Unforgettable Christmas - Gifts of Love (The Unforgettables Book 3)

by Mimi Barbour

  “I have no idea. I’m thinking the drawing might be the way to go.” She gazed out at the ocean in the distance and leaned against the balcony. “I’ll Google a list of names and when you come this weekend, we can take a highlighter and choose our favorites.”

  “Yeah? Uh, okay. I was going to get a room with Davey at the Windjammer.”

  “Oh...” Was it wrong to want him around? “Whatever you think is best. You’re welcome to my couch.” She bit her lip. He could sleep with her, but was that too forward? Coming at this relationship backwards meant skipping a lot of steps that might happen in a slower way.

  They already liked each other naked. Could they be friends, fully clothed?

  ***

  Dillon hung up the phone in his office where he was working late on a transfer and punched his fist in the air. Then he dialed Davey. “You can get your own room, thank you very much. I’ve had an invite into the inner sanctum.”

  He didn’t mind that it was the couch—it was a foot in the door, so to speak.

  “Good for you, man. Did you take care of that thing we talked about the other night at Red’s Bar?

  “I don’t know. She likes things to go slow these days. All I can concentrate on is trying to find a name for my son that doesn’t sound like a Pit Bull.”

  Davey chuckled. “Practice yelling whatever you think you are going to pick a few times out the back door. Mom said she really wished she hadn’t named the dog Spartacus. I imagine the same would be true for a kid.”

  He ended the call, deciding to send Crysta a text, asking how she felt about Spartacus.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On Friday, Crysta went to the doctor, who did a quick pelvic check and discovered that she was slightly dilated.

  “Can the baby just, you know, fall out?”

  “It doesn’t usually work that way,” Dr. Mary said in calm tones as Crysta, cursed with a very vivid imagination, started thinking of the worst case scenario.

  Dr. Mary helped Crysta sit upright, tucking the paper sheet around her waist. “What this means is that your body is progressing exactly as it should be toward the birth of your baby. Nature does its thing.”

  “I can’t believe that this is almost over.”

  “This time next month, you’ll be holding your own baby.”

  Crysta sank backward in a rush of panic. “Wow. I feel very unprepared.”

  “Did you read the list of what you’ll need when you bring Baby home? And you must have a car seat. Imagine how many diapers you think you need? Times it by a hundred.” Dr. Mary patted Crysta’s shoulder and stood from her rolling stool. “Crysta, everything is fine. You’ve adapted to this situation admirably—I’m very proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Mary. Oh, and if you’re downtown for the holiday festival this weekend, don’t forget to stop by the salon. I’ll be giving away shampoos and certificates for free haircuts.”

  “I’ll see you there. I’ll bring my husband, too.”

  “You can meet Dillon.”

  “Oh? Good, I would really like that. How are things going?”

  “All right. He doesn’t hate me.”

  “How could he?” Dr. Mary sighed and leaned back against the sink to face Crysta.

  “It’s possible.”

  “I disagree. In all the years that I’ve known you, you’ve always acted with grace—despite the circumstances.”

  Crysta blushed and the doctor left the room, the door closing with a quiet click of the lock. Quickly getting dressed in a charcoal gray peasant skirt and a loose silver flowy top, she went downtown to meet Lara for lunch. As she walked past the French restaurant she heard someone call her name.

  She turned. “Porche?” Her tall, ultra-slim, fashionably forward stylist friend from Europe was having a glass of champagne with a very handsome male friend.

  Immediately conscious of her belly and weight gain, Crysta lifted her chin with pride. She would stand by her choices. Never, let ‘em see you sweat.

  “Crysta, you look radiant!” Porche actually got up from her table to give Crysta a hug, then pulled back to nod at her clothes. “Maternity wear with style—trust you to pull it off. How have you been?”

  Knowing that every word she said would be brought back to Jimmi and make the rounds of gossip, she gave a minute shoulder shrug. “Ever so busy, putting together my new salon. Choosing colors and vendors is exhausting—but invigorating, too. I have all of this energy.” She patted her stomach fondly.

