Chapter 12

12

* * *

During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.

Did you meet with Ashlynne yesterday?” Dusty asked as he walked Charlie from the side porch to his car.

She nodded. “Finally. We picked up quite a few things. For the rest, we’ll have to get with—who did Ashlynne say?—somebody who sews the costumes for them each year.”

“Miss Anise . . . um, Anise Carver.” Dusty opened the passenger door for her, standing so close she could smell the mints on his breath mixing headily with his aftershave and the leather of his jacket. “This is my first year, too, so I haven’t met her yet.”

“Mm-hmm,” she answered, unable to fully speak. She’d waited for this moment since fifth grade. She didn’t want to waste a moment of the memory it would hold for her later by talking about someone neither of them knew.

She slid into the car and adjusted her seat belt and purse while Dusty ran around to the other side and got in, rubbing his hands together. Charlie pulled her hair, now unbraided and curled, from beneath the seat belt.

“Can you believe how cold it’s gotten?” he asked as he shut the door behind him. “I don’t ever remember it being this cold so early in December.”

Charlie threw a smile his way. “Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.”

“You know what would be completely cool?” He turned the key and started the car. “If it snowed the night of the play. It’d be like—well, it would be like a Dickens Christmas.”

“Would we still be able to have the play?”

Dusty’s eyes grew wide. “We’d better.”

“Which reminds me,” Charlie said as they neared the highway. “Why in the world did you choose to have the performance on the nineteenth of all nights? Why not a Friday night? Or a Saturday matinee?”

Dusty steered the car away from town and increased the speed. “The book was released on December 19, 1843. Can you think of a better date?”

Charlie did the math. “Nearly a hundred and seventy-five years ago.”

Dusty nodded. “Give or take a year.”

“Pretty amazing when you think about it.” She pressed her lips together, tasting the strawberry gloss she’d glided over her lips moments before Dusty arrived at the house. “That a book has been a best seller all this time.”

“And to think ole Charles had to fund the thing with what little bit of money he had in his accounts.” He turned his head to look at her briefly, then sent his attention back to the curves in the dark road ahead of them. “You look pretty tonight, by the way.”

Heat rose through her, beginning at her toes and ending with warmth in her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, almost too embarrassed to be polite.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down.” Dusty glanced her way again. Back to the road. “Or wearing makeup.”

Charlie studied the curve in the road. “Where are you taking me?”

“Change of subject, huh?”

“If you don’t mind,” she said, crossing her arms and laughing. “Honestly, I never knew my hair and makeup were of such notable interest.”

“I’m a man,” he shot back. “I notice these things.”

She inhaled sharply. Swiping gloss over her lips and mascara over her lashes had been the most she’d done in preparation that evening, but it was decidedly more than she did most days. If Sis had said it once, she’d said it a thousand times: “You’re a natural beauty, Charlie. What do you need with all that goop?”

Like grandmother, like granddaughter.

Even in high school, as her friends experimented with crazy nail polish, eye shadows, and blushes, the most Charlie had done was apply clear gloss to her nails. But tonight. Tonight felt different. Tonight she and Dusty were going out to dinner. Finally.

The car moved between the expanse of foliage and fields as the shadows of the mountains rose before them. “Lake Lure?” Charlie finally asked. “I mean, if you aren’t going to answer me, I may as well dig deeper with my sharp methods of investigation.”

Dusty laughed. “Oh, yeah? What methods are those? Bright light in my eyes? No water until I break?”

“No,” Charlie answered with a giggle. “I simply ask questions like any normal female.”

Dusty opened his mouth to speak, then closed it briefly before saying, “You’re far from normal, Charlie Dixon.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It is.”

“Then, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And yes. Lake Lure.”

“La Strada?”

“More of your devious questions?”

She grinned. “Yes.”

“Well, yeah. But how’d you know? Don’t tell me female intuition.”

“No. We save that for the really important things. It was a guess, really.”

“Good guess.”

Together they said, “I love their pizza.”

After their laughter subsided, the conversation grew quiet again. Then Dusty cleared his throat and spoke into the silence. “Have I mentioned you look pretty tonight?”

* * *

He held her hand, fingers intertwined as he walked her to the cottage’s side door.

