A Cross-Country Christmas(19)

Another face. “It’ll be worth it?”

There was a question in his voice.

She groaned and faced him. “Even you don’t sound convinced.”

“No, it will. I was going to wake you and make sure it was okay, but you were so cute, you know, snoring and drooling and everything—”

“Knock it off,” she said lightly, but when she faced him, she realized he was serious. She’d been snoring and drooling?

“You know you talk in your sleep, right?” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned at her.

“No, I don’t.” Do I?

He tossed her a teasing look, and her heartrate kicked up. What if she’d said something embarrassing? Wouldn’t that be par for the course? She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and searched her mind for something—anything—to say. “What exactly do you have planned for this ‘great little mountain town’?”

“So many things,” he said.

“And it’s adding how many hours to our trip?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just see where the road takes us.”

She chuckled, but not because she thought it was funny. She repeated, matching his inflection, “Let’s just see where the road takes us?”

“Now you’re getting it.” His smile widened.

“That sounds like something you’d embroider on a pillow,” she countered.

She could sense the amusement on his face, even in the dark.

“What’s it like not to take anything seriously?” She tried to keep her tone light, but it didn’t exactly work. She was annoyed. She didn’t have an indefinite number of days off of work, and she really didn’t love spending any extra time in this car with Will, trying to focus only on his bad qualities—especially since it was getting more and more difficult to do so the longer they were cooped up together.

“I take plenty of things seriously.” He focused on the road. “I just don’t take everything seriously. I guess that’s how we’re different.”

She chewed the inside of her lip.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re being like this because you don’t want to go home for Christmas or because you just really don’t like me.”

If only that were true.

“Or both.” He laughed. “Maybe it’s both.”

She stared at him, caught.

“But I’m not sure why?”

She turned away and clenched her jaw, the words she wanted to blurt firmly held behind her teeth. She hadn’t expected him to be so forthright. It threw her for a loop.

A long, awkward pause hung in the air. Lauren’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for a reply that would sound plausible, a neighbor to the truth but definitely not the truth. How did she explain how awkward this was for her? Being here, now, with him? It’s not like she could say, “Well, I have to ruminate on every negative thing about you because if I don’t, I’m likely to fall for you all over again. Oh, yeah, did I fail to mention my crippling crush on you?”

She didn’t dare tell him all the ways she’d dreamed of him and for so many years, and then, when they finally—finally—shared a moment, just the two of them, it was one of the biggest disappointments of her life.

And she was 98% sure he didn’t even remember it. Or worse, he pretended not to.

She supposed that’s what happened when you built a person up. The truth was, she didn’t know Will, not really. She never had. She’d fixated on who she thought he was—made him the person she needed at the time. The reality was such a heartbreaking kick in the teeth, it left her feeling humiliated and ridiculous, and she needed no help feeling either of those things.

Maybe she was being too hard on him. She was acting out of her own experience without cluing him in. It wasn’t fair.

Will glanced over at her several times, and finally said, “I mean, I get why you’re not anxious to go home—and I know we were never friends, but I’m a pretty likable guy. This could even be fun.”

Thankfully, before she could respond, a sign crested over the rise in the road—"El Muérdago.”

Will slowed to twenty-five, then twenty, then fifteen. Lauren could hear the soft crunch of the snow under the tires. She straightened up in her seat and stared. . . El Muérdago was seemingly cut and pasted from the front of a Christmas postcard.

Tiny twinkle lights were draped through the trees surrounding a large lake, and all around the perimeter were glowing luminaries. The road took them into a well-lit area marked “Old Plaza,” where people darted across the street, shopping, laughing, celebrating. A live nativity caught her eye as they drove by, and the store fronts boasted festive displays.

A Santa stood on the corner, ringing a Salvation Army bell, while big wreaths with giant red bows hung from each lamp post.

“Look, tomorrow is a torchlight parade and tree lighting.” Will read one of the many signs detailing the activities that were apparently scheduled for the week. “Not sure what a torchlight parade is, but it sounds festive.”

“But we won’t be here tomorrow,” she said. “Right?”

“I told you,” he smiled, “no plans.”

She groaned. She should’ve taken a bus. She hadn’t because she didn’t want to be at the mercy of a bus schedule, but, as it turned out, being at the mercy of a Will Sinclair schedule was far worse.