Christmas By Design

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Gemma

“No, no, no, no, no,” I groan as my car shudders. I smack the steering wheel, but a loud whine comes from somewhere in front of me. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” I purr. It can’t hurt to change my tactics, right? I pet the dashboard gently for good measure, but it’s no use. The car sputters as I throw on my flashers and pull carefully over to the shoulder. Someone honks angrily at me as they speed by. I wave my middle finger out the driver’s side window as I pull on my emergency break, but he’s long gone.

And I’m stuck here. On I-80. I didn’t even make it out of Illinois.

To top it off, I’m exhausted. Nova was awake three times last night. She wasn’t upset or anything, just babbling, but since we share a room, I was awake, too.

Today is the day Beckett and I are supposed to have our initial meeting with Mrs. Emma Dash, the owner of the historical house in Indiana we’re renovating. We were going to tour the place and get some ideas from her about what she wants for her home. I was going to start the project that was going to finally give me enough money for a down payment on a house.

Now, if I can even make it there, I’ll have to spend the money on a new car. If I didn’t have my kid to cart around, I could take the train into the city every day for work and hold off. Alas, for me, a car is a necessity.

And the worst part about all of this is that Beckett Camdon, Certified Loner Himself, had offered to give me a ride. “Don’t read into it, Woodard,” he had said gruffly after I teased him for being nice. “You’re literally on the way.”

But I had insisted, yet again, that I didn’t need his handouts. I would drive myself, thank-you-very-much. I’m not an idiot. I know what he’s doing. “Spreading some Christmas cheer,” my ass. That man has about as much Christmas cheer in his entire body as I have in my left pinky. He says buying my hot chocolate wasn’t pity, but I know better. And now, he can’t stop himself.

But my fifteen-year-old, two-hundred-thousand-mile Honda has other ideas, apparently. She’s had a good life, this car. She’s treated me well.

I try to get the engine to turn over again, hopeful that after a minute of rest, she’ll come back to life.

No such luck. She’s dead.

I stare out over the dashboard for another minute as I bite my fingernails. I could call roadside assistance and have them tow the car. I’m not that far from home, so I could also call my dad to pick me up. He’s the most wonderful man in the entire world. He’d drive me to Indiana and back without even batting an eye. But a quick glance at the clock tells me I’m already dangerously close to being late. If I have to wait for my dad to come get me, I’ll be rolling in about an hour after I promised to be there. And I can already hear Beckett’s exasperated sigh and see his chiseled features tighten in annoyance.

Nothing left to do but swallow my pride.

I open my phone and tap Beckett’s number before I can think better of it.

I keep chewing my nails as it rings once, twice, three times.

“Woodard,” his growly voice comes over the line. “Let me guess. You’re late.”

“Good morning to you, too, Beckie-Bear.” I cringe silently at that nickname. I started taunting him shortly after I was hired, mostly because he refused to use my first name, so I refused to use his. That, and it was so easy to get under his skin. He’s always so proper and put-together. I figured someone could take him down a peg. Now, it would feel weird if I stopped, but that one wasn’t my best work.

He’s silent for a long moment, and I can hear the sounds of his fancy car flying over the highway. “You needed something?” he asks flatly.

“Um…” I trail off. This is going to hurt, but I’m starting to be able to see my breath now that the heat isn’t running. “Where are you, and do you think you could stop and help a damsel in distress on the shoulder of eastbound I-80?” I try to keep my tone light, but I drop my forehead to the steering wheel as I squeeze my eyes shut. That did hurt. A lot.

He’s silent again, and this time I can cut the tension coming over the line with a knife. He’s not happy about this. I can tell by his heavy breathing.

“What mile marker?” His voice is terse. I wince at the sound of it.

I squint into the rising winter sun. “I can see the exit for Dixie Highway. I think I’m just west of Homewood?”

“It’s your lucky day, Woodard. I’m about ten minutes behind you.” Thankfully, his voice has lost its tightness. It’s not friendly. I’m not sure he’s capable of that. But it’s not irritated.

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Great. Awesome. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says and hangs up immediately.

I tilt my head all the way back to bang against the headrest, clutching my phone in my un-gloved hand. Driving to Indiana and back with Beckett Camdon is not how I wanted the day to go, but things could be worse. At least he was on his way, and I’m not stranded.

I give myself an extra minute to take a few deep breaths, then dial my dad’s number. He answers on the first ring.

“Hey Gemmy-bear. Nova is here eating oatmeal. She loves it! Don’t you, Star-baby?”

I can’t help but smile, even despite being broken down on the side of the highway. My dad loves his granddaughter beyond reason. He and my mom are not only my current landlords, but they’re also my daycare. I know how fortunate I am to have them in my corner. Lots of people don’t have the support of their families, and I have it in spades. But it doesn’t make it any easier to ask them for help.

“That’s great, Dad. What flavor is it?” I’m stalling in this sweet moment for as long as I can.

“Strawberries and cream. That was always your favorite, too.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Still is. Listen…” I trail off and bring my nails to my mouth again. They’ll be nonexistent by the end of this project if things keep going this way. “My car broke down on the highway. It’s okay!” I add quickly, before he can get too concerned. “I’m okay. I’ll get it towed. My coworker is a little behind me, so he’s going to pick me up. But the car will probably sit here for a while, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Do you want me to come out there and deal with the tow truck, Bear? I don’t mind. Your mom can stay here with Nova.”

I close my eyes and let out a tight breath. “No, that’s okay. I’ll… deal with it.”

“I can at least get it to a garage for you,” he offers again.

I bark out a tight laugh. “It probably belongs in the scrapyard.”

“Well, yeah,” he admits with a much lighter chuckle than mine. He’s never liked me driving this old car on the highway to and from work. “You sure you’re okay, Gemmy? You sound stressed.”

That’s an understatement. Planning Christmas for a toddler, trying to buy my own place, working with Mr. Grump on a project he never wanted in the first place, not being able to afford hot chocolate, and now car trouble on top of it. Stressed doesn’t begin to cover it.

I put on my happiest face, even though he can’t see me. Fake it till you make it, I guess. “I’m fine, Daddy,” I say cheerfully. “It was just unexpected, that’s all.”

“Okay, sweetie. Well, let us know when you’ve gotten there safