Evan starts the trek down the hill softly singing that old song with the river, the woods, and Grandmother’s house. Ironic considering his alter ego, I suppose.
“There’s that smile.” The photographer shifts to capture Evan with me still slung over his shoulder like Santa’s sack of toys. I perch my chin on my elbow, expertly pressed into his back. Might as well look good if I have to be his captive.
“Great, Brooke. Can you bend that knee for me?”
I do as the photographer asks. It’s not his fault we’re caught in this web. Poor guy is just trying to feed his family.
“I’m getting dizzy, Evan. Put me down.” I mean to sound authoritative, but the increased blood flood has me sounding dreamy at best.
“Right away.” He leans forward, but instead of putting my feet on the ground, he shifts me into his arms, cradled against his chest. “Better? Still dizzy?”
How do I explain that I’m dizzy, but not from blood flow issues. I’m dizzy every time I look at him. Every time he looks at me like I’m the only woman in the world, I feel like the earth tilts on its axis, and everything goes catawampus for a second.
“That’s it, Brooke, look up at Evan.”
“You know I’m mad at you, right?” I ignore the photographer, instead staring into Evan’s eyes to try to find some truth.
“I picked up on that round about the second snowball to the face. And if that wasn’t clear, the one I took in the back really stung.”
“I put a rock in it.”
“Course you did.” Evan sighs and shifts his grip. “I know you’re mad. You have every right to be mad. I tried to tell you earlier. I asked if you wanted to go talk in your room and you accused me—”
“And do you blame me?”
“No, of course not. I was asking for a chance to explain things, that’s all.”
“But our rooms are the only place off camera.” His desire to sneak off to my room earlier makes sense.
He nods once. “I thought the basement was clean too. I’m sorry about that.”
My heart pinches at the sincerity in his expression. “What do you suggest?”
“We finish this photoshoot, and go on a walk or something. Don’t need people gossiping about me being in your room for the next hour.”
“Okay, give me something new. Brooke, laugh for me, or kick your legs.” The photographer’s frustration is showing. “Work with me, people.”
“Can you tell him to get lost?” With all the power Evan has, it seems like ending a photoshoot is within his realm.
“He wants a good shot. He’s not going to leave until he gets it.”
“Anything.” the photographer’s camera clicks away, despite our stoic expressions. “Change it up, just a little bit.”
A sneaky smile pulls at Evan’s eyes. “I can end this, if you let me.”
“Fine. What do you want?” I figure he’s gonna kiss me. That would end this ordeal.
“Trust me.” Evan whispers against my cheek. The camera clicks twice.
“That was good. Give me more.” Excitement grows in the photographer’s voice.
Evan looks up into the lens, smiling like he’s got some wicked plan brewing. “Are you ready? Three, two, one…”
I may never trust Evan Skruggs again. He swings my weight back once before he tosses me into the air. I flail my legs and arms, grasping at anything to slow my fall. I hit the powder with an explosion of snow. In reality it likely wasn’t much more than a three foot drop, even if I felt like I was skydiving. Evan leaps over the top of me. White powder bursts into the air on impact. The weight of his new trench collapses mine, and I slide into him with a squeal of delight.
The photographer must take a hundred pictures of Evan and me. But it isn’t until Evan plants a kiss on the back of my hand that he pronounces us finished.
“Pure chemistry,” he says as he tromps away in the snow. “You two are made for each other.”
Chapter 17
Evan
She hasn’t said anything for three minutes. I keep looking at my watch to check. We’ve been walking down a path in total silence while I wait on the verdict for my fate.
“You start,” she says. “What’s really going on here? What didn’t Winnie tell me?”
I stuff my hands into my pockets so I won’t be tempted to try to touch her. “Years ago I hired Hattie Hewbacker to be the face of my recipe books. Things escalated from there. Pretty soon I was bigger than I thought possible. When Hattie went off the rails, she took everything I have with her. Winnie wanted me to come here to give America something to love like they loved Granny McPherson, but the real me, he isn’t loveable. Hardly even likeable. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
She pulls a face like I’ve said something wrong. I’m trying to be honest for once. She doesn’t object, so I press on.
