Once Again In Christmas Falls (Return To Christmas Falls Book 3)

by Becky Monson

  “I’m nervous,” I admitted to him, pulling my camera strap up on my shoulder and tugging on the bottom of the form fitting cream jacket I’d painstakingly chosen to wear. I wanted to wear something completely opposite of the last time Piper saw me—which I’m sure was some sort of black tee shirt, black jeans, and Converse, since that’s what I’d worn pretty much every day of high school. I wanted something bright and feminine. So cream it was. I paired it with a pale-pink flowy blouse, skinny jeans, and nude heels.

  “Why are you nervous? It’s Piper,” he said, pulling up the corner of his lip and squinting his eye—very pirate like.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” I said, adding an eye roll for emphasis.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know how she’s going to react. What if she throws her drink in my face?”

  He tilted his head to the side—giving me the sardonic look my mom often gave me. “She’s not going to throw her drink in your face.”

  “You never know. She might have PMS.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Oh, never mind. You’re a dude, you just don’t get it. Come on,” I said, grabbing his arm and leading him in the direction of Holly’s.

  We walked the short distance to the café, made our way into the small space, and found a table in the corner. As we sat down I felt fidgety, like I needed to be doing something. I started messing with my camera, which was now sitting on the table next to me.

  “Relax,” Andy said, reaching over and grabbing my hand. I quickly pulled it away from him, because his touch was definitely not going to help me relax.

  He gave me an odd look. I didn't want to make him feel bad for pulling away, so I set to work taking my phone out and using the camera in selfie mode to make sure I didn’t have anything stuck in my teeth. This was moot because I hadn’t even eaten anything yet today. I was too nervous to eat.

  I heard the bells on the door ring and slipped my phone back into my purse, feeling nerves pulse through me. I looked up and there she was. Piper. My best friend for so many years of my life. I would have recognized her anywhere with that same dark brown, perfectly styled hair, that stunning beauty that had barely aged. She looked the same, but with an unmistakable maturity that only added to her beauty.

  When I’d envisioned seeing her—in the version where we didn’t throw our drinks in each other’s faces—I had pictured her coming to the table, where we’d most likely embrace, she’d have a seat, and we would talk. All civilized-like. But when I saw her, I couldn’t help myself. I practically ran to her, put my arms around her, and promptly cried. I had missed this girl so much, I didn’t even know how much until I saw her walk through that door.

  We probably looked like complete idiots, but I didn’t care. It was just like old times—but it also wasn’t. Because we were adults now and so much had happened since the last time we saw each other, but it was like none of that mattered now.

  After finally letting go of her, I dragged her to the table where Andy was patiently waiting, giving us the space we needed. I told her how good she looked, because she did. She looked gorgeous. She returned the compliment and didn’t say one thing about how different I looked. I almost wondered if Andy had coached her, but then thought better of it. This was Piper; she knew me better than anyone else. At least she used to.

  She took a big breath. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Let’s not even talk about it,” I said, waving her words away with my hand.

  And that was it. No yelling or throwing drinks in each other’s faces. No hashing it out or talking about it until we were sick. That’s all that needed to be said. If only we had done this years ago.

  Then, with all of that so easily out of the way, we talked. It felt just like old times, like we fell right back into the ease of being Piper and London—just as it had been with me and Andy. She asked me about my life, and I gave her a brief version, wanting to know more about her.

  She told me about being a mom, gushing about her little boy, Finn. I couldn’t believe Piper was a mother. I mean, I could—she always was the more nurturing of the two of us, of our entire gang, actually. The way she talked about Finn and what happened with his dad made me sad that I wasn’t there for her through all of that—not that I could have changed anything. But I could have been a shoulder to cry on; I could have seen her through it all.

  So much time had been lost, but as we sat in the café, I didn’t want to dwell on that—not right now, not when I had her back. Wanting to lighten the conversation, I asked her about some rich old guy that Andy had mentioned she was dating—someone she had met at work. She tried to tell me nothing was going on, but I knew it was more than that. I could still read that face of hers after all these years. I figured she didn’t want to say too much in front of Andy, seeing as they were coworkers and all, so I asked him to go get us drinks. That was just what she needed, because once Andy left, she filled me in on all the details. It really did feel like old times.

  “Are you and Andrew an item?” she asked after she was done telling me about Jace—the guy she met at the resort who apparently was not that old, but was, in fact, very rich.

  Me and Andy . . . an item? I guess I wasn’t the only one who could still read a face. This had me feeling like I wanted to go into a panic. Because if Piper could read me, could Andy as well? Oh gosh, I didn’t want to contemplate it.

  I held back the freak-out I felt coming on, and in a forced calm voice said, “What, Andy? No, we’re just friends.” I surprised myself with how even toned that sounded. Maybe I could pull this off—and not ruin things with all these feelings I’d been having.

  “I think he’d like there to be more than that,” she said with little head bob in Andy’s direction.

  “Oh,” I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Dear heavens, I was trying too hard. She’d figure me out for sure. And wait, what did she say? He’d like more than that? Had he said something to her at work? Now was not the time or place for her to tell me, because Andy would be back at the table soon and I couldn’t risk him hearing anything, but Piper and I were going to have to delve deeper into this, for sure.

