A Cliché Christmas(39)

I yawned. “Agreed.”

“I’ll see you later this morning at service?”

I nodded, rubbing a kink from my neck.

His eyebrows pinched together. “Be careful on the road this morning. I’m sure the plows were working all night, but it’ll still be slick.” He shook his head. “Actually, why don’t you tell Nan I’ll pick her up and bring her here in a bit. I don’t feel good about her driving.”

I smiled. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Confusion clouded his eyes.

“Being so wonderful.”

He grinned and tipped an imaginary hat before walking out the door.



The church service was small.

Though winter storms were common in the mountains of Oregon, they tended to keep people indoors. My pulse jumped when I noticed Nan’s friend Mr. Harvey in attendance. He was the owner of Lenox Community Credit Union. I made my way toward him, brimming with excitement, joy, and—

Am I seriously going to do this? Am I really going to buy a theater?

Just as quickly, my doubts were replaced with peace—an oddly reassuring peace. Even the thought of telling Summer didn’t dispel my mysterious sense of calm.

“Mr. Harvey. Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

“You’re Nan’s granddaughter.” His puffy cheeks and bald head glistened under the lights.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m Georgia. It’s nice to see you again. I was wondering . . . Could I come by the bank tomorrow morning and see about getting a preapproval for a real estate purchase?”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, are you looking to buy a house?”

“Um . . . not exactly. But I’d love to sit down and talk with you about it in detail.”

“Sure thing. Can you come by around ten? I would love to help you if I can.”

I beamed. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I spotted Nan talking to Violet, the owner of Sunshine Books, and I remembered the debate about Little Women that I’d agreed to a couple of weeks ago. So much had changed since that day in the bookstore.

Violet winked at me.

Okay, maybe you’re right, Violet. But the jury’s still out.

Pulling my coat closed and wrapping Nan’s scarf around my neck, I headed for the exit. Weston was probably helping the elderly cross the slick parking lot. Really, his goodness was annoying at times.

I went outside to see if I could lend some assistance when I was assaulted by the sight of Miss Perfect Teeth talking to my Weston. Again.

My Weston . . . really?

Just go with it.

Fine.

Weston’s back was to me, but I heard him clearly. “What I’m saying is, I think you should stick to your original plan, Sydney. You’re getting in way over your head. It’s too much work.”

She pressed a red-tipped finger to his chest. “We’re both entrepreneurs, Weston. Hard work doesn’t deter us.”

“Sydney—” Weston’s voice held a warning.

“Weston?” Forgetting the ice rink beneath my feet, I quickened my steps like that of a charging bull.

A second too late, I registered the concern on Weston’s face. The world started to spin, and soon I was performing a Mexican hat dance, arms stretched out wide.

“Georgia, be careful!”

Too late. Flat on my backside—once again resembling a woman with bladder control issues—I waited for Weston to reach me.

He stretched his hand out to me as Sydney glared at me and said, “I’ll let you know what I decide later, Weston.”

As I stood upright, Weston’s face was still crumpled in concern for me. “You okay?”

“Aside from my wet butt? Yeah. But what was that all about?” I nodded toward Sydney as she carefully navigated the parking lot in spiked heels.

He glanced at Sydney. “Nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing, Weston.”

He massaged his right temple. “I was just trying to give her some advice.”

I took in a deep breath, desperately trying to pop the jealousy balloon in my chest that was filling at a rapid rate.

“Hey, Wes, can you assist Mrs. Robertson to her car?” Pastor Herbert called from the church steps.

Weston put his hand on my upper arm and kissed my forehead with cool lips. “Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then he gave me his signature dimple-popping grin and trotted across the parking lot without a single misstep.

It’s nothing.

I can trust him.

But somewhere deep down, the word nothing gnawed at me, like hunger pangs in an empty belly.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The bright yellow star swayed to the left and then to the right.

“A little more to the left I think!”

“Here?” Weston hollered down at me from the rafters.

“Um . . .” I put my hand on my hip, debating.

“Hey, Christmas Diva, I kinda need you to make a decision. Like . . . yesterday.”

“Hmm . . . okay, I think it’s fine right there.”

“Thank you, Lord!”

I couldn’t help but grin. We’d been hard at work all evening, carrying in sets and positioning them on stage. And by we, I mean Weston and his senior brutes. Tonight was our first rehearsal with everything in place. A feeling of relief and satisfaction swept over me.