The party is at full force when I open the door. The hosts, celebrities I never made the time to get to know, are in front of the camera near the front door. Fine by me, they can have the limelight.
I want Brooke. I search the room for her once more. Every woman in the room is breathtaking. I doubt a single one of them has spared any expense tonight. Blondes, brunettes, even a couple redheads, but I can’t find Brooke.
I worry she’s decided to stay away, but I spot her in the crowd. Her dress is vintage, but not the haute couture vintage like the rest of the room. It’s more like the dresses I saw in the windows of thrift stores where I bought my jeans with what little money I had as a teen. Without asking, I’m positive it used to be her grandmother’s. I feel honored to see her in it, considering the high esteem she holds for them.
The rest of the room pales compared to her. Even in a black dress, she’s the brightest star calling me home. I’m about to go to her when Andrew beats me to the punch. I watch in morbid fascination as my agent whispers something and leads her from the room.
This is it. This is the moment where he’ll feed her the lines he wants her to say. I can’t let it happen. I’m stopping this right now. I push through a small crowd, prepared to break up whatever plans Andrew has set for the night.
✽ ✽ ✽
Brooke
“Evan told me you know everything.” Andrew stands closer than I prefer, but he insisted this space of hallway is the only blind spot in the whole first floor. If I want to keep this private, I have no choice but to stay put. “But I doubt he painted an accurate picture of who he was back then.”
“He told me he was homeless.” Frustration with Andrew’s condescending tone tinges my words. “Seems like a descriptive picture to me.”
“Did he tell you he used to get in fights? He used to steal and lie? I’d wager he left those parts out.” He watches my face for a reaction. “He cursed more than he spoke. I doubt he knew more than fifty words that weren’t obscene.”
“He was trying to survive. I wouldn’t fault him any of it. I’ve never been out on the streets, so who am I to judge?”
Andrew laughs, but it’s all air. “You’re every bit as wholesome as he claims you are, aren’t you? Nothing like the women he normally goes for.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, Evan has a way with the ladies.” He leans closer. “A new one every week. No different around here, except the pickings are a little slim. I guess I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
I hate what he’s implying. I hate it more that I believe him. Most of my guests are married or ancient. Maybe I’ve been convenient, that’s all.
“What did you need to talk to me about?”
“Right to the point, I like that.” Andrew straightens his perfect tie. “In order to pull this off, we need the audience to believe you’re really spilling your heart out to him. I don’t know what you have planned, but I have a few ideas.”
“Ideas?”
“You know, the normal reality TV script. You’ve changed my life, I’m a new person, maybe even toss in I love you for good measure.”
“You want me to tell Evan I love him?” My heart squeezes tight. “On national television? For the first time?”
Andrew smiles, but I doubt he’s happy. He looks over my shoulder at the party. “Will that be a problem?”
“I don’t see the point in saying it.”
“It’s just words, Brooke.” Andrew tilts his head as if weighing a thought. “Unless you’ve actually fallen in love with him. I could see the conflict in that case.”
I want nothing more than to run away. He’s the last person on earth I want to discuss this with. My stomach kinks hard.
“No,” I lie, “I don’t love Evan.”
That awful smile on Andrew’s face spreads wide. “Then you’ll have no problem saying it.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Evan
She doesn’t love me. I heard it straight from her lips. I fall back a step, away from where Andrew has her cornered. I can’t escape fast enough. I shove past a couple people when they won’t move. Andrew did that for me, like a cruel gift. He looked over her shoulder, saw me, and forced that confession from her.
She doesn’t love me.
“And here he is! The man of the hour! Mr. Evan Skruggs!”
I look up into the dark void of three camera lenses. The host claps me hard on the back. I nearly stumble forward. They’re still talking, both hosts, and I should listen. I should jump in on the banter, try to be charming, but I feel like I’m recovering from a sucker punch. Breathing is hardly an option, never mind coherent thought.
