A Cliché Christmas(30)
Margaret piped up again, “That’s what cheese does to me. Only I usually end up in the bathroom for quite a long time after.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Nan said, hands in the air. “Let’s not scare my granddaughter. She has a nice long cheese-and-spinach-filled life ahead of her. Thank you, darlin’, for this meal. It looks wonderful.”
The ladies nodded their heads and murmured their thanks. Nan winked at me.
“Now, run along, dear. Go have fun—and eat whatever your healthy heart desires.”
“Ooh . . . is she dating that teacher with the nice backside?” Pearl asked.
Weston winked at me as I tried to hide my blushing cheeks. His eyes danced with amusement. “Shall we?”
“Please. Let’s get out of here.”
At Jonny’s Pizza, Weston smirked at me across the table.
“What?” I said, with a mouth full of pepperoni goodness.
“I offer to take you anywhere you want within a sixty-mile radius, and you pick Jonny’s Pizza.”
“I haven’t had it in seven years.” I took a drink of my Diet Dr Pepper.
“What else have you missed?”
I glanced out the window. “The mountains.”
“Yeah? They are pretty spectacular. We should go up there sometime.”
“Really? I’d love that. But I have to tell you, I don’t have the coordination for skiing or snowboarding. I’m purely a tubing kind of gal.”
Weston leaned back in his chair. “We may have to remedy that someday.”
The word sent my heart into a flurry. Someday. As in longer than my holiday stay in Lenox?
“You know I leave on the second of January, right?” The urge to clarify was too strong to deny. Regardless of what was going to happen between us, I needed to lay all my cards on the table.
“Yes, I know.” Weston’s eyes were void of expression.
I scooted my plate away and slid my soda glass toward me. “I mean . . . I’m having a great time with you, Wes. I’m glad I came back to visit, but I live in LA. My career is there.”
As he raked his hand through his dark waves, I wished I could break into his thoughts and pull them out one by one. But then his stare captured mine.
“How about we just agree to see what happens, okay? I know that brain of yours wants to figure everything out and make a plan, but I just want to enjoy this—enjoy you.” He held my hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “I like you, Georgia Cole. A whole lot.”
Heat crept up my neck at the touch of his hand on mine. “I think I can do that.”
“Good, because I really want to take you on a third date.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bags in hand, I left Gigi’s Grocery and fought my way through the arctic wind gusts to my car. It was freezing out. Mid-December was upon us, and the storm of the season was supposed to hit within the next day or so. I told Nan I would stock up on all the essentials just in case. So far, though, there hadn’t been a single snowflake. The weather forecasters in Oregon were overpaid.
“Miss Cole? Is that you?”
A pretty woman with long dark hair jogged over to me, pulling her coat tightly across her chest.
“Yes . . . hi, do we know each other?”
The woman had rosy lips and round cheeks. “No, but you know my daughter, Josie McDonald.”
“Ah, yes. I can see the resemblance. She’s a great girl. Glad she’s our Mary,” I said, shivering.
“I just want to thank you for what you’ve done for those kids—my daughter especially. It’s easy to find trouble, even in a small town like ours. I’ve never known her to be passionate about anything in the arts until you got here. You’ve inspired her, really. She was so excited about getting into drama when she got to the high school, but then the program was cut. She talks about you every night when she comes home.”
My limbs tingled with warmth as I pictured Josie. She had said only a few sentences to me outside of our rehearsal time, but I’d noticed she’d had a new dedication to her role over the last week. She’d even volunteered to help lead some of the younger kids in a chorus of “Silent Night” at the end of the pageant. Nan had told me a little about Josie’s family after practice one night—a dad who abandoned them, a brother who was into drugs.
Suddenly, I realized what this play meant to the kids in it. It wasn’t just about raising the funds to pay for Savannah’s cancer treatments anymore; the arts reached a much broader audience, offering hope and healing to the community at large.
Growing up, I had used writing, reading, and drama as outlets, too; they were really the only viable outlets I had.
“It’s my pleasure. Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“You’re welcome. I wish someone would buy that old theater and do something good with it—like what you’re doing now. It’s sat there unused for so many years. I’m glad you got clearance to use it, given its run-down condition. Anyway, I wanted you to know that you’ve made a difference for her—and for my family. Especially in this season; it’s our first Christmas without their dad around.”
I swallowed a lemon-size lump in my throat. Though I’d never experienced a normal Christmas, I’d written scenes for dozens of them. I knew how they should look and how they should feel. And I knew all about the disappointment that followed when expectations were left hanging on the back of a closed door.