Free A Cliché Christmas by Nicole Deese

she was up most of last night vomiting, but she had a better day today. It’s just really hard for her to keep anything down.”
I swallowed a large bite of chocolate cake and awkwardly pushed my plate away, hoping I didn’t look like the most unsympathetic human being ever.
    “Well, I have a few things I’d like you to take up to Portland with you on Sunday, if you don’t mind. Some books. They’re ones that Georgia loved when she was little.”
    Weston shifted his gaze to me, and a spasm rocketed through my core.
    No! Stop that! Why was my body always defying me when it came to him?
    “I’d love to take whatever you have for her, Nan.”
    “Great.”
    Weston’s phone buzzed, and his brow furrowed.
    “Hang on.” He stood and walked toward the window. I couldn’t help but watch him. Weston James was like a piece of fine art, one I hadn’t allowed myself to fully appreciate until now. But with his eyes fixed outside and my pride momentarily banished, I surreptitiously studied the masterpiece in front of me.
    “Maybe you should just take a picture—you know, with that fancy phone of yours,” Eddy muttered as she sat down with us.
    Flames crept up my cheeks to the tips of my ears. “ I . . . I was looking out the window.”
    “Ha! Sure you were. That backside of his was discussed at length during my book club a few months ago.”
    Oy. I did not need to know that. “Okay, then.”
    Eddy’s voice grew shriller. “What? I’m just saying—”
    “We need to go,” Weston said, taking my arm and pulling me up.
    “What? Where?”
    Was that Willa on the phone? Had something happened to Savannah? Weston’s stride was quick, my arm tucked under his. I didn’t even say good-bye to Nan. Not that I had a clue what was happening.
    “I need your keys.”
    “Why?”
    “I’ll fill you in on the way. Hand them over.”
    I rolled my eyes and placed them in his palm.
    After adjusting every single custom seat setting I had, Weston started my car, and we were on our way. Where? I still had no clue.
    “Weston, what’s going on?” I buckled my seat belt.
    “We’re rescuing Prince Pickles.”
    I belted out a cough-like chuckle. “Who?”
    “Savannah’s dog. The neighbor called. I guess he dug out of the backyard again. I swear, that mutt is the bane of my existence—yippy and annoying—but Savannah loves him for some reason.” He shook his head.
    “Hm m . . . ”
    “What?” he asked, glancing over at me.
    “Nothing,” I said in a sing-song voice.
    Weston poked my thigh with his finger. “Tell me.”
    I squirmed in my seat as he repeated the gesture. “It’s just that Savannah seems to have a knack for loving exasperating creature s . . . ”
    His mouth fell open in mock offense. “Oh. No. You. Didn’t.”
    Swallowing the giggle in my throat, I pushed my door open the second Weston parked in front of Willa’s house. In no time, he was trotting up the porch stairs after me.
    “Take it back.”
    I shook my head. “No way.”
    “Georgia Cole, I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly lovable—”
    A shrill bark interrupted Weston’s rant.
    “Weston? That you?” An older man rounded the corner holding a dog that looked like the end of a dirty mop. The mutt squirmed in his arms, wagging his tail as Weston reached for him.
    Apparently, Weston’s feelings toward the dog weren’t mutual.
    “Thanks, Mr. Murphy. Sorry he got ou t . . . again .”
    Mr. Murphy waved him off. “No problem. I know what he means to that girl. You should tell your sister to keep better track of him.”
    Weston frowned at the animal now licking his cheek with unabashed pleasure. “I will, thanks again.”
    I laughed and shoved my frozen hands into my pockets. I waited for Weston to open the front door as Mr. Murphy walked away.

    Prince Pickles went crazy the second Weston set him down. He spun in circles, his cottony hair a magnet for every piece of lint it encountered. No wonder he looked like a Q-tip dipped in