Page 12 of A Perfect Christmas Romance (Kringle, Texas #8)

Nick had barely escaped the news desk’s gravitational pull when he turned on his cell phone and saw a text from Liv.

Call me.

Grinning like he’d just won the lottery (or at least a particularly heated game of trivia night), he slid into his SUV and punched in her number.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a mix of breathless and... was that excitement?

“Hey yourself,” he said. A weird little silence ensued. “I got your text.”

“I have some good news.”

He waited.

She said nothing.

Argh! She was killing him with these pauses. It was like waiting for the next season of his favorite show, but worse. “Yes?”

“What does your weekend look like?”

“It’s wide open,” he said, mentally drop-kicking his to-do list into next week.

“Would you like to go to an art show?”

He grinned. “Would this art show perhaps have an exhibitor by the name of Matilda Merris?”

“No,” she said, and his heart plummeted for a microsecond before she continued, “Matty Lunsford.”

“She’s showing her art under her mother’s maiden name!” he said, feeling like Sherlock Holmes cracking a case.

“You know her mother’s maiden name?”

“I’ve been researching her father for quite some time.”

“I’m impressed that you’ve done your homework.”

“Because I was a lackadaisical student when you knew me?”

“You were lazy, but you still got straight As. It ticked me off that I had to study like mad, and you could skate by barely cracking a book.”

Nick chuckled. “Where is this art show?”

“Right here in Kringle. It’s part of the Holiday on the Square event. There’s Christmas fun and games, food kiosks, an art show, music event. People come from all around the Metroplex.”

“That sounds like fun. What time is the art show?”

“The festival is an all-day thing. The judges are picking the winners of the art competition at four. You could come to my house around three-thirty, and we could walk over together.”

Nick felt a little disappointed. It was like being offered a slice of cake when he wanted the whole bakery. “How about I arrive at ten, we go to brunch, and take in some of the sights?”

She exhaled audibly, and he could practically hear her overthinking through the phone. “You’d want to do that?”

“Sounds like the event of the season. Why not? Unless you have something else to do in the morning. If so, no worries.” He tried to keep his voice casual like he wasn’t hanging on her every word.

“No, no. I don’t have anything else to do.”

“So, ten then?”

“It’s a date.”

His heart took off. “Liv?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“Why not?”

“The hard part is ahead of us. We have to figure out how to approach Matilda without upsetting her.”

“Gentle touch. Got it.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Liv, I know you went on a limb for me, and I’m grateful.”

“I’m grateful to you too.”

That put another skip in his pulse. “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“You gave me the courage to stand up to my boss.”

A thrill went through him as if he’d just won an Emmy and a Pulitzer on the same day.

“Oh,” he said, trying to play it cool. “I can’t wait to hear all about that.”

* * *

Liv woke up Saturday morning feeling like she’d been slow-roasted under too many covers and marinated in an embarrassing number of sexy dreams about Nick Matheson, so much for a peaceful night’s sleep.

She crawled out from under her weighted blanket and hunted for her fluffy yellow slippers. She found one easily enough, but the other had apparently decided to play an early morning game of hide-and-seek.

Finally, channeling her inner Indiana Jones, she got down on her hands and knees and triumphantly retrieved the missing slipper.

“Aha! There you are, you rascal.”

Hurrying into the bathroom, she turned on the cold water in the shower stall, let her long flannel nightgown fall in a heap on the floor and stepped under the icy spray in her masochistic morning ritual. Instantly, she was wide awake, shivering from head to toe.

Post-shower, dressed, and feeling marginally more human, she padded to the kitchen, drawn by the siren call of caffeine.

The doorbell rang, shattering her coffee-scented reverie.

Who dared disturb her at this ungodly hour? It was only eight a.m. Too early for Nick.

Cradling her mug of steaming coffee, she went to the door and peeked through the peephole.

Her sister stood there, looking like she’d just auditioned for the role of “Teary-Eyed Tissue Shredder” in a soap opera.

Sighing, Liv opened the door.

“Thank heavens you’re home.” Amy pushed past her, leaving a trail of tissue confetti in her wake. “May I have a cup of that?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Liv said, following her sister to the kitchen.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I wish I could handle things the way you do.”

“What’s wrong?” Liv dutifully asked, hanging up her sister’s coat and scarf as Amy shed them.

