A Curvy Carol (A Curvy Girl Christmas #2)

5. Carolynn

5

CAROLYNN

T he next day, Whit showed up at the Garland Express. I’d arrived early, just wanting to get out of the house so I could work on my latest cross-stitch project in peace.

Mom hadn’t stopped peppering me with questions since I’d gotten home from meeting Whit yesterday, and it was driving me crazy.

I was pretty sure she had all these hopes and expectations for me hanging out with Whit.

Which was utterly mortifying. Especially no guy had been interested in me to date. Surely it wasn’t about to happen now when he was about to start at Garland High and meet all the pretty, skinny girls there.

Really, I just wanted to get this whole thing over with so I could have some time to myself. Although, it was already way better than feeling stifled at activity after activity with my parents. At least Whit was my own age, although he seemed to be like everyone else in Garland: crazy about Christmas.

“Hey,” Whit said, coming up to me where I sat on a bench in the waiting area. He wore buffalo plaid pajama pants, black snow boots, and big black winter coat.

“Hey,” I said, hastily putting my project into my bag. In the back of my mind I wondered what he thought of my form fitting black fleece pants and matching top. But he seemed more concerned about my project.

“What’s that?” he asked as I got up from the bench.

“Nothing,” I replied, tucking my coat over my arm. “Come on.”

He followed me to the ticket booth for the Garland Express where a few families and couples waited in line. It was a train that took you on a long ride around the mountains and forest surrounding Garland. I’d been on it so many times that it no longer really felt like anything special at this point.

The train ride wouldn’t be too bad compared to everything else there was to do in Garland. The ride would give me a couple hours to sit and watch the countryside go by. Maybe Whit would go to the viewing deck and I could cross stitch on my own.

“Two tickets, please,” I told the girl at the cash register.

Whit pulled out some cash and paid. I supposed his parents were footing the bill then , I thought to myself.

The girl handed over the tickets and gave us her shpiel on the magic of the train and whatnot.

Then we got on the train, the engine already rumbling. Because it was morning, there was hardly anyone else getting on the train. We got a compartment all to ourselves, which was nice.

I took a seat by the window, and Whit sat down opposite me.

He stared out at the tall, majestic mountains that lay in the distance, blanketed in snow. “What a view,” he breathed.

Here was my chance. “There’s actually a viewing deck that’s all glass windows you can go watch from.”

“Will you come?” he asked. Something about the way he asked had my stomach fluttering in far too hopeful of a way. I had to remember what this was—a way to get out of the Christmas Olympics.

“No, I’ll save our spot.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” he replied.

Why wasn’t I disappointed by that? Giving up on figuring out my own tangled thoughts, I pulled out my cross-stitch project, the table between us keeping it mostly hidden from Whit’s view.

The train got going, and we were quiet for a while, Whit taking in the views as the train got out of town. I glanced up here and there, making an occasional comment about what we were seeing.

A guy in a fancy waiter’s uniform stopped at our table, small notepad in hand. “Hot chocolate?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“I’ll take one,” Whit piped up.

I sighed. “Orange soda, please, if you have it.”

The waiter nodded and set off. Just a few minutes later, he was back with our drinks in hand.

I sipped on my drink while Whit worked on his hot chocolate. “I could have this every day and not get tired of it,” he said.

“You’d be surprised,” I replied, sarcasm in my voice. Hot chocolate was a staple at every Garland Christmas event.

While the train chugged on, we got to talking. It turned out we actually had some stuff in common. Not only were we in the same grade, but we were also both only children.

“Well, I guess that explains why we’re here,” I said. “Do your parents also want to spend way too much time with you?”

Whit smiled sadly. “I’d say the opposite, really. They’re busy running the lodge. It’s practically their baby. They wanted me to make sure I found some friends.”

“Oh,” I replied. That sounded nice. Parents who left you alone. “Well, my parents are divorced, and it seems like every year they try to make up for it more and more.”

Whit winced a little. “Sorry to hear it.”

