Driving Miss Darcy

by Gigi Blume

“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 til 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.

  “Its 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 make 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 out 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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - 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’d 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.

  Her eyes lit with wonder when she saw the streets lined with thousands of candles.

  “I’ve never seen so many luminaries,” she exclaimed, pointing at the flickering lights in paper bags. “They make the snow look like it’s glowing.”

  “Those aren’t luminaries,” Mom corrected gently, “Those are called farolitos. Luminarias are small bonfires...like that.” She nodded toward the middle of the street where a small crowd formed, singing Christmas carols.

  “Far-oh-lee-toes,” Georgi
a intoned with a thumbs up. “Got it.”

  I snapped a photo, savoring the moment. The golden hue of the farolitos alighted the fringes of her honey locks fanning out from under her knit cap. Santa Fe agreed with her.

  Mom spotted Palanca by the luminaria and ran to greet her, dragging Vicky along.

  “I have to warn you about my sister,” I said as we followed at a slow pace. “She’s happily married and thinks everyone else should be too. She’s gonna assume...ya know.”

  “That you brought a girl home to meet the family?”

  “Yeah. So I apologize in advance.”

  Georgia gave me a side grin and fluttered her lashes. “I’m cool with that.”

  She brushed past me to introduce herself to my sister while I hung back with my jaw hinged open. Just as I suspected, Palanca’s eyes formed into giant wedding bells and looked from Georgia to me with a toothy grin. Steven welcomed Georgia with a friendly handshake and then she bent to greet Sophia in her umbrella stroller, bopping her on the nose.

  Palanca formed an instant connection with Georgia and hooked arms with her as we began our trek down Canyon Road. Vicky found her teenage friends five minutes in and travelled the rest of the way in a giggling cluster. They were never too far away at any given moment and Mom kept a keen eye on Vicky even though they were good kids.

  The Farolito Walk was every bit as magical as it was every year, but seeing it for the first time through Georgia’s eyes gave me goosebumps. I snapped more candid shots of this small group of people I called my family—and of Georgia who fit in as though she’d always belonged. A pang shot in my heart—wanting her to feel the same but knowing after tomorrow, I might never see her again. Even our plans to return for the RV seemed too far fetched. Her brother would never approve of me. I was fully prepared to make the trip solo.

  We stopped at almost every house, gallery and shop along the way despite Mom’s warnings earlier. She was the quintessential grandma, spoiling Sophia with candy and sweet sopapillas. In one of the shops she bought Sophia a plush Guadalupe doll and defended her purchase to Palanca by pointing out how Sophia should have something religious to occupy her little hands at church.

  After that my sister put her foot down and banned Mom from any more stops. She hurried Mom along to the Cathedral claiming she was cold and tired and wanted a place to sit, and told Georgia and me to take our time.

  “I’ll let Sophia spread out across the pew,” she said conspiratorially, “Just text me when you get there.”

  Alone at last. Or at least as alone as two people can be with hundreds of strangers around. The crowd had thinned out considerably by this time, most people enjoying the farolitos at dusk before heading to their Christmas Eve celebrations. Still, the street musicians were in full swing, playing their jazz Christmas songs and the hot chocolate carts were still out, offering free drinks to everyone. Georgia soaked up every sight, smell, and sound with awe, marveling at the spectacle around us.

  “Do you have a gift for your mom?” she asked as we passed a small store.

  “I, uh...” The truth was I had planned to pick something up for Mom in California after my gig. A sickly feeling clawed at my stomach. So much had changed and now there was no way I could crash the Darcy wedding for a cheap story. I had to find a way to tell Georgia the truth—preferably without her hating me for it.

  “Come on.” She tugged me inside the shop and we browsed for a while before she found a beaded chain of turquoise and coral. Mom would love it.

  “Use the tip money,” she said, and went off to window shop on her own. I took the opportunity to pick up a few other gifts, all the while wondering how I could tell Georgia my feelings. Hoping she felt it, too.

  “I like your family,” she said as we returned to the crisp night air, walking past the string of shops to a quieter portion of the road. We stopped to warm ourselves close to a crackling fire. “And you were right about your sister, Palanca. She reeeeally loves weddings.”

  “I’m so embarrassed.” The last thing I needed was for my sister to scare Georgia away. I was perfectly capable of doing that myself.

  “It’s fine. She just wants to see you happy. I used to tease my brother all the time.”

  “I am happy,” I said. “I’m like...the poster child for happy.”

  “Are you? Really?”

  I met her gaze, studying her features in the flickering firelight. “I am now.”

  Her eyes flashed with awareness and she parted her lips ever so slightly before clearing her throat and turning her focus on the flames.

  “Palanca said you’ve never brought a girl home to meet the family. Why’s that?”