  Besides, I couldn’t tell by the look on her face whether she was being serious or not. And then she had to remind me about how she used to tease me mercilessly about Andy and me getting together and that if I ever married him I’d be London Broll, which sounded like a beef dinner that my mom used to make. That did make us both laugh, and the laughter helped to ease the butterflies that had come to life in my stomach.

  Andy came back to the table, bringing our drinks. We sat for a little longer, catching up as much as we could before Piper had to go to work. My stomach sank—I wanted her to stay and talk to me for hours. We had so much to catch up on, it would probably take days.

  We agreed to do lunch or something else later that week, and as I watched her walk out, I knew that we were going to be okay. It was like it was with Andy—we just picked up and started again. Except there weren’t all the conflicting feelings and heart palpitations with Piper like there was with Andy. Thank goodness.

  ~*~

  After meeting up with Piper, Andy and I walked around the outskirts of town for a while, walking around our old high school that had been redone since we were there. We grabbed lunch back in town and then took a leisurely walk back toward the cottage, stopping to take pictures as we strolled. It was a beautiful day. The sky was an azure blue, the sun bright and warm enough that we didn’t need our big winter coats. We passed by the community center and I stopped to snap a few shots again.

  “Did you know it’s closing down?” Andy asked, pointing to the old gray building. It was in dire need of a new coat of paint.

  “Really? Why?” The community center had been the pillar of Christmas Falls for years. It’s where they held the pageant on Christmas Day. All the activities that the center provided were vital to the city. How could they shut it down?

  “
They ran out of money, I guess. My mom was telling me about it the other day.” He grabbed my hand after I stopped with all the pictures and threaded it through his arm so it was resting in the crook of his elbow, and I let him—repeating the mantra we are just friends in my head. We are just friends. We are just friends. We are just freaking friends.

  “That’s sad. I wonder why Miss Anna Cate didn’t say anything about it the other day when I saw her?” The community center had been her baby, why wouldn’t she have mentioned it?

  “Maybe she didn’t want to bother you with it,” Andy said. “I mean, it’s not like there’s much you could do to help.”

  “True,” I said, suddenly wishing there was something I could do. But there really wasn’t. I had some savings, but no job—not even a prospective one. I had to go back to San Francisco and start all over again, career-wise. That thought made my stomach sink. San Francisco seemed so distant now—like another life.

  “Hey, but there’s a fundraiser tonight for it. It’s a light show or something. My mom said there’s a teacher from the high school that sets up these amazing Christmas lights,” Andy said, bringing me back from thoughts of my other life. “You want to check it out?”

  I contemplated it. I would assuredly run into people from high school—maybe even finally see some of the other girls from our group. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t run into any of them yet, and I was somewhat thankful for it. I had mixed feelings about it, curiosity being one of them. But then I remembered that the only people that had recognized me so far were Andy and Miss Anna Cate—and now Piper. If I went to this party, how many people—people I knew for most of my life—would know it was me? And if they did, what would they think of me, of what I had done with my life so far? My stomach sank as anxiety became the front-runner of my feelings.

  “Or,” Andy said, squeezing my hand, “we could donate some money later and just go back to your room and watch a movie?”

  This was typical Andy. He could tell just by reading my face that I was conflicted, and just like he did back when we were younger, he swept in with an alternative.

  The corners of my lips pulled up into a big smile. “I think you might be my hero, Broll,” I said. Putting off seeing everyone a little longer sounded like a much better idea. The inevitable reunion with my friends would be happening soon enough anyway.

  ~*~

  “What do you want to watch?” Andy asked as he lay on the lone queen-size bed that took up most of the space in my small room. He shuffled off his shoes and made himself comfortable on the stacked pillows at the head of the bed.

  Now that we were here, I realized I hadn’t thought this through properly. When Andy offered to watch a movie with me, saving me from my addled brain, I’d jumped right on it. But now he was in my room, on my bed, all cozy-like. My heart picked up its pace and the room suddenly felt warm. Too warm. I took off my jacket and hung it in the closet. Then I took a seat on the comfortable dark green arm chair, keeping my distance from the bed. I pulled my feet up onto the chair and wrapped my arms around my knees.

  Andy looked over at me and then patted the space next to him on the bed.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking confused when I didn’t make a move from the chair.

  “Nothing. I just thought I’d give you more room on the bed. It’s . . . uh . . . small.”

  “It’s bigger than the bed in my room,” he said, referring to his full-size bed that we were squished on at his parents’ house just yesterday. “Come on,” he coaxed, patting the space next to him again.

  “I’m good,” I said. “What do you want to watch?” I grabbed the remote from the side table that was between the bed and the chair I was sitting in, and powered on the television.

  I could feel Andy staring at me, but I kept my gaze on the TV.

  “What do you want to watch?” I asked again when he didn’t answer.

  “Walsh,” he finally said, “why are you being so weird?”

