Christmas Wishes Part 3. Diana Palmer

him, so I press on, hoping I’ve imagined this strange undercurrent from Olivia. “Why don’t we have dinner here at the café? I’ll knock something up.” It’s easier to cook at the café, and bigger than the kitchen at home.

      “Perfect,” Damon says. “I’ll prepare the food, Lil. I’m doing a cooking demonstration so I’ll make extra.”

      Olivia rubs Damon’s back as moms do. “Lovely, darling. We’ve certainly missed your cooking. Haven’t we, George?”

      “That we have.” George steps forward and shakes my hand. “We’d love to meet your parents, Lil. Maybe you could extend them an invitation too?”

      “Of course,” I say. “Looking forward to it.” Mamma and Dad have been itching to meet Damon’s parents. Mamma never stops with the queries about what Olivia’s like, and if George really collects vintage cars. Things I have no clue about. Mamma visits Damon’s shop regularly to sit at the coffee bar, and chat with him and her friends, so it feels almost as if she knows more about Olivia and George than I do. She’s probably grilled poor Damon daily for information. Small-town folk, we’re kind of nosey like that.

      George says, “Maybe you should invite CeeCee too, Lil? From what we hear she’s part of the family.”

      His sentiment stuns me for a moment. While Olivia is formal, George is relaxed and warm, so much like Damon. “She is. She’s like a mother and best friend all rolled into one. I’ll ask her along.”

      Olivia fusses with her hair again. “It was lovely to meet you, Lil. We’re blessed to have you in our family. You just let me know what else I can do to help.” She beams at me before hugging me tight. In front of Damon she’s all sweetness and light. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe she is just worried about Damon, and getting to know me will allay some of her concerns.

      I pull at the bottom of my sweater. “It was great to meet you. At dinner perhaps we can go over some of the wedding preparations.”

      George yawns, and makes a show of stretching. His face is haggard from lack of sleep.

      “I better get the old man home.” Damon indicates to George. “You’ll be OK?”

      “I have the truck out back. I’ll be fine.” The thought of going home makes me smile in spite of it all. A steaming-hot bath always makes everything better.

      Damon gives my jean-clad rear a cheeky tap before lacing his arm through Olivia’s.

      George says, “See you the day after tomorrow, Lil. Damon’s given me a talking-to about falling asleep, my apologies.” He nods goodbye.

      Once the door blows shut, I blow out a breath.

      Finding the cordless phone, I punch in CeeCee’s number and fill her in to see what she makes of it. Once I get the whole sorry story out, I say, “So what do you think? Am I overreacting? She was sweet as cherry pie while dropping little bombs on me. Am I reading it wrong?”

      “I sure as shootin’ don’t know, Lil. Maybe she’s just thinking of her grandbaby, and it’s only natural that she’d want her son closer to his daughter, but that ain’t your fault, Lil. Damon’s the one who made that choice when he moved here. And he ain’t a fool — he planned a life here when he opened up that shop o’ his.”

      I stand closer to the fire, which has burnt down; the glowing orange embers still warm the backs of my legs. “Yeah, I know. But she made it seem like he was running away from something, and that he’d move back to New Orleans once the dust had settled. I felt…like some kind of country hick rebound or something.”

      “That man loves you, Lil. Loves you something silly. I don’t want to hear you talkin’ that way, ’cause it ain’t the truth.” She clucks her tongue. “You gonna need to tell Damon what she said.”

      I grimace at the thought. “But, Cee, he was so happy to see them, so excited, like a kid or something. I don’t want to ruin that high. Maybe I’ll just wait and see what the next visit brings.”

      She sighs dramatically down the line. “I don’t think keeping this to yourself is a good idea, Lil. But see what happens at dinner. Maybe she was out of sorts after a long-haul flight, who knows?”

      “Yep, maybe that’s it.”

      “You ain’t a pushover, so stand your ground, an’ be firm. Don’t let her tell you how Damon feels. He ain’t the type of man who bottles things up.”

      I pinch the bridge of my nose as a headache looms. “I guess.”

      “Don’t worry that pretty head o’ yours. I’ll be here for you, Lil. Maybe she was expecting some kind of huge fancy everythin’ wedding… She just needs to get to know you better.”

      Even though our wedding is deemed simple, it doesn’t mean it’s not going to be pretty. CeeCee and I have spent an age poring over websites for ideas. We’ve found bride and groom knife and fork sets that say: Mr. and Mrs. And the cutest recipe for gingerbread wedding favors decorated like a bride and groom. Small touches that have special meaning.

      “Do you think Damon really does want to invite all those other family members?” He’s often talked about cousins, and uncles who live not too far from Ashford, but he’s never made any attempt to visit them, or even call them on the telephone as far as I know. I can’t see him suddenly wanting them at the wedding. Or have I unintentionally pushed him into agreeing to keep the guest list small? As Olivia said, she’s known Damon his whole life and I’ve only known him a year. Already tonight I’ve seen a different Damon, one who seems more energetic and animated, quick to laugh, and more…himself.

      CeeCee says, “I don’t rightly know, Lil. What I think is it’s late, you’ve had a long day, and all this worry ain’t gonna change a thing. Sleep on it, OK?”

      The night has gone eerily quiet, with only the small crackle of the dying fire to keep me company. My earlier pre-wedding flush has faded away, replaced by a nervousness I can’t quite shake. “You’re right, CeeCee. A good night’s sleep will help.”

      “Go home. Don’t give it another thought.”

      “OK.”

      “Night, sugar plum.”

      “Night.” I hang up, feeling slightly mollified. CeeCee’s got a way of putting things in perspective, and I think maybe I’ve read it all wrong. I gather up the mop that leans against the table and swish it in the sudsy water, before finishing off the floors.

      After I’ve packed the cleaning equipment away, I head on out back to my office. I open the drawer and pull out a jewelry box. Inside are wedding gifts I had made especially for our moms and my bridal party. Olivia’s gift sits on top, a silver locket inscribed, ‘Thank you for raising my Mr. Right.’ With a sigh, I wonder if it’s something she’ll like. Somehow after seeing the way she dresses, I can’t imagine her wearing a silver locket, with a gushy sentimental inscription. Instead, I look for Charlie’s gift, a necklace with a pearl pendant, and a card that reads: Charlie, you may know the old saying a bride needs something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, for good luck on her wedding day. But all I need is you. Will you be my flower girl?

      I smile, thinking of Charlie’s radiant face, and how excited she’ll be to find out she’s part of the wedding. It was Damon’s idea to surprise her. When she arrives, the day before the wedding, she’ll walk into her bedroom to find a mink-colored gown hanging in her closet, with a faux-fur stole to match. Elegant little golden slippers sit at the foot of her bed, and a diamanté-encrusted clutch that glitters in the dim light. I want Charlie to feel special, and loved, not only included in our big day, but a huge part of it.

      Am I the reason Damon lives so far away from his daughter? My heart hurts just thinking of it. I pack the box away. Would Damon keep his feelings secret? And if so, why?

      After