“Tell us, Evan,” The woman’s dress catches the light, temporarily blinding me for a moment, “what is your favorite childhood Christmas memory?”
I’m tired of lying. I’m tired of evading the questions. If they want a bad boy, I can give them a bad boy.
“I remember one year, all of us teens huddled over a rusted out barrel. Cooper found a box of shredded paper, and we lit it on fire. At least we were warm for once.”
The woman’s face pales. The man’s eyes widen. A soft hand slips over mine. The woman who doesn’t love me eases in beside me.
Brooke laughs as if it’s all a joke. “Evan used to play with the neighborhood boys. They burned all the wrapping paper after the presents were opened and roasted marshmallows like they were camping.”
“Yeah,” her fingers slip between mine, and I force a cramped smile, “camping year round, no matter the weather.”
The female host laughs nervously as if she doesn’t know what to do with me. Join the club, I’m not sure myself.
“And Brooke, how about you?” The male host tries to shift the attention away from me. “Any holiday memories involving fire?”
Her smile comes easy. It always does. “My parents died when I was young. I was raised by my grandparents. Grandpapa used to light a fire every night in this fireplace, except for Christmas Eve. He never wanted to burn Santa on his way down.”
Her words change the air, smoothing wrinkles I made with my near-confession. The hosts stick it out for a couple more minutes of gentle chitchat before they cut away for a commercial. Brooke’s eyes fall shut the second they call the all clear.
“What was that?” she whispers. “You realize rusted out burn barrels aren’t typical memories.”
“I don’t have typical memories.” I rub my thumb over her hand, needing to remind myself that, for at least a second, she’s with me. “I thought I’d try honesty.”
“You’ll lose your deal if you’re not careful.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I should tell them everything.” I watch for her reaction, hopeful that she’s willing to follow me down this path. Her eyes search my face. She pulls her hand free, but I recapture it before she can leave. “Come on, I need to talk to you.”
I half-lead, half-drag her to the other side of the house. The dining room is packed with people, the solarium is full of dancing couples. I split the difference and pull her to a stop under the doorway between the two.
“What if I did it?” I stay close with my back to the cameraman in the dining room. “What if I told them everything?”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” I steal a glance at her lips. “What would you do if I told them?”
“It’s not about me, Evan. You have people waiting on you, counting on you. We’ve been over this a hundred times.”
“And if I let it all fall apart? If I gave it all away? What would you do?”
She’s watching me like a cornered animal. “Why does it matter? Why do you care?”
“I need an answer, Brooke.” I take both her arms to keep her from fleeing. “Tell me what you’d do if I had nothing.”
“You’re talking crazy.”
I go at it from a new direction. “Having me here, all the publicity, did it work? Did it save your inn?”
She stutters over her answer. My hea
rtbeat hitches at her hesitation. “Yes, I mean, for now. I’m caught up on bills for the most part.”
“Is that why you did it?”
Her bottom lip quivers once. “I told you in the beginning that was why I agreed to this.”
“Why do you like me, Brooke? No one else does.” If I’m about to throw my life away, I need to know. I catch her face with my hand, running my thumb over her cheek. “Why do you like me?”
“Evan, you’re scaring me. Has the plan changed? I just talked with Andrew. He told me what to say, but—”
“I know. I heard you.”
“You heard me?” Her eyes betray her fear. “You were listening?”
I’m about to answer, but the hosts make their entrance, cameras close behind.
“Well, here they are! The happy couple! And look at that, Margo. They’re under mistletoe.”
I glance up. Hidden between the lit garland and ribbons, dead center over our heads, a sprig of mistletoe stares down at me. It’s the last thing I need right now.
“Give us a minute, will you?” Too much of the old me bleeds through my tone, impatient, frustrated, annoyed. Maybe Andrew is right. Maybe I’m fooling myself to think I could change.
