by Gigi Blume
Wyatt ruined the moment with a snort. “You’re joking, right?”
He was met with a cold stare. “Do I look like I joke?”
“No, sir.”
My bladder couldn’t take it anymore. I had to find a bathroom.
“Thanks again,” I said, opening my door. “Is there anything we can do to repay you?”
He turned his scowly face and for the first time since he picked us up, really looked at me and Wyatt. He opened his mouth to speak, pausing as though words were just too much trouble and not really worth the effort. But then he focused on Wyatt, surprising us with this gem:
“Tell your woman you love her every day. Promise me that?”
Wyatt nodded. “Yes, sir. I promise.”
The man cast his eyes on me, then back to Wyatt, then down to where Wyatt unintentionally rested his hand on my knee and said, “Never take each other for granted. Cherish every moment because life is short.”
Then he shooed us out of the truck and we wished him a Merry Christmas as he drove away.
We stood on the sidewalk all aglow from the warm string lights overhead and laughed. Grateful to be alive. Amazed, elated, and perplexed. And happy. It was strange but I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather share this with. It was uniquely ours.
Wyatt scanned our surroundings. “So. Little town of Bethlehem. Let’s see if we have to sleep in a stable.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - GEORGIA
It could have been an idyllic scene. A soft flurry of snow cascading onto the red stone-paved street, colonial brick buildings with brightly-lit shop windows and welcoming entryways, old fashioned street lamps, and—did I hear Christmas music piped onto the sidewalks? I wouldn’t be surprised if the buttery aroma of popcorn reached my nose through hidden vents. There I was, strolling along Main Street, Bethlehem with a sweet dog and even sweeter man. It could have been idyllic—if we weren’t completely lost.
“Did we just teleport into Disneyland?” I joked. “Now I want a churro.”
Wyatt grinned. “Another place on my bucket list.”
“It’s so fun during the holidays,” I said with a sigh. “Main Street looks just like this but not as cold. Then there’s the giant turkey legs.”
My stomach growled.
“I heard that.”
I was too tired, grubby, and hungry to be embarrassed. “What do we do now?”
“First, you should report your credit cards stolen.” He handed me his battered phone. “Then call your brother...’Billy’. Or should I call him Will?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I haven’t bored you with a list of names of all my siblings. It’s no big deal.”
“Really?” It was usually a big deal to most people I’d meet. It’s not fun being the sister of Celeb Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.
Wyatt cradled my chin, brushing his thumb along my cheek. “Really.”
Gah!
Wyatt took Reeses to do his business while I called my brother. I was relieved it went to voicemail. I left a quick, chirpy message to please report my credit cards stolen, keeping it light.
I’m fine. Just got robbed. No big deal. Ha ha. Bye.
I wasn’t looking forward to his reply. In fact, I didn’t think Wyatt’s battery would last that long. It was at ten percent. Why did the guy not plug it in when I’d suggested it?
I found him a few minutes later chatting it up with an old woman. She was the quintessential grandma. Warm smile, rosy cheeks, and a puff of white curls atop her head. Reeses was all over the attention, licking her face as she cradled him in her arms.
“I had Russell Terriers all my life,” she said scratching Reeses behind the ears. “Jo Jo was such a spitfire. Always getting into things.”
When she noticed me her eyes twinkled and she smiled sweetly. “Hello there. You must be the bride.”
The bride?
Wyatt looked at me like “Just go with it.” So I extended my hand in greeting. “I’m Georgia.”
“Oh, we don’t shake hands around here,” she said, and pulled me into an awkward hug with Reeses between us.
I patted her back. “Oh, okay.”
She handed Reeses over to Wyatt. “I look forward to seeing you two later.”
With a wink and a final dog kiss, she strolled off.
“The bride?”
Wyatt shrugged. “She just kinda assumed.”
“Anyway, we need to plug this in.” I handed back his phone. “It’s almost dead.”
“Oh fiddlesticks.”
Fiddlesticks? This guy.
He winced. “The charger was in my backpack.”
“Oh. Fiddlesticks is right.”
We were officially out of luck. No money, no identification, no phone. Also no change of clothes, no toothbrush, no transportation...the list was laughable.
He frowned at his phone. “Rats.”
I shook my head at him and chuckled at all the absurdities of the last two days. He really was the unluckiest guy I’d ever met. “You should have named your dog Snoopy.”
“Snoopy? Why’s that?”
“Because you, my friend, are Charlie Brown.”
A grin cracked across his beautiful face. “Does that make you the red-haired girl?”
My cheeks burned bright. I tried to cover them with my gloved hands. Changing the subject was also a good tactic.
“Moving on. Who was that lady?”
“Oh, just Reeses’ newest friend. She told me all about her grandkids. I practically know her whole family now. How long were you gone?”
A couple minutes tops.
“She seemed...friendly.”
“She was, in fact. Her grandson plays a shepherd boy in the local church’s Living Nativity. His name is A.J., he’s six years old, and he wants Spiderman underwear for Christmas. Oh, and he likes to cook. He wants to be a chef. Apparently he makes a fantastic banana bread.”
