Page 32 of Any Girl But You
I run up the stairs and knock on the door, shifting my weight between my feet. A moment passes and when it cracks open, my breath stops.
Oh, dear Christ.
In front of me stands Zoey, in an off-the-shoulder loose white top, her beautiful, bare midriff peeking out with averysurprising navel ring, and a ruffled skirt grazing her upper thigh. Chestnut waves cascade from her shoulders to her mid-back, and it takes all my strength in me not to fist those locks in my hand. Underneath the dipping magenta-and-golden horizon, her aquamarine blue eyes sparkle and…Shit. She is so goddamn beautiful.
“Oh my God, you look amazing!” she says, breaking me from my trance.
Me?Did I take extra care in my ripped jeans and tank with a chunky knit sweater and the best bra I own? Yes. And applying makeup and making my hair bounce as high as my boobs? Yes, I did. But I’m not even holding a candle to Zoey. Everything in me springs to life, but I’m quieting this. I refuse to let mymomentary dry spell and raging hormones ruin what Zoey and I have.
“What? Get out. You look beautiful! Look at us scrubbing the farm off us and showing up like ladies,” I joke. “Ready?”
Zoey bobs down the stairs with me. Do I open the door? Is that weird? I don’t want her to think of this as a date, even though it feels like it. And she looks so womanly and beautiful… I’m overthinking this. She crosses the car to the other side and slides in.
“Hey!” Zoey says as she fastens her seat belt. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“Of course,” Frankie says as she pulls out of the alley and turns right. “Thanks for coming with.”
“Morgan,” Zoey says, leaning forward in her seat. “I chatted with Angie yesterday about the wedding cake. She changed the colors from pale pink to lavender.”
Morgan turns in her seat, a frown line popping up between her brows. “Again? Does that mean she’s going to call next week needing a new flower arrangement? We’re so close to the wedding date. I don’t think we can pull that off…”
As Morgan and Zoey chat about the upcoming wedding they’re both hired for, I can’t help but sit back in the seat and absorb this moment. Zoey’s bare leg is close to mine, she’s grinning, and oh my God, she smells so good. Some sort of warm amber and jasmine. I’m so glad we are in a closed car because maybe the scent will seep into my clothes and I can sniff it tonight in the privacy of my room.
Once we head on the highway toward Duluth, Zoey turns to me with a grin. “So, I talked with my mom today and she gave me some more craft items we can use for your shop.”
Seriously, this woman is a personal Michaels store. “I don’t even understand how she has so much…stuff.”
“Trust me. It’s like she grew up in the Depression, but not really. Scarcity mentality. She throws nothing away. But…that’s not what I was going to tell you,” Zoey says, tugging at the seat belt strap. “She has an idea, but I’m only going to tell you if you promise to be totally honest with me if this is overbearing, or not what you want, or is just…too much.”
Well, now I’m so intrigued that I’ll say just about anything. “I promise to tell you the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Santa Claus, okay? Lesbian Scout’s Honor.”
Zoey’s chest lifts in an inhale. “My mom made a bunch of calls today. Church group. Parents of the kids in her class. Other teachers. And, um…how do you feel about having forty or so people out to your place on Sunday?”
My mouth drops. Morgan turns to stare at me, Frankie eyes me in the rearview mirror. I move my gaze back to Zoey. “Um, what? For, what? I’m not even open for business. I don’t even have signs made.”
Zoey grabs my hand, and I’m immediately disarmed. Her skin is soft, smooth, and her grip firm. “No, no, not to buy anything. They want to make Christmas crafts. For free. Volunteer. Once my mom made a few calls, more people made more calls, and well, now we have all those people who want to come out. I can bring cookies, and the church ladies mentioned doing a potluck. Honestly, I think all you’d have to provide is bottled water and chairs.”
As Zoey continues, she says how her mom’s students are so excited and the church ladies are always looking for a place to get together and chat outside of the church basement. Everyone’s giddy at the idea of spending an afternoon at a real Christmas tree farm making ornaments and trinkets for my shop.
I don’t know what to say. I’m stunned quiet, my heart filling, expanding, overflowing. “But why? No one knows me. Yourmom doesn’t even know me… They just want to come make stuff that I can sell in my shop? I don’t understand.”
Zoey’s hand is still holding mine, sending a warm current through my veins, and I hope she never drops it.
“People around here love helping each other,” Zoey says, giving my hand a squeeze, then pulling back. “Truly. If you’re good with it, I’ll let my mom know.”
Good with it? I’m overwhelmed by the generosity. My anxiety is melting. It still seems surreal. Like a ball will drop, or there’s a catch, or something will happen. But with Zoey’s grin, knowing she will be there, my insides warm.
This might be a magical Christmas after all.
SEVENTEEN
QUINN
Once we get to the bar, we navigate to the table. Morgan and Frankie not-so-subtly excuse themselves to get us a round of drinks, even though I’m sure this place has a full waitstaff. The place is beautiful, much prettier than I thought, with warm lighting, a mirrored back wall, big cedar booths, black tables, and a huge dance floor. Music is playing, but the band hasn’t taken stage yet.
“So, I’m thinking tomorrow I’ll prep cookies at your place, maybe right away in the morning, but then bake them that night when I go home so they’ll be fresh for Sunday morning,” Zoey says, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
I still can’t get over that forty random people will be volunteering their time.For me. My mind is blown. “I need to help you, obviously. Pay for supplies. Something. I feel so, I don’t know, guilty.”
