Unforgettable Christmas - Gifts of Love (The Unforgettables Book 3)

by Mimi Barbour

  Lara knew the dark times, the times when Crysta hadn’t been sure she could go on—but her friend had been there and listened. Supported her. They’d gotten their first tattoos together, little hearts on their ankles at sixteen.

  “I am not saying yes. I don’t know.”

  “Take your time.” Lara poured them each iced tea. “Can I read the stuff from the doctor’s office?”

  Crysta gestured to the stack of paperwork on the table, and Lara scanned the information. “Wow. Seeing it in print makes it real, doesn’t it?” She flipped the page.

  Scared to the point of chills, Crysta agreed in tight tones. “Yes, very real.”

  “So, what have you decided to do for work?” Lara straightened the papers, her face pale beneath her freckles. “I will help however I can.”

  Crysta chased a carrot around her plate with her fork. “I only have a little bit in savings, since I wiped that out when I bought my condo last year. And Lara, I have to get a car. I can’t borrow yours all the time. I’ll need to take out a car loan.”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  “You can get something used, and good, for around ten thousand.” Lara tapped her phone with a long aqua blue fingernail. “We can look after dinner.”

  Ten thousand? Crysta set her fork down with a clank. Where would she get that kind of money? “I kept hoping Jimmi would call me back to offer me a job.” She scoffed at herself. “Like he couldn’t manage without me. What was I thinking? I’m sure Porche fit herself right in. Stylists are a dime a dozen.”

  “Not ones as talented as you are,” Lara said with loyalty. “Have you filed for unemployment? That might help, until you find something.”

  “I’ll do that tomorrow, first thing.” She scooped up a forkful of corkscrew pasta and a tiny chunk of tender beef. “Oh my God. This is really good.” Hormonal tears welled as she pictured herself as big as Fat Lulu, a popular stylist in LA. “Can you imagine me fat?”

  “Keep dreaming.”

  She had been dreaming. Of a different kind of life, one that she had never wanted—how was it possible to change so much in less than a week? “Let’s just say that I go through with this pregnancy…” Crysta’s heart filled with equal parts fear and warmth. “I don’t think I’m going to tell Dillon. It would be my choice to keep the baby, and he has really good reasons for not wanting kids. It wouldn’t be right for me to ruin his life.”

  Lara leaned forward, her blue eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t ruin his life, Crysta. Don’t decide about that for him just yet.”

  “Nothing is for sure, I know.” She wouldn’t commit, but in her heart, she already had. It was so freaking scary. The mistakes she could make were like a minefield before her and she had on a blindfold.

  Her phone rang and her heart stopped for a second, then pounded out of sync. “It’s Dillon,” she said, looking at Lara.

  Her friend nodded at her to answer. But what could she say? Finding out she was pregnant had already cost her a job. Her reputation shredded, as evidenced by the fact that none of her so-called friends had been in touch. She had to buy a car, look for work, and figure out how to be a mom. There was a very long road ahead.

  It wasn’t right to put the burden on him. It had been an accident, plain and simple.

  She let it go to voicemail, and he hung up rather than leave a message.

  “It’s for the best,” she told Lara.

  “You’re chicken.”

  “I am not!”

  “Are too. But hey, I love you anyway.” Lara took a sip of iced tea and thankfully changed the subject. “So, are you going to do a reveal party?”

  “What the heck is that?” She got up and stacked the dishes in the sink.

  “When you find out what gender the baby is—you have a party. Cake and prizes.”

  “No parties.” Lara loved parties, of all kinds. Crysta was more discerning in what invites she accepted.

  “You need a baby shower. That’s where your friends get to buy you stuff. For the baby.”

  “I am not doing that.” She rinsed the plates, then turned, her back to the sink so she could look at Lara.

  Lara scooped crumbs into a napkin, but stayed seated. “You get to play shower games—they’re fun.”

  “You are such a girl,” Crysta said with a shake of her head. “I never went to those. My friends drink champagne and eat caviar.” Her eyes filled hotly. “Or used to.”

