Meant To Be Different

by Amelia Foster

  His brother nodded slowly. “But have you shown her the house?”

  An escaped breath relaxed the tension in Wyatt’s chest when Tanner didn’t ask for any more information on the why of their covert date. “Well, yeah. I told you I took her up—”

  Realization dawned and a grin spread across Wyatt’s face. One that lasted only a moment. “But it isn’t finished. The crew has been focusing on the paddock and buildings…” Back to square one of how to create a special date without repeating everything he’d already done.

  The older man chuckled and clapped him on the back. “Think outside of the box, little brother. It’s amazing what five hundred dollars’ worth of pillows and bedding can do. It can even transform the bed of my truck into a damn oasis.” An odd grin curled his lips. “And help bring back my wife’s smile.”

  Wyatt’s stomach clenched remembering just how close his brother came to losing everything that mattered most, his wife and his family. Yeah, if anyone could help him figure out how to gain Georgia’s trust, it would definitely be Tanner.

  ***

  Georgia

  Two of the yellow and green capsules, one beige tablet, and a handful of vitamins went into each square container as Georgia portioned out her grandmother’s prescriptions into daily doses for the week. The morning doses at least. She then would have a repeat with similar pills in a separate box for her evening medications.

  In the same kitchen, at the same counter where she’d done the exact same task for her mother. It was too familiar.

  She tossed two frozen waffles onto a plate and put them in the microwave. One meal she absolutely could not manage to mess up. Well, not too often. There was that one time she ended up with wooden discs after setting the power way too high for far too long. Since then, she stuck to doing twenty-second increments. And being okay with eating less than piping hot food for fear another rotation would result in an inedible, cardboard-like creation.

  When the appliance dinged, she arranged them on a plate with bananas and strawberries, a small dish of cottage cheese, and a cup of tepid tea. She cut everything into bite-sized pieces, poured a bit of syrup over the waffles, and placed the well-rounded breakfast on a tray.

  Georgia bumped her hip against the partially opened door and carried the meal inside. “Morning, Gram!” The forced cheerfulness in her tone would go completely unnoticed by the older woman, but it made Georgia feel better.

  A vacant stare was her only reply, but thankfully, Gram managed to get out of the bed she’d been reclining in while the TV played an old black and white show and crossed over to the firm upholstered chair on the other side of the room. Georgia set up a TV tray and placed all the dishes on the pressed board surface.

  Moving about the room setting out clothes and wiping imaginary dust, she chattered on about the weather, the garden, and anything absurd and ridiculous she could possibly think of for their one-sided conversation. Gram dutifully took her pills and slowly ate her meal in silence, allowing a measure of tension to evaporate from Georgia’s shoulders.

  She was never sure what her grandmother would be like from day to day, hell, from hour to hour. The times where the disease owned her mind and made her fearful and combative would seem to be the worst, but they weren’t. They at least gave a voice to the woman still contained within.

  It was the moments like this when Georgia specifically told her grandmother about how beautiful the zinnias—the other woman’s favorite flower—looked in full bloom and was only greeted with a long, empty blink that her heartache deepened.

  She tried to tease her by threatening to attempt to replicate Gram’s practically famous peach pie. The comment would have normally elicited an eye roll or groan or exaggerated plea to avoid the oven at all costs after the cookie baking fiasco that nearly burned the house down when she was twelve and visiting them over the summer.

  But today the older woman merely stared, not even making eye contact with her granddaughter.

  Georgia sighed and crossed the room, kneeling beside the chair. “Would you like to get dressed and come walk with me in the garden? I added some geraniums the other day.” A tight laugh escaped. “Mostly because I was mad at Wyatt and it seemed like a better idea than all the other options, which would have no doubt ended in me paying hefty fines and possible jail time.”

  Gram turned her head, and a small spark lit her eyes. “Lena? Oh, honey, you look so good today. How are you feeling?”

