by Gigi Blume
“Ya never know until you try,” I said, wagging a finger.
We stopped a few times to let Reeses out, filled the tank, and grabbed lunch at a super market. We weren’t about to take any more chances at roadside diners.
Wyatt studied the map at one of our stops, spreading it out on the kitchenette table. “If we continue to drive with minimal stops we can get to L.A. by six or seven in the morning.”
“That’s nuts,” I said, shaking my head. “We’ll have to rest for a few hours.”
“Are you sure? What about the wedding?”
“It’s at four PM,” I assured him. “We’ll be okay.”
After the adventure we’d had so far, even I didn’t believe my own words. But what could be done at this point? I closed my hand over his and gave a comforting squeeze. He jerked his head to meet my gaze, his features alight with awareness. He was so beautiful. I bit my bottom lip to keep my jaw from coming unhinged and his focus instinctively dipped to my mouth then back to focus on my eyes.
I’d never wanted a kiss in my life more than I did just then. I wanted more than a kiss. I wanted everything about Wyatt—the smiles, the small touches, the quirky conversation. I’d even take the zany disasters as long as I could be near him. I channeled all my energy to convey my desire for a kiss in my lazy gaze. What was that come-hither look the heroine always made in my brother’s movies? Hooded eyes? Ah yes. I dropped my lids to half-mast, trying not to blink. My lashes fluttered. So sexy. I had him now.
“Are you okay?” He grimaced. “You look really tired.”
“Tired? No. A little cold, maybe.” I tried the pouty lips next. “I wonder if you could...warm me up?”
He blinked at me. “Why don’t you climb in the back and get in the bed?”
“The bed?!”
Yikes, I better dial the sexy back a notch.
“Yeah. Crawl under the blankets and I’ll wake you up when we make our next stop.” He pranced to the front of the camper and slid in the driver’s seat, whistling Jingle Bells. I eyed Reeses who had his little tongue dangling out of his snout, the corners of his doggie mouth upturned. He was totally laughing at me.
“Do you wanna kiss me?”
He yipped and wagged his tail.
“All right. Come along.” I slugged to the back of the RV and planted myself on the bed. Come to think of it, I was kind of drowsy. Joy kept me up most of the night showing me trending Tik Toks until my eyeballs bled.
Kids these days.
I snuggled under the covers, lifting them up to my chin as Reeses rested his head on my shoulder—his furry whiskers tickling my cheek. The camper rocked into motion and before we drove onto the highway, the soothing rhythm lulled me to sleep.
19
Georgia
I woke with a start as the RV bounced over the bumpy road. Disoriented and groggy, it took a minute to remember where I was. I’d slept so heavily, I didn’t notice when we left the main highway onto rural streets. I peeked out the back curtain. Rural terrain stretched on as jagged rocks glowed red with the last tinge of the setting sun. Snow-capped mountains stood watch in the distance, safeguarding the dry, uneven foothills dotted with patches of white.
“Where are we?” I stumbled the length of the RV, taming the tangles in my hair.
“New Mexico,” Wyatt chirped.
Reeses was in my seat, the traitor. He perched his front paws on the windowsill so he could see outside and his tail was going a mile a minute. He was so jumpy and excited. I scooped him up and reclaimed my seat as we rolled onto a dirt road passing huge wooden posts, which appeared as though they had once been part of a great fence. The serpentine road, pocked with dips and craggy rocks, weaved through small hills and inclined gently into a forest of odd-looking pines. The RV rocked and swayed as we rambled up the road, reaching a stretch of farmland resembling an old ranch. It could have been a scene from an old western if it weren’t for the gleaming red Chevy parked below the steps of a stunning flat-roofed adobe house.
Wyatt parked the RV and grinned at me, his teeth dazzling across his face.
"We're here."
"Where's here exactly?"
Reeses went ballistic. He leapt off my lap and bounded over to Wyatt, scratching on the driver's side window.
"Okay, already. Calm down peanut."
The crazy little dog shook all over like he couldn't stand being inside the RV a second more. How long had the poor thing been holding it?
Wyatt cracked the door and Reeses bolted. I didn't see where he went at first, guessing he'd found a tree to baptize, but then he came into view galloping up the steps toward the house, barking all the way.
"Wow, he's really gone bonkers. Did he find a squirrel?'
Wyatt reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, grazing his knuckles along my cheek as he retracted his hand.
"Come on before he gets into too much trouble.”
He spun his legs around and hopped out onto the gravel, closing the door behind him.
“Wait! Wyatt. What is this place?”
He didn’t hear me. He was already heading up, two steps at a time.
I stumbled out to join him, still not completely awake until the cold hit me. I turned right back around to get our coats.
The house stood prominently on high ground with stone steps leading to a gravel footpath. Desert brush and cacti lined the walkways and served as ground cover. And the whole area was lit up by luminaries.
When I caught up, Wyatt was waiting for me at the top landing of the steps. He reached out as I approached, not for the coat, even though I handed it to him, but for my hand. He leveled his gaze on me, filling his chest with the crisp air, and ran his thumb over my wrist. The most peaceful wave ran though me, and there with a backdrop of the deep blue sky and the warm paper bag lights, he glowed. Beyond real, in a Photoshop sort of way.
“Wyatt? Is that you?” An older woman called excitedly, running down the footpath. “Good heavens!”
She was a petite, slender woman in her fifties with cropped auburn hair, wire rimmed glasses and the friendliest smile imaginable. She had a free, salt-of-the earth quality. Reeses ran in circles around her as she hurried along, wiping her hands on her apron. Wyatt met her halfway and threw his arms around her, squeezing her for a long moment.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said through tears. “Home for Christmas. Let me look at you.”
She held his shoulders at arm’s length, which wasn’t very far for her. She had to crane her neck to see his face.
“Ma, I want you to meet someone,” he said, turning his eyes to me. She wiped her cheeks and shifted to look at me. Her whole face lit up and a bright smile spread wide across her features.
“Is this the one?” she said, beaming at me.
The one?
“Hi, I’m Georgia.” I closed the distance and offered my hand. She brushed it aside and swooped in for a hug.
“Wyatt’s told me so much about you,” she said, breaking the hug to squeeze my hands. “You’re even prettier than he described.”
“Ma!”
I had no idea how pretty I looked at present considering my bed head and the dried up drool in the corner of my mouth. Also, I was fairly certain I had pillow marks on my face.
“Uh, thanks?”
She scrunched up her nose adorably. “Let’s get you two inside. I was just about to make biscochitos.”
We followed her up to the house, our path illuminated by the paper bag lanterns, each one with a flaming votive candle inside. They were everywhere—even covering the perimeter of the roof. It was one of the most spectacular sights I’d ever seen.
“Should we be worried about a fire hazard?” I whispered to Wyatt.
“Nah. She lights these every Christmas Eve.” He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. “It’s tradition.”
Heaven help me, those lips were even more velvety than they looked. I turned to goo right then and there.
He
tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow and pointed out areas of interest like a proud tour guide:
These agave plants have been here for seventy-five years.
And:
My great-grandpa built this house with his bare hands. He formed every adobe brick out of mud and hay.
It was all so beautiful and fascinating. The inside of the house was adorned with a mixture of Spanish and Native American decor. Cast iron sconces flanked a mantle made of reclaimed wood, the floor was a terra cotta tile, dried red chili peppers hung in wreaths in the archways, and colorful water color paintings of men in feathered headdresses or dark-haired beauties adorned every wall.
Wyatt’s mother was a work of art herself. She wore a pink western button down with fringe pockets, a woven vest with embroidered orange doves, and enough turquoise jewelry to open a shop on eBay. She wasted no time in serving up some hot cocoa and planted us on the sofa right in front of the fireplace. Reeses made himself at home on the rug.
“Thank you, Mrs. Silva.” I blew on the cup, enjoying the warm steam on my face.
