A Cliché Christmas(24)

“It’s four,” Weston called out.

Seriously? How did the time go by so fast?

“Um . . . okay. Let’s meet back here Monday after school, and then we will lengthen practices when winter break starts next week.”

Several kids exclaimed in glee while others groaned. I could empathize with both responses.

As the last student exited, Weston made a move toward me, and my heart skipped an extra beat or two . . . or maybe ten.

“We have a problem.” He read the question in my eyes. “I can’t continue practicing in this theater every day knowing the truth behind your stage fright.” He shook his head. “Especially when you’ve believed all these years that I arranged that prank. That seriously kills me, Georgia.”

I swallowed hard. “Well, it wasn’t exactly pleasant for me, either.”

He stopped a few inches in front of me. “I think we need to make it right.”

I laughed. “What? How can we possibly do that? It was seven years ago, Weston.”

He held out his hand. “Let me take you up on stage.”

“I don’t want to go up there.”

Angling his head to the side, he flashed a grin, and a lazy dimple winked at me. “You’ve never been afraid of anything, Georgia. Don’t start now. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

Grabbing my hand, he pulled me toward the stairs.

“No, seriously. I don’t want to go up there.” I tugged my hand away.

“Georgia, what happened that night was not your fault.”

No, but I finally know whose fault it was. A certain blond witch-of-a-woman who apparently has never been told no. By anyone.

“It wasn’t yours, either.” The words felt strange coming out of my mouth, so opposite of my feelings for so many years.

“So, let’s have a do-over. We both deserve one.”

I rolled the idea around in my mind. “Fine.”

“That’s my girl.”

I pursed my lips to avoid the smile that threatened to break through. And then we were standing on the stage, looking out at the empty seats below us.

“See? It’s not so awful.”

My knees started to shake—quite literally. “Okay, I’m done now.”

He laughed and pulled me back. “No, you’re not. Let’s do the scene.”

“What? You’ve got to be joking. I don’t even know—”

“Bull. You know it. You’ve probably replayed it in that brain of yours a thousand times. Now, go over there, and walk toward me.”

I gawked at him, waiting for him to say, “Just kidding.”

Only he wasn’t kidding.

In a matter of seconds, I was walking toward him, saying the lines that had been lost in a sea of laughter seven years ago. It took me only a second to get into character. He was right. I knew these lines, almost as well as I remembered the character I played.

“I don’t want your warning, Patrick. I don’t need it.”

“You need it more than you realize, Catherine. If you marry him, he will ruin you and your family forever.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?” I took another timid step toward Weston as he beckoned me closer with his hand. I knew what he wanted me to do, but I wasn’t sure I could do it.

“What more do you want me to say? That I’ll have you? That I’ll be yours forever? I’ve said that with every look and every word I’ve ever spoken to you. You just haven’t been listening.”

And then . . . I let go.

I ran toward him, only this time—this time—Weston caught my waist and swung me around as I laughed, my head tipped back in unadulterated bliss.

Freedom.

As he slowly lowered me to the ground, his eyes drank me in. My knees weakened once more, but this time for a very different reason. Our silent stare sought the answer to one question, one that seemed to exist under my skin, through the fibers of my muscles, and in the marrow of my bones.

Could Weston James and Georgia Cole be more than secret friends?

And then his lips were on mine, his hands climbing from my hips to my face in tender expectation. As his thumbs caressed my cheekbones, Weston held me close, allowing his kiss to wash away my every doubt.

Yes. The answer was clear. Yes, they could.





CHAPTER NINE

I used to buy a new pair of slippers every few months. Not because I needed them, but because the moment I placed my feet inside the warm and fuzzy slippers, I imagined I was walking on clouds.

That’s how I felt Sunday morning. Like I was cloud walking.

“I don’t think that smile has left your face all morning.”

I bit my lower lip under Nan’s scrutiny and slipped on the gloves Weston bought for me.

“You riding with me to church this morning?” Nan asked.

“Yeah, and then I think I’m going to visit Savannah with Weston.”

Nan clapped her hands in delight. “I just knew you two could resolve whatever silly quarrel got between you.”

I looked at her. “It wasn’t silly, Nan. But my anger was misdirected.”

“Well, whatever it was, I hope you will let it go for good and see each other with new eyes.”

“I hope so, too, Nan. I really do.”