Page 46 of The Lie That Stole Christmas

“I wouldn’t call Clint or Wendell adults.They added more fuel.”

“Touche.Now what is it you came here for?If I know anything, it’s that my family doesn’t come to me unless they want something.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then you came here to chat?”

“Well… yes and no.”

He smiled, the lines pressing deeper into his face than she could ever remember.“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I was hoping we could hold the Annual Winterridge Christmas Festival.I know it’s been years.The town has probably moved on.”

“Carter has kept it going.”

Warmth flooded her heart, circulating through her body.Ashley’s lips snapped shut, her body settling into the chair as the information processed.

“Your grandmother built traditions because she believed people needed something to come home to.Carter couldn’t let the tradition die with her.”Grandpa’s voice cracked, but he scratched his chin as if it were nothing.As if talking about the love of his life wasn’t the hardest thing for him to do.Carter was right.Damn him.She couldn’t hold one moment when he was at his most vulnerable against him forever.It was time she moved on, as well as the family.

They were here, and she wasn’t going to just go through the motions.She was determined to make this the Christmas they would all remember.Bring in the old traditions and possibly create new ones.They had eight years to make up for, and she was ready to make this a Christmas to remember.

“I’ll speak with Carter.”

“He usually handles everything around the estate, but the festival is too much work for him alone.He brings in a local event planner, Lena Hart.You will love her.Christmas basically oozes from her pores.Pretty girl, too.”

A strange stab of jealousy poked Ashley in the gut.Her mind drifted to the day in Greenwich when Carter shoved the bag in his coat.Were they condoms?Were they for Lena?

And so what if they were?She had no claim on him, even if they did get hot and heavy in the kitchen last night.She wanted to ask how pretty she was, but stopped herself.She was a grown woman, not some sixteen-year-old girl anymore.

“Great, I look forward to meeting her,” she said instead.

“How’s the interior design business?”

She inhaled, not expecting him to ask.“Good,” she managed.

His head tilted, his blue eyes focused on her.“Just good?”With a slight shake of his head, he opened the drawer beside him and pulled out a stack of magazines.

Ashley frowned.“Grandpa—”

Paper smacking the desk echoed through the space.Metropolitan Living was scrawled across the top of a photo of a sprawling Manhattan penthouse she’d designed three years ago.Her name printed in bold at the bottom.

Ashley Wetherby Reinvents Luxury for Modern Living.

Her breath caught, and he dropped another magazine.

New York Home and Design, featuring a six-page spread on a historic brownstone she nearly killed herself completing.

It disappeared as another dropped on top.

Architectural Elegance.

And another.

Style and Space.

And another.

East Coast Interiors.