  Scratch that. The vacancy was only rivaled by the times Gram confused Georgia with her mother.

  Her grandmother patted her hand and continued on, oblivious to the pain lancing through Georgia’s heart with intense precision. “Wyatt? You mean that boy Georgia is dating? He seems like a fine young man, and he really cares about her. I think they will be all right.”

  A tear slid down Georgia’s cheek accompanied by sardonic laughter. She dropped her head forward against the arm rest of the chair.

  He had. He had cared about her. He’d made sure her adolescent self was able to bask in a small glow of happiness during one of the hardest times of her life. Throughout the times she wasn’t sure she could breathe, much less function, he offered a silent support she cherished.

  Right before he ripped the rug from beneath her feet and left her shattered. She cleared her throat and swiped the moisture beneath her lid. With brisk efficiency, she helped her grandmother change into linen pants and a light top and led her to the garden.

  The sun and flowers worked their magic to perk up Gram, even though she still kept calling Georgia by her mother’s name and pummeling Georgia’s already battered heart in the process.

  Chapter Twelve

  Georgia

  Thirteen Years Earlier

  The cuckoo clock for her grandparents and matching fluffy robes for her mom and dad weren’t their real Christmas gifts. Georgia shifted in the green satin dress that made her mother’s eyes light up when she saw her at the dinner table. This was her true present to her family. Ditching the surly goth girl for one day.

  She flattened the pencil against the white paper, shading in the flank of the horse. Tomorrow she and Wyatt had agreed to exchange gifts, and she wanted hers to be perfect. What could she possibly get for a Rhinestone Cowboy that somehow managed to handle every part of her and give her all the things she never knew she needed? The intangible things. Time, attention, and kisses that could set fire to an igloo.

  Georgia blew away some of the dust from the page and scrutinized the drawing. This was the best thing she could think of. She’d always loved to draw, and her parents had fostered her gift by supplying her with a never-ending stream of graphite pencils and blank sketchpads.

  “What are you drawing, Georgie?” The soft voice of her mother—that seemed to grow frailer by the day—barely reached her over the din of the holiday movie playing on TV.

  Setting her pencils on an end table out of the mischievous mouths of Roxy and Roscoe, who had already destroyed more than their fair share of her art supplies, she took her design to her mother, being cautious to sit down gently beside her. “It’s for Wyatt.” She lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t know what to get him.”

  Hazel eyes that mirrored her own lit up as Lena drank in the sketch. Georgia worried it wasn’t her best, but the glow lighting the older woman’s sallow complexion gave her hope. “This is beautiful, honey. He’ll love it.”

  Before Georgia could explain that she had bought a silver picture frame that had a border that reminded her of a rope, the doorbell rang through the house. Georgia’s brows drew together, and a knowing smile covered her mother’s face. Who in the world could possibly be visiting on Christmas night?

  “You better go answer that.” The whispered encouragement was accompanied with a surprisingly firm squeeze on the arm from her mother’s bony hand.

  The soft material of her dress swished against her bare legs as she walked to the door, swinging it open wide. Every emotion from surprise to embarrassment to a tinge of panic
at being caught off guard raced through her veins like wildfire. Her stupid freaking cowboy stood on the other side with his cocky smirk firmly in place.

  “Merry Christmas, Angel.”

  Eyes wide, she shook her head. “Tomorrow. You were supposed to come over to exchange gifts tomorrow.”

  Wyatt shrugged and squinted, the grin never leaving his far too kissable lips. “Yeah, but I decided to change the plan.” He lifted his chin, gaze fixed on something over her left shoulder. “Good evening, Mr. Marsh. Merry Christmas.”

  Her father dropped her coat around her shoulders, kissed her cheek, and held a hand out to Wyatt. “Merry Christmas, son. Ten o’clock. Don’t forget.”