“Oh, please, call me Anita. Most of my children do. Except for Wyatt.” She winked at him. I got the sense he was her favorite, even though no mother would admit such a thing.
“Your sisters will be so surprised.” She leaned over and draped her hand on Wyatt’s knee. “Palanca and Steven are coming. You won’t recognize Sophia, she’s almost two, and if she stays awake at Mass, we’ll let her open one present.”
“Palanca’s your sister?”
Wyatt nodded. “Yeah. Listen, Ma—“
“Janet and Jennifer,” she glanced at me and then added, “Those are the twins. They said they’d try to make it tonight but for sure will be here in the morning.”
Wyatt tried again to speak but she went on. “Claire couldn’t make it this year...”
“Second youngest,” added Wyatt. “She’s backpacking through Europe.”
“And Vickie’s around here somewhere. She was supposed to clean her room.” She rolled her eyes. “Teenagers.”
I giggled. My roommate at Juilliard was as messy as a teen.
Wyatt squeezed Anita’s hand. “Ma, we can’t stay. We’re only here for a couple of hours and then have to get back on the road.”
Anita studied his face for some time, maybe trying to find the joke in his eyes.
Just kidding, we’re staying forever. Surprise!
“It’s Christmas Eve, Wyatt. You’re here now, the best Christmas present I could ask for...and you’re not staying?” There was hurt in her voice and my heart cracked a little. I’d do anything to spend one more Christmas with my parents. I hardly knew my mother—what a gift Wyatt had.
“What about midnight Mass?” she asked. “It’s a tradition.”
Wyatt knit his brows together. I could tell he was conflicted. “Georgia’s brother is getting married tomorrow and I promised I’d get her to L.A. on time.”
Anita glanced at me, tears threatening at the rims of her eyes but she was trying hard not to show it. “A wedding on Christmas! That’s wonderful.” She stood, clearing her throat. “Then you really must go soon.”
“We can stay for a little while, Ma. We’ve been driving for hours.”
He had been driving for hours, not we. I abandoned my navigating duties in favor of a warm bed.
“Then you must be hungry,” she replied with a brave smile. “I’ll heat up some empanadas.”
“We can stay,” I blurted. Wyatt jerked his head toward me. “What time is your church service? Midnight? If we leave right afterward, we’ll get to L.A. at eleven or so.”
“I don’t know.” Wyatt shook his head. “That’s cutting it awfully close.”
“I told you the wedding’s not until four. We’ll totally make it. And you can take a nap.”
Anita inclined her head in agreement. “She’s got a point. You don’t want to fall asleep on the road.”
I silently congratulated myself for coming up with the plan.
“Okay,” Wyatt agreed. “But only because I can’t say no to two beautiful women.”
Anita swatted him on the arm and scurried into the kitchen. Wyatt took my hand and whispered, “Thank you.” His voice was a low rumble and made my insides melt. I breathed him in, so ready for a kiss. But then I remembered we were on his mother’s couch and winked instead.
“De nada, limonada.”
He arched a brow. “You speak Spanish?”
“No. I just memorize phrases I like. Do you? Your last name sounds Spanish. And your mom has an accent I can’t place.”
“That’s the New Mexico accent. It’s a mixture of Native American, Spanglish, and Southern, I guess.”
“And Silva? Is that a Spanish name?”
“Portuguese, actually. Although my grandma used to say we were part Jewish and part Navajo.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Then again, she also said she wrestled an alligator, so...”
I laughed. “Maybe she did.”
“Maybe she did.” He pulled me from the sofa and placed a warm hand on the small of my back. “I do know she had the best empanada recipe. My mom makes them every year.”
My tummy growled in response. We hadn’t had a good meal since the turkey.
“And a word of advice,” he said as we walked. “Stay out of Vickie’s room unless you want nightmares.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
Wyatt wasn’t kidding about the empanadas. They were sweet and savory at the same time, made with some kind of mincemeat, raisins, and pine nuts. The dough was a pillowy, deep-fried, out of body experience for my mouth. I ate five of them.
“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted,” I said with a mouthful. I just couldn’t get over it.
