by Melissa West
“Okay, lover. Whatever.”
And now she couldn’t help rolling her eyes.
“Still counts if you wish he was your lover, and obviously you do, because you are a living, breathing woman and he looks like David Beckham.”
“I do?” a deep voice called from across the room. “I always thought I looked more like Theo James. Plus, Beckham’s got all those tattoos, right?”
Kylie swallowed and forced herself to look over at him, curious if he’d heard her say that they weren’t friends. Their eyes met, his so full of emotion she wanted to cry. Clearly, he’d heard, and clearly she sucked, but they weren’t friends. It had been a long, long time since she considered Brady a friend. That part wasn’t untrue.
“Well, since there’s enough awkward tension in this room to slice through ice, I’m going to just go up front. I can take the coffee for you, Ky,” Ally said, dropping the Santa suit onto the table beside her and reaching out for the coffee maker.
She tried to flash a smile, to make light of the whole thing, but instead it came out as a grimace. “Thanks.”
Ally disappeared through the swinging door into the front of the store, leaving her alone with Brady, and there was no going another moment without her saying what was on her mind. That was thing about her: it was easy to unveil her thoughts and feelings. Trusting others? Another story altogether.
The space was quiet, and with only one light on it was easy to say what she should have said the first time she saw him again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to say them louder. “For a lot of things. But most of all, I’m sorry for what I just said and for you hearing it. Because I think despite everything we’ve been through, maybe you were the only true friend I ever had, and it’s crappy to suggest otherwise. We may not be friends now, but we were. Great friends. So, I’m sorry.”
Brady cocked his head, and she thought he was about to let her have it. For leaving all those years ago, for being the one to walk away, for being a true jerk to him since the first time she saw him here. But instead of saying any of those things, he released a breath, and then diverted his eyes to the Santa suit on the table. “Is that my getup for the morning?”
Running her hand over the Santa suit, Kylie pictured Brady wearing it and couldn’t help but laugh. “This is you, if you’re still willing to help.”
He stared at her for a long time, and Kylie thought he was backing out. Maybe she could fit into the costume if she stuffed it with some of the holiday throw pillows they sold in Merrily. “Look, I understand this is asking a lot, so I get it if you want to—”
“I do what I say, Ky. Always. But I do have one question.”
“Yes?”
A crooked smile curved his lips. “Where’s your elf suit? ’Cause I’m not suffering alone!”
A relieved laugh broke free, which quickly turned into fits when he slipped on the beard.
“Get going, little elf. Someone has to keep it organized. I’d say that someone is you.”
Kylie glanced around the stockroom, her eyes landing on a mix of Santa and elf hats for the hat decorating she’d planned for the following week. With the fitted red turtleneck and jeans she’d put on that morning, she could pull off being an elf.
“All right, Santa. You have yourself an elf.”
Chapter 11
“Ho, ho, ho. Ho, ho, ho!” Brady stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His tanned skin contrasted sharply with the white, cottony mustache and beard and the long white wig left no question that it was fake, but he could do the ho, ho, ho thing as good as anyone.
A soft knock came from the other side of the door. “You ready, Santa?”
He opened the door to find Kylie dressed in the elf hat and elf shoes she’d pulled from one of her weekly craft shops. She’d put on red lipstick and extra blush, then some shimmer stuff on her eyes. She looked beautiful.
“Confession?” he asked.
Kylie glanced down at her outfit, then back at him with a grimace. “Yeah?”
He leaned into her and whispered, “Santa is having very naughty thoughts about his elf right now.”
A laugh broke from her lips and as he peered down at her, that bright smile on her face, it took everything in him not to kiss her.
“You two coming?” Ally called from the swinging door. “These kids are getting restless.”
Kylie took a step back, and Brady wished he could reach out to stop her, force her to stay instead of always leaving. “I’ll go out and announce you. Then you come through the door. We have everything set up out there for you.”
With a nod that he understood, she turned away. Once she cleared the door, Ally started for him. “Be patient with her. She’s scared. Don’t confuse her fear with disinterest, ’cause that girl wants you. Badly. I can see it all over her face. Just be patient.”
“I’m trying.”
Ally planted her hands on her hips. “Try harder, Santa. It’s Christmas. Let the magic do its job.” Then she followed after Kylie.
Drawing a breath, Brady let Ally’s words soak in. He had always been the kind of person who operated at a faster speed than everyone else. He did, while others planned. He reached the answer, while others were figuring out the problem. And that fast-thinking attitude had cost him Kylie once. Ally was right—he would have to learn patience if he hoped to win her trust again.
“Are you ready to see Santa?” Kylie’s voice carried through the door, followed by cheers. A lot of cheers. The shop must be packed out. “Here he is!”
Brady pushed through the swinging door and immediately sounded off with his perfected, “Ho, ho, ho!” The kids all went crazy.
“This way, Santa,” Kylie said, her eyes sparkling with happiness, and he couldn’t help but smile back.
