Page 57 of Wrapped with a Beau

Ves cocks his head to the side. “For what it’s worth, I do wish I’d come back. When I was a kid, she was the only one who ever really cared about me. My parents didn’t exactly love that, so they never sent me here again. It’s ridiculous they cared enough to be jealous over her relationship with me, but not enough to actually do anything to fix theirs. And yeah, I was too little to have any choice about where I went, but as an adult? There’s no excuse. I guess I just... I wanted her to be my family so badly. Wanted to live with her instead of my mom and dad. And that’s embarrassing, to want what you know is so impossible. So I pretended that Christmas here in Piney Peaks never happened. So you see, Elisha, you’re not the one who should be sorry.”

Her heart wrenches. “I am, though. Not about being nosy. Well, not just about that, anyway. I meant... I don’t think I ever told you how sorry I was. That you lost Maeve, too. Yes, she meant a lot to us here. But she was your family. Your actual family. And I’ve been sharing all the memories that you never got to have.”

He shrugs, seems to be trying his best to sound indifferent. “Secondhand stories are just as good.”

But Elisha knows him better now. Maybe not a lot, but enough. “No, they’re really not,” she says. She stands, steps over a wall of her fortress, and offers him her hand. “Want to change that?”

He lets her haul him up. “What did you have in mind?”

“Magic.” At his unimpressed look, she sighs. “We’re going to seek some. Go grab your coat.”

“Magic,” he repeats. “But it’s almost dinnertime.”

“Don’t worry, I’m buying.”

He scowls with that stern, absolutely not kissable mouth she’s absolutely not ogling, absolutely not at all. “Elisha, that’s not what I—”

“I am offering you an adventure and you’re thinking about dinner? Ves, you’re a human, not a hobbit.”

He looks visibly startled.

She enjoys this victory. “Yeah, that’s right. I know Bilbo Baggins.”

At his deep inhale, she decides that he’s relenting like a stick of butter sitting near a sunny windowsill. He must feel otherwise, because he vehemently shakes his head. “Don’t give me that look.”

“Ves.” Impulsively, she squeezes his hand. The one she hasn’t let go of yet. “Because of you, I was able to get back to the Sleighbells director and say everything was fine. The movie is under way and the town is thrilled. Even better, I got to not look like the sad singleton I am in front of my ex-fiancé, who’s rubbing his happiness in my face every chance he gets. Do you get how much you’ve helped me? Most people just have to deal with seeing their ex on social media. But Bentley is my literal ghost-of-boyfriends-past haunting me here on my own streets. That’s fucked up. And you being here makes it... better. So let me give you this. I promise you’ll like it.”

When his face remains frustratingly blank, Elisha tries again. “Or, even if you don’t like it, you’ll probably be polite enough to pretend you do so I don’t feel bad, and that’s fine, too.”

There’s the tiniest crack in his stoic façade. His eyes soften and for a second, perhaps just one, they drop to her mouth. In a voice edged with doubt, he asks, “My accompanying you means that much?”

“It’s not about me. It’s what it’ll mean to you. And like I said, you’re free to hate it.” She gives him the bright and merry smile she’s perfected down to an art form. It’s the one she uses during difficult work situations to infuse optimism and enthusiasm back into the room. “But,” she adds, looking up at him from under dark lashes and aiming every last ounce of her conviction his way, “I really hope you don’t.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Elisha

The movie theater is empty and eerily quiet when Elisha and Ves arrive, thanks to five screenings showing at the same time. She buys Milk Duds, Junior Mints, and Swedish Fish in the lobby, then motions for Ves to follow her into the Sleighbells memorabilia room off the main hallway. They pad over the worn purple carpet into a space painted Hollywood red and filled with glass cases, dreamy black-and-white photographs, and mannequins wearing shearling coats and cloche hats over bell bottoms and bell sleeves.

Jamming a fish gummy in her mouth, Elisha points to a behind-the-scenes picture of the cast sitting on the hood of an old-school Mercedes roadster. In the film, it was cherry red and glossy. Her snowflake-painted nail taps at the glass in front of a beautiful blond woman’s face. “Doesn’t she kind of look like Claudia Schiffer?”

Ves leans in, bending slightly to squint at the face. His lean fingers play with the ends of his scarf, dangling below his waist. “Who?”

“Supermodel. Gorgeous. She did a cameo in Love Actually.” When he shows no sign of recognition, she gasps in mock outrage. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen that movie, either! Sacrilege! Hugh Grant is in it!”

He looks unimpressed. “Don’t tell me that’s another holiday favorite of yours.”

“Of course not.” A beat. “It’s my second favorite. Followed by The Holiday because Jude Law.”

“Because Jude Law what?”

She blinks. “That was the end of my sentence. Does it need any other qualifier?”

He blinks back, like he’s never met anyone like her before, which is silly, of course, but she can’t stop thinking it. Finally, Ves nods at the photograph. “You could have mocked me for my lack of movie and celebrity knowledge at home instead of making me walk all the way into town.”

“Don’t be grumpy. How do you not recognize that platinum blond hair and smile?” In a sad little voice, she teasingly asks, “It’s Maeve. Don’t you know your Maeve?”

Ves snorts, a sound that’s so at odds with his unruffled appearance that she has to laugh. He stuffs his brown leather gloves into the breast pocket of his gray cashmere wool topcoat. “Don’t tell me you misuse Chamber of Commerce time by looking up Lord of the Rings quotes before coming over.”

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