“You, on the other hand, are loveable, Brooke. You threw yourself out there from the very beginning, people saw that. You’re the only reason I’m not sunk at this point. It’s our relationship, even if they’re imagining the whole thing, that’s saving my career. The executives in charge want to rebrand me.”
“Like a cow?”
“No.”
“Like a horse.”
“Not like livestock, like marketing.” It’s only then that I realize she was teasing me. “They want to trash the Granny façade and instead make me The Bad Boy Baker.”
Brooke’s hand flies to her mouth, but not fast enough. Her innocent giggle pops from her lips like popcorn over a campfire. “Bad boy baker? Are you kidding? How can you say that with a straight face?”
I frown. “They’re thinking motorcycle, leather apron, no more smiles—”
“I like your smile.”
Her words knock me off-kilter. “Yeah well, you might be the only one. They want to sell this womanizing image of me. That’s where you came in.”
She stops short of the old barn’s entrance, running her fingers over the chipped red paint. “What do I have to do with any of this?”
My stomach twists, and it’s not from the smell of manure inside. “In order to sell this image, they wanted me to seduce you, make you fall in love with me, and then I was supposed to dump you before Christmas to prove how awful I am.”
She reels back, pressing space in between us. “Is that what this was?”
“No.” I want to take that space back, but the look on her face keeps me away. “Maybe the first couple days, but I meant it today, Brooke, this isn’t about not wanting you. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I stopped.”
“You like me, but you can’t be with me because you like money too much?” She lets it trail off to nothing as if my answer is stupid.
“If it was only about me, I’d tell them to jump in a lake, but there are people depending on me for work. If I give up, if I quit, I’ll be basically firing a ton of good people right before Christmas.”
Brooke takes a few steps forward, disappearing into the barn. I follow, moving slowly to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Two horses stand in a stall ahead, one black, one creamy yellow, both huge. She moves to the haystack, peeling off two rectangles worth of hay, tossing one to each horse. She repeats the motion for a few goats on the opposite side. I’m lost for a moment, watching the simplicity of her beauty.
It’s not about the makeup, or the hair. I ruined half of what her artists did to her when I threw her in the snow. It’s her. It’s Brooke at her core, a truly beautiful person on the inside, glowing through to the outside. She pats a goat on the head before she turns back to me.
“I guess I don’t get it.”
“Well, like I said, if there weren’t these other people depending on me, I’d act differently, but—”
She sets her hand on my chest, and I stop breathing, effectively cutting off my sentence.
“No,” She gives a weak smile, “I don’t understand why you don’t believe in yourself.”
It’s my turn to feel lost. “What does that have t
o do with anything?”
Her fingers wind around my collar, straightening it, running her hand down the front of my shirt as if the ease the wrinkles from the fabric. I don’t realize how cold I am until her warm hand catches me. Alfalfa and dust fill the air, combined with the lilac scent that always hovers around Brooke. Peace descends on the moment, waiting for her to explain her thinking.
“I don’t understand why it’s only two choices. You’re saying you can either be this bad boy, or you can lose everything.”
I shrug, though it’s feeble. “I don’t see another path, Brooke.”
She smiles that sweet smile I’ve come to cherish. Her fingers link with mine, pulling me toward the back of the barn. We climb over a couple bales of hay, climb a ladder, slide off the back side of the loft to a beam that spans a crawl space in the floor. At the end of the beam she eases down a piece of plywood, still acting like we’re kids playing at the park. Once she’s on the ground again, she reaches her hand back to me, and waits for me to fall in step behind her.
“That didn’t look like a path, did it?”
