Chapter 36
Just before noon on Christmas Eve, Willow glanced through the Civic’s passenger-side window and watched the road signs flash by.
Not long now. The closer they got to Scottie’s family home, the worse Willow’s nerves became.
She tried to tell herself the trip to Corvallis would be good for her. It would be a nice distraction from all the problems at her job. In fact, it was already working: Instead of panicking about the upcoming presentation, she was now worrying about meeting Scottie’s family.
Willow grimaced. Great. It was like a nesting doll of anxiety, with one worry tucked inside another.
Scottie glanced over. She was navigating the holiday traffic with a constant grin on her face, either because Willow had let her drive the Civic again or because she was about to see her family.
Her hair was tousled from the knit cap she’d worn earlier, and Willow hadn’t said anything because she secretly loved the look. “You doing okay over there?”
“Yeah. Just…”
“Nervous,” Scottie finished when Willow hesitated to admit it.
Willow sighed. “A little. Okay, a lot.”
Her phone buzzed, and she fished it out of her purse. “Sorry. It’s Fiona. I told her to check in when she wakes up.”
“Tell her I hope she feels better soon,” Scottie said.
“Will do.” Willow checked what her sister had written.
I’m up. Kinda. Did you make it to Corvallis?
Hey, sleepyhead, Willow answered. Not yet. Still in the car. How are you feeling? Fiona had been asleep when they had left, and Willow hadn’t wanted to wake her just to say goodbye.
Like I have a bad case of the Christmas Plague, Fiona replied.
I’m really sorry, Willow texted back. But at least you won’t starve to death. If you get hungry, there’s lasagna in the fridge, soup in the freezer, and a loaf of the cranberry bread you love on the counter. And your gifts are under the tree.
Gifts, plural? Fiona replied. I thought we agreed to stick to just one this year?
The smaller one is from Scottie. She says hi and hopes you feel better soon.
There was a longer pause before Fiona’s next text popped up. Scottie got me a gift? Wow. She’s a keeper! If you don’t want her, I’ll take her.
Not a chance. I want her. Willow hit send, then froze and stared at what she’d written.
It was true.
She wanted Scottie.
Not just for however long it lasted before it fizzled out or Scottie got fed up with the glitches. She wanted them, together, until the end of time. This was it for her.
The realization hit her with the force of a lightning strike. She clutched her phone, heart racing. How the hell had this happened? How had she gone, in the span of only a few months, maybe even weeks, from denying herself a single date with Scottie to wanting a lifetime with her?
But while she had no idea how it had happened, there was no denying that it had. She was in love for the very first time in her adult life, and it scared the hell out of her because she’d always believed that relationships didn’t last.
Would this one?
She desperately wanted it to.
Her battery level dropped from eighty percent to fourteen.
She typed a quick message to Fiona, then threw the phone onto the back seat, as far away from her turbulent emotions as possible.
Scottie glanced over, a worried look on her face. “Everything okay with Fiona?”
“Hmm? Oh. Yes. She was really impressed that you got her a gift.” Willow forced a smile and shoved her fears and hopes to the back of her mind, not ready to deal with them—or talk about them with Scottie.
Scottie grinned. “What can I say? I’ve always been good at charming the families of my girlfriends.”
“Lucky you,” Willow murmured, trying not to think of Scottie with any of her exes and their families. “I’m terrible at it.”
“I have a really hard time believing that.”
“I’ve never even met a girlfriend’s family before.” Her relationships had always ended before they could reach the point of holiday invitations or meeting the parents.
“Then how do you know you’re terrible at it?” Scottie asked. “If you let them see what I see, you’ll do just fine.”
Willow studied her strong profile. “What do you see?”
Scottie turned her head for a second to make eye contact, then redirected her attention to the road ahead. “Someone worth bringing home,” she said quietly.
In the sudden silence, the squeak of the windshield wipers against the misty glass sounded overly loud.
A burning sensation swirled up Willow’s sinuses. “God, you’re so charming it’s dangerous,” she got out, caught between laughing and crying.
“I know.” Scottie gave her a smile. “But that wasn’t just a charming line.”
“That’s what makes it so dangerous.”
The radio came on, playing “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”
They both stared at it.
Scottie arched her brows. “I thought the radio doesn’t work?”
“It doesn’t. Didn’t—even before I bought the car. Its previous owner said it hasn’t worked in decades.”
Scottie reached over and took her hand. Her warm grip settled Willow’s nerves in a way nothing else ever had. “Let’s take it as a good omen for this trip.”
