by Kat Baxter
“I saw who left this morning,” she says.
“Were you spying on me?”
She swallows and tilts her chin up. “I came over to welcome you back in town. I didn’t realize you’d have company.” Her arms cross over her chest and she narrows her gaze at me.
Her make-up is flawless and the designer clothes she’s wearing look more in line with Park Avenue than a cozy Texas beach town. I think back to that dress Ginger had one the first night I saw her. Chelsea would never be caught dead wearing something so gaudy or frivolous. It’s just another reason why everything about Ginger calls to me. She’s so authentic, fearless in her ability to be herself.
“I can’t believe you slept with her.”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with you.” I slip into the bathroom and pull on yesterday’s pair of jeans. “I’ll repeat, why are you here?” I ask her again when I step back out into the open space.
She closes the distance between us. “Now that you’re back, we can pick up where we left off.” Her French manicured fingers walk up my chest. “I’ve missed you.”
I swat her hand away. “There is no ‘we.’ I’m not getting back with you.”
“I can help you with that little gallery of yours. I’m sure Daddy has some contacts to get you a couple of real artists from New York or San Francisco.”
I shake my head because she just doesn’t get it. I fork my fingers through my hair. “I told you when you came to Paris, we are done. We’re never getting back together.”
She frowns and I half expect her to stomp her foot. She is not used to be denied anything she wants. Why she still wants me is a mystery.
“There are plenty of guys in this town that would be happy to be with you, Chelsea. Go pick one of them.”
Her lip curls. “I want my King back.”
It’s kinda sad that she’s still stuck in high school. I honestly don’t even know what to say.
“Seriously, Brock, what is wrong with you? Ginger Starr?”
“Chelsea, be very careful with what you say. You don’t know anything about her. You are half the woman Ginger is.”
She laughs. “Literally. How does it feel to bang someone so squishy?”
God, she’s a bitch. I step closer to look her straight in the face. I don’t want her to miss what I’m about to say. “I don’t want you.” I know it’s harsh, but I’ve tried kindness with her, and it didn’t sink in. I’m not sure this will either. “I want you to leave. There’s no place for you in my life now. And you’re not welcome in my home if you’re going to speak poorly about Ginger.” I make my way to my front door.
Chelsea glares. “I cannot believe you’d pick that short, fat girl over me.”
“I’d pick her again and again over you.” I open the door and wait for my ex-girlfriend to walk away. I can’t help wondering what I ever saw in her. Hormones and stupidity is all I can come up with as I watch her drive away in her shiny new beamer.
I check the kitchen, then go back over to my bed, looking for a note explaining Ginger’s absence, but I can’t find anything so I send her a text.
Me: Missed you this morning. Will I see you later?
Ginger: I’ll be downtown most of the day helping with the decorating.
Me: I’ll see you there.
Me: Had fun last night.
Ginger:
I’m assuming that means she had a good time, too. I know she came several times, which seemed to surprise her. It was hot as hell and I can’t wait to do it again.
It should probably make me nervous how much I’m craving her right now. It’s not just the sex either. I really enjoy her company. I was such a dick in high school and I’m pissed at myself for the wasted time. We were friends before and now we’ve reconnected. All that lost time I wasted on Chelsea and the dickheads I was friends with. I haven’t contacted any of them since I’ve been back in Texas. That should tell me something right there.
Ginger
I’m up to my elbows untangling lights for the trees on the courthouse square when I hear a familiar voice.
“Hey Ginger,” she says.
I don’t bother glancing up because I have nothing to say to her. “Hi Chelsea.” But I keep on with my untangling.
She leans on the railing of the gazebo where I’m set up with my task so I’m not sitting in the direct sunlight. I glance up at her briefly. She looks like she always does. Polished and perfect from head to toe. She’s tall and thin with shiny blonde hair—straight, of course—and crystal blue eyes. She’s a classic beauty, though I know from experience that it’s only skin deep with her.
“What do you need?” I ask her.
She chuckles. “I don’t need anything. Evidently you need a reminder of who Brock belongs to.”
My heart stutters and my stomach clenches. “I beg your pardon?”
“Brock. I just left his place. He texted me after you left this morning and we just got back together.” She pushes her glossy hair behind her shoulder. “I know you were with him last night.” Another breathy chuckle. “He was trying to prove a point to me. Trying to make me jealous. I just left his place about an hour ago. Don’t you love all the exposed bricks in his apartment. It’s just so European.”
This brings me to my feet. She’s been in his apartment. She’s not lying about that. My heart is pounding, echoing in my ears with a whoosh-whoosh sound. “And you and him are back together?”
She frowns then gives me a patronizing grin. “You didn’t think he’d really pick you, did you?” Her manicured hand settles on her chest to finger the diamond pendant. “Oh, you did. I’m so sorry.” She pats my hand with mock compassion, and I want to claw her eyes out.