I glance over my shoulder, laughing a bit at what she called a path. “We forged our way through an obstacle course. I’d hardly call it a viable route, and now we’re stuck at the back of the barn with no way out.”
Half her smile tilts up before it falls again. “Like I said, you need to start believing in something.” She reaches forward and presses against the wall. Light streams in at the crack. A door I never knew existed falls open. She gives my hand a squeeze and pulls me back outside to the blowing snowdrifts. We follow another trail for a moment, deeper and deeper into the forest. Once more she’s content to leave me to my thoughts. I wish I understood what she was getting at. I’ve tried looking at this every way I can, but with the Granny persona is falling apart, and this new image being my only option, I’m at a loss.
“Maybe,” her voice is music against the winter wonderland, “you need a little more faith, Evan.”
“I don’t have any to begin with, so I’d be starting from scratch.”
“You’re good at working from scratch.” She glances up at me through her lashes. “I think you have more than you know. Your life has been blessed from day one.”
“Day one? When my parents died and left me to my drunk uncle?”
“Day one, when you survived on the streets. Evan, can’t you see that everything you’ve faced has built you into an amazing man? One who should be proud of who he’s become.” She stops and turns, blocking my route. “You say you’re not lovable, but I’ve seen different. Those kids adored you. My guests look forward to seeing you. Sure, the carolers aren’t fans anymore, but no one’s perfect.”
I catch her opposite hand and wrap my cold fingers into her soft gloves. “And you? What do you think of me?”
Brooke ponders her answer for longer than I want to wait. “I see someone who wants desperately to prove to everyone that he’s amazing, but I’ve seen it from the start. I wish I could show you, Evan. You don’t need a persona, or a gimmick. Come clean, tell your story. Sell your books as yourself. You’re good enough.”
Her plan is the equivalent of crawling over bales of hay and sliding down the chute to a door that leads to nowhere. Basically impossible.
“I can’t. I don’t want people to know.”
“And that’s why you hide.”
I don’t need to nod to let her know she’s right. “I want you, Brooke. I just don’t see a way to make it work. I’d be selfish to cost this many jobs, just to make myself happy.”
Her blue-tinged lips press tight until they’re nearly white. She can’t hide the disappointment. I expect her to say something like, “I understand” or “I wish you’d change your mind”, but true to everything she is, she surprises me again.
“Then I’ll help you.”
“What do you mean you’ll help me?”
She shrugs. “We’ll sell it. Big romance, big fight, and the bad boy is born.” I start to object, but she cuts me off. “You said if you can’t convince them, then everyone will lose their jobs anyway. I don’t want that either. We can’t be together, but the least we can do is save their jobs.”
“I won’t let you do this.”
She tries to brush it off, but emotion clouds up her eyes. “It’s not your choice.” She breaks our hands apart and starts back for the house. Before she’s out of range she calls back, “Just so you know, when the time comes, I’m gonna slap you.”
I want to smile. She makes me want to laugh, but I can’t because the weight is too great. She’s willing to become someone new to save me and my company, but I can’t even be myself to save us.
Chapter 18
Brooke
I won’t let him know how much I cried. That’s an important part of my plan. If he knew, he’d never let this move forward. He’s right, it would be selfish to let those people lose their jobs, and he’s not ready to share his past with the world. The only option left is to help him, even if it costs me a few nights of tears. Grandmamma always said we should be willing to make sacrifices for the people we care about. Despite my best efforts otherwise, Evan falls into that category.
Before everything changed, I thought about inviting him to spend Christmas with me. We’d chase that lonesome bug away with baked goods and frosting fights, maybe even light Grandpapa’s fireplace. But that was before I found out the truth. Before the voices in the back of my head started whispering that none of this was ever real. At least not for him, not like it was for me. Whether I like it or not, whether it’s in my personality or not, I have to protect my heart.
