A Cliché Christmas(53)
Hearing Savannah squeal at the sight of Weston’s dollhouse made my heart dance. It was beautiful, and so was she. Willa sat in the far corner and watched her daughter play while I said yet another silent prayer for the little girl’s mother. I longed to see her laugh and experience true joy once again.
Placing each piece of tiny doll furniture into Savannah’s house was the highlight of my day—that is, until Weston turned to me with mischief in his eyes.
“Georgia Cole . . . are you ready for your Christmas gift?”
“What? But I thought we—”
He held out his hand to cut me off. “Calm down, Miss Holiday Hype. Up until a couple of hours ago I didn’t think my present to you would happen. But I guess there is such a thing as a Christmas miracle.”
I stood up from my place on the floor with Savannah. “What are you talking about, Weston?” I gulped down the pounding that was lodged somewhere between my ribs and my chin.
In true Weston form, he sauntered toward me with a grin as outrageously wicked as it was glorious. He wrapped his arms around my waist and touched my nose to his.
“What would it take for you to stay here—in Lenox—with me?”
“Weston,” I whispered sadly. “We talked about this last night . . . for hours. I have to go back to LA, at least until I figure out—”
“And what if it’s figured out?”
“What are you talking about?”
He stared into my eyes, and I gasped. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. I’m just the messenger. But I have it on good authority that Sydney Parker rescinded her offer for a certain theater in town. She’s decided to wait until she can get a permit to build.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“She called me right before you got here and told me to pass the message along to you.”
An overwhelming wave of joy washed over me as Nan, Willa, Savannah, and Weston’s parents hollered in glee. Tears rolled down my cheeks faster than I could swipe them away.
“I can’t believe it.” My words were hardly audible through my sobs, but Weston pulled me close and whispered in my ear.
“Believe it, Georgia. You were meant to live here as much as I was meant to love you. Merry Christmas.”
Through my tears, I kissed his face over and over again. “I love you, too. Merry Christmas.”
After leaving a voice mail for my mom wishing her and the family a Merry Christmas, I walked into the living room, where Nan sat.
“I have something for you, Nan.”
Her eyes crinkled as she shuffled over to me in her bathrobe and slippers, spiced apple cider in her hand. The party at the Jameses had wound down around nine. We’d just gotten back to her cottage.
“You know how I feel about gifts, Georgia.”
“And you know that I warned you, so sit down.” I patted the couch cushion beside me.
“What a bossy little thing you’ve become.”
She sank down beside me, and I laid the package in her lap.
“Open it, Nan. It won’t bite you.”
After placing her cider on the side table, she leaned forward and carefully tore the paper away. Her hand moved to her face as she gasped.
“Georgia . . .”
“This was my favorite book you ever read to me, Nan. It will always remind me of you.”
“Oh, sweet girl, those are some of my best memories. You in your pigtails and nightgown snuggled up with me on the sofa. I love it. I absolutely love it. Thank you.”
She ran her hand over the front and the back and carefully flipped through the pages.
“So?” I asked.
“So . . . ?”
“Well, I may not have pigtails anymore, but I would still love to hear you read. It is Christmas night after all.”
Nan’s eyes were wet with tears. “I’d love nothing more.”
Although I now had a new ending in my head—with Laurie and Jo married with kids—I would relish each word of the book that had won my heart so many years ago.
Nan pulled me close, and I rested my head on her shoulder.
She cleared her throat and began.
“Chapter One . . .”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for your never-ending, all-consuming love that brings both purpose and passion to each manuscript I write. My life is yours.
Thank you to my husband, Tim Deese, who continues to set the example of unconditional love in our home on a daily basis. You are my heart.
Thank you to Kristin Avila, who listens and supports my ridiculously dramatic (and usually impromptu) story ideas while waiting in dark parking lots, eating in breakfast diners, and soaking our feet at our favorite nail salon. I love you oodles, friend!
Thank you to Britni Nash, who continually talks me off the ledge and leads me back to solid ground. Our Nutella Nights must never cease. I’m so grateful for friends who feel like family.
Thank you to Amy Matayo, who chats with me, laughs with me, commiserates with me, and most importantly, mentors me in this unique and crazy art of writing. You are fabulous, and I will never stop fan-girling over you. Ever. I heart you!
Thank you to Lara Brahms, who wins the award for most read-throughs of A Cliché Christmas. I love the way you discuss my characters like real people. Your texts and e-mails are my delight!