A Cross-Country Christmas(3)

The door swung open and Maddie let out an audible gasp.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

“If I hadn’t promised Dylan I’d meet his parents this Christmas, I’d be in that car so fast the Olympics would have to pin a number on me.”

“Wipe your mouth, you’re drooling. What would Dylan’s mother think?”

She shrugged, still looking at the door. “Maybe he’s different.”

“People don’t change, Maddie,” Lauren said.

She looked right at Lauren. “Sometimes they do,” she said. “And considering what he looks like, you might want to give him the benefit of the doubt.” She paused. “He’s looking around, Lo. Wave or something.”

Lauren’s stomach rolled over. She couldn’t bring herself to face him. The humiliation of the last time she saw him was so fresh it haunted her. And it had been years ago.

He probably doesn’t even remember. The words did little to comfort her. Yes, he’d been very drunk, but still—how could she assume he’d so easily forgotten something that had stuck with her so vividly?

“Hey, Will!” Maddie stood up and waved both hands, got his attention, and mouthed the words, Over here! while pointing at Lauren.

If Lauren could’ve burned a hole through Maddie’s face with a stare, she would’ve.

Maddie sat back down grinning open-mouthed, like her face was giving a thumbs-up. She reached across the table and put a hand on Lauren’s. “Even if he hasn’t changed, you have. You’re not that kid anymore, Lo. You’re a smart, intelligent, successful woman—who just happens to be terrified of flying.”

Lauren rolled in her lower lip as Maddie’s words sunk in, followed by a wave of conviction. “You know what? You’re right. I am all of those things. I’m not the girl who used to kiss her pillow and pretend it was Will Sinclair.”

Maddie’s jaw went slack as she looked over Lauren’s shoulder.

Oh, no. He’s right behind me.

Lauren’s heart raced like a dog in a house with an Amazon Prime truck pulling up outside. Heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks.

“Uh, Lauren?” The voice behind her stirred all the memories, the embarrassment of years of torch-carrying. The rejection. The foolish way she used to make up stories about how Will had to keep his true feelings for her a secret because of his friendship with her brother.

It all seemed so stupid now. She’d been such a fool!

She’d learned the truth about Will a long time ago—he was the same as everyone else. He couldn’t be trusted.

She turned toward the voice and threatened her heart to stop skipping beats, so help her God.

It would definitely be easier to remember why she hated him if he didn’t look like that.

As was customary with men, Will had only gotten better looking with age. He’d filled out, and according to a recent text from Spencer, he was coaching collegiate baseball. Must be one of those coaches who worked out with his players. She paused for a minute to let herself imagine what he looked like with his shirt off. How well-defined was his six-pack and what would it feel like under her fingers?

And how had Peggy Carter resisted the temptation to find out?

“Lo,” Maddie kicked her under the table, and Lauren realized she was staring.

She cleared her throat. “Hey, Will.”

He smiled. Darn that dimple. “You grew up.”

“Uh, yes,” Lauren fumbled with her words. “I take it you work out. . .uh. . .I’m glad you were able to work this out, this trip. . .out.” She pointed a finger at him, praying it would stop her mouth from flapping.

Mortification. Heat-flushed cheeks. Sweaty palms. Keep it together, Lauren.

She felt—not saw—Maddie’s horrified wide-eyed gaze on her.

“Yep! Timing worked out great.”

Lauren gave her friend what she hoped was a clear S.O.S.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Maddie blurted. “And smart and successful and—did you know she’s a set decorator on a sitcom? And an artist? But not one of those froofy artists who eat rocks and live off the land. Like, a real artist. She’s going to win an Emmy one day, just you wait. But you probably know all of this.”

So, Maddie must’ve interpreted her S.O.S. as Humiliate me further, please, I haven’t done a good enough job of that myself. Lauren kicked Maddie under the table. She didn’t even flinch. “I’m Maddie, the best friend.”

Will laughed. “I like you already, Maddie.” He leaned in closer to her, as if talking about Lauren like she wasn’t there, “And I did kind of already know that about Little Richmond, but thanks for letting me know.”

To Lauren, now undoubtedly beet red, “Are these your bags?” He glanced at the suitcase and bag sitting in their booth.

“Yeah,” she said, still flushed. “I’m an over-packer, so it’s kind of a lot. It’s part of why I don’t fly—I don’t want to find out my bag is overweight and then—whoops!—have to open it up and remove my underwear on the floor of the airport or whatever. So, I just kind of threw everything in, and this really wasn’t my idea, you know, to go home for Christmas and especially not to ride with you. . .”

Shut up shut up shut up shut up