A Cliché Christmas(25)

She pulled me in for a quick hug, and we were off to church.



Weston bumped my hip with his while I talked to several old acquaintances in the church lobby. Apparently, he was ready to get on the road. I couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t seen his niece in over a week, and from what I’d gathered, that was a very long time for him.

“Finally! I thought I’d never get you to shut up back there.”

I smacked his chest and climbed inside his truck. “You’re such a gentleman, really.”

As we pulled out of the church parking lot and drove down Main Street, we passed Sydney in her white SUV. I waved at her through the window, and she gaped when she saw me in Weston’s truck. I couldn’t help but feel a tad victorious.

“So, tell me about your life in LA. We have two hours to catch up on the last seven years, and I want to make them count.”

“You do, huh?”

“I do.”

He picked up my hand and brought it to his mouth. My heart leaped out of my chest as he kissed the back of it. “I keep picturing a certain moment last night, and I want to find out who my competition is back in Plastic Land.”

“Plastic Land?”

“Hollywood.”

I laughed so hard I nearly choked. “Well, I keep pretty busy with writing, and no, I don’t have a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He flashed that boyish grin I’d known since toddlerhood. “It’s what I’m asking.”

I shook my head at his antics. “And what about you, O great bachelor of Lenox?”

His smile flatlined. “You’re still the only girl I’ve ever cared about, Georgia.”

And just like that, I was fifteen again, writing secret scribbles in my diary.

Georgia Cole + Weston James = True Love.

“There’s no way you haven’t dated,” I said, trying to forget the strength of my adolescent hormones.

“Sure. But let’s just say I’m a two-date kinda guy. You have to be pretty special to get a third.”

“And how many of those have there been?”

“I’m hoping you’ll be the first. Today can mark numero uno.”

Swirling hearts, rainbows, and flowers filled my head quicker than I could stop them. He never was the beat-around-the-bush type. Probably his best quality—if you didn’t count his eyes, lips, or backside.

“So, you like it there?”

“Where? Hollywood?” I sighed. How honest should I be? “I’m grateful for what’s happened in my career. It was a good move for me.”

“Could you write from somewhere else?”

My stomach tightened at his question. Sure, it was possible, but this all felt so surreal. Too quick, too intense, too—

“Georgia, come on. Don’t freak out on me. I’m just curious. It’s not like I’m proposing.”

“Don’t joke like that.”

“Why not?” He grabbed my hand that was resting on the middle console in an effort to relax my tense posture. “Just because we started over with a clean slate doesn’t mean I have to throw out a lifetime of knowing you. You’ll be hard-pressed to get rid of me now.”

“I don’t want to get rid of you. I just . . . I don’t want to rush anything, okay?”

He sat quietly for a moment and then threaded his fingers through mine. “We can take it as slow as you need to, but just so you know, I’m in this, Georgia.”

I am, too . . . and that’s what scares me.



During our two-hour trip to Doernbecher Children’s Hospital in Portland, Weston filled me in on his move to Lenox after Willa’s husband passed away. He’d only planned on taking a semester off, but he decided to stay when Willa’s depression worsened during her pregnancy. I knew they’d been close, but I hadn’t realized just how close. When he described his relationship with Savannah, I had to blink away tears. He truly loved her as if she were his own daughter.

When we arrived at the hospital, Weston carried the gift bags and box of books from Nan through the halls of the cancer ward. I glanced around at all the whimsical sculptures and birds hanging from the ceiling. Truly, the hospital looked like a fairy-tale world.

Nervous energy ran through my veins as we rode the elevator up to Savannah’s room. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was invading a very personal moment, one that should be shared only with close family.

When we reached her room, I turned to tell Weston I would wait in the hallway for him, but he announced me before I had the chance.

“I brought you a special treat, Vannie.”

Weston pulled me inside the sunshine-yellow room, prints of daisies and flower gardens on the walls. Willa sat in a rocking chair in the corner, and Mrs. James, Weston’s mom, was washing something in the sink.

“Hey, Mom.” Weston kissed her on the cheek and set Savannah’s loot down on a counter. I stood awkwardly, smiling at the tired-looking little girl.

“Hi, Georgia,” Willa and Mrs. James said in unison.

“Hi, um, I hope it’s okay that I’m here. I don’t want to intrude.”

“We’re happy to have you here,” Willa said. She embraced me quickly and turned toward her daughter. “Uncle Wes brought you a friend, Vannie.”