Page 16 of One-Click Christmas
Maybe it has.
She’s halfway to the door before I can even blink, her shoulders leveled like she’s bracing for impact. Every instinct tells me to let her go, to stay in the truck, to keep some distance from whatever feelings are brewing.
She’s here to see her mom, not manage whatever this is.
I grip the steering wheel, knuckles pale, breath shallow. I could drive away. I’ve done it before. I’ve left towns, left people, left stories half-finished because it was easier than staying… but I can’t this time.
I can’t walk away from Lana.
I push open the truck door and step out into the cold snow, hopping over a few icy patches and up toward the old house that provides medical attention. I’m expecting a cold, sterile environment but I’m met with a warm glowing fireplace, a brightly decorated Christmas tree, and a smiling receptionist with a tray of sugar cookies on the counter. “Good morning, sweetheart. How can I help you?”
I smile and step forward, the warmth of the room catching me off guard. It smells like cinnamon and pine, like someone tried to make this place feel less like a clinic and more like a home.
“I'm with Lana,” I say, voice low. “Her mom was brought in this morning.”
The receptionist nods, her eyes kind. “Oh yes. She’s in room two. You can go on back whenever you’d like.” I don’t get the feeling the woman knows who I am, which is niceconsidering the bookstore incident this morning. I’ll never get used to mobs of women clawing at me, though I’m sure someone else in my shoes would probably enjoy it.
Nodding toward the kind brunette, I head down the hallway, boots thudding softly against the worn tile. The place feels like someone’s grandmother decorated it. Knitted stockings on the doorknobs, a bowl of peppermints on a side table, and framed photos of snow-covered cabins lining the walls. It’s by far the most endearing doctor’s office I’ve ever been in.
Room two is halfway down, the door cracked just enough to let the light spill out. I pause outside, hand hovering near the frame before I finally push open the door and step inside.
Lana’s face lights with something that looks like a cross between happiness and confusion. “Hunter? I thought you were heading out.”
“This is Hunter Black!” Her mother grins wide. “Oh, honey, he’s just as handsome as the picture in his books.”
I’ve never thought of myself as good-looking, but I get that compliment a lot.
I lean in toward her mother who’s hooked to an oxygen tank. “I’m sorry to hear your not feeling well. Lana has told me she loves you very much.”
Her mother blushes and pushes her silver hair back with a smile. “Oh, I’m not that sick. My legs just act up some mornings. My sister wasn’t used to it. I think she panicked,” she glances toward Lana as she tucks the soft blanket up around her face, “but I’m glad you came. I haven’t seen Lana this alive in years. She’s always a bit guarded, but last night she came home bright and shining, like someone had lit a match inside of her.”
Lana shifts in her chair, cheeks flushing.“Mom.”
Her mother waves her off with a smile.
I glance at Lana, who’s now staring at the floor like it might swallow her whole.
“My Lana always wanted to be a writer,” her mom continues. “She had all these dreams when she was little—”
“Mom!”
“Unfortunately, she let them all go when she started taking care of me. I know she loves the bookstore, and I know how hard she’s trying to save the building and her mother all at once, but whatever happened between you two last night… I think that needs to be her focus.”
I glance toward Lana, softness in my voice as I say, “I thought you didn’t want to be a writer.”
“I don’t. It was a very old dream. I was a kid. Now, I have real life things happening. Things that don’t leave a lot of time for nonsense.”
Her mom sighs, her eyes soft. “She used to write these sweet love stories. I used to find pages tucked into her dresser drawers.”
Lana groans.“Mom, please.”
“I’m just saying… maybe it’s time you start living, sweetheart, and do the things you love.”
The room goes quiet, the hum of the oxygen tank and the crackle of the fireplace down the hall occasionally breaking the silence.
I glance at Lana again. Her eyes are glassy, her jaw tight. She’s fighting something. I suppose it’s the terrifying possibility that she still wants more than what she’s settled for, though I could be projecting, because I’m fighting it too.
Lana finally looks up, eyes meeting mine, conveying a bit of vulnerability and a touch of annoyance. “Okay, well, this has been a fun little ambush,” she mutters before standing. “Anyone want a cookie?”
