A Cliché Christmas(19)
“What is?”
“That people still know how to ask for help when they need it.”
I stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the smirk on his face, although his proximity made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything but him. Shifting in my seat, I tried to create an extra pocket of space between us.
“Shh. I’m trying to listen to my actors.”
The low rumble of amusement in his chest caused my pulse to tap dance.
“If you would stop trying so hard to hate me, you might just find that you actually enjoy my company.”
A little too much, probably.
“You heading over to play bingo?” Weston asked as I locked the theater door.
I glanced at my phone. 8:38 p.m. I had promised Nan I would stop by the community center if I could, but Weston hadn’t been part of that plan.
“Um, I’m not sure yet.”
“Debating an offer for a hot date?”
I guffawed. “Definitely not.”
“And what if I ask you out?”
I stopped and turned. He was grinning, obviously amused by his stupid joke. “You’re so—”
“Charming, handsome, funny, witty . . . just pick your adjective.”
“Irritating.”
His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Hey . . . that’s not as bad as some of the things you’ve called me in the past.”
I opened my car door, and he walked to the passenger side. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Riding with you to bingo.”
I stared at him. “Do you understand the phrase ‘personal bubble’?”
“Nope.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not staying long. Drive yourself.”
“Nope.” He opened the door and plopped into the seat, reclining it as he did.
Unbelievable.
“This tiny car was not made for guys my size.”
He was right; he looked ridiculously cramped. His muscular build, height, and overall fatheaded arrogance were too much for my miniconvertible.
“Want to get out and take your truck?”
“You gonna ride with me?”
“Nope.”
“Then drive on, Rudolph.”
We pulled into the community center a few minutes later, and Weston walked beside me as we entered the large hall. Fortunately, Eddy masked our entrance as she barked out the next sequence. She’d managed Bingo Fridays ever since I was a young girl. At a buck a card, the admission for the evening included unlimited soda, snacks, and popcorn. It was one of the town’s biggest social events. Even popular high school students could be found here on Friday nights.
I found Nan sitting by Franklin and scooted in beside her, careful to leave no room for Weston. But true to form, he wasn’t deterred. He grabbed a folding chair and set it at the table’s end, turning it backward and straddling it. Our knees bumped multiple times, almost as if he were doing it on purpose.
I ignored his boyish attempts for attention, focusing instead on Nan’s card.
“B-12,” Eddy hollered from the stage.
“Ooh . . . you’re only two away, Nan!”
She squinted at me. “You’re excited about bingo? Since when?”
I’ll pretend to be excited about anything to take my mind off the tingles shooting up my leg at the moment!
“Yep. I love bingo.” I threw back a few pieces of popcorn, realizing for the first time that I’d missed lunch . . . and dinner. As I reached for an Oreo on Nan’s plate, Weston stood up and walked off. Finally, I could breathe.
“You guys on a date?”
A giant piece of Oreo flew out of my mouth as I choked.
“What?” Nan asked, seemingly innocent. “Two days ago you couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same room with him, and now, you’re playing footsie with him on Bingo Friday.”
“I am not!”
She laughed so hard I worried she’d rupture something important.
“What did I miss? What’s so funny?” Weston set a full plate of food in front of me.
I looked up at him, completely bewildered.
“You haven’t eaten, right?”
Speechless, I shook my head.
“Well, start chowing down. Mrs. Henrietta made her chicken salad sandwiches, and I know firsthand that if you don’t get to them first, someone else will. They’re like gold around these parts. I brought you two.”
I looked down at the plate and bit my bottom lip. Why do you do this to me, Weston? In only a matter of minutes, I’d morphed into the kind of girl who could cry over a kind gesture like the gifting of chicken salad sandwiches.
As I stuffed my face with the random foods on the plate, Weston answered Nan’s questions about Savannah’s care.
“Willa said she was up most of last night vomiting, but she had a better day today. It’s just really hard for her to keep anything down.” I swallowed a large bite of chocolate cake and awkwardly pushed my plate away, hoping I didn’t look like the most unsympathetic human being ever.
“Well, I have a few things I’d like you to take up to Portland with you on Sunday, if you don’t mind. Some books. They’re ones that Georgia loved when she was little.”