“Oh, give us a kiss, and we’ll give you more than a minute, you big lover boy!” Margo’s cheeks flush red. I doubt that’s her first red wine. “Or, Brooke, you move out of the way and mama will give him a spin.”
“Do I get a say in this at all?” I don’t mean it like a joke, but the entire room bursts into laughter.
Brooke’s hand catches my arm. Her heat hijacks my attention, closer than before. Her lips brush my ear as she whispers, “Give them what they want, and they’ll leave us alone.”
“But you didn’t want to.” I don’t bother to hide what I’m saying. I don’t care anymore. I’m done with their games.
“It’s fine.” She closes her eyes, waiting with parted lips. I mean to give a peck, something to appease the masses in the room and at home watching, but the second my lips touch hers…
I melt.
✽ ✽ ✽
Brooke
Evan’s lips linger after the first kiss, like he’s forgotten how it felt. I know the feeling. I don’t pull back. I stay close, hoping it translates as permission. There’s a reason I wouldn’t let him kiss me this morning, I doubted my ability to keep up our charade.
The second he presses close again, all my willpower to keep him from my heart evaporates. My pulse races, climbing up my throat until tears tease my eyes. It’s too perfect, too much of what I’ve been searching for, too much that I don’t want to let go. The rest of the room disappears, other than an occasional whoop that reminds me we aren’t alone. Evan’s fingers thread into my hair, his opposite hand clutches my waist. It’s not the same passionate revelry we felt in the billiard room. It’s deeper, softer, but more. As if it’s not just our lips meeting, but our souls as well. For the first time in a year, I don’t feel alone.
I lied to Andrew. I love Evan. I love him more than I thought possible. I know if it were different, I’d love him more every day. I’d look forward to kissing him every morning, and end every day hanging from his lips. He asked me why I liked him, but he should have asked why I love him.
I love the way he smiles without ever moving his lips. It’s all in his eyes. I love what he’s overcome, how he’s humble about it when others would brag and look for a handout. I love our fights, with and without sugar, and his fierce connection to me even if I don’t entirely understand it. He’s laughter and passion, and a pool shark in one, and how could I not love him? He gives with an open heart, more than I ever could hope to. He looks for nothing in return, not recognition, not a tradeoff. Evan is everything I’ve always longed for, and yet nothing I can keep.
The kiss falls apart the second he feels my tears against his skin. He pulls back, searching my face for an answer, but it’s something I promised I wouldn’t say. I can’t let him know how much this will hurt me. He wipes at the tear as if brushing my hair back. Questions build behind his eyes. The hosts are talking again, but it doesn’t matter.
The clock says seven.
It’s time.
He played the part well. I almost believed his feelings were real. I lean close, mouth against his ear. “At least that will give them something to talk about.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Evan
My heart hits my shoes. Or maybe it disintegrates entirely. I never had a use for it before Brooke. I won’t need it now. For a breath or two, I thought she meant it. The kiss was perfect, not rushed, not passionate, at least not in the way that I’m used to. It was unfamiliar to someone like me, a kiss that meant more than two people lost in a moment. We were lost in each other. At least, that’s what I thought.
Andrew motions to the clock. He’s in a hurry to get his new life. The dollar signs in his mind might as well be snowflakes in the storm building outside. She never answered my questions, but I guess in some way she did. If she’s in it for the money, if she’s looking for a way to save her inn, if this was all a means to an end, then Andrew’s right and none of it was real.
If it’s not real, then I have no other option.
“Evan.” She smiles, but I see the tears waiting to fall. “I wanted to tell you how much this time together has changed my life. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I look forward to seeing you every morning, and I miss you every night. I feel like fate brought you to me, or maybe Santa Claus. You’re the perfect gift.”
A tremble clutches not only her lips, but her frame. I resist the urge to rub my palms over her arms to warm her up. I doubt she’s cold, at least not physically. I feel the emotional chill in the air. We’re forcing our relationship into a casket, throwing five gallons of ice water over a fire still burning bright, or at least my side of it is.
