my way to the high school. When Misty, my new assistant director, had called me earlier that morning with a few blocking ideas, I decided I’d better head to town and get the theater key from the school secretary—the same secretary who had both unlocked and relocked the door for us last night after auditions. Apparently, there was only one key, and Mrs. Harper was its guardian, even though it was technically owned by a real estate broker. I had a feeling I was going to have to sign my life—and future generations’ lives—away in order to get it, too.

“It’s community theater, Cara, not Broadway. The cast is mostly made up of high school students.”

“Ooh . . . like Glee? Any hot music teachers?” she asked.

No, only hot shop teachers.

“Not quite. How were your classes today?”

“Great. You’ll never believe who signed up. You know that blond from that one movie with the shark in Hawaii . . .”

And with that, Cara was lost in her own little world of Hollywood stardom. The number of actors and actresses who came into her yoga studio was obscene. I laughed at her creative descriptions as I passed the post office and the secondhand bookstore.

“. . . and then I was like, ‘no bleeping way!’ and she was like, ‘yes bleeping way’—”

“Hey, Cara—I gotta go. I’ll text you tonight, okay?”

“Cool. Just don’t die in an avalanche walking to the high school, okay?”

“Cara, you really need to read up on the Northwest, sweetie.”