  “Your own salon?” Porche’s eyes widened as if she’d gotten the golden ticket.

  “I’m sure you’ll hear of it—I’m planning a launch at the beginning of next year.” Once I have a name.

  “How divine. We missed you at the Hair Expo. Jimmi brought home a silver for the studio.”

  “I will have to drop him a note…” When she’d gone with him last year, they’d taken the gold. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that, but she swallowed the catty remark. It didn’t serve her to be that woman anymore. “Congratulate him for me. Jimmi is incredibly talented. I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor.”

  Porche relaxed her shoulders. Had she been on guard, waiting to deflect? Suddenly, Crysta was very grateful to no longer be in that venue. She would do things on her terms, her way. “It was nice to see you, Porche. Take care.”

  Crysta left with a sense of satisfaction and when she and Lara finished lunch, she even ordered a slice of chocolate cake for dessert.

  ***

  That Friday afternoon, Dillon was waiting for Davey to get off work so they could get on the road before rush hour. He’d packed a bag for the weekend, very nervous about seeing Crysta again.

  Their lack of family bothered him and he knew he had to reach out to his mom. He was not looking for approval, he wouldn’t get that—but a connection, maybe? A chance to vanquish his own ghosts and start new.

  He paced his apartment.

  What to say? How to bring the subject up?

  Dillon sank on the couch and dialed. His mom picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mom. It’s me. Dillon.” Duh.

  “Oh, hello.” A pause while she lit a cigarette and took a deep inhale. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. Uh. Just wanted to see what you wanted for Christmas this year?” Last year he’d sent a flat screen TV that she’d returned, exchanged for a toaster, and sent him the money back—with the receipt.

  “Don’t do so much.” She exhaled and he imagined a stream of blue smoke coming from her nostrils. “You keep it; money is hard to come by.”

  She sent him a Christmas card, with a twenty-dollar bill every year since he’d turned eighteen.

  “How’s uh...” Dillon blanked on this husband’s name. “Er, Mike?”

  “Oh, he’s fine.”

  Silence.

  “So, Mom. I met this woman. She’s a hair stylist.”

  “Oh?”

  “We are going to have a baby in January. A boy.”

  She started coughing. “A baby? Oh, no!”

  His stomach knotted. “Yes.”

  “Are you going to marry that girl?” His mom’s voice lifted in panic.

  “I don’t know. It’s her call.” He would, if she was willing.

  His mom started to cry. “It’s a tough road, being a single mom.”

  “I am going to be there, Mom.” Wedding ring or not, he would never let his child feel less than wanted.

  “I thought I raised you better than that?”

  Dillon fisted his hand over his knee, anger and resentment on the verge of exploding. “Mom, I said that I am going to be there for this kid.” He regretted his tone immediately and splayed his fingers, flexing them to release tension. “My son is a blessing, and I will spend every single day of my life letting him know that he’s loved. Merry Christmas, Mom.”

  He ended the call, shaking, but resolved. It was his choice, and he’d made it. There was no going back now—and even better? He didn’t want t
o.

  Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he locked up his apartment and went to pick up Davey—but when his phone rang, it was Marty from the Wounded Vets program and there was an emergency at the kitchen.

  A fire had broken out and they needed Dillon’s help.

  Davey understood and they decided to wait until morning to head out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The day of the holiday festival, Crysta was a jumble of nerves. Her lower back had ached all night, and she was worried because Dillon wasn’t there. Lara was worried because Davey, AKA Santa, wasn’t there.

  “You have the belly for it, all you have to do is wear the suit,” Lara said over the phone.

  “There is no room on my lap for anybody to sit. The answer is no.” She took her tea to the couch and sat down, putting her feet on the coffee table. Her polish sparkled crimson. “Besides, Dillon already texted me. They are on their way.”

  Today was a day for fun, games, and a name for her salon. She’d printed out a thousand baby names, and picked up two highlighters: one yellow and one orange.