“Stay for Christmas. Don’t leave. Stay here, with me. No cameras, no press, just us. I know it sounds crazy after such a short time, but these feelings are real.”
She won’t look at me. She’s talking to her shoes. I wish she’d look up. I need to look in her eyes to know if she’s saying Andrew’s lines, or if she’s gone off script. Every word quickens my breathing, as if she’s stealing the air from the room with each new sentence. Time is slipping through my fingers like grains of sugar. I have to make a choice to come clean, or follow Andrew again.
“What I’m trying to say is,” her voice cracks, “I love you.”
Look up, Brooke.
But she doesn’t. Over her shoulder Andrew motions for me to go through with it. If he’s right, if she was only trying to save her inn, then I have no guilt at this point.
“I’m sorry, Brooke. I can’t stay.” I say the line Andrew rehearsed with me back in my room. “I’ve got business to attend to. I had a lot of fun here, but that’s all this was.”
Every eye in the room watches us. The music was silenced at some point during her confession. This can’t be real life. None of this is real. Why do I feel so miserable? No matter how hard I try, I can’t pull myself from the illusion.
She finally looks up. Red splotches her cheeks. Tears stream from her eyes. She turns her lips together and tightens them until they disappear. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
It’s not. I’m not sure about anything anymore. It’s like looking into the future, wondering if this will be the choice that derails my life forever. Will this be the moment I regret, or the moment I set my future in motion?
“Yes,” I force the word out. “I’m sorry.”
Her body caves forward, not a full collapse, but as if a puppeteer cuts three of her strings. Her lip quivers. She sucks in a quick breath. “But I fell in love with you, Evan.”
She’s not lying. The truth slams against me like a freight train. Confusion clouds my thoughts. I don’t know what to do. I can’t say my last line. I’m not strong enough. Andrew rolls his hands in my peripheral vision, urging me onward. Everyone is depending on me. Love or not, I ca
n’t let them down. I’ve come too far now. I have to follow through.
“This wasn’t real. I don’t love you.” It falls out like the trained monkey he’s conditioned me to be. Her slap catches me hard across the face. The sting burns worse than when I hit the element in the oven. I can’t breathe. Tears spring to my eyes. Brooke runs from the room. I move to follow her, but Andrew catches my arm.
“That’s it everybody. Clear it down, let’s pack it up and go. Great show!” The crew starts pulling equipment from stands, gathering boxes from the closets, erasing any sign that we’ve ever been here.
Andrew pats my back. “Evan, that was a masterpiece. We’ll fix the rest in editing, but in the meantime, you’ve got a plane to catch.”
He pushes me toward the door. I stare at the stairwell, willing Brooke to come back down, but she’s gone. If she was lying to me, she never loved me anyway. If she was telling the truth, she hates me now for what I said.
Either way, I’ve lost her.
Chapter 22
Brooke
Life after love, is it really a thing? I’m still not sure. It’s been a week since the camera crews cut out and Evan vanished from my life. I saw him two days ago, but it was on a late night show. They asked him about his new company, that girl he dated at the inn, and where he learned to cook. True to his character, he dodged everything but the question about his company. At least he’s not trying to drag me through the mud. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.
The inn has been overbooked for the last week. Everyone wants Evan’s room. I charged triple the last three nights, and no one bats an eye. If I hadn’t changed the sheets they might have paid quadruple.
Too many single, lonely women in this world. And I’m leading the pack.
Three days ago he sent me a package. Well, I assume it was him. I suppose he probably has secretaries and assistants who do menial labor on his behalf, but his signature marked the inside cover of his Christmas with Granny cookbook. Above his autograph, he scrawled the words, “Sweet dreams, always of you”. There’s a heart to the left of his signature, but it could mean anything. For all I know, he has a stamp.
Christmas With Granny McPherson Page 17