Robyn Neeley - Christmas Dinner

Amanda sighed. “Yep. We’re here.”

“This is amazing. Amanda, is your dad Santa Claus?” he asked, half joking.

“Not quite.”

“They could land 747 jets on your front yard. That tree in the middle has to be over thirty feet tall.” He pointed to the west side of the lawn. “Is that a horse and sleigh over there?”

“The horse is fake. I’d rather not talk about the sleigh.”

“Then we won’t.” He suspected she might have some unpleasant memories of it involving the infamous ex. Perhaps it was the scene of the aborted proposal.

Amanda sighed. “Good. Did your parents decorate their lawn for the holidays?” She reached behind her for her bags.

“No. Well, yeah, I guess. But this, well, this . . . wow . . . It’s just really something.” Tate rolled down his window to get a better look at the horse and sleigh and the other life-size figurines on display. He could hear the faint sound of Christmas music. Was it coming from the trees? “How much is your parents’ electric bill?”

“Geez, what’s with all the questions? I thought we were off the clock this weekend.” She rummaged through her purse, pulled out a lip gloss container, and applied a layer.

He looked over and smiled. “Yeah, but this is a story worth uncovering. Do they do this every year?”

“Since 1970, and the town helps pay for it on account of what my family does each year for the county. We get a lot of visitors this time of year.”

“Since 1970? Odd that I’ve never been here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Now wasn’t the time to go down memory lane.

“Come on. Drive up to the house. The driveway is over there,” she said, motioning to the right. “Just turn your lights off halfway up so we don’t wake anyone.”

“Because my car lights will wake them?” He chuckled as he turned up the driveway.

“Actually, you know what? I bet my parents are still at the hospital.”

Tate shut off the Jeep. “You ready?” He gave her an encouraging smile.

“I suppose so.” She put her hand on the door handle and hesitated.

“You got this, Ace. I’m right here.”

Amanda sighed. “I know.”

“And I’ll be here for you all weekend.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? You could still back out.”

He squeezed her arm. “Not a chance. Let’s show this ex-boyfriend and fiancée what true love really looks like. Stay right here.”

He jumped out of the Jeep, walked over to her side, and opened the door for her. “Here, let me take those for you.” He grabbed the bags in her lap and put out his hand.

“Thank you. How chivalrous.” She put her small hand in his and he helped her out.

“Showtime.” He threw his duffle back around his shoulder and followed Amanda up the walkway, breathing in the fresh scents of snow and pine needles.

Inside, Tate was knocked over by the delicious smells of chocolate and gingerbread. “Wow!” He admired the log cabin’s interior. “Did your father build this house? This slate flooring is gorgeous.”

“With the help of my grandfather and uncles. Shortly after he and Mom were married. Here, let me have those.” She took the bags from him and placed them in front of a half-turn staircase. “Let’s see if anyone is home.”

Tate followed her into the living room—a quaint country-style room with a magnificent crackling stone fireplace that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Several colorful stockings hung off the mantel.

His eyes moved from the fireplace to the rest of the living room. A beautifully decorated Douglas Fir Christmas tree radiated in front of the window. He suspected the tree was fresh from the lawn and guessed it to be about ten feet tall. It was decorated with ornaments of every shape and color. Silver tinsel dripped from the branches while twinkle lights winked. “Amanda, how can you possibly hate Christmas surrounded by all of this?” He reached out and touched a glass ornament. The large snowflake sparkled with silver glitter and blue rhinestones.

“Shhh . . .” She pointed to an elderly woman sleeping underneath a deep red blanket in a rocking chair. He hadn’t seen her when they first came in.

“Amanda, is that you? I must have fallen asleep.” The old woman stirred. An overweight grey tabby jumped from the old woman’s lap, shooting Tate a look of disdain. He hated cats. They were so judgmental.

“Grandma, hi.” Amanda bent over and kissed her cheek. “We didn’t mean to wake you. Is anyone else here?”

“No, dear. They’re all at the hospital. It’s just me and the animals. Quinn is having her baby tonight, but you already know that, don’t you?”

“Has she had it yet?”

“No one’s called.” She looked from Amanda to Tate. “Amanda, who is this young gentleman?” She smiled up at him, motioning for him to sit on the sofa next to her.

