by Robin Weaver
“Ciao,” she replied, but her mother had already disconnected the call.
She glanced at Spence. The darn fool grinned like a holiday Cheshire cat. “Good for your mom. Gives us younguns hope.”
He reached for her hand. She didn’t pull it away. “Suze, you have to know, what we did…what I feel for you is real. I would have realized it sooner, but…”
“You had your head up your butt.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t write you. I never forgot you, but in my lame excuse for a brain, I associated you with Merryvale. I blamed the town for making me feel like the Furniture Fairy. I see now, I did that to myself. I’ve been so busy running from this town, I didn’t see what I’d left behind.”
She blinked, thinking she understood but not daring to believe. “And now?”
“Now?” He flashed a grin that would have made her forgive him if she hadn’t already done so. “Now, I kinda like this town. And I really like you.” He pulled her tighter into his arms.
She didn’t want to spoil the moment, but she needed everything crystal clear. “What exactly are you saying? Is Darlene still in your life, or not?”
“Definitely not. She left this morning. Darlene and I have been over for a while. In hindsight, I think I knew Dad was faking, but I pretended not to know because I didn’t want to leave. Especially after you and that crazy coat walked into the shop. And I wouldn’t have slept with you if there’d been anything happening with Darlene. I don’t sleep around.”
She really wanted to stop talking about that woman. “Neither do I.”
“I know. That’s why I’m worried.”
“Worried?” He must know she was crazy about him.
“I came to your house last night.”
Oh. That. “I know.”
He stopped walking. Still holding her hand, he tugged so she had to turn and face him. “You know?”
She shrugged. “I saw you.”
He didn’t speak for several seconds, just watched her. “So you and Tripp?”
“There is no me and Tripp. I think he was just feeling a little grateful.”
“So no tongue in that kiss?”
She cancelled the smart-butt comment that sprang into her head. Spence had tried to joke, but she knew her answer was important. “No tongue. And if there’d been more light, you’d have seen I twisted my head so there was nothing but cheek.”
“Good to know.” He smiled as if it was great to know.
Suzette fought back the little bubble of fear and let her hope emerge. “Any chance you’d want to go to Paris?”
He blinked. “Sure. But are you asking me out? Rather far for a first date, don’t you think? But don’t get me wrong, I’m in.”
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I’m not sure I’d call it a date. We’ll have to go Dutch.”
Spence did some lip biting of his own. “I think that can be arranged. When did you want to go?”
“The day after Christmas. Or maybe the day after that.”
He nodded. “Good. It’s pretty weird, but I’m actually looking forward to Christmas in Merryvale. Maybe you can come to dinner at my dad’s house—you know, have a chaperone before we go on our solo date.”
“Chaperone? You think we need a chaperone?”
He laughed. “Oh, yeah. Otherwise, you’ll never get to open your presents.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t let you get out of bed.”
The kiss was even better than the one under the mistletoe. This one had no angst, just delicious pressure. And a lot of promise.
She looked forward to a very Merryvale Christmas.
A word about the author...
A professional computer geek, Robin Weaver started writing extensively when she traded in her ski-boots for flip-flops and moved to North Carolina. She approaches writing like a box of candy, sinking her teeth into several genres and enjoying every delicious word.
A Golden Heart finalist and winner of the prestigious Daphne du Maurier contest, she has one constant: a HEA. Writing, like reading, is a little escape from reality. Why on earth would anyone want a somber ending?
She’s the product of a mixed marriage (she’s a Yankees fan, her husband Jim has a Red Sox affliction) and lives in a house owned by Kiko the cat. When not conducting string therapy for their landlord, Robin and Jim can be found combing the beaches near Charleston or appreciating nature in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
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this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.