My stomach is churning and I kinda want to throw up. I force a laugh out and I’m pleased it doesn’t sound fake. “Last night meant nothing to me. It was just sex.” I’m surprised I can even say those words because last night was so much more. “So if you want Brock, you can have him.” I drop the tangle of lights and pick up the clipboard my mom handed me earlier. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a list longer than my arm to tackle to make sure tonight’s lighting goes off without a hitch.” Then I walk away, holding my breath to keep my tears at bay. I barely make it into the bathroom at the bakery across the street before the tears burst through.
I should have known. I’m such a fool, thinking Brock would actually pick me. He could have any woman in this town. Even if Chelsea wasn’t in play.
I grab my phone.
Me: Just saw Chelsea, she said she’s back with Brock.
Annie: She’s a damn liar and a skank.
Me: You don’t know any of that. She knew what his apartment looks like, Annie. I knew this was too good to be true. Glad I found out before my heart was involved.
But the rate that my tears are falling tells me that my heart is more involved that I would like. Damn, damn, damn.
Chapter 7
Brock
I’ve seen glimpses of Ginger since I arrived at the town square, but every time I try to reach her, she disappears. I’m not sure what’s going on. When I finally make my way over to her, she won’t look at me. Instead she keeps her focus on the task of weaving lights through a small sage bush.
“Hey.” I lean over to kiss her and she shifts so that I end up colliding with her cheek.
“Hi.” Her voice is clipped and cold.
“Do you need any help?”
She glances at me briefly and there’s no warmth in her gaze.
What the hell is happening?
“I’ve got things under control here, but they probably could use help stringing the lights in the trees. I don’t do ladders so I’m working the shrubs.”
“Sure. Hey, are we okay?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“I don’t know.”
She nods toward the trees. “You can ask my dad over there what needs to be done. My mom isn’t letting him climb any ladders today.”
“Ye
ah, I’ll go do that.” I walk off and I’m confused as hell. I’ve got a knot in my stomach and my hands are sweating despite the pleasant breeze blowing today. We had an amazing time last night. We texted earlier in the day and she seemed fine. But now, something is definitely off. I go find her dad as she suggested and get to work on one of the trees. But an hour later when I see Ginger’s friend Annie walking around, I climb down and jog over to her.
“Hey, Annie.”
She looks up and grins. “Hey Brock. Welcome back.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I rub at the back of my neck. “Did Ginger talk to you about anything? About me?”
She frowns for a moment then tilts her head. “Did she ask you about Chelsea?”
“Chelsea? What the hell does she have to do with anything?”
“Chelsea came and told Ginger that the two of you were back together. She made it clear she’d been at your place this morning. Said you were using Ginger to make Chelsea jealous.”
“Oh for fucks sake.”
“I told Ginger to ask you about it before she believed it, because Chelsea is a liar, but I’m guessing that didn’t happen.”
I shake my head. “No. She just dismissed me.”
Annie blows out a breath. “Okay, what you need to know about Ginger is that her college boyfriend really screwed her over. Not only did he string her along—while screwing around on her—but when he finally broke things off he told her that she’d never be anyone’s first choice. She’d always be the rebound girl or an alternate, never the first pick.”
“What a dick!”
“Right. But that kind of stuff gets into your head. Even someone as centered as Ginger. Something about his words rang true for her, and I think Chelsea managed to hit on that.”
“But she is my choice. Even without Ginger, I wouldn’t want Chelsea again. But Ginger...” I wipe my hands down my face. “She’s amazing. I want a shot with her.”
“Then make her believe that.”
My heart speeds. Yeah, that’s what I need to do. I need to convince her. “How do I do that?”
“Figure out a way to let her know that you pick her. That she’s the one you want,” Annie says. Then she pats my shoulder. “Good luck. I’m rooting for you.”
“Heh...yeah, thanks.” Now I just need to find the perfect way to tell Ginger she belongs with me.
Ginger
Sometime around five that afternoon I managed to stop crying long enough to get the redness out of my eyes and reapply some light make-up. Waterproof mascara this time. Just in case. I’m wearing my favorite jeans and Christmas t-shirt and I’m determined to enjoy tonight. Or at least survive until I can get back to my tiny apartment and be alone.
Pretty much the entire town of Sand Dollar has shown up for tonight’s festivities and we’re all gathered on the town square. A million twinkle lights surround us and it’s hard not to feel a little holiday spirit. We’re standing in front of the gazebo waiting for the mayor to give a speech and then my mom is going to say some words about the fundraising and the silent auction going on.
Suddenly, the lights go black and there’s a collective groan in the crowd. I glance around trying to locate my mom, but I can’t really see much of anything. Annie is standing next to me and she grabs my elbow.
“I’m sure it’s just a glitch,” she says.
Then I hear the beginning sounds of the most annoying Christmas song ever. The bells and then Mariah Carey’s voice declaring she doesn’t want a lot for Christmas. A spotlight hits the center of the gazebo which is used as a stage for events like this. Someone slides out onto the stage wearing a Santa costume.
I know that’s not our mayor because this Santa is thin and fit. “What is going on?”
“Something special,” Annie says.