  “It’s only been a few days.”

  “Gossip spreads so fast in salons. You know they all heard and they are keeping their distance, as if pregnancy was contagious.” She used to feel the same. But now? She wiped at her eyes. “Damn it, I haven’t cried this much since my first period.”

  Lara laughed. “I was so glad you got yours first. I’ve always looked up to you, you are so much braver than me.”

  “I would never have the guts to sing in front of thousands of people.”

  Lara crushed her paper napkin and shrugged. “It won’t make me a million dollars, but that’s all right. I’m happy. Until Mr. Right comes along and sweeps me off my cowboy boots, I’ll keep singing.”

  “You don’t need Mr. Right.” Crysta patted her stomach. “Life is what happens while you’re making plans.”

  Chapter Four

  August

  Crysta woke from an urgent dream and pushed the covers of her bed to the floor, almost knocking over the stand of artificial bamboo she’d used as a room divider. What had been the message? What had she missed?

  She sat down at the kitchen table with a pen and paper, keeping the black sheers closed and the apartment dim. Last week she’d applied for jobs at studios that would be similar to DeVine. As she’d feared, the rumor mill preceded her and not one of the five salons called her back—despite her awards and certifications.

  Worry over money, combined with impending motherhood, made it difficult to sleep. So what had awakened her subconscious so forcefully?

  She tapped the end of the pen to the notepad. Latisha at Hair Essential had been so rude, whispering “slut” as she’d left the salon. It was humiliating to have been at the top of her game in the industry and get zero respect now. I would never do that, she thought. If I had my own salon…

  The light went on in a giant flash and she dropped the pen and jumped up.

  What would it take to open her own salon? She could set her own hours, and her own rates. She texted Lara to call her as soon as she had a free second. In the meantime, she cracked open her laptop and got busy researching.

  Lara called at noon, her voice sleepy. “Hey, are you okay? I just woke up. We had a wild time last night, playing in Pompano Beach. You should have come.”

  “I was too tired for fun. It’s normal—I looked it up online. Hey, what do you think about me opening my own salon?”

  “I think it’s great—but I thought you were broke.”

  She took a fortifying breath. “I have a call in to the bank manager to see about a small business loan. I even prepared a business plan. That used to be my retirement idea, but why not do it sooner?”

  “I’m so proud of you!”

  “It’s a step forward, anyway.” Crysta walked to her balcony and watched the ocean horizon—blue sky on blue water, endless possibilities. So much was out of her control.

  “Have you thought anymore about telling Dillon he’s going to be a daddy?”

  “No!” She still struggled with the idea, and she’d been living with it for weeks. But she had changed her mind about kids…did he deserve the chance to change, too? It would only work if she could see him, and talk to him, to get a better idea. “I couldn’t just tell him over the phone.”

  “Let’s take a trip to Jacksonville,” Lara suggested. “I can drive. I’ll be your wing-woman and even pack my lucky boots.”

  She broke out in a cold sweat. What would he say? “We can drive down, and just see—feel the situation out. Let me handle it, okay? Oh, and while I was checking out business loans, I found a second-han
d Audi. The safety crash ratings for this model are terrific.” The idea of being responsible for a tiny human made her triple-check everything.

  “An Audi? Is it a convertible? Is it black?”

  “Silver. Hard top. With rear airbags.”

  “I don’t know what to say. That sounds like a car my mom would buy.”

  Crysta started laughing, her nerves easing the slightest bit. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  “When do you want to go? I think I have the next two days off.”

  “Let me text Dillon to see if he’s around. It might have to wait another few months.” She crossed her fingers. Maybe even forever.

  She hung up, then immediately texted Dillon before she changed her mind. “Hey. It’s Crysta from Ft. Lauderdale. My friend Lara and I were thinking of taking a road trip your direction. Would you be around tomorrow? We could meet up for a coffee.”

  There. That way he’d know she wasn’t interested in drinking and jumping his bones. Though she remembered that quite fondly.