“Grandma, this is my boyfriend, Tate Ryan. Tate, this is my Grandma Turner.”

Tate sat on the edge of the couch cushion. “Mrs. Turner, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Tate. That’s a nice name. I once dated a fella named Tate. Or no. His name was Nate. That’s right. It was Nate—for Nathaniel. Such a nice young man he was. Although, he didn’t hold a candle to Grandpa Turner.” She touched his knee. “It’s so nice that you could join us for the holidays, Tate.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He felt her eyes studying him; there was a bit of amusement in them.

“What a fine sweater you have on,” she said, reaching to touch the Christmas trees on his chest.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “I told him it would be a hit.” She turned toward the fireplace, picked up a poker, and gave the log in the fire a poke. Eyeing the stockings, she noticed a small one with the name “Max” in silver cursive writing. It was much smaller than the other stockings and the only one with a name. “Grandma, who’s Max?” Quinn couldn’t possibly have chosen to name her daughter Max. Unless it was short for Maxine.

The front door suddenly shut. Tate glanced up to see a tall guy standing in the foyer. He looked to be his age—maybe slightly younger—and was wearing a police uniform. The uncomfortable expression on his face was a dead giveaway. This must be the scumbag ex.

Amanda whipped around and faced the police officer. “Hi, Brad,” she said flatly, still clutching the poker.

“Amanda.” Brad walked over and removed his police hat. “It’s nice to see you. Did you just get in?”

Tate rose from the couch and stood beside Amanda. He reached for the poker and set it next to the fireplace. Grabbing her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers. He could feel her tiny fingers shaking. He wish he could pull her into a warm hug and protect her from what was about to go down.

“Brad, this is Tate, er, um . . .” Amanda stammered. “He’s my . . . we’re . . . have been for six months…”

“Hey, Brad. I’m Tate Ryan.” He gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze—something he wished he could have done underneath the anchor desk when the teleprompter malfunctioned. “Her boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the fire,” Amanda offered.

A petite woman joined them in the living room, removing a green wool hat and shaking her long red mane. Brad immediately put his arm around her. “Sweetheart, this is Amanda and her boyfriend, Tate. This is my fiancée, Melanie. Melanie Clearwater.”

Pain radiated through Tate’s hand. He looked down to see Amanda squeezing it hard. Did he just hear Brad correctly? Melanie Clearwater?

It couldn’t be.

Could it? The camp he’d gone to as a boy wasn’t far from this town. It didn’t help that she had the flaming red hair and bright blue eyes he remembered.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Melanie studied Tate. “You look really familiar. Have we met before?” She removed her black pea coat and handed it to Brad.

He nodded. What were the odds that Melanie Clearwater was standing in front of him? Just act normal. “It’s been a long time, you look really—”

“Huge!” Amanda gasped. She let go of Tate’s hand and covered her mouth.

His gaze followed Amanda’s down to Melanie’s very round belly. Unless there was a Christmas goose in there, it was going to be a long weekend.

“Amanda, would you please stop?”

Amanda ignored Tate’s pleas and hurried inside Ira Davenport Hospital. She wanted to see her sister and the new baby. She was also anxious to block out what had just happened at her parents’ house.

Little chance of that happening. Brad was going to be a dad—and, by the looks of Melanie’s belly, very soon.

“Would you at least slow down?” Tate was hot on her heels. “Okay, enough of the silent treatment. You can’t be mad at me for this one.”

She stopped short in front of the elevator. “I’m always mad at you.” She shook her head. “What are the odds that Brad’s fiancée would be your middle school crush?”

“Well, given we’re from neighboring towns with small populations, the odds were probably quite good. What does it matter anyway?”

“It doesn’t.” Amanda looked up at the ceiling. “What did I do in a past life that was so terrible to deserve this?” The elevator opened. “And what is this about you growing up in Hammondsport? You’re from the area?”

“We didn’t live here very long.”

“Still, we’ve been dating for six months and this never came up?”

“Don’t you mean working together for a year?” Tate leaned back on the elevator’s wall.

“You know what I meant.” She pushed the third floor button.

The elevator doors opened to the maternity ward and Amanda made her way down the hallway, Tate following closely behind. “I’m tired and still in shock. I don’t know what I’m saying.”