  From the opposite side, the handles of a gift bag were pressed into her palm. She turned just in time to catch a wink from her grandmother. It was the one she’d picked out to put Wyatt’s gift in, but she’d just now finished the drawing and hadn’t had time to put it in the frame. What in the ever-loving hell was going on around her?

  He pumped the older man’s arm once resolutely and nodded. “I promise, sir. Thanks for letting me steal her away.”

  With very little input from her brain, Georgia threaded her arms through the sleeves of her coat and followed Wyatt down the walkway. When her ballet slipper-clad toe reached the sidewalk that ran in front of her house, she paused and grabbed his arm. “Wyatt, would you care to tell me what you’re doing?”

  A more genuine smile curled his lips. The one she couldn’t find the strength to resist. “I know we planned to celebrate tomorrow, and if you can, I’d still love to spend the day with you.” He cupped her cheek tenderly. “But I wanted you to have this on Christmas. And I’m pretty damn lucky your father agreed.”

  She shook her head to clear away the cobwebs of confusion. “Wanted me to have what?”

  Bright blue eyes twinkled in the streetlight. “Trust me, Angel, just trust me.”

  He led her down the sidewalk, across the street, and up the hill, stopping beneath the arched entryway to the park. “Close your eyes.”

  Georgia huffed out a sigh. “Wyatt, no. I don’t know what harebrained scheme you have planned but I am absolutely, positively not—”

  His lips captured hers, stealing her breath and silencing her argument. A soft moan escaped her mouth, and he deepened the kiss. She twined her arms around his neck, and he tightened his firm embrace.

  When the need for oxygen necessitated their separation, he offered a smaller, softer smile. “Please, Angel. Just close your eyes for two minutes. I promise I won’t let you fall and I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  Begrudgingly she obeyed and allowed herself to be plunged into darkness as her eyes drifted closed. He gripped her hands in his and slowly led her down the uneven path, whistling Christmas carols as they walked.

  Fighting the grin he caused was pointless. “You really are something else, Wyatt Carlisle.”

  He dropped her hands, turned her to the left, and pulled her spine against his chest. His hot breath tickled her ear as he leaned in close. “Open.”

  With a smirk, she lifted her lids, and every smartass remark she’d conjured up died on her lips. The bench she’d claimed as her sanctuary, the first place in this whole town where she’d actually felt safe, and the very same spot where Wyatt discovered her that day so long ago, was adorned with a red velvet ribbon. White lights were strung from the large oak tree hanging overhead, and oversized red and green ornaments hung from bare limbs. Fake snow made a trail from where they stood to the wooden bench where a single present wrapped in bright green paper sat.

  Georgia turned in his arms, words failing to come. She could only hope he could read the questions she was certain were etched across her face.

  “You gave me a gift the first time I saw you here so I thought it’d be a good idea to return the favor.” Crimson stained his cheeks, and he ducked his head. His arms fell from her waist, and he tugged her toward the bench. “Come on, you need to open your present.”

  Her eyes darted around their surroundings. “This isn’t the gift?”

  Wyatt chuckled and plopped the package in her lap. “Nope, this is just the arena. That,” he pointed to the square box, “is the main event.”

  She lifted the lid on the green box to reveal…a red one. Georgia ripped off the paper and pried open the flaps to find…another green-wrapped gift. With a half-hearted glare, and plenty of accompanying laughter from Wyatt, she dove into the third package. Inside sat a small white jewelry box. The hinged lid offered a tiny squeak and so did she. Nestled on a bed of soft cotton was a silver cowboy astride a horse, adorned with rhinestones. The delicate pendant hung from a fine chain.

  “Now,” he lifted the necklace out and fastened it around her neck, “you get to keep your stupid freaking Rhinestone Cowboy close to your heart no matter where you are.”

  ***

  Wyatt

  The internal standing ovation Wyatt was giving himself for nailing the gift he gave her for their first Christmas together went silent when her expression morphed from emotional awe to…something he couldn’t identify. He lifted a hand to cradle her face, but she pulled away. And slid the gift she brought with her behind her back.