Amy, dressed in ultra-feminine pastels that made her look like a human cupcake, blinked back fresh tears.

Liv’s sister kept her naturally lighter hair tinted honey blonde.

She wasn’t cuddly-cute like Brandi Jo, but Amy hit the genetic jackpot, inheriting the best features from both sides of the family.

A pert little nose that belonged in a Pixar movie, cheekbones that could cut glass, and teeth so perfect, she could have starred in a toothpaste commercial. .

Liv was the first to admit Amy was the pretty one, but she did enjoy being two inches taller. Take that, genetics.

“Life.” Amy plunked down at the table while Liv prepared her sister’s coffee the way she liked it. Two creams and three sugars. “Have you talked to the folks?”

“I talked to Mom a couple of days ago,” Liv said. “But I haven’t heard a word from Dad. Have you?”

“Just got off the phone with Mom. Dad has spent three days holed up in a motel room with Covid. I guess they’re still talking. You know, about dividing things and divorce stuff.”

“Is he okay?” Liv asked.

“I guess. It’s hard to keep Mom on track when we’re talking. She’s so distracted.”

“She has a lot on her mind. Want some avocado toast?”

“Sure, why not?”

Liv popped four slices of whole wheat bread into her temperamental toaster oven and turned to slice open a ripe avocado.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Amy said, “but did you get all the calls made to cancel the party?”

“Yes.”

“Including Nick?”

“Including Nick.”

“How did he react?”

“He took it like a man.”

“What does that mean?”

“He came to the office.”

“Your office?” Amy squealed with enough excitement to wake the dead. “That sounds promising.”

“Only by chance. He didn’t even know I worked there. He was hoping to contact one of the firm’s clients, Matilda Merris, for a story. Her father was a baseball player who was involved in a big scandal in the 1970s.”

Amy yawned. “Did you help him?”

“I couldn’t divulge confidential information, but I found out she’s entered the art competition, so Nick and I are going to the Christmas festival.”

“Together? As in a date?”

Was it a date? Liv didn’t think so, but maybe. She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. “She’s Dana’s client, and Dana will be there, so she agreed to introduce us.”

“So, you and Nick…”

“There is no me and Nick. He’s just some guy I dated once who asked me to do a favor for him.” She smashed up the avocado with a fork, adding salt, cracked pepper, and a squeeze of fresh lemon.

Amy cocked her head. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Hmm. You’re not mad because I invited him to the party, are you? I just thought?—”

“I know what you thought. Good try, but please don’t play matchmaker again, okay? If I ever find someone, he’ll be more reliable than Nick.”

She stood watching the bread through the glass door. She liked her toast golden brown but not dried out or burnt around the edges. When the toast reached perfection, she spread the avocado onto the bread, set the toast on plates, and joined Amy at the table.

Liv dove into her breakfast with gusto. Even if she was going to have brunch with Nick in a couple of hours, her stomach wasn’t interested in waiting. It had its own schedule, thank you very much.

Amy nibbled her toast listlessly, then laid it down and watched Liv finish hers. “I’m getting nervous about the wedding.”

“Anything in particular?” Liv dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Or is this just generalized anxiety?”

“Marriage is such a fragile thing. People do it, then they undo it. Mom doesn’t even want to talk about my wedding.”

“Maybe for one short second, this isn’t about you, Amy. Mom is going through something huge.”

“I know, it’s what’s got me worried. Sometimes, I think Steve and I are already in a rut.” Now Amy sounded really worried like she’d just discovered they discontinued her favorite lipstick. “What will happen after we’re married? Can you be too comfortable with the man you love?”

Too comfortable? She had no idea. She’d never been entirely comfortable with Nick. Their relationship had been more like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded—thrilling, but with a constant undercurrent of “we might die at any moment.”

“I’m probably being silly,” Amy said before Liv could reassure her sister.

“It’s just pre-wedding nerves. I have so many decisions to make, and all Mom wants to talk about is the divorce.

I don’t need to know who gets the dining room set.

I don’t care if they sell the leaded-glass lamp.

I was always afraid I’d be the one to break it. I have problems of my own.”

“It will get better.”

