A Cliché Christmas(42)

My spine tingled as his whispered words fluttered across my cheek.

Gripping my waist, he lifted me up onto the counter, pushing my legs to either side of him. His gaze held steady, focused. I struggled for breath as his fingers ran through my hair. One, two . . . ten seconds passed before his hand brushed against the nape of my neck. And then oxygen ceased to matter at all.

I pulled him close to me, clutching his shirtfront while clinging to this moment in the fear that it could slip away, that he could slip away.

When our mouths finally touched, there was no ravenous greed propelling us, no irrational drive making us forget who we were.

Because for the first time in my life, I wanted to remember the details.

The tender awareness of his lips against mine created a perfect symphony of emotion. And with one kiss, Weston had reached deeper into me than anyone before.

I’d been sliding in the wrong direction for years, and something—God, maybe—had finally led me back to home base.

To Lenox, Oregon.

To Weston James.

And I’d fallen wholly, madly, completely in love with him.

A tiny whimper escaped my throat just before he broke contact with my lips. Though his eyes still blazed with hunger, he took one step back and then another.

A full ten seconds of silence spun around us.

“I don’t think I’ll ever go back to my regular barber again.”

I suppressed an anxious giggle.

He cleared his throat. “Um, that being said, I should probably handle the cleanup—alone.”

Without need for further explanation, I slid off the countertop and on wobbly legs made my way toward the kitchen. Alone.

We needed to add a good thousand feet of space between us if we were going to accomplish anything that night—other than kissing.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Working alongside Weston in the kitchen as we waited for Willa and Savannah to arrive proved no simple task—not when the spark between us felt hotter than the candles I lit on the dining room table for ambiance. Or the steam rolling off the casserole inside the oven.

It was ten minutes past six when they came through the front door, both looking exhausted.

Willa’s eyes welled with tears when she saw the beautifully set table. “Wow, thank you both! We’re starving.”

Weston knelt before a fragile, beanie-wearing Savannah.

“Where’s your hair?” she gasped, running her fingers over his prickly scalp.

Weston’s chuckle made my stomach flip. “I thought this was the new style. Was I wrong?”

She grinned and pillowed her head onto his shoulder. “Mom said I’ll get hair again . . . maybe for Easter.”

“Well, I’m sure your mom’s right. But you’re still my little princess. A really cool, hat-wearing princess.”

After we took their luggage to their bedrooms, it was time to eat. We joined hands, bowed our heads, and blessed the stolen casserole and bread.

I also whipped up some chocolate mousse, Savannah’s favorite dessert. She beamed when I placed it in front of her. I was thrilled to see her eating, and by the look of it, Willa was, too.

As I stood to gather the plates, my phone buzzed on the counter. I felt like my organs were fusing when I read the number on the screen.

“Um . . . I’ve gotta take this.”

I made a quick exit out the front door, answering just in time.

“Hello, is this Georgia?”

“Yes—yes this is Georgia.” Adrenaline mixed with the bite in the wind made me shiver.

“This is John Harvey from the credit union. I know it’s after-hours, but I thought you’d want to know so you can make plans for tomorrow. You’ve been approved. You can make an offer on the theater.”

With a soft whoosh, I expelled the breath I’d been holding. “I’m approved?”

“Yes. I’ll e-mail you the contact information I have for the realtor. I know him personally, so I’ll put in a good word for you. With any luck, you could have a signed offer before Christmas. That theater hasn’t had any movement on it in years.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harvey.”

The call ended just as Weston opened the front door. He narrowed his eyes questioningly as he draped my coat across my shoulders.

“Why do you insist on freezing to death?”

“Weston—”

“I mean, there were other rooms you could have escaped to. But no, you must have some kind of freaky need to shiver and chatter and—”

“I’m approved. I can make an offer on the theater.”

Weston’s mouth clamped shut.

I laughed and then leaped at him, my coat falling onto the ground. His strong arms snaked around my back, holding me as I buried my face into his neck. I drank in his scent.

“Can you even believe it? He said there’s been no activity on it in years. This is really happening, Wes. I’m going to buy a theater.”

I pushed him away suddenly as the words fully registered inside my brain.

“Oh my gosh. I’m going to buy a theater!”

Weston’s grip on my waist strengthened. “Whoa, Georgia. Do not faint on this porch,” he said, pulling me out of my fuzzy, half-frozen delirium.

Before I could rock back on my heels a second time, Weston forced me into the warmth of Willa’s house. He deposited me on the couch with a single kiss to the temple. “Sit here, I need to make a quick call.” I could only nod in agreement.