A Cross-Country Christmas(42)

Now, the heater in the hotel room clicked off, leaving behind a ringing silence. Lauren wiped her cheeks dry and flipped her pillow over to the dry side.

“Did you ever get your pony cake?”

Will broke the stillness, and she couldn’t contain a laugh.

Laughing through tears is an underrated emotion.

“No,” she said. “No pony cake. Mom never picked it up.” She was sad all over again at such a silly thing.

“So that’s why you hate holidays,” he said—a statement, not a question.

In a flash, she was laying on Will’s bed at his house, after the party, whispering secrets in the dark.

She forced the unwanted memory out of her mind. “I guess so.” She wiped her cheeks dry. “Nothing was ever the same after that. Our parents were forever on opposite sides of a civil war, and Spencer and I got caught in the crossfire. He started hanging out away from home more.”

“Yeah, he never really went into the details of it, but he was over at our house. A lot.”

She secretly wished she had done the same.

“I didn’t have anyone,” she confessed. “I spent a lot more time alone. I loved reading, and I know it sounds stupid, but the characters in the books I read became my best friends. The only ones who would never hurt me.”

Silence in the dark.

After a moment, Will said, “You know your parents’ issues had nothing to do with you, right?”

She scoffed. “I mean, I guess I know that.”

“They were selfish,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I think we were just in the way.” She sighed. “I got used to being by myself, so I stopped feeling bad about that.”

“Do you think that’s why you’re always working?” he asked. “I mean, it’s a sure-fire way to avoid opening up to people—staying busy with other things.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Maybe. Or maybe I feel like it’s the only thing I really have in my life, so why not throw everything into it?”

“The only thing?”

She laughed sadly. “Pretty much.”

“No boyfriend?” he asked.

“Nope,” she said. “I don’t mind being alone.” But the words didn’t ring true. She added, quietly, “People just can’t be trusted.”

He was quiet for a few long seconds, and she wondered if maybe he’d fallen asleep. But then he said, in a silly superhero voice, “You know who can be trusted?” She could hear the smile in his voice. Leave it to Will to lighten the mood.

She winced, knowing this was going to be ridiculous. “Who?”

“KRIS KRINGLE!”

She groaned and threw a pillow at him.

He continued, unabashed. “Father Christmas! Papa Noel! The Plumper in the Jumper!”

“The what? You totally made that up just now.”

“I did, but it’s kind of catchy, right? I think we’ll pay him a visit before we head out of town.”

“You’re nuts,” she said.

“I’m going to restore your faith in humanity, Lauren Richmond, if it’s the last thing I do.”

She knew he couldn’t single-handedly fix everything that was wrong with her outlook on life, but the tiniest sliver of her wanted to believe it.

“That’s a tall order, Mr. Sinclair,” she said.

“Eh, I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Okay, well, are you up for the challenge of getting us home before the New Year?”

“Ooh, I hear that Type A control freak trying to rush me along,” he said. “And I will remind you—I’m in no hurry.”

And for the first time, she thought that maybe, in spite of her need to make and stick to a plan—she was in no hurry either.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.





Chapter 19





Road Trip Day Four





Lauren woke the next morning, squinting in the light to find Will sitting at the small table beside the bed. There were two disposable cups of what she could only hope was coffee in front of him. She was instantly concerned that she had drooled or that her hair was matted to the side of her face.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, as she tried to covertly paw at her hair. “Got you some coffee.”

“Praise the Lord.” She reached for it, but he pulled it away.

“Not so fast,” he said.

She groaned. “This is actual torture, you know that, right?”

“You have to sing your favorite Christmas carol to get it,” he said.

“I need to. . .what? No, forget it.” She covered her head with her pillow, trying to keep from smelling the sweet smell of heaven’s nectar.

“Come on,” he said. “Operation Restore Christmas spirit continues today.”

“You know that acronym is ORC, right?”

“It’s a work in progress. The finer details haven’t been worked out yet.”

She lifted the pillow and glared at him from underneath. “Using coffee against me is a low blow, Sinclair.”

He shook the cup slowly, bringing it up to his nose in a comical whiff. “It’s a white chocolate mocha.”