  Gigi scooted across the bench a little, putting a few inches of distance between them. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

  Wyatt mimicked her movement, closing the space she’d created. “Angel, I’d do anything for you.” The corner of his mouth kicked up, and he reached around her body. “Now, would this happen to belong to me?”

  She snatched the present from his lax fingers, cradling it close to her chest, and stepped a couple of feet away. “Yes. I mean no. I mean…” Her eyes closed and she expelled a heavy sigh. “It’s not ready. Not really.”

  He rose and stood in front of her, hooking a finger beneath her chin to lift her downturned face. The tissue paper and glossy gift bag crackled between them as he pressed in closer. “Talk to me, Angel.”

  The pool of unshed tears glistened along her lid margin. “I just finished it, just before you showed up. I didn’t have time to put it in the—” Her teeth sank into her lower lip, silencing whatever secret she was about to reveal.

  Adorable. When she was spouting off insults with her sassy mouth, she was impressive and sexy as hell. But with her face free of all the heavy makeup and hazel eyes completely open and radiating her vulnerability, she was adorable.

  And Wyatt was smart enough, even at seventeen and with more than one head trauma to his name, to be honored that she trusted him enough to let down the iron bars she’d erected against the rest of the world. “And?”

  Her perfect Cupid’s bow lips turned down, and a shuddering sigh preceded her confession. “And even if it were, it isn’t enough. Not when you did all this for me. It must have taken a couple of hours. On Christmas Day and you did all of that for me.”

  Actually, it had taken four, and he had done it the day before after sweet-talking the parks commissioner into even allowing him in over the holiday. But that was a tidbit she didn’t need to know. Not when his gift was backfiring and making her feel worse.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, crushing the paper bag and trapping whatever it was inside between their bodies. “I’m gonna ask again and only want one answer, either yes or no. Is it for me?”

  The flecks of gold in her eyes sparkled with fire eyes. “You’re such an ass sometimes. Yes, it’s for you.”

  Wyatt winked. “Good to know you can follow instructions.” He laughed when she swatted his bicep in response. “Now, second question, did it make you think of me from the first second you saw it?”

  She twisted her lips from one side to the other. “Well, I kind of made it, but yeah. I guess. I mean I was thinking of you the entire time. Kind of had to.”

  An invisible band closed around his chest and tightened. She’d created something out of thin air specifically for him and didn’t feel like it was enough? Swallowing a few times finally bought
him the ability to speak past the emotions she’d stirred. “Then it isn’t just enough, Angel. It’s perfect.”

  She hesitated for a moment with her hand wrapped around the paper rope of the handles before sliding the flattened bag from between them. “Just…there is part of it that isn’t done. It’s supposed to go in…something.”

  Wyatt grinned and laced his fingers through hers, taking the gift with his other hand and leading her back to the bench. They sat down in unison, knees touching. He pulled the crumpled tissue from the top before grabbing the cold metal inside.

  Every molecule of oxygen disappeared from his lungs when he turned the frame over. The black and white drawing of him astride his horse wasn’t just stunning—although he certainly planned to discuss with her why she’d never told him she was an incredibly gifted artist—it was the most meaningful gift he’d ever been given.

  A small giggle escaped the creature sitting beside him that he suddenly found more amazing than ever before. How had he not known his Gigi, his Angel, possessed such a gift?

  She shrugged. “I guess my grandma must’ve put it in the frame whenever I got up to answer the door.” Her fingers knotted in her lap and then moved to toy with the hem of her green dress. “So that’s, um, kind of it. It isn’t anything close to—”

  Wyatt poured every word that he couldn’t move past his throat into the kiss he used to silence her ridiculous speech. Not enough? This was far more than he deserved and was something he would never let go of. Kind of like the girl he held in his embrace.

  He pulled back enough to break their lips apart and leaned his forehead against hers. “It’s perfect.”