  Wow. I was either going to squish a banana in Palanca’s hair or send her a thank you card. Which one remained to be seen.

  I let out a deep breath. “Because nobody ever mattered enough to me.”

  “No one?” She chuckled. “No even evil rich girl?”

  “Nobody,” I whispered, nudging her chin toward me with my fingertip so I could fix my eyes on hers. “Until you.”

  I ran my thumb gently along her jaw, drawing myself closer. Her cheeks were warm from the fire yet I felt her shiver under my touch. Her breath hitched, a tiny sputtering of air catching in her chest. She was so incredibly lovely with her wide eyes and soft lips. A beautiful ache bloomed deep in my belly. I needed her. Not just physically. I needed her always and forever.

  I searched her features, taking a snapshot of this moment. Burning it into my memory.

  Then she grimaced, eyes rolling back and nostrils flaring. Was I off-putting? I made sure to brush my teeth before we left the house.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, breaking the mood. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She frowned. “Do I look that bad?”

  “No,” I blurted. “You don’t look bad at all. You look...beautiful. I mean, you made a face and I thought maybe you were about to sneeze.”

  She blinked at me, confused. “That was my kiss me now face.”

  I stuttered, not certain I’d heard her correctly. “Y-y-you want me to...”

  “Kiss me.”

  My heart leaped in my chest, galloping thunderously.

  Yes, Ma’am!

  I cradled the nape of her neck, angling her luminous face up to meet me and lowered my lips to hers. She sighed into the kiss—surrendering her whole being—breathing life into me.

  An overwhelming desire came over me to protect her, cover her, shield her. Give her everything within my power to give.

  My lips explored hers with slow, savoring caresses. Sweet. Gentle. She let out a little whimper. So responsive to my touch. I wrapped my arm around her waist and drew her to me, keeping her close to my chest. It’s where I wanted her to live. Pressed against my heart for all eternity.

  She slid her fingers under my coat, clinging to the fabric of my shirt. Delicious heat coursed through my veins, thick as molasses and I needed more of Georgia as a lifeline or my heart would certainly stop. I kissed her deeply, ardently, reverently. I felt her hand roam against my chest, passing my collar and through my hair. There, her delicate fingers traced the back of my neck sending delightful waves of electricity over my skin.

  I was ready to declare my love right there and then.

  Georgia was everything sweet and wonderful. Perfection. My joy was complete in her—a feeling so intense my heart cracked open. I could have danced and laughed and cried out in agony all at once.. This feeling that could only be described as love was the most exquisite torture all summed up in a kiss.

  The Cathedral bells chimed the half-hour, clanging loud and strong. I softened my hold on Georgia and nipped her bottom lip once before breaking away. We rested our foreheads together and caught our breath, listening and waiting for the last bell to echo across the distance.

  “Merry Christmas,” I whispered, my voice a deep rumble. “Almost.”

  She smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

  The heat from the fire was delightful a
nd cozy. I didn’t want to walk away from our bubble of warmth but my family expected us to join them soon. I was tempted to text Palanca to tell her we would miss the service but Georgia tugged my arm and urged me to hurry. She didn’t want to be late.

  The church was incredibly beautiful as it was every year. The Christmas trees inside were lit for the first time in the season indicating the end of Advent and the beginning of Christmastide. They were decorated simply with only white twinkle lights and nothing more. Candles and poinsettias adorned the altar and gold draperies were hung along the walls. It was a sight.

  But it didn’t compare to the fireworks going off in my heart. I was hyper aware of Georgia’s presence beside me on the pew. Her face lit up from the moment the organ played the first note. She was enthralled with every aspect, especially the music. The choir sang majestically backed by a full orchestra for Handel’s Messiah. Georgia’s fingers played along on her lap, drumming out the piano part by memory. I rested my hand on my knee palm up—an invitation to quiet her nervous energy. She abandoned her air piano and knit her fingers through mine. An indescribable joy flooded my chest and a goofy grin spread across my cheeks, staying there all through the rest of the Mass. I was sure I frightened the priest when I went up for communion.

  The sappy, ridiculous expression remained plastered on my face until we returned to the house. Vicky’s the one who pointed it out to me.

  “What’s wrong with you, weirdo?” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” Then she shuffled off to bed. Reeses greeted us as soon as we walked in, bouncing at our feet, frantically wagging his tail. I scooped him up and scratched behind his ears to make up for leaving him behind.

  Dad was impressed with Georgia. Then again she was the embodiment of charm and had Dad eating out of the palm of her hand with just one kiss to the cheek. He winked at me and mouthed She’s a keeper.

  Palanca retired to her old room with Sophia, who’d zonked out in the car on the way home. She was too young to understand the whole Santa thing. Next year she’d be hard to get to sleep.