A Curvy Carol (A Curvy Girl Christmas #2)

25. Carolynn

25

CAROLYNN

T he sound of the doorbell woke me. I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep.

My latest cross-stitch project had fallen to the living room floor beside me, and my hair had to be a mess.

I sat up on the couch, brushing the blond strands out of my face. “Mom?” I called.

I heard her call back from the kitchen. “Honey, can you get that?”

Not like I have much dignity left , I thought. Between Whit and then crying all over town.

I pushed the thick blanket off my legs and walked over to the door, wiping sleep sand from my eyes. On the way, I peeked outside the window, but no one was there.

So I pulled open the front door seeing small package wrapped in matte red paper on the front step. With my eyebrows drawing together, I picked it up. There wasn’t any postage on the sides… This must have been hand-delivered.

I stepped out onto the porch, the concrete cold under my bare feet, and glanced around. The streets were empty, a light dusting of snow on the pavement. Just a set of footprints remained in the thin layer of snow.

“Who is it?” Mom called from the kitchen.

With the package under my arm, I closed the door behind me. “It’s just a package!”

Probably something from a friend of hers , I thought. They always did a gift exchange around Christmastime.

But as I walked to the kitchen, looking for her name on the box, I didn’t find it… I found my name instead.

I took a seat on the couch to inspect the package closer. There was no return address or even a “From” label. Just my name.

Carefully, I tore open the package to find out what was inside. Layers of red and gold tissue paper covered a small fabric square, cross-stitched with a beautiful Christmas-green background with creamy white cursive lettering that said, “I’m sorry.” My chest tightened, realizing who could be behind the delivery. Had Whit been this close to my house? Had he made this himself?

There was a tiny snowman in the corner of the design. My thumb went over it, feeling the stitches. I turned it over to examine the work and what I had thought was a cardboard backing was actually a card. I peeled back the tape to open the letter.

My breath hitched at the sight of his handwriting filling the page.

Dear Carolynn,

I would’ve cross-stitched this note too, but you probably would’ve been waiting until next Christmas for me to get it done.

That part made me giggle. Feeling a little lighter, I kept reading.

So please accept this note as my way of saying how sorry I am. You’re right to be mad at me. I messed up by not being transparent, and if I could go back and do it again, I would tell you the truth. In a flash. But I can’t.

I want you to know that I never saw our arrangement as being paid to hang out with you or anything like that. I was happy to get some money to see my friends back home in the spring. But to tell you the truth, I was also excited to meet someone and finally make a friend here in Garland.

Little did I know I would get to meet you. Getting to know you was the best Christmas gift I could have asked for. You’re creative, strong-willed, determined, and so thoughtful (even if you don’t want everyone to know). The week we spent together was one of the best in my life.

I hope you can forgive me, especially because I miss you.

If you’re willing to give me another chance, will you meet me by the Garland Christmas tree at two o’clock today?

If the answer is no, I understand, and I’ll keep my distance. But if the answer is yes, I promise this will never happen again.

Your friend,

Whit

I blew out my breath to keep the tears from falling down my face.

I looked over the letter again, hardly able to believe that Whit had actually written it for me. And the cross-stitch… It had probably taken him hours.

The truth was I missed Whit too. A lot. But I couldn’t help but still feel torn about seeing him again.

I had always been careful to keep my guard up, especially around romance and boys. And the one time I hadn’t, I’d ended up hurt.

But did I really want to lose Whit as a friend, or maybe even more, forever?

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

Two o’clock was going to roll around pretty soon. What if I couldn’t decide by then? Would Whit think I hadn’t forgiven him?

I also didn’t want to be in limbo and undecided. That almost seemed like the worst option.

Mom walked into the living room. As she did, she wiped her hands on her apron. Her eyes traced me and landed on the cross-stitch sitting beside me on the couch.

“I’m guessing the package wasn’t for me?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Everything okay?” she questioned, but I could tell from the tone of her voice that she knew it wasn’t. Taking a seat next to me, she pressed, “What is it?” But already, she was looking at the cross-stitch in my lap. “I’m guessing that’s from Whit?” Along with Whit and Dad, she’d apologized for the situation. But even though I’d forgiven her, the jury was out on Whit, and I needed to make a decision.

“Yeah,” I said, finally responding. I folded the letter back up. “He wants me to meet him later, if I decide to give him another chance,” I added.

“And?” Mom asked. “What do you think? Are you going to go?”

I shrugged, determined to keep the tears at bay. It had been a long time since I let someone close enough to make me cry this much. “I don’t know.” I sighed. “My heart and my head are saying two different things.”

We’d never really talked about anything having to do with boys. Thankfully, she was staying pretty cool about it, taking her time to think over her response. “I can see why you’re hesitant,” she finally said. “It’s not easy when trust is lost between two people.”

I turned to her, wondering where she was going with this. “I just don’t want to go through this sort of thing again,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to say the word breakup since Whit and I weren’t really more than friends, but that’s what all this felt like.

“Oh, honey,” she said. “That’s life. That’s relationships and being around people. Which you have to do.”

I smiled a little. “Do I?”

She nudged me, clearly knowing I was teasing. “Yes. You can’t stay in your room crafting forever. At some point, you’ll probably meet someone you really like and maybe even fall in love, and that means potentially getting hurt. But it doesn’t mean you don’t go through the experience.”

I furrowed my brow. “How can you say that? After everything you and Dad went through?”

Now she shrugged. “I’ve thought a lot about it, and if I’m being completely honest, I’d go back and marry your father again if I had it to do all over.”

“Really?” I asked. We’d never talked about this stuff before, at least not like this.

“Really,” she replied, and I could tell she meant it. “It was hard in the end, and even after, but we made a lot of really great memories. And had a family. You know, love between two people ends sometimes, but it’s beautiful while it lasts.” She gave me an encouraging smile.

I smiled back, then glanced at the cross-stitch in my hands. “Thanks, Mom.”

She stood up and gave me a kiss on the head, like she used to do when I was little. “It’s totally up to you to do what you think is right, but hopefully, that helped a little.” Then she walked back into the kitchen.

It did help. It definitely did.

I glanced at the clock. If I hurried, I’d have time to change and still make it by two.