The store was more crowded than he’d ever seen it, with a line winding around inside, and then outside and along the sidewalk. Franny and Ally passed out hot chocolate, coffee, and warm cookies. Everyone, every single person, wore a grin of excitement. Now this was Christmas.
Brady took his seat at a throne-like chair with holiday decor all around it. A Christmas tree sat to his right, an elaborate Polar Express train set ran around and around its track to his left. The photos would be amazing. Kylie had outdone herself.
“Santa, this is Tanner,” Kylie said, helping the first kid in line onto his knee. A small, blond boy with giant blue eyes peered up at him in awe. The older kids might not buy that he was Santa, but the little ones seemed to.
“Have you been good this year, Tanner?”
The little boy nodded so hard it was a wonder he didn’t pull a muscle in his neck. Brady laughed.
“That’s wonderful. What would you like for Christmas this year?”
The boy immediately eyed his mom, who was waiting beside the photographer Kylie had hired for the event. Though, photographer might be a stretch, since this was Zac’s daughter, Carrie-Anne, and Kylie was paying her a hundred dollars to take the pictures. Honestly, she probably would have taken them for free.
“My mom wants me to say that I want a basketball goal.”
“That sounds nice. All right, basketball goal it—”
“But what I really want,” the boy said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “is a Barbie Jeep. The pink one. My friend, Zoey, has the Frozen Jeep, and it’s blue, but I like pink better. Don’t you like pink better?”
The mom approached then, clear embarrassment on her face. “I’m so sorry. Tanner, your time is up.”
“But I need Santa to hear about the Jeep. How else will he know which one?”
“Tanner Matthew, we have talked about this.”
Kylie stepped in then and bent down to Tanner’s level. “Actually, when I was little I always wanted the Barbie car. They didn’t have a Jeep back then, but I’ve seen the Jeep. It’s pink and has a real radio, right?”
“Well, I will make sure Santa knows which one to bring you.”
Immediately, the boy’s eyes went back to his mom. “But what if Mommy doesn’t want me to have it?”
Kylie stood then and squared off with the mom. “Santa will respect your mom’s wishes. But I’m sure your mom wouldn’t put something as silly as gender stereotypes ahead of your happiness at Christmas. Would you?”
The mom’s gaze fell to her son and clear guilt crossed her face. “No, of course not. Ask…ask for whatever you want.”
“Really?” Tanner asked, then he launched into his mom’s arms before turning back on Brady until he was inches from Brady’s face. “I’ll take a pink Barbie Jeep, please.”
Brady’s grin spread. “One Barbie Jeep, got it.”
The family walked away holding hands, and Brady shook his head in respect at Kylie. “Still standing up for the little guys, I see.”
She stood proud. “Everyone’s a little guy to someone. Might as well stand up for the ones I can. Wouldn’t you do the same?”
“You’re unbelievable, do you know that?”
Her face lit up as her eyes trailed over him from head to toe. “You’re pretty great yourself, Santa.” Then she focused back on the crowd, which seemed to be doubling by the second. She grimaced. “Though, you might hate me after today.”
Hate? His thoughts were leaning toward a completely different word. A word that scared the shit out of him, but he was in too deep now. There was no going back.
Chapter 12
“Coffee, sweet coffee,” Kylie said as she made her way into the kitchen and reached for the full pot.
She and Brady stayed late at the stop, long after the Santa photos ended and the crowd died down. They both claimed that they needed to clean up, make sure their sides of the shop were ready for Saturday’s business, and on and on with the excuses. But the truth was, she wanted to be near him. Something had changed that day; Brady dressed in Santa gear, her greeting family after family. It almost felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone anymore.
Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she was thankful that Franny woke early. There was always coffee waiting. Though, Kylie thought, she should wake crazy early once in a while to make it for Franny. That would require a five a.m. wake up. Maybe even four.
“Hey, Franny, what time do you wake up?” Kylie asked after pouring herself a cup. But no one answered. She walked into the family room to find the news on, yet there was no sign of her godmother. That was odd. Maybe she went into her room to grab something.
Kylie eyed the news, the talk of politics that never sat well with Franny or herself, for that matter.
“Fran, you in there?” she asked as she peeked inside her room, the master bedroom of the house. Simple, Southern charm dotted every wall and corner. An ivory quilt with pale roses covered her bed. “Franny?”
And that when she heard the water running in the bathroom. Franny never left water running, not even when she brushed her teeth. It was something about her great-grandmother having a well and instilling in her a deep-seated belief in water conservation. But now, the clear sound of water rushing from a faucet hit Kylie’s ears, and she knew even before her legs started moving that something was wrong.
Prayers hit in her head one after the other, everything slowing down even though she was running. She rushed through the room and came to a halt at the doorway to the master bath, and suddenly all the blood drained from her head as her heartbeat sped up and her breathing became labored. “Franny!”
Kylie crumbled on the ground beside her godmother, her only family, clear panic on Franny’s face. She was breathing, which was the only thing keeping Kylie together, but her face was pale, and she was clenching her chest. “Heart. Heart,” she said.