  “I have the cutest new boots, with little jingle bells on the back, for my Mrs. Claus costume. And you said you’d style my hair.”

  “Come over whenever you’re ready.”

  Crysta had zero energy to get moving and sipped her tea. Didn’t she have some cookies somewhere? She loved the shortbread, but the ones with sprinkles were good too. And lemon.

  “What are you wearing today?” Lara asked.

  “Whatever I can fit over this gigantic stomach.”

  “You have to make an effort, my friend. Your picture will probably be in the town paper. With Santa.”

  Crysta groaned. “I don’t feel like it.”

  “I’ll dig in my closet, but then I’m on my way.”

  “That doesn’t scare me. I’m finishing my tea. Hey, would you bring some lemon pound cake?”

  As a true best friend, Lara showed up within thirty minutes, lemon pound cake and a bag of holiday scarves, in hand.

  “What are those for?”

  “In case you really didn’t have anything festive, I figured you could always accessorize.”

  “This is why we are besties.” Crysta bit into the cake. “You know my closet—have at it.”

  “This?” Lara brought out a red dress that hadn’t fit for two months. There was only so much stretch in a stretchy material.

  “Nope.” Crysta dabbed at lemon icing.

  She came back out with another dress in black, then shook her head and put it away. “You can’t wear black today.”

  “Why not? It’s very slimming.”

  “This is the town holiday festival. Happy, happy, happy.” Lara snapped her fingers and pulled a white gauzy skirt from the bag of scarves. “I know you have a tunic top that will work with this. Where is it?”

  “The blue one, or the green one?”

  “Green, for the holiday.”

  Crysta finished her cake, not moving from the couch. “Hanging in the bathroom. I had to get a chocolate stain out of the lace.”

  Somehow the afternoon arrived and there was still no word from Dillon. Crysta tried her best to calm Lara as the two walked downtown.

  Crysta had styled Lara’s Mrs. Claus hair with tiny candy canes in the blonde curls pinned around her face. With the short mini dress and boots, she made a very sexy Mrs. Claus. “Whatever you do, don’t bend over, got it? This is a kid-friendly event.”

  Lara put her arm through Crysta’s as they went to the salon. “Are you sure you don’t need me to help you get ready?”

  “Nope. We did all the prep yesterday. Go, see if you can track down another Santa back up, just in case. And hey, you can always draw the name for me. We only have an hour before show time.”

  Lara hurried off, and Crysta went inside, flicking on the light. She had red, white, and green balloons tied to Norfolk pines between the salon chairs. Red and gold streamers above the mirrors, green and silver garland adorned the shelves.

  Pride warmed her as she made her way to the small kitchenette in the break area. We’ve come a long way, baby, she thought. Crysta set up a meat and cheese tray, olives, nuts, and shot glasses of red toothpicks. Red cocktail napkins. Real flutes for the chilled champagne. Candies in crystal bowls. And most importantly, the giant ceramic sled filled with printed out names suggested for her salon.

  She lit candles, and started the holiday music, a light jazzy mix, then peeked out the front window. Checking her phone for any messages, she admitted to herself that she was disappointed that Dillon wasn’t there and hoped he was all right. A fire, he’d said, last night in the church kitchen his volunteers from the Wounded Vets used. No real damage done but they had to find another venue to put together Christmas stockings.

  That was more important than being here, she knew. I miss him, she thought.

  Plastering a smile on her face, she brought a red basket of candy canes outside to the kids playing. Her tiny shop overlooked the town square. Rows of pink, green, yellow, and blue benches and chairs had all been draped with red and gold. Mounds of white sand had been built up like snow, with toy shovels and trucks to plow it with. A machine created masses of clear bubbles and the kids laughed and raced through the bubbles to pop them. Santa’s big chair at the end of the square, next to two giant inflatable reindeer, sat empty. No Davey. No Dillon.

  She caught a glimpse of Lara’s blonde hair ducking into the restaurant across the way. What if Dillon had changed his mind about being here? About being a part of her life, and their baby boy’s?