“It’s the fresh-roasted piñóns from our orchard that make the difference,” said Anita proudly.
“Were those all the trees I saw on the way in?”
“Piñón harvesting has been our family’s livelihood since the eighteen-hundreds,” said Wyatt.
I thought that was the coolest thing ever. Much cooler than my family’s legacy as far as I was concerned. It seemed so rugged and earthy.
After we stuffed ourselves to the brim, Anita set some empanadas aside for our trip. Then, once Wyatt’s phone charged for a little bit, I called Will. He barked at me for making him worry, then in a softer tone told me a friend of his could get a private plane ready in a matter of hours. He wasn’t going to deal with any more of this road trip “nonsense.”
Jaxson Knightly, an A-list director and one of my brother’s groomsmen, had acquired his pilot’s license and was poised to come rescue me.
“That’s not scary at all,” I half-joked. He didn’t laugh.
In the end, I agreed to meet Jaxson at Santa Fe Regional Airport the next morning.
Anita was thrilled at the news and was already making plans to have an early morning gift exchange before we left. Wyatt questioned what we would do about the motor home. I suggested we could return to celebrate New Year’s Eve with his family and drive back to California at a leisurely pace since the nuns didn’t need it until January. I’d call and let them know. He brightened at the idea and was in the best of moods the rest of the evening.
Vicky came home. Finally. She was a sweet girl of seventeen. Not very talkative, but sweet.
Baking had always been a therapeutic pastime for me. It gave me a quiet outlet to spend time alone with clouds of flour and sugar. I loved making treats for my brother during the holidays and it did wonders to soften him up a bit when he was in a prickly mood. Sharing the baking experience with Wyatt’s family gave me a sense of home I wasn’t accustomed to. Anita and Vicky mixed the shortening, eggs, and anise seed while Wyatt and I measured the dry ingredients. Every so often his forearm would brush against mine alighting my skin with electricity. His lip curled ever so slightly and I knew he felt it, too. It became blatantly obvious he took advantage of the opportunity for little touches when he insisted on helping me roll o
ut the dough.
Once the cookies were cooled and we’d finished them off with a dusting of cinnamon sugar, my senses were on overload. The scent of sweet anise filled the kitchen, spilling out into the living room and while we sampled our labors on the sofa, Wyatt’s denim-clad leg intermittently bumped against my knee. I don’t know which was more euphoric, the unbelievably delicious cookies or the exquisite delight of Wyatt’s close proximity. Every bit of me was on fire—my blood intoxicated with overwhelming bliss.
I was grateful when Anita suggested we go into town early to reserve seats at the church and see the sights. The snowy streets of Santa Fe were exactly what I needed to cool down the fever in my beating pulse.
20
Wyatt
Dad wasn’t home when Georgia and I blew into town. If he knew we were coming, he might have blown off his domino game with his buddies, and he was near impossible to reach by cell phone. But at least he’d be at St. Francis Cathedral for Mass. Mom parked at the end of Canyon Road and said to meet at the Cathedral by eleven just in case we got separated.
“Your dad can’t save seats once Lessons and Carols starts, so don’t spend too much time fooling around.” She stared directly at Vicky as she said this. My indifferent teenage sister glanced up from her phone long enough to pretend she was paying attention then went right back to her group chat.
“Lessons and Carols?” asked Georgia.
“The choir performs some music before church starts,” I explained. “You’ll like it, I think.”
“You won’t,” chimed in Vicky, jumping out of the car. “Trust me.”
So she was paying attention to the living after all.
“It’s a little too archaic for her taste,” I said, offering Georgia my hand. She smiled sweetly and pressed her delicate fingers in my palm. My heart sputtered to a stop. Her touch was that powerful.
“Archaic is right up my alley,” she replied.
We made our way toward the park where we were to meet up with my sister Palanca, her husband Steven and little Sophia before trekking the mile or so on the Farolito Walk, ending at the Cathedral for midnight Mass. It was a family tradition, one I was anxious for Georgia to love as much as I did.