With only two appearances left, time is ticking fast. This afternoon we’re supposed to go ice skating. Willow Glen builds a rink every year. It’s been a fun tradition since I was a kid. It pains me to have to go without my grandparents. Every year, Grandmamma would watch from the wall, while Grandpapa acted as though he wasn’t paying attention. Every now and then, I caught him smiling as I spun on the ice. When Winnie told Evan the plan last night, I think he paled a bit. I get the feeling he’s never skated. For once, I’m the one with experience.
It takes half an hour to find my ice skates buried at the back of my closet. I hold them close for a moment, remembering the time I spent skating with everyone I loved within hugging distance. Too much has changed in the last year. Ice skating won’t be the same without them, and I know Christmas won’t either.
A light rap on wood snaps me back to reality. I twist to see him. Evan stands in the door, winter coat zipped up as if we’re already outside.
Maybe he feels it too.
The world feels colder when we’re forced apart.
“You ready? I thought we’d go together.”
“Of course. Everyone will love that.” The cynicism creeps into my voice, even if I know it’s wrong. I push to my feet. “Do I have to be careful about what I say? Are the cameras following us on the ice?”
The weight of what we’re about to do hangs from him like wet laundry. “I doubt it. We’re only bringing two guys, and neither of them skate. Andrew says this is mostly about making me look like a fool. Focus groups say I’m too perfect. I need flaws.”
That idea brings a smile to my face. “Tell that to old lady Stevens and the rest of The Front Street Carolers. Pretty sure any one of them would say you were flawed.”
“A guy throws one little apple…”
“One might not have been an issue, but seven? That’s a criminal offence.”
“Punishable by pie?”
“You wish.”
“They’d probably insist that I make it.”
“Then they’d throw it back at you.”
“Punishment fits the crime.” He laughs, but it lacks the mirth it normally has. Our eyes meet. The air gels. I wonder if it hurts him to look at me, like it hurts me when he’s standing this close. Unspoken words pile between us like the snowdrifts outside.
“I’ll meet you in the car.” His footsteps echo before
I have a chance to ask him if he’s sure this is how he wants things to be.
✽ ✽ ✽
Evan
I don’t know how I plan to survive the next thirty-six hours. I thought it might be easier with her in the know, but feeling this distance between us that wasn’t there before, it’s killing me. She’s protecting herself, at least that’s what I’m assuming. Where she used to let me brush up against her, or push her hair back out of her eyes, now she ensures a distance of at least four feet at all times, like a barrier to keep me out of her heart. I wonder if it’s working, or if she’s struggling like me.
“Okay, Evan, over here.” The guy in charge has told me his name three times, not to mention his title. Chief something of something for something, but I can’t remember, and I don’t care to ask. Mostly, I don’t care to know.
I need this over. I need to fast forward to the slap she’s promised me and the long flight home. It’s great that four feet of space protects Brooke’s heart. I’m hoping a few hundred miles will trick me into believing I never fell in love with her.
“Evan.” Guy In Charge, yells at me again. “Hit the ice with Brooke, I’m freezing.”
Not my problem. He’s the one who dressed in a Hawaiian print shirt and a light jacket. With three feet of snow on the ground, I don’t think I owe him any sympathy for his stupidity. But Brooke takes better direction than me. Ever obedient, she glides onto the ice. For a second, I’m caught up in watching her. She’s at ease out there on the homemade rink. It’s not much more than frozen water over a shallow pond, but the way she moves steals my breath.
“Pan in on him,” Guy In Charge says to the cameramen. “Second shot over his shoulder, stay tight on the girl.”
They ruin everything. I can’t pretend when they’re constantly forcing reality back into play. If I can’t daydream in peace, then I might as well get this over with.
The first step on the ice nearly ends with me on the ground. At the last second, I grab the flimsy wall surrounding the rink and cling with all my might. I try to push off, but my skates slip every direction except forward. I’m basically a cartoon character with my legs flailing, running, sliding, but never skating.
Christmas With Granny McPherson Page 14