I sighed. “It’s okay. It wouldn’t be so bad if—” I stopped, realizing I hardly knew Whit and I was telling him my innermost thoughts.

Even my best friends didn’t really know about this stuff. I tried not to complain about my parents because I knew they loved me and were doing their best—even if their best felt a little suffocating time to time.

But something about Whit made him very easy to talk to, even made me want to confide in him.

Whit waited for me to go on. “It wouldn’t be so bad if...?”

I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment, trying to decide what I should share. “If they didn’t put so much pressure on being the perfect divorced parents. It’s like they try to outdo each other every single Christmas and I miss just being with them without all the pressure.”

Saying that out loud made me realize just how much I was hurting. Maybe I still wasn’t completely over the divorce. I picked up my orange soda and drank some of it to make the frog in my throat go away. The Christmas music playing sounded even louder in the silence.

Like he could sense my need for a subject change, Whit said, “So, what all is there to do here in Garland? I have a feeling this is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Grateful for the new topic, I put down my soda and said, “Where would I even begin?”

He looked at my crafting bag, which sat on the table. A small notebook with a pen tucked inside peeked out. “May I?” he asked.

I nodded.

He grabbed the notebook, carefully opening it to a blank page in the middle. “Let’s make a list.” He began jotting something down. “Ride the Garland Express,” he said.

“Check,” I replied.

He crossed it out, then looked up at me. “What else? Build a snowman?”

I chuckled. “There’s a whole competition for that.”

He lit up. “Really? Cool.” He jotted that down.

We went on, until the list got pretty long.

“That’s fourteen things,” he said, holding up the notebook. “Ambitious, but I have faith in us.”

I took the notebook, going through the list.

1 - Ride on the Garland Express

2 - Enter the snowman building competition

3 - Cocoa at Cocoa Corner

4 - Volunteer at Santa's Elves

5 - Eat at Scrooge's Diner

6 - Make a wish on the Christmas tree

7 - Go ice skating at Fall La La La La

8 - Go caroling with the Carol Karens

9 - Watch a movie at A Wonderful Film

10 - Take a candy making class at Candy Cane Co.

11 - Take a sleigh ride from Rudoph

12 - Get a souvenir from Santa's Bag

13 - Pick out a Christmas ornament from The Nutcracker

14 - Get snowflakes painted on your nails at Vixens

“We can cross number six off, since that one already passed,” I pointed out.

Whit nodded.

“And number three,” I said, crossing it out. “Already did that one too.”

“But we’ve gotta go back,” Whit chimed in. “I want to try everything on the menu.”

I chuckled at his enthusiasm. Then I bit my lip as I realized we’d left something off the list.

“What?” he asked. “Did we miss one?”

I hesitated. There was another big thing that people did in Garland, although it was more of an unofficial, clandestine sort of activity. “Let’s just say you can’t really buy a ticket for this one.”

Whit’s brow furrowed. “What is it? Tell me.”

Struggling to make eye contact, I told him. “Just know you’ll need to find someone else to do it,” I said, probably a little too forcefully. I could feel my face turn hot.

Whit looked even more confused and a little amused too. “What are you talking about, Carolynn?”

I took a breath. “Mistletoe Hill.”

“What do you do at Mistletoe Hill?” he asked, but I could see the wheels in his head starting to turn.

“Yeah,” I replied, putting the notebook and pen down on the table. “What you think happens there, happens there.”

He raised his eyebrows, seeming more amused than ever. He grabbed the notebook and pen, then began writing. “Kiss a pretty girl at Mistletoe Hill,” he sounded out.

I rolled my eyes, fighting the heat on my neck.

He hooked the pen through the spiral. “Okay, I think this is a great list, don’t you?”

I mustered my most sarcastic voice. “I can’t wait.”

He grinned. “Me neither. We’ll start with Scrooge’s after we get off the Garland Express.”

I shook my head but didn’t fight him on it. I definitely wasn’t going to admit that a small part of me was actually looking forward to spending more time with him.