Page 70 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
“Spencer, I can promise you that once we’re back in Salt Lake City, I won’t see Owen, at least not on purpose. We might run into each other at Brock Pine Home occasionally, but it’s not like we’re going to spend time together like we have this week.”
“Really?” He sounds hopeful. “We all live in Salt Lake City. While I’m at the office, you won’t invite him over towatch a horrendous Christmas movie or learn a dance or something?”
That sounds fun, and I have to swallow down my disappointment that it will never happen. I wish I’d never met Owen. It would make this decision so much easier if my heart wasn’t pulling me in the opposite direction of my head.
“Unless we get together with your extended family, I won’t make plans to see him.”
He snorts. “Getting together with the Clarks won’t happen again unless Grandmother stipulates it.” He pulls out the chair next to mine and sits, then takes my hands in his. “I’ll be patient this week with Owen because I know I get to keep you forever.”
My breath catches at the idea. Forever. Yep. Exactly. “See, it’s not so hard to have a discussion instead of making demands.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
“We’re almost finished with the tree,” I say as I stand. “But if we grab the last few decorations from the table in the foyer, we can begin decorating the rest of the room.”
I take a step toward the door, but he doesn’t let go of my hand and I stop.
He looks up at me with regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved earlier, Layla. I never want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
He kisses the back of my hand.
I wish I felt something, anything, at his touch.
My wish remains unanswered.
After a quick dinner,everyone is exhausted, and we all go up to bed early. Every muscle in my body aches from all the lifting and climbing ladders I did today. It was worth the effort. The cabin looks amazing. I feel as if I’ve walked into a Hallmark movie set.
As much as I enjoyed today, there’s a twinge in my chest from missing Nana. Decorating the house was our thing. I thought about calling her on the phone, but it might confuse her, so I resisted. In three days, I’ll be home with fifty-thousand dollars. The sacrifice now will pay off later.
I want to burrow into bed and sleep, but I have another night of marathon knitting. I pull upWhile You Were Sleepingon the TV and start a green scarf for Owen. I’ve always been a fast knitter, but my speed increased once Nana’s livelihood depended on how much money I brought in each month. It only takes me a few hours to finish.
My phone buzzes with a text.
OWEN:I have something for you. Will you meet me in the breakfast room?
It was easy to avoid Owen this afternoon, since Rheta had him running errands. It’s best if I don’t spend time with him for the rest of the week. It isn’t fair to Spencer, and the gossip among the older generation bothers me, too, even if I didn’t admit it earlier.
I type out a message telling Owen I’m already in bed and can’t come down, but my thumb won’t move to the send button. After Saturday, I won’t see him again unless it’s at Brock Pine Home by accident. This might be my last time I ever have time with him.
My thumb suddenly receives the strength to delete my original message and write a new one.
LAYLA:Be there in a minute.
I grab the teal sweater Nana knit because it’s within reach, not because Owen complimented my eyes when I wore it last. Just before I leave my room, I grab the scarf I knit for him. He said he had something for me and I can’t show up empty-handed.
Besides, Christmas Eve is the appropriate time to exchange gifts.
When I open my bedroom door, I gasp. On the floor is a bouquet of white carnations, red roses, pinecones, sprigs of pine and fir, and candy canes in a beautiful glass vase.
Spencer didn’t do this.
I can’t encourage whatever it is Owen thinks he’s doing, but my heart and not my head leads my feet as I pick up the vase and carry it down the hallway with me. The house is quiet as I creep downstairs. Even dark, the shadows of our efforts earlier today are visible.
It was easy to convince Rheta to hang some of Sadie’s artwork in the foyer: crayon pictures of a tree, a family portrait, and BB the pig. Not that anyone would know what they are without the small plaques Miles made to put by each one. I don’t think any of us would dream of turning down Sadie’s requests.
When I get to the breakfast room, I expect the overhead lights to be on, but the only light comes from a string of lights along the middle of the table and the Christmas tree in the corner, giving the room a holiday glow.
The sewn ornaments from the Nubble Lighthouse and red glass balls adorn the tree. Under its boughs are four badly wrapped gifts. They must be another of Sadie’s contributions to the decorations.