  Crysta opened the black sheers she had over the sliding glass windows that led out to her long balcony. Just wide enough for a futon and a table, it allowed a view of the beach that was all hers. On really hot evenings, she plugged in a fan and sat outside anyway.

  Inside, she folded a scratchy black and white alpaca blanket on the designer couch. Black and white checkers with red buttons, it had taken her nine months to find just the right piece. Furniture, to her, had made a statement.

  Glass coffee table with sharp metal edges. Probably not safe for a toddler. Matching four foot tall glass vases adorned the wall near the window and the black curtains. She did not own a television. She’d bought a guest chair that matched the couch, but looked like art. Not something she’d ever sat in.

  She took a realistic survey of the home she’d spared no expense on decorating and realized that it wasn’t functional at all for a child. She’d thrown a holiday party last year, and served caviar, champagne and smoked salmon. Her fellow stylists had appreciated the flair of red feathers she’d created herself for a headboard.

  Sexy, edgy. So not appropriate for a mom. She fanned her face. Checked her phone. Was Dillon going to ignore her? That might be for the best.

  How soon did a person need to prepare? Was there a guidebook she could buy? Crysta’s breaths came faster as the unknown loomed before her and she sat on the hard couch.

  She’d never even had a pet. Not so much as a hamster—no ties. Crysta had been ready to move to New York City at the drop of the silver scissors, but her dream to be a stylist for models on fashion runways was no longer realistic.

  Her phone dinged and she read the message incoming from Dillon. Her pulse sped just reading his name.

  “I’ll be at Red’s Bar playing pool tomorrow night. Come on by.”

  She brought her thumbnail to her lower lip. He wasn’t going to make things easy, was he? No effusive messages on how much he’d missed her. She slowly rose and straightened, stretching her back. Crysta could check online for a used couch on Craig’s list, and try to sell the one she had. She’d spent thousands on it.

  Maybe she could get a TV, too. Before now, she had been too busy. If she wasn’t working, she was studying the latest fashion trends, or out partying at dance clubs with friends. Her drinking days were done for a while, as was dancing.

  She sent a text back to him, saying that she looked forward to seeing him. Then she called for a cab and went to go buy her car before she drove herself crazy with what ifs.

  ***

  The next day, Crysta drove her silver Audi to Lara’s apartment. She honked twice, feeling pretty pleased with herself. She’d managed to get the car for a hundred below the sticker price, and had brought it to a mechanic off-site for a check-up. It had come back as the dealer had promised, with a two-year warranty.

  Lara, dressed in a short skirt, ruffled sleeveless top and her signature boots, slung her overnight bag into the back seat with appreciation.

  “This is better than nice. Wow.”

  “I like it. Drives like a dream. I drove it to Key Largo last night.” Driving and music just might be her new therapy.

  “I like that you got fabric seats.”

  “Not so hot in Florida.”

  “I was thinking, easier to clean with a baby.”

  “I didn’t even consider that.” Another check in the Bad Mom column. Crysta turned on the radio. As she’d bought the car, she’d asked the salesman about car seats that’d be best for kids. He’d immediately stopped flirting, which made her feel old and awkward. It had been another unsettling experience to add to the bag.

  Pregnant meant that she wasn’t really alone anymore. At times, this freaked her out completely, but there was a warm part of her heart that was beginning to like the idea.

  Maybe it would be the same for Dillon. She wished there was a way to know for sure—she would do her best to try and read the situation.

  Lara eyed her with approval. “You look stunning, by the way.”

  “Thank you—I needed to hear that. It’s not every day that you hold the power to change a man’s world in the palm of your hand.” She’d chosen a sleeveless black swing top over a black mini skirt and black converse, white geometric shell earrings and chunky white bracelets. Her black hair was smoothed into a sharp angle at her chin, and she’d rolled the back under to make it look shorter.

  “You could be a mistress of the night. You know, I think your pregnancy has made you even paler?”

  “One of us won’t have sun damaged skin, Freckles.” Lara loved to sunbathe, and it showed in the glow of her tan.

