DAY 6
I t 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 timid woof , 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?”
The snow queen and the storm trooper glared at George, who was struggling to push aside the heavy blanket covering him and sit upright.
“What’s she doing here?” they asked in unison, pointing at Tilly.
“Tilly,” George said pointedly, “works for Piney Point Vacation Rentals, the company that’s been managing the rentals for my late uncle. I asked her to come over and give me an idea of what needs to be done to get the house ready to put on the market.”
“Riggght,” Denny said with a practiced sneer, taking in the wineglasses and the empty bottle of champagne and his ex-wife’s expression. “She’s clearly been sleeping over, among other things.”
“Jerk,” Tilly muttered, with a shake of her head. “You never change, Denny. With you, every accusation is an admission of guilt.”
Vanessa pushed her hood back and fluffed her golden hair. “George? You know I trust you completely, and I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but this”—she gestured around the room at the quilts and the champagne bottle and, lastly, Tilly, with her rumpled hair and Santa-dog pajamas—“looks awfully suspicious. You never called me back, and so I assumed the worst had happened. I didn’t even have the address here. I just knew it was called the Crowe’s Nest, so I called the sheriff’s office, and Sheriff Markovich generously offered to accompany me.”
“ Sheriff Markovich?”
“That’s right,” Denny said, preening a little. He’d been walking around the room, examining the ancestral Crowe portraits, but now he turned his attention back to George.
“Hey! I know you.” He pointed with his flashlight. “Sticks! How about that? Sticks Holloway, Piney Point homecoming queen, class of 2004.”
“Hello, Denny,” George said calmly. “I see they gave you a big-boy gun and a badge. But no bullets, I hope?”
Denny glared, then glanced over at Vanessa. “For real? You’re actually with this loser?”
Vanessa nodded. “Thanks for your help, Sheriff. I can take it from here.”
“I’ll show him out,” Tilly volunteered.
She opened the front door and gently pushed him onto the front porch. “See ya, Denny.” He was about to say something, but she closed the door in his face, then quietly slipped back to her attic.
Vanessa started to sit on the end of the sofa, pushing aside the quilt. She gasped when she saw the plaster cast encasing his ankle.
“Oh my God, George. What happened?”
He touched the bandage on the back of his head. “What day is this?”
“It’s Friday. The gala is tonight.”
“Right. Then it was Tuesday. I started to climb the ladder to the third floor, to inspect the roof. It was windy and cold, and my foot slipped, and I fell. Broke my ankle and got a concussion. So now, once again, you get to say I told you so . Because you were right. Again.”
“Do you think I get some kind of sick satisfaction from being right? Tell me what’s really going on with you.”
“I think you already know what’s going on with me,” George said, his face reflecting the misery he felt. “The awful truth is, after I fell, even as much pain as I was in, I was kind of glad I needed to stay here. Glad I didn’t have to put on that damn tux and go to that damned ball. Because I hate those society parties.”
“But you know how much the ball means to me. And those are our friends!”
“ Your friends,” he corrected. “Perfectly decent people, all of them, but there’s not a single one of them who’d call me and ask me to meet them for a beer. Right?”
“You intimidate them,” Vanessa shot back. “You’re aloof. You act bored when we’re out with them.”
“They intimidate me . I’m a jeans-and-sweatshirt kind of guy. I don’t play tennis or golf, and I’m not comfortable talking about my stock portfolio or my wine cellar.”
She sat back on her heels. “So what’s the plan? You’re not thinking of staying here, right? You’re coming back to Boston with me, where you’ll see a proper doctor.”
“I can’t put any weight on my ankle for at least two weeks, and I have to keep it elevated above my heart at all times to prevent swelling. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive back to Boston, and that’s without the snow.” He took a deep breath. “And I don’t know that Boston is where I want to be anymore.”
“So that’s it? No engagement? You’re really going to do this? Now?” She glanced in the direction of the stairs.
His shoulders sagged. “I did try to tell you, you know. I’m sorry, Vanessa.”
Vanessa’s green eyes narrowed. “I’ll call the movers as soon as I get back to Boston. Well, tomorrow, after the gala. You can let me know where to send your things.”
Her expression returned to the carefully composed mask he thought of as her game face. “I should have known this was never going to work, George. Maybe you tell yourself you love me, but you don’t need me. That’s the real reason you didn’t call. Instead, you turned to a stranger, a woman you hardly know.” She shrugged. “Goodbye, George.” She marched out the front door so quickly she missed his response.
“She’s not a stranger.”
When Tilly heard the front door slam—loudly—she raced to the window in time to see Vanessa get into a white Mercedes and speed away. Alone.
Not long after that, she heard the sound of the radio drifting up from the parlor. She recognized the song and, now, the deep baritone voice accompanying Elvis. “I’ll have a blue Christmas without you ...”
She picked up her phone and began to text.
Is the coast clear?
George laughed ruefully when he saw the text bubble on his phone screen and immediately began typing a response.
We might need to speed up the work on this house. Turns out, I’m gonna need a place to live. Stat.
Tilly stopped at the second-floor landing to send a reply, and Smoosh raced on down to the first floor ahead of her.
Does that mean what I think it does?
She took the last flight of stairs slowly, trying to sort out her emotions.
Her heart was racing as she walked into the parlor, where, to her shock, she discovered her usually timid Smoosh splayed out on George’s chest, licking his chin.
Tilly stood with her hands on her hips, looking down at the two of them: Smoosh, deliriously happy, and George, feet up on the ottoman, with his phone in hand, reading her last text.
“Really, Smoosh?” she said, feigning disapproval. “A total stranger?”
George set the phone down and patted the sofa cushion next to his. “He and I have reached an understanding. We’re friends.”
She sat down beside him. “I’m glad. And I’m glad we’re friends, too, after all these years.”
“No,” George said, frowning. “Actually, I’m not currently accepting applications for new friends.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? I sort of thought we reached an understanding last night.” She tapped his forehead with her index finger. “You do remember what you told me, right? I mean, you’re not still concussed, are you?”
He caught her hand in his and gently kissed the back and then the palm. His eyes met Tilly’s. “Got any plans for Christmas?”
She snuggled under his outstretched arm. “According to the weather app on my phone, we’re gonna get another six inches of snow this weekend.”
“Brutal.”
She gestured toward his fractured ankle. “I guess skiing is out.”
“Dancing too,” he agreed.
“You know, I spotted a VCR in a box up in the attic just now, along with a bunch of VHS tapes.”
“Good old Uncle Gus,” George said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“ Home Alone and a Tombstone pizza. Maybe I’ll even whip up some celebratory Rice Krispies Treats,” Tilly said.
“And after that?” he asked. “Maybe a nice bottle of Veuve to open at midnight?”
Smoosh gave an indignant woof and jumped down from the sofa.
Tilly warmed at the naughty twinkle in George’s eyes.
“We’re home alone,” he pointed out. “There’s a snowstorm coming in, and we’ve got days and days of just you and me. The possibilities are endlessly intriguing.”
“Hmm,” she said, carefully climbing onto his lap and looping her arms around his neck. “Days and days. And nights. I like the sound of that.”