Mariah Carey’s high, bright voice filled the car as the song hit its chorus.
Scottie started to sing along, so off-key that Willow thought for a moment she was doing it on purpose to make her laugh.
Then it hit her. No, Scottie wasn’t trying to cheer her up; she really couldn’t sing to save her life.
Laughter bubbled up Willow’s chest.
“What?” Scottie asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” Willow answered but continued to chuckle. “It’s just good to know there’s one thing you’re not perfect at.”
Scottie playfully clutched her chest with one hand. “Are you implying I can’t sing?”
“Let’s just say if I cause a glitch at your parents’ house and we need a distraction, you could break into song.”
“Ha! Wait until you hear the rest of the family sing—I’m the most talented one of the bunch!”
They rode the last few miles laughing and singing.
~ ~ ~
Willow tried to slow her breathing as she followed Scottie up the walkway toward her parents’ house. Passing out wouldn’t make for a great first impression.
Three steps led to a covered porch and a white, slightly weathered front door. A cluster of colorful ceramic pots to the right held violas and pansies. Some of them looked as if they’d seen better days, and the garland wrapped around the porch rail was a bit crooked.
Willow found it strangely comforting. It meant things didn’t need to be perfect in the Prescotts’ home; they were allowed to go wrong—and they probably soon would.
The muffled sounds of chaos drifted through the door—laughter, loud voices, and the squeal of a child.
Scottie shifted her overnight bag to her left hand and lifted her right, about to grab the doorknob. “Ready?”
Willow hesitated, clutching her own bag with both hands. “You told them you’re bringing me, right?”
“Of course. You’re pretty much the only thing I’ve been talking about ever since the office holiday party.”
Scottie’s emotional openness still stunned her. She swallowed heavily.
“Hey.” Scottie reached over and rubbed the small of her back, finding the spot that held most tension almost as if by instinct. “Relax and just be yourself. I guarantee they’ll love you.”
Just be yourself. Willow wasn’t sure that was good advice. Being her was what broke things. She tried to smile. “Okay, let’s—”
“They’re here!” a child’s voice shouted from inside.
The door flew open, and the noise level exploded.
A little boy of maybe five launched himself into Scottie’s arms.
“This is Logan, my cousin Noah’s youngest.” Laughing, she swung him around, then set him down and pulled Willow into the house.
The hallway was crammed with boots and coats, and Willow followed Scottie’s example, adding her shoes to the pile.
A man in his sixties, dressed in a ruby-red, ugly Christmas sweater, climbed over the mountain of winter gear to get to them.
Scottie dropped her bag and engulfed him in a bear hug.
He was taller and leaner than Scottie, but Willow instantly knew he was her father, even before Scottie said, “Merry Christmas, Dad.”
“Merry Christmas, honey.” Finally, he pulled back and regarded Willow. He had the same kind brown eyes as his daughter. “You must be Willow. Glad you could make it.” He readily offered his hand. “Come on in and feel right at home.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Prescott.” Willow kept one hand on the doorknob behind her as she returned his warm handshake.
He chuckled. “Oh please. Call me Rick. If you call me Mr. Prescott, I feel like I need to start taking attendance and handing out a pop quiz.”
Willow smiled. His easygoing personality reminded her so much of Scottie that she finally relaxed the tiniest bit.
“Where’s Mom?” Scottie asked.
“Can’t you hear her?” Her father gestured to the left, where the noise of a whirring kitchen appliance was coming from. “In the kitchen, torturing the broccoli.”
Willow set her bag down next to Scottie’s and followed her into the kitchen.
It was a large space, with cream-colored cabinets that looked a little worn and a giant stainless-steel fridge that, by contrast, appeared brand-new. A wide archway led to the dining area, which flowed into the living room.
Scottie’s mother stood at the large wooden center island, pureeing broccoli with an immersion blender, so she hadn’t heard them enter yet.
She was on the shorter side, but her frame wasn’t fragile at all.
She looked as if she could bench-press her husband.
Her blonde hair—a shade darker than Scottie’s—held a few traces of gray.
She was humming a Christmas song, maybe “Last Christmas,” but Willow wasn’t sure.
Even over the noise of the blender, Willow could hear that she sounded as off-key as Scottie.
Scottie nudged Willow with her elbow and mouthed, “See?”
The blender let out a high-pitched whine, then shut off abruptly.
Willow froze. Oh crap. Was that me?
Scottie’s mother lightly shook the blender, but it refused to work. “Oh come on! There’s no going on strike on Christmas!”