  Her eyes misted but she blinked back the fear. She would be okay…wait, was that Dillon’s broad back, and yes, Davey! Joining Lara in the restaurant—probably to get Davey stuffed into the hot red suit.

  Way to bring it down to the wire, guys, she thought with a relieved chuckle.

  “Hey, is it too late to enter the contest?” A woman with a designer dog in her arms held out a slip of paper.

  “No, come on in. I’m Crysta, the stylist.”

  She led the woman inside and they talked about different hair products. Another couple came in, and pretty soon, her little shop was full of potential clients. Dr. Mary arrived with her husband, and helped pass out flutes of champagne.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” a voice said from the doorway.

  “Santa!” The children squealed in happiness.

  She smiled as she recognized Davey’s twinkling eyes behind half-glasses, heavy white brows and a full white beard.

  “Merry Christmas, Santa,” she said. “Welcome!”

  She looked for Dillon, but didn’t see him anywhere. Stifling disappointment, she waved at the town photographer, a man with a perpetual smile, and addressed the crowd.

  “Thank you all for coming to start the festival off with some much needed help from the North Pole. Santa will pull the name of this salon from this sled of entries. I, of course, have the right to veto or modify.” The crush of people laughed. “The winner will receive a year’s worth of haircuts.”

  “Yay!” The woman with the dog cheered the loudest and Crysta knew she had a new customer no matter what.

  Mrs. Claus bustled into the salon, to the whistles of two teen boys hanging back on the sidewalk. She took the miniature ceramic sled and handed it to Santa. “Would you do the honors, please?”

  He made a big production of digging around before finally pulling a card free. Fingers crossed, Crysta waited with baited breath.

  “Mrs. Claus?” Davey handed Lara the card.

  Lara cleared her throat and grinned at Crysta. “Cutting Edge Creations By the Sea.”

  “I love it!” Crysta bowed her head in thanks. “Is the winner here?”

  “It’s me,” a middle-aged woman in desperate need of a keratin treatment, said with surprise. “I can’t believe it.”

  Me either, she thought. “I am very grateful for the wonderful name—thank you. And thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Claus.”

  Crysta expected them to walk out a
nd start pictures with Santa, but instead, Santa sat down on the salon chair and patted his lap.

  “You’ve been a very good girl this year, Crysta Jones,” Santa said.

  Crysta, shocked, looked around the room at the smiling faces. And stopped when she saw Dillon, finally, at the open door. He had a bouquet of orange roses in one hand as he leaned inside.

  Her body relaxed as she met his emerald gaze. She gave him a thumbs up. “We got a good one for the salon.” We. She liked the idea of being “we”.

  Santa cleared his throat and patted his knee again. More insistently. Lara backed her up and pressed her down.

  He dug into his bag as if looking for something. “I know it was in here somewhere…”

  “What are you doing?” Crysta whispered, embarrassed at being the center of attention.

  “Ah! Here it is. To Crysta, From Dillon.”

  “Dillon?” Her gaze whipped to find him but he’d left the doorway.

  Dillon made his way through the people, and dropped to one knee before her. Santa gave him the box, which he opened to reveal a shimmering diamond set in platinum and edged in onyx.

  She couldn’t breathe and clasped her hands to her racing heart.

  “I know that we haven’t done things in the traditional way.” Dillon’s eyes welled with emotion, and he cleared his throat. “You are unique and independent. I can’t think of one thing you’d need me for. But I can’t imagine my life without you in it so I have to take a chance and declare my love. Will you marry me?”

  “Love?” Her ears pounded, her throat closed and tears dampened her cheeks. “You’re wrong, Dillon. I don’t have everything—I need you. But, are you sure? This isn’t what you wanted.”

  He stood and picked her up off Santa’s lap to hug her close. “It turns out that I wanted a family with you.”

  “Then yes, yes, I would love to be your wife. Oh, Dillon. My birthday wish came true.” Crysta kissed him with all the love in her heart. She heard the snap of pictures being taken but didn’t care, locked in the safe-keeping of Dillon’s arms.