“That’s quite a lot of information.”
He bobbed his head animatedly. “So, you want to go?”
“Go where?”
“To the Living Nativity. Remember that commercial we heard? This must be it.”
“We were pretty far away from here when we heard that commercial. And that car radio didn’t have a very good antenna.”
“Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle.”
Oh, Wyatt and his Christmas miracles.
“It will be a Christmas miracle if they have food at this thing.”
Wyatt set Reeses down and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. His gleeful smile shot right to the feels—his face just inches from mine as he squeezed me. He meant it as a friendly gesture but this close to him my nerves jumped to attention. There was warmth in his orbit. The scent that was all Wyatt crept into my senses and made me a little tipsy. I reeled on my feet.
“You alright?”
Not at all.
“Yeah. Just hungry, I guess.”
With a look of concern, he released my shoulder to offer his arm. “I have it on good authority there’ll be the best banana bread in the world and maybe some of Grandma’s homemade fudge.”
“Sounds fancy.” I took his arm. It was so cute, because his chest puffed up with the task of escorting me to the church thing.
He winked and I was done. My belly about flipped over.
“Only the best for Miss Darcy.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - WYATT
Note to self: When asking for directions in a small town, “Just around the corner” actually means “Pass the courthouse, down the street, turn right at Lu Lu’s Bakery, go around some stables, keep going down a back road outside of town, and another half-mile on the left.”
When we arrived at Hope Evangelical Christian Church, even though it wasn’t any further than my usual commute in Manhattan, I was frozen to the bone from the walk. Those things inside my Converse All Stars? They weren’t feet anymore. They were the most unpleasant popsicles in the universe.
> Georgia, who’d planned her wardrobe better than me, was rosy-cheeked and fresh. She could have been on one of those York Peppermint Patty commercials. The cloud from her mouth when she breathed seemed to turn to crystal before floating away to frost nearby windowpanes. Or evergreen trees. Or perhaps turn into gleaming castles of ice with silvery spires jutting heavenward.
Clearly, I put too much thought into Georgia’s minty breath.
I carried Reeses in his bag so his little paws wouldn’t freeze. I’d given him my scarf. He was living the good life.
The church was an old converted barn, renovated to accommodate a fairly large congregation. It was enormous. There were different doors off the main sanctuary, most likely leading to meeting rooms, childcare, or offices. As we entered, a group of teens rushed past us, laden with robes of various colors, plaster wings, and glittery headpieces. A woman with a clipboard worked in the far corner wrangling small children and several others mulled around chatting or getting ready for the performance.
“I guess we’re a little early,” said Georgia, looking around.
“It would seem so. I’m just waiting for my feet to thaw out.”
She tsked at me. “You don’t own a pair of boots, do you?”
I admitted that I did not. I liked my converse.
A door swung open and a pretty woman in her forties rushed through wearing an apron. She had an air of authority about her—the way she carried herself maybe, or perhaps how heads turned as she entered the room.
“Has anyone seen Tom and Denise?” she called out.
Someone shouted back they had the flu. Or was it they had to glue? Could have been either. There was too much activity going on to hear well.
The woman in the apron slumped a little, pressing her temple before clapping eyes on us. She came over.
“Oh thank goodness. Are you two here to serve?”
She gave us each a hug. “I’ve never seen a turn out like this in all the years we’ve been running the soup kitchen. I think it’s because word got out someone donated all that turkey.”
Georgia instinctively clutched her coat in the area of her stomach. “Did you say turkey?”
“Isn’t that wonderful? We are blessed beyond measure. But we’re swamped in there. You...did come to volunteer, right?”
“Yes,” Georgia blurted. “Absolutely. That’s why we’re here.”
The woman pressed her heart and smiled sweetly. Then, as she ushered us to the kitchen, she introduced herself. “I’m Teresa, by the way. I’ll get you set up.”
She found a couple of aprons and handed them over. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
Georgia introduced us, including Reeses, and said we were just passing through. She didn’t get into the crazy details. Teresa would hardly believe it anyway.
Before I knew what was happening, they were chatting like besties, giggling about how Georgia drowned in the large apron. How cute her earrings were. Exchanging make-up hacks.
I excused myself to set Reeses up with a bowl of water. I don’t think the ladies noticed my absence. A pot-bellied man called me over and tossed a hairnet at me.
“You’ll be on mashed potatoes.”
He pointed a carving knife toward the buffet and hunched back over the turkey. I could tell he was serious about slicing. They don’t give that job to just anybody.
I took my spot behind the serving line flanked by two elderly women. A box of latex gloves was passed along which both the ladies refused to use.
“I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty,” one of them said as she tossed the box to the next guy. I was pretty sure the gloves weren’t for her benefit but who was I to say?
I got to work dolloping spoonfuls of mashed potatoes while the granny next to me smothered them in gravy with a drippy splat. After a few minutes we’d developed a well-timed system.
Scoop, splat. Scoop, splat.
At one point we were in rhythm with the Christmas music. The lady on the other side of me was in her own world, singing and bopping out while on green bean duty.