She couldn’t offer Amy much comfort when her own belief in happily-ever-after had taken a blow. Maybe her parents would be happier apart. They’d married young and grown in separate directions over the years. Perhaps this was a good thing for them both.

“Well, I have to go,” Amy said. “Will you help me out on the wedding? I never dreamed it would be so complicated.”

“You know I will.” Liv followed her sister to the door, feeling like she’d just signed up for a part-time job as a wedding planner/therapist/sister-wrangler.

“Oh, before I forget,” Amy said, shrugging into her coat in the foyer.

“I told you Sean and I are going to his parents’ house in Milwaukee for Christmas.

Well, his folks invited Mom to come, too.

She hasn’t said for sure whether she’ll go, but she probably will.

Christmas wouldn’t be much fun at the family homestead, would it? I guess you can get together with Dad.”

“I guess. Keep me posted,” Liv said.

“Will do.”

Liv watched her sister go and shook her head. Now, she’d just added wedding planner to her ever-growing list of tasks that people kept dumping on her, none of which she wanted to do.

Except spend the day with Nick.

* * *

On the ninety-minute drive to Kringle, Nick’s brain decided to host its own little improv show, cycling through various approaches to Matilda Merris at the art show.

Straightforward seemed best. Just hi, hello, nice to meet you Ms. Merris. I’m writing about your father, and I’d like to hear your side of the story . Simple, right?

But, considering that no one had managed to wrangle an interview from Matilda in all these years, that approach could easily blow up in his face.

Okay, so maybe he should pretend to be a big admirer of art...

No, that was manipulative, and he was trying to be more aware of his baser behaviors. No pretending. He’d leave the method acting to the professionals.

Honesty was the best policy, but he could hang back and wait for the right opportunity to plead his case. If he blew this, he’d never get a second shot at an interview.

Chill. Calm down. Let it happen organically.

Until then, he would enjoy time with Liv and try to relax before the art show. Just thinking of her boosted his spirits, and Nick realized he was genuinely excited to see her.

When they were together, she gave him something he’d desperately needed. A moral compass. He worked in an industry where slick charm was as indispensable as hair gel at a boy band concert, and far more times than he liked to admit, Nick had chosen superficiality over substance.

Liv had been his bellwether for the correct way to behave, and she kept him humble. She was like his personal Jiminy Cricket if Jiminy Cricket wore sensible shoes and had a penchant for day planners.

Yes, she grounded him, balanced him, and supported his goals. She’d been the perfect girlfriend until she wanted a commitment that he couldn’t give. Why on earth had she been interested in him? What did he bring to the table?

Yeah, okay, he was good-looking. He knew it.

But a pretty face wasn’t something that would turn Liv’s sensible head.

Somehow, in some way, he’d met her needs, at least for a time.

But now he had another question. A more urgent question.

One that wouldn’t leave him alone, like an earworm of a song he couldn’t shake.

Could he do it again?

Because more than anything else in the world, Nick wanted her approval.

He didn’t know why it was so important, but he felt the urgency in the pit of his stomach.

He ached to show Liv he had changed. He wasn’t the glib guy she’d known in college, and he was determined to prove that to her if she gave him half a chance.

That he could be a forever kind of guy.

Not for her benefit—he had no expectations that she’d even want to date him—but for his personal growth. Seeing her again had reminded him of what he’d given up to pursue his career.

Love.

Liv had loved him with all her heart, and he’d thrown it away because he’d been too scared to tell her the truth.

He didn’t know how to love. He’d been about as emotionally available as a brick wall.

She deserved better than the likes of him.

He’d known it then, and he knew it now. If he were smart, he’d forget the whole Matilda thing, call off his date with Liv, and flee back to Dallas faster than you could say “emotional baggage.”

But he’d spent over a year researching this story, and he knew nailing the interview would earn him brownie points with his boss.

He’d lost out on love because of his career, and now, his career was all he had.

It was like being left at the altar, only to realize the only guest at your pity party was your job.

How could he not go for the story?

As Nick drove on, the road stretching out before him like a metaphor for his life choices, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was a way to have it all.

The story, the career, and... Liv? It was a long shot, but then again, so was driving ninety minutes for an art show on the off chance of interviewing a recluse.

If nothing else, Nick Matheson was a man who knew how to take a chance. Now, he just had to figure out which chance was worth taking.