  Her best friend laughed and shrugged. “Music, or talking?”

  “Music until we are half an hour out, and then we need to practice how things are going to go.” Would he look the same, so gorgeous he took her breath away?

  “You need a speech?” Lara crinkled her nose.

  “I can’t just blurt the news.” Crysta drove toward I-95, then merged onto the ramp leading to Dillon. “If I tell him at all. You know, we could just skip the whole thing and drive to Saint Augustine.”

  “You do love your ghosts!” Lara sang along with Shania’s newest single. Crysta hummed in tune but concentrated more on traffic and not thinking about Dillon’s possible reaction to being a daddy. From what he’d said about not wanting kids, it wouldn’t be good.

  ***

  Dillon showered and took extra time shaving—he didn’t want to chafe Crysta’s skin when he kissed her from head to toe and all the places in between. He lived alone in a one bedroom apartment that had everything he needed. Television, surround sound, a microwave and a dishwasher.

  He’d bought everything in one day and called it good. Keeping it clean was easy because he was rarely home.

  Jeans. Adidas. T-shirt. Light aftershave. He brushed his teeth twice in anticipation of tasting Crysta’s mouth. Coffee. What was she thinking? He had whiskey here at the house and his hope would be that they could ditch her friend with his buddies and come back here—alone, on a bed. Not that he’d minded the sand.

  But still.

  His bed would never be the same, after Crysta had been in it. He swiped a hand over his hair, short. Neat. Dry. Ready to go. He’d grab a burger at Red’s—no onions—and some fries. Would she be early? Late? How was traffic?

  He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind. Thoughts of her had intruded on his regimented workouts, his daily duties at the office. Even when flying.

  His pals were right, and he had fallen for Crysta. If he saw her tonight, and if she still rocked his world, then what?

  Just wait and see, Dillon. Wait and see.

  By the time he got to Red’s Bar, he’d worked himself up pretty good, and he didn’t like that she had that kind of power over him. Sweaty palms, tense shoulders. Nobody should affect him like this.

  He parked next to a silver Audi with temporary tags and walked inside, the interior dim. His gaze, his being, was immedi
ately drawn to the tall, slender, sexy as hell, woman dressed in black standing in front of the long bar.

  Her short skirt showcased long, slim legs that ended in Chucks on her feet. He stepped closer. She smelled exotic to him. Spicy, yet floral. Her tattoos laced down her arm, and he happened to know, beneath her right breast.

  She saw him too, and lifted her hand in greeting.

  He couldn’t speak, his tongue suddenly awkward in his mouth.

  Her friend turned out to be the cute blonde singer that Davey had liked. She waved and said, “Hi! I’m Lara.”

  Dillon strode forward, his hand outstretched. “Dillon. Nice to meet you—you have a really great voice. We heard you singing…”He trailed off. The night he’d met Crysta.

  “The bartender here was just telling me that karaoke starts at nine, so that will be fun.” Lara pointed to the six tables racked and ready. “And I love playing pool.”

  Dillon looked at Crysta, whose teal blue eyes were lined in black. Thick black lashes, and a glossy mouth. Her beauty was in her bones, the slight tilt of her nose. Black hair, blunted at her jaw. A rock star, an anime model, his ideal fantasy. “You?” he asked her.

  He fisted his hand, mad at himself for the curt, one-word question. He wasn’t trying to be cool, but it would be nice if he didn’t make an ass of himself just because she made him nervous.

  “Nope. I have lousy aim.”

  “You can still be on my team,” he said.

  “I don’t really like to play games.”

  Silence fell like a death knell to the conversation.

  Dillon cleared his throat after a minute and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you ladies something to drink? Did you get a chance to eat?”

  Crysta looked at Lara, and Lara shrugged before nodding. “I’ll have a light beer and…what are you having?”

  “The cheeseburgers here are good.” He jerked a thumb toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll have one,” Lara said. “Crysta?”

  Crysta nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’ll take a cheeseburger.”