  I wanted to protest, I wanted to tell him that I was being normal, and it was him that was acting all strange. But I was being weird. I looked like a total fruit-loop right now, sitting in this chair. High school London would have been on that bed the second Andy lay down. The problem was, grown-up London—or not-so-grown-up, as it were—was having all the feelings at the moment, and wasn’t sure how to compartmentalize all of that. I needed to do some major compartmentalizing where Andy was concerned.

  “Get over here,” he said.

  I sighed. I was avoiding these feelings that I had been having for Andy because I didn’t want to ruin things between us. And here I was, making things weird anyway.

  “Okay, fine,” I said, making my way to the bed.

  “Took you long enough,” he said as I lay down next to him.

  I was rigid at first, my legs straight, my hands and arms by my side. I felt very “light as a feather, stiff as a board,” like we used to play during slumber parties when I was a kid. I was near the edge of the bed, trying to keep some distance between us.

  But it all felt wrong; I was making it weird again. Or rather, even more weird. So when Andy slid a hand underneath my shoulders and pulled me toward him, I let him. And that gesture—small as it was—had me melting into him. Without overthinking it, I found myself putting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arm around his waist, pulling myself into him until there was no space between us. We were like one body on that bed, nearly unidentifiable where I began and he ended. And it was heavenly. I snuggled into him and he smelled like soap and remnants of cologne.

  “Much better,” he said, reaching a hand up and gently touching my hair, pushing his fingers through the ends.

  My heart—my freaking heart—was doing double time. I briefly pondered moving my head over just enough to be able to hear his heart and see if the proximity between us was having any effect on him, but I didn’t. I stayed just where I was.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “All of this has been so hard. I can’t believe you aren’t here,” my mother said to me over the phone the next morning.

  I wanted to say that I probably wouldn’t have been there anyway. I would have been back in San Francisco. And none of this was really my problem, since we were all adults and the divorce was her and my father’s decision. But she seemed distraught, and I didn’t want to add to it . . . or get lectured for it.

  “I know, Mom,” I said for like the fiftieth time. I would have agreed that I should have been there, but that would have been a lie. I was convinced that Christmas Falls was exactly where I should be, and the thought of leaving here felt so wrong. I was starting to feel overwhelmingly sad over the fact that I was going to have to leave here soon enough as it was.

  “You should come home early. I can’t believe you’ll be away from us for Christmas.”

  “But I’ll be home the day after Christmas and I’ll stay for New Years, remember?” I wished she didn’t remember, because I was regretting that. Why had I offered to do that? I know it was to appease her at the time, but now the thought of being there—my home that hadn’t ever felt like home—for a whole week depressed me. The assuredly odd dynamic that would blanket the atmosphere as we tried to navigate our way through the new family my parents were creating by divorcing. I didn’t want to say broken, even though that’s what was happening. It felt too sad.

  “Savannah and Boston aren’t around much either,” she said, her voice sounding tired and morose. Guilt worked its way up my spine, like a slow-moving spider. But I pushed it away because this wasn’t on my shoulders. Savannah and Boston could step up as well. Why did this stuff always fall on me, anyway?

  “Sorry, Mom. In just over a week, we’ll all be together.”

  “True,” she said.

  “How’s Dad?” I asked tentatively, not sure what she’d say about him. She’d never vented her feelings about my dad to me, probably wanting to keep the kids out of it, but I imagined at some point she would start.

  “He’s right here. You w
ant to talk to him?”

  Huh? “Dad’s there with you?”

  “Well, yes, of course. Where else would he be?” I knew she was giving me the what’s-wrong-with-you head tilt right now, even though I couldn’t see her.

  “Uh, because you’re getting divorced?”

  “Well, yes, but where else would he go?”

  “I don’t know—I don’t have any experience in this area—but wouldn’t he go to a hotel or find an apartment or something?”

  “And waste all that money? No,” she said. “He’s just sleeping in the guest room right now until we sort things out.”

  Oh my gosh, my parents were so weird. Seriously, who does that? What kind of divorce was this? And why didn’t they just stay married but have different rooms? So many people did that when they got older.

  I sighed. “Just tell Dad hi for me. I’ve got to go,” I said, ready to get off this call and go back to pretending that my parents weren’t having this ridiculously civilized divorce. It made it easier to accept that it was over if they didn’t like each other. This whole thing was messing with my head.

  ~*~

  To clear my thoughts after speaking with my mom, I took a drive up to Gatlinburg with my camera, ready to go check out the downtown area and hopefully find some interesting things that I could photograph and “goth up” to add to my Etsy store.

  The drive from Christmas Falls to Gatlinburg was clear, with no traffic on the two-lane road as I made my way. I loved this entire drive. The mountains all around with peaks covered in snow. The evergreen trees covering most of the ground with their green, spindly needles. I loved to do this drive in the summer, especially with the window down. The smell of dirt, trees, and wildflowers all mixed together. I really did love it here.

  I didn’t have as many compliments for the big city of San Francisco. Sure, it was exciting and had a beauty of its own. But it was also crowded and people weren’t so kind as they made their way to their destinations. Here there was an air of ease—a slow-paced existence.