The spotlight zooms in and I realize that’s Brock up there. It’s not a full-blown Santa suit, or at least it’s the suit, only minus the beard and fat belly and he’s lip synching “All I Want For Christmas.”
“What is he doing?”
“I believe he figured out how to make his choice known.”
I glance over at Annie, because her words don’t make any sense. But she’s pushing me forward until I’m at the front of the crowd, standing right in front of the steps to the gazebo.
Brock continues to lip synch and dance around, the spotlight following him. And his eyes never leave my face. Then his voice rings out, singing along about how he wants me for his own. How I’m the only thing he wants for Christmas.
He’s pointing at me while wiggling his hips. Then he jumps down from the gazebo and pulls me in his arms. The spotlight follows him and now shines down on us.
“Ginger Starr, I’m falling fast and hard for you and I want a real shot. I want us to be together.”
My breath stops. Or maybe that was my heart. I hope I’m not blacking out at a time like this. I search his face and find only sincerity in his gaze. “What about Chelsea?”
“What about her?” He cups my face, looks into my eyes. “Do you really think I would have made love to you last night if it meant nothing to me? Did it feel like nothing to you?”
I shake my head. Tears are gathering in my eyes and I hate the fact that all of my emotions are processed through my damn tear ducts. “It felt like way more than nothing.” It felt like everything.
“Exactly. Will you be mine?”
I give him a watery laugh. “I think that’s a Valentine’s thing.”
“Well, now it’s a Christmas thing. Or just an everyday thing.” And just like that, all the lights come back on and the whole town is lit up like a perfect Christmas village. Well minus the cold weather and snow.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “I’ll be yours. I think I might already love you. Is that crazy?” I bite down on my lip, nervous at my admission.
“No, it’s not crazy because I’m pretty sure I already love you, too.”
And then he kisses me and the town around us cheers.
Epilogue
Ginger
One Year Later...
“Wake up, sleepy head.”
Brock’s voice filters into my dreams and I smile.
“I’m not ready to wake up. I was having an incredibly sexy dream about you.”
He kisses my eyelids, then my nose, then each cheek. “Wake up and we can act it out.”
I crack open one eye and I can’t help the wide grin I give him. “Why are you insisting I get up so early?”
He reaches for my hands and pulls me to my feet. “I want to show you something.”
I follow behind him as he leads me down the staircase to our living room. We moved in together six months ago, into the most adorable bungalow. He repurposed the apartment over his gallery to house the visiting artists and everything he’s done has been so great for the town. And I’ve never been happier. The lights are out, but the Christmas tree in front of the big picture window is all illuminated. My heart swells and I squeeze his hand.
“I love you,” I tell him.
He turns around to wink at me. “I know you do.”
I roll my eyes. I think back to that night, a year ago, when he first told me he loved me. After we left the town lighting and went back to his place. He’d sat me in the middle of his bed and pulled out a box from underneath. I’d opened it to find five years’ worth of postcards he’d written me and never sent. I smile at the memory and squeeze his hand.
“Come sit.” He drags me over to the rug in front of the seven-foot fir tree. “Tonight starts your parents’ parties.”
“I know. I can’t believe they’re doing another twelve days thing. You’d think all the drama from last year would have changed that.”
“Well the fundraiser was a huge success.” He gets down on the floor with me, and reaching into the tree he pulls out a gift bag. “I have something special I want you to wear tonight.”
A frown weighs down my brow. He never makes comments about my clothing other than to tell me when he thinks I look beautiful.
“Do you know what the theme is? My mom wouldn’t tell me.”
“Something about Christmas lights or sparkles or something,” he says, then he nods to the gift bag in my lap. “Open it.”
“If this is some skimpy lingerie, I’m not wearing it to my parents’ house.” But my hand doesn’t feel anything silky or soft. Instead, it grabs onto a small velvet box. My heart stops. Yep, I think I might need mouth to mouth to be resuscitated. Still, I pull it out and find an iconic blue box. “Oh my God, Brock.” I look up at him, and I know I’ve got damned tears in my eyes because I can’t do anything without crying.
But he’s kneeling in front of me and has the biggest grin on his face. “Ginger, I love you so damn much I can’t even believe it. I never thought I’d be this happy. But every day you surprise me and make me laugh and turn me on. I should have known when we were kids that we were meant to be, but I was just stupid and I’m so thankful you gave me another shot at getting us right. You’re the love of my life, and you’ll make my Christmas and pretty much my entire life if you’ll be my wife.”
The box is still sitting—unopened—in my palm, but I tackle him to the ground and kiss all over his face. “YES!”
He laughs, picks up the box where I’ve dropped it and opens it for me. “Don’t you want to see your ring?”
It’s simple and delicate and perfect. A round bezel-set single solitaire diamond in a plain platinum band. It’s exactly what I would have picked out myself.
He slides the ring onto my finger, and it fits perfectly.
I cup his face and kiss him. “I love you, Brock Daniels.”
“And I love you Ginger soon-to-be Daniels.”
“I never said I was taking your name.”
He rolls his eyes. “Do you have to be a pain in the ass about everything?”
“Probably.”