“I’m here. It’s all going to be okay.”
Adrenaline kicked in, and Kylie ran from the room, grabbed the cordless phone beside Franny’s phone and dialed 911 before dropping back beside her godmother. Tears streamed down her face, despite her ordering herself to calm down. Everything would be okay. This was Franny, the toughest person she knew. And yet, as she stared down at her, she looked frail.
Placing a hand on her face, she assured her over and over that everything would be okay, and then she gave the 911 operator their address and closed her eyes.
God, save her. Please…save her.
* * * *
Kylie paced back and forth at the foot of Franny’s hospital bed, her hands wringing, her eyes still bloodshot from tears that had long since dried, only to be replaced with the type of fear that comes from realization.
Franny wouldn’t be with her for much longer.
Thankfully, the amazing doctors and nurses at Crestler’s Key Memorial worked miracles through the night to stabilize Franny, but in the end, Kylie learned that Franny had kept a big secret from her—she had heart disease, and had for some years. Her doctor had placed her on a strict diet and exercise regimen. Which, of course, Franny had never abided by.
This time, she was lucky—her heart attack, while scary, was minor, but the next time? She might not survive.
The thought was too much to take.
“Kylie, please let me get you some coffee.” Kylie glanced over to Franny’s nurse, Lauren, who was twenty-eight and newly engaged and wanted three children and a brick house over on Summer Street. Her fiancé was a UPS delivery guy, and they met because the hospital was one of the deliveries on his route.
It was one of many stories Kylie had learned through the night. She had asked every question she could ask of every doctor, nurse, or technician willing to talk to her, all in an effort to avoid the fearful thoughts that refused to go away.
“I’m okay.”
“You haven’t slept or eaten since you arrived. Please let me grab you a cup of coffee.”
“I brought her one.”
Kylie’s eyes darted to the doorway, her heart picking up speed, all the emotions she’d bottled up in her stomach rushing to the surface. Tears pricked her eyes for the thousandth time in so many hours as she took in Brady’s form, an overnight bag in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other.
“What are you doing here?”
“Becca Hamilton was working the night shift when Franny was brought in. She called Nick, who called Alex, who told Kate, who then called me.”
Goodness, this community really was one giant family. “That’s…” Her bottom lip trembled, and Brady nodded to Lauren and then set down the coffee and bag and pulled Kylie into his arms. His spicy, clean scent hit her, comforting her, as his arms became the security blanket she needed. How had she ever let him go?
“How is she?”
“Stable. They’re saying it was minor, but she has some blockage, and if she doesn’t make changes to her diet and lifestyle, then she could have another episode—perhaps a worse one—and she might not survive that time.”
Brady’s body tensed against her before he corrected and said, “No way. This is Franny. She’s tougher than Superman.”
Despite everything, Kylie smiled against his shoulder. “I’m going to tell her you said that. You know, when she wakes up.” She pulled back then, but Brady grabbed her hand before she could fully separate.
“She’s going to be fine.”
The hospital had grown quiet some hours before, the rustle from earlier settling into the occasional footsteps, beeps from another room, or hushed voices. It had to be four a.m. now, and Kylie thought she might fall over from exhaustion.
A yawn rounded her mouth, despite her effort to fight it, and Brady’s eyebrows pulled together. “Has she woken up at all?”
Kylie’s gaze drifted over to her godmother. She looked like a ghost of the person she had always known. “She’s stirred a bit, but they’re keeping her stable with medicine that has
her pretty knocked out. The doctor said she would wake and would be okay, but if you’d seen her. She…” A shaky hand went to her mouth like it could somehow stop the emotions from coming, and Brady gripped her hand tighter.
“Did he seem legit?”
“Who?”
“The doctor.”
A smile split her face for the second time. God, Brady could cure the greatest of sadnesses. “She is wonderful.”
Brady grinned back. “Liked that, didn’t you?”
“More than you know.” She yawned again, and Brady motioned to the small reclining chair behind her.
“Why don’t you try to get some rest? The nurses will wake you if something happens, and you’ll be right here if—when—Franny wakes. You’re not helping her by hurting yourself.”
Kylie wanted to sleep, but she was wired, every inch of her tensed with nervousness. “I don’t know if I could. I’m worried, and I’ve never been able to sleep when I’m worried.”
“I know,” Brady said. “Remember when you were waiting to see if you’d been accepted to UK? I don’t know if you slept a week for months.”
She nodded and forced another smile, but this one didn’t feel as relieving as the others. What if Franny didn’t wake? What if she only had moments left with her? How could she spend those sleeping, when she should be taking in every detail, remembering every memory? “That was different.”
“It was. But it doesn’t change the fact that she would want you to rest, and you’ll be more help to her when she wakes if you sleep for a bit. I’ll stay to watch her and let you know if something happens, okay?” He led her over to the chair and eased her down. She was a zombie, dead on her feet, so she did little to fight it.
“You’ll stay?”
“The whole time.”