A Cliché Christmas(15)

My eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yep. I found this at an estate sale and got it for dirt cheap. I’ll still be making a profit, I promise you.”

I was intrigued. Definitely intrigued.

“Okay. Deal.”

“Great. I love a good literary debate—especially over a classic like Little Women.”

She rang it up and wrapped the book, so I could stick it into my satchel and hide it when I got home.

“Thank you, Violet.”

“You’re welcome. Now, don’t forget to stop by, okay?”

I nodded as the bells on the door announced my departure.





CHAPTER SIX

Just as I predicted, Mrs. Harper lectured me quite extensively before handing over the theater key. I wanted to fire back with a little speech of my own, starting with, “Listen, lady, I didn’t ask to direct a Christmas play during my vacation,” and ending with, “Perhaps you should go make a few copies down at Ernie’s Hardware if you’re that concerned about losing the key.” But I simply smiled and kept my mouth shut.

As I walked out of the school office and slipped the treasured key into my coat pocket, a throat cleared behind me. I knew before turning around exactly whom that throat belonged to.

“You just can’t stay away from me, can you?”

“I actually forgot you worked here.” Big. Fat. Lie.

Weston’s eyes may have reflected disbelief, but he didn’t call me out. Instead, he said, “Do you have a minute? I need to show you something . . . in the shop.”

I glanced around. No students. Deserted hallway. Didn’t anyone hang around after dismissal anymore?

After our awkwardly intimate exchange this morning, it seemed strange to debate such a small request, but that was exactly what I was doing. The school held a lethal number of memories, especially where Weston was concerned.

“I can spare five minutes,” I lied again. In fact, I had over an hour before I was supposed to meet Misty at the theater.

Weston strode down the long hallway. Apparently, I was supposed to follow him.

The large shop had a concrete floor and was filled with workbenches, saws of many varieties, and wood. Lots of wood. I realized why Weston always smelled like freshly cut timber.

I touched one of the tall countertops and swiped my finger through a fine layer of dust.

“Bring back memories?”

I glanced up at Weston, who was studying me from across the room. I took in his dark wash jeans and olive thermal shirt. My cheeks burned with awareness. He wasn’t like any high school teacher I remembered. That was for sure. And I was willing to bet he had quite a large group of cougar moms following him around—not the kind with fur and fangs. Okay, perhaps fangs.

“Not all memories should be resurrected,” I mumbled under my breath.

He slapped a large piece of graph paper onto the counter and pulled up a metal stool beside me. I remained standing.

Resting his chin on his palm, he said, “I don’t know. I can recall some pretty good ones. Remember our build-off junior year?”

“You mean the one where you paid Jimmy Lawkins to spray paint all my tools pink?”

“Well, it’s not like you didn’t retaliate.”

I laughed easily, remembering how I’d managed to steal his remaining allotted nails, which ultimately helped me win the competition.

“A woman must never reveal her secrets.”

He grinned his wickedly annoying smile, dimples grooving deep, while my stomach plummeted fifty floors.

Needing a quick diversion, I refocused my attention on the graph paper.

“So, what is this?” I asked.

“A sketch-up of your set pieces.”

My eyebrows could not have arched any higher. “You always were such an overachiever.”

“I learned from the best.”

Then he pointed to each piece, explaining it in detail. His arm grazed mine, and my skin ignited.

“Looks good.”

His eyes lingered on my face. “Yes, I agree.”

I took a step to the side. “You sure you’ll be able to finish this in time? It seems like a lot of work.”

“You doubt me, Georgia? You know I enjoy a challenge as much as you do.”

The temperature of the room rose by a hundred degrees. As I looked anywhere but at Weston’s face, something in the corner of the room caught my eye. I walked toward it as he spoke.

“For the two weeks before school lets out for winter break, I’ll have my classes working on some of these bigger pieces. And then I’ll finish up the rest at my shop at home.”

I nodded, only half listening.

“What are these?” I asked. On a table were tiny replicas of furniture.

“It’s, uh . . . something I’ve been working on in my free time. For Savannah.”

My hand hovered over a miniature sofa set.

“Go ahead.”

I examined one of the chairs. So much detail was etched into every centimeter. He had a lot of talent . . . not surprisingly. Weston could do anything he put his mind to. He’d always been that way.

“These are beautiful.”

“So is she.” He cleared his throat. “I talked with her a couple of hours ago, actually. The side effects of the chemo are starting to make her pretty sick . . . but she’s a trooper.”