Page 19 of Holiday Hideaway
“Uncle Gus steered clear of holidays, but my aunts and uncles and all the kids would pile in and spend Christmas Eve here. The grown-ups would be in the dining room, drinking Manhattans and playing marathon games of pinochle. My sisters and cousin and I got to sleep down here, in front of the fireplace, like you’ve been doing. Back in the day there was aVCR on top of that TV in the corner, and we’d watchHome Aloneand eat Tombstone pizzas, which was a huge treat, until whichever grown-up was sober would come in and yell at us to go to sleep.”
“That sounds kinda magical,” Tilly said, sounding wistful.
George looked around the room, at the Christmas tree, at the fire, and then back at Tilly, who saw something in this old house that he had forgotten about until just this minute.
“You know,” he said slowly. “While you were in the kitchen, I emailed my cousin and my little sisters, and after I shared your ideas about adding bathrooms and a new kitchen, they agreed: the benefits of updating the house to maximize the long-term income potential outweigh what we’d make in a quick sale—especially offseason.”
“So you’re not selling?”
He shook his head. “I thought they needed the money from the sale, and they thoughtIwas the one who wanted to unload Crowe’s Nest. Classic miscommunication.”
“That’s so great that you’re keeping it in the family,” Tilly said. “Do you think Vanessa would want to spend time here?”
George looked down at the champagne bubbles rising to the top of his glass. “I’ve got a feeling she’d think this place is the beach-house equivalent of a Timex. Vanessa’s more Bar Harbor than Piney Point.”
Tilly felt a lump in her throat. “Maybe she’ll come around after she sees it fixed up.”
He looked directly at her. “Maybe I don’t want to have to convince her.”
“Why not?”
It was now or never, George thought. He took a deep breath.
“I’ve been telling myself I didn’t want to go back to Boston because I hate parties, and I can’t dance, and I didn’t wantto admit any of that to Vanessa,” he said, his voice shaking a little because he was so nervous. “But none of that is really true. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to call Vanessa and tell her the truth. About everything. I don’t want to go back to Boston because you’re here.”
“Me?” It came out as a squeak.
“I was smitten the first time I saw you in that ridiculous Sea-Gal uniform. Since you sat beside me in glee club and shared your Rice Krispies Treats. But you and me? I told myself it was impossible. When I met Vanessa, I was so flattered she would want to be with someone like me I told myself it must be right. I wanted it to be, but it just never was. And it’s all my fault for not telling her that sooner. But this week—being here with you, and the mice, and the crumbling ceilings, even with a broken ankle—has been the best week of my adult life.”
“You’re concussed,” Tilly said. “You’re not medically cleared to make ridiculous pronouncements like that.”
“It’s not ridiculous; it’s the truth.”
She cleared her throat and started again. “George, I don’t think—I mean ...”
He picked up the champagne and sucked down half of it. But even Veuve couldn’t mellow his dashed hopes. “It’s okay. Even if you don’t feel that way about me, I’m still going to keep the house. We can be friends, if you want. I mean, it’s not what I want, but I get it.”
“That’s not it. What you said, just now, that’s the sweetest, nicest thing any man haseversaid to me. But we can’t be anything to each other until you’ve been straight with Vanessa. I won’t be the other woman. Ever.”
“So what happens now?” he asked.
“We could sing some more,” Tilly said, already knowing from the crushed expression on his face how that suggestion would land.
“I’m pretty tired,” George said quietly. “I think I’ll just take my meds and turn in now.”
He closed his eyes and pulled the quilt over his face. But she knew he wasn’t asleep. She turned on her side, with her back to him, and Smoosh, feeling left out, whimpered until she wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear that everything would be all right.
DAY 6
It was barely daylight when the front door flew open with a bang, admitting a blast of frigid air and an unlikely duo—a black-uniformed law enforcement officer brandishing a heavy flashlight, his other hand on the grip of his holstered service weapon, followed by a tall blond woman dressed in winter white: a fur-lined quilted parka, white pants, and white fur-topped boots.
Tilly had barely registered the sound of heavy footfalls on the porch. Smoosh sat up, gave a timidwoof, and retreated behind his mistress, who was stretched out in front of the fireplace. Startled, she stared at the two intruders, the snow queen and the black-clad storm trooper, whom she immediately recognized.
She rubbed her eyes, blinked, and looked over at George, who looked just as surprised.
“Vanessa?”
Tilly jumped to her feet. “Denny?”
