A Cross-Country Christmas(17)

No one to blame but himself. . .and not really what he wanted to be thinking about right now.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said.

“Are we ready to hit the road?” she asked.

All business, even at this hour. “Any more spider sightings?”

“No, no more spiders.” She looked a little embarrassed.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“I don’t usually sleep more than four hours a night,” she said.

He frowned. “That’s actually not healthy.”

“Sleeping is unproductive.”

He chose not to correct that flawed thinking and instead asked, “Hungry?

“No, not really,” she said. “We should get going. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get home.”

“And you’re anxious to get home?” The question was pointed, and it seemed to throw her for a split second. Will knew a lot about her family situation—more than most, he guessed. He didn’t blame her for staying away the past three years. Heck, even Spencer didn’t blame her. The drama with her parents was next level—they might as well have been on Jerry Springer.

It had to have been hard on her.

Was that why she was so cold? She was dreading Christmas at home?

She looked away and fidgeted with her necklace.

“So. . . breakfast?” He flashed a smile.

She tilted her head, giving in. “Fine.”

“Great! Grab your bags, and I’ll meet you at the car.”

“Can we just eat here?” she asked.

“Well,” he countered slowly, “we ate here last night. This trip is all about trying new things.”

She frowned. “And here I thought it was about getting it over with as quickly as possible.”

“Am I really that bad of company?” he asked, playfully.

“Not when you don’t talk.” Zing.

He noticed just a twitch of a smile on her face. She hit his fastball right up the middle for a single. He wound up for another pitch.

“Okay, okay, I see how it is. Maybe next time you want me to save you from spider puppies in your shower, don’t have your frilly pink bra hanging on the doorknob.”

“What?! You didn’t. . . ! Oh, my gosh. . .”

“You had, clothes hanging everywhere in the bathroom. It was like a laundromat in there.”

She was actually stammering, searching for something to say back.

Curve ball caught her looking.

“See? Isn’t this fun?”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun, Will Sinclair.” She smacked his arm, then turned, visibly embarrassed, and started back toward her room. She called over her shoulder, “I’ll meet you at the car!” Then added under her breath, “Jerk.”

He grinned. She was teasing. He frowned. At least he thought she was teasing.

Once they were in the Jeep, Will handed Lauren a cup of coffee. “It’s not a white chocolate mocha, but it’s caffeinated.”

She still seemed a bit embarrassed, though only slightly. “Thanks.”

“I figured we could put in some miles before we eat,” he said. “Do you want to look at what we’re doing today?”

“Does it involve driving as far as we can as fast as possible?” she asked. “Because that would be my vote.”

He glanced over at her as he put the car in reverse. “Do you know how much you’re missing in the moment by always wishing you were somewhere else?”

She sipped her coffee. “You think that I, in this moment, should want to be driving across the country with you?”

“No, only my bimbos would want to do that,” he quipped. “But you might have fun if you relax a little.”

She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “If you were facing the Christmas I’m facing, you wouldn’t be relaxed either.” She paused and looked down. “. . . and I’m sorry about the bimbos thing. That was rude.”

“An actual apology? I’m shocked by this turn of events.” He pulled out onto the road, then looked over at her and smiled.

He didn’t know Lauren. Not really. And yet, because of her brother, there would always be a part of him that felt responsible for her. She was important to Spencer, so that automatically made her important to him. And he quietly hated that she was dreading the holidays.

Holidays in his house were what he missed the most when he was away. He tried to get home every year, though this was the first time he’d driven. There was something about the way his family’s house smelled, pine trees and cinnamon, baking and blankets and fireplaces. The whole space was lit with those twinkling white lights his mom loved (“The colored ones are gaudy! White lights are elegant!”) and filled with the sound of family, of children, of Christmas carols. . . of home.

His family was also loud and nosy, fiercely close, and crazy competitive when it came to board games. He loved every single second of it.

And Christmas morning, he, his parents, his grandpa, his two sisters and their husbands would sit around the table in pajamas before opening presents, drinking coffee and eating the big, home-cooked breakfast his mother insisted on making.

Everyone should have that kind of Christmas.

Unfortunately, he knew he was the exception, not the rule. For Spencer and Lauren, the greatest gift on Christmas morning was parental silence. Too often, they were used as leverage in their parents’ never-ending argument. He knew they were overlooked, an afterthought, or worse yet, bargaining chips. . . and he hated that for both of them.