They’d said so little as they neared the house, Charlie wondered if the same butterflies that had taken over her stomach had also fluttered in his. Her tongue darted over the freshly applied strawberry gloss, then quickly returned to her mouth. She didn’t want to assume a kiss dangled on the horizon, but it sure would be nice.

A kiss. From Dusty Kennedy.

Merry Christmas to me.

“Hey,” he said, pulling her from her holiday wish. They stopped shy of the steps, turning to each other. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Instant joy shot through her, then fizzled. “Oh. Um—we’re—Sis, my father, and me—we’re decorating the tree.” Her eyes widened. “Why don’t you and Jeremy come over and be a part of it?”

Say yes, say yes.

Disappointment became a shadow on his face. “No, no. We wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She couldn’t let him go that easily. “If I thought you were intruding, I wouldn’t ask you.” Charlie put on her best smile. “Besides, Sis really puts on the dog on the night we decorate. She always has.” She blinked. “I think, mostly in the early years—you know, after my parents went to prison—it was to make sure I had some sense of home and happiness.”

“Still, I—”

“Oh, say yes. Jeremy shouldn’t greet the new year without having seen Sis wearing her blinking reindeer antlers.”

Dusty appeared amused at the thought, sending new hope through Charlie.

She leaned in close. “Say yes,” she pleaded. “It’ll be fun. And what with this being my first year decorating a tree with my—with Jo—with—Dad since I was only a little older than Jeremy, maybe you can help kiss—I mean kill some of my anxiety.”

“I like the kissing part better than the killing part.”

Heat rose through her. “I wasn’t—”

“Shh,” he said, leaning in to press his lips gently against hers.

Charlie’s eyes fluttered and closed as her arms went over his shoulders as his slid around her waist, drawing her closer without stepping over any boundaries of propriety. When he ended the kiss, she stepped back, opened her eyes slowly, and whispered, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for that?”

He pressed his forehead against hers, laughed lightly, and said, “No, Strawberry Shortcake. How long?”

She swallowed, feeling herself blush at his endearment. “How old are we now?”

Dusty laughed harder. “Don’t you know?”

“Not at this moment, no.”

He kissed her again briefly. “Twenty-seven.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Their eyes met. Locked. She licked her lips, tasting faint berries blended with the complimentary mint they’d been given after their meal. The one he’d popped into his mouth as they’d neared home. “Well, I met you when I was ten. So, seventeen years.”

“That’s a long time to wait for a kiss,” he whispered before abruptly drawing back. “Wait. You wanted me to kiss you when we were ten?”

She nodded. “I would have been happy with a note—I like you, do you like me?—passed between Mrs. Jenkins’s class and Mr. Solomon’s.”

Dusty threw back his head and laughed. “Good ole Mr. Solomon. Never in the history of Testament Elementary School was there ever a more Scrooge-like teacher.” Then, looking at her again, his eyes tender, he asked. “So? Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Like me?”

Charlie diverted her attention to the screen door where Sis had recently hung a Christmas wreath, now gathering frost. “I do.” Her eyes made her way back to his. “Do you?”

“I do.”

Silence settled between them.

“So then? Tomorrow night?” she asked, hopeful.

“What time?”

“Seven.”

“You’ll also be at rehearsal tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“Of course. One o’clock. We’re practicing in the music room.”

“We’ll be in the auditorium.” Dusty took a step back, running his hands down Charlie’s arms, sending shivers in their wake. When his hands linked with hers, he said, “Let’s plan the last half hour to bring the two groups together to go over the format a little more.”

Charlie nodded, torn between anticipation and disappointment. Had it been necessary for their conversation to leave teasing and flirtation? Must they talk business already? Had he regretted the moments they’d shared? “Sounds good,” she choked out. Why had she told him about her feelings from so long ago?

Dusty raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm.” She pulled her hands from his. “I should—I should go in before Sis does something horrible. You know, like flicker the porch light.”

This time his brow knitted together. “Oh. Okay.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Getting cold anyway.”

Charlie went up two of the steps and clasped the brass door handle. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Sure.” He walked toward the car. “See you tomorrow then?”

She nodded, opened the door, and stepped inside.