A Cross-Country Christmas(43)

She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Where did you find that?”

“Coffee shop around the corner,” he said. “I went out early to say goodbye to Jackson.”

She found herself loving that he did that, and then hating that she was loving that he did that.

“You did?”

“Is that okay? I figured you’d want to get on the road right after we visit Santa.”

“Okay, first, we are not visiting Santa.”

Shrug. “Ok, but no gifts this year then.”

“Don’t care. And second, I do want to get on the road. We’ve been gone four days and we’re still in New Mexico. But. . .”

“But. . .?”

“But I kind of wanted to say goodbye to Rosa,” she said.

Mock horror splashed across his face. “Lauren Richmond, are you getting attached to another human being?”

She picked up another pillow and threw it at him. He dodged out of the way—and thankfully managed not to spill the coffee. “Can I have my coffee now?”

“You know what you have to do.” He took a sip from the other cup. “Mmm. . . this is so good. Definitely the best coffee I’ve had on this trip.”

Lauren weighed her options. He was her ride, so it wasn’t like she had control over whether she got to stop for coffee at any point once they got on the highway. And the smell had successfully infiltrated her nose, wetting her taste buds with that flavor she’d grown to crave.

She was a caffeine addict, and she really didn’t care.

She sat there for at least twenty seconds, glaring, trying to figure out a way to get the coffee without singing a stupid Christmas carol, but when she came up empty, she decided to dive in headfirst and call his bluff.

Lauren knelt up in the bed, took a breath and began to sing “White Christmas.” Even though it was morning and she’d just woken up, her voice was clear and strong. She sang it as if she truly wished for every word of that song to be true.

In the middle of a hotel room, in front of a guy holding two cups of coffee, in a town whose name meant ‘Mistletoe,’ Lauren sang with an ease like she had been doing it all her life.

Will, for what she was sure was the first time in a long time, was speechless.

She nimbly got out of the bed, walked over to his frozen outstretched hand, and plucked the cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” she quipped, owning the moment, sipping the beautifully warm, slightly bitter drink.

He shook his head as if to come to his senses. “That was. . .” he started, then stopped. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I’ll tell you what I wouldn’t do—I wouldn’t make someone do tricks for coffee when it’s seven in the morning!” She scolded. “You’re doing a terrible job of being my friend!”

He stood, facing her, only a few inches between them. He met her eyes.

“Who says I want to be ‘just your friend?’”

A world of emotions rushed at her, and she took a step back. “Knock it off, Sinclair. Your charm doesn’t work on me.” She pushed past him into the bathroom and closed the door, heart pounding so loudly she wondered if he could hear it in the next room.

“Get it together, Lauren.” She whispered to her reflection. “His charm doesn’t work on you.”

She didn’t even believe it a little.

So, where did that leave her?

One step closer to another broken heart, she was afraid.





Will made good on his promise.

She knew the instant they got back in the car they weren’t headed out of town.

They were headed for Main Street.

They were headed for Santa.

Will parked in a lot across the street from what appeared to be an entire block that had been turned into Santa’s Village. Lauren took one look at the long line filled with children—some of them crying, some of them hiding behind their mothers, one of them running around in circles pretending to shoot everyone else in the line (for some reason she thought about Red Ryder Carbine Action BB guns) and she shook her head.

“We are not doing this.”

“I promise you we are.” He flashed her that grin that was altogether too happy for this time of day and this particular circumstance, and then he got out of the car.

She groaned like a kid being dragged around shoe-shopping.

They took their spots at the back of the line, and a little girl looked up at them and said, “You’re too old to visit Santa.”

Will knelt, looked her square in the face and said, “You’re never too old to visit Santa.”

He was so earnest when he said it that the girl’s mother swooned. Lauren was both jealous and comforted by the fact that she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist Will’s charisma.

When they finally reached the front of the line, he gleefully stepped forward. The man in the Santa suit looked surprised. “Well, young man, you’re a little older than most of the children I’ve seen. What can I do for you?”

“Not for me.” Will ushered Lauren forward. “For my friend. She’s lost her Christmas spirit.”

“Is that right?” Santa ho-ho-ho’d, hands propped on his very real bowl full of jelly.

Lauren had to give the guy credit. His beard was real—not one of those cotton ones that hung over his ears—and he wore a pair of small circle glasses, which added to the overall Vintage Santa look.