Hordes of people came through the line. Teresa wasn’t kidding. But the community there for the free holiday dinner was different from the usual crowd I’d seen go into New York soup kitchens. These were families, farmers, working folk. And they were ever grateful.
I caught a glimpse of Georgia passing out dinner rolls with a generous portion of smiles. She was resplendent. A couple of teen boys held up the line because they didn’t want to part from her.
Move it along, boys.
Scoop, splat. Scoop, splat.
In the end we went through eight trays of spuds. I heard somebody estimate about two hundred people came through. Even so, there was plenty left over for the volunteers. Who knows where all that food came from? It was like the loaves and fishes.
Later, when Georgia pushed her plate away and tugged to stretch her waistband I nudged her with my shoulder and gave her an I told you so look.
“I think we can safely say this qualifies as a Christmas miracle.”
She just laughed.
Teresa joined us soon after with a plate of cookies to share apologizing because the good ones were the first to go. We couldn’t eat another bite anyway. She thanked us for the seventy-ninth time.
“Believe me, the pleasure was all ours,” I assured her.
She clasped her hands over ours. “Are you staying for the Living Nativity?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Georgia said, grinning adorably. “I hear A.J. hits it out of the park with his shepherd boy performance.”
Teresa’s eyebrows shot up. “You know A.J. Tucker?”
“Not exactly.” Georgia explained how we’d met the grandmother in town and that’s what brought us here.
“And the commercial,” I added. “Don’t forget about that.”
Georgia cast her eyes to the ceiling. She still wasn’t convinced the signal could have gotten that far.
“The commercial was my husband’s idea,” said Teresa.
I grinned at Georgia, mouthing the words Christmas miracle.
It was so satisfying.
“Oh, speaking of my husband, he’s waving me over. Gotta go.” Teresa gave Georgia a tight squeeze. “Hope you enjoy the walk-through. See you at the finish.”
Georgia crinkled her nose as Teresa danced away. “Walk-through?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - WYATT
It was fun to tease Georgia about the Christmas miracle thing. But the real miracle was her. How she stumbled into my life and suddenly the world was beautiful again. Okay, Reeses had something to do with the stumbling part but I considered it a miracle just the same.
We lived in a city of millions. Perfect strangers with completely different lives. I could have passed her on 14th street and never had a reason to talk to her. Yet here we were in Bethlehem, Kansas. Falling in love.
Whoa there, Wyatt.
What did that dear old granny put in the gravy?
I knew I was falling in something. The woozy feeling in my stomach told me as much. But love? How could I know? I had nothing to compare it with.
We entered the sanctuary as people were taking their seats. A group of about a dozen ladies came in through the front door. They were all smiles, giggling amongst themselves. But there was something about them I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“I wonder who they are,” said Georgia, following my line of sight. “They’re all wearing the same thing. Like a uniform.”
Ah, that’s what it was. Each of them wore a long, beige skirt and the same white collars peeked out from under their winter coats. They had some sort of metal broach in the shape of a heart pinned to cream cardigans, from what I could see when a coat or two was unzipped. And each and every one of them had short hairstyles. But the one thing that particularly stood out was the joy on their faces. Like they were all glowy from the inside out.
“Maybe they work at See’s Candy,” I suggested. “They’re so happy.”
Geor
gia chuckled. “I’d be happy, too, if I worked in a candy store.”
We moved to look for our seats when A.J.’s grandma seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
“I’m so happy you decided to come.” Hugs and wet kisses on the cheek were part of the greeting package with this woman. We soon found out what Teresa meant by walk-through. A.J.’s grandma explained the whole thing. Although the opening scene was to take place inside the main sanctuary, the rest of the reenactment was a walking tour outside guided by a little boy with a snare drum.
“Don’t worry.” said she. “Pastor Kevin put up space heaters along the route. And the actors have plenty of layers.”
By actors she meant townsfolk and their children. It was a tradition at this church and apparently the congregants looked forward to this night all year long. They were kinda obsessed with it according to A.J.’s grandma.
The old woman leaned in to whisper, “I heard Suzy McCormick got pregnant again on purpose just so her kid could play Baby Jesus this year. She’s no Virgin Mary, I’ll tell you that much.”
T.M.I. lady.
We sat down right before the lights dimmed. Our new friend dropped off a plate of fudge at a refreshments table and swiftly returned to join us. She certainly loved to talk, chatting in Georgia’s ear all throughout Pastor Kevin’s intro speech. I think she was thrilled to have fresh ears who hadn’t heard all her stories before. Georgia was bright enough to get her name. Lois. She looked like a Lois.
At one point she asked how we came to pass by Bethlehem of all places. Georgia told her how we hitched a ride with the man with the black truck, highlighting the detail about the snake on the hood.
“Oh that would be Walter,” chirped Lois. “Such a nice man. Did he tell you about his daughter? Big time lawyer in the city. He’s so proud.”
That piqued my interest. “No he didn’t. Not much of a talker.”
According to Lois, Walter went to live with his daughter after his wife passed away. He’d the trip back to Bethlehem every month to place fresh flowers on her grave and on Christmas, he and his daughter had the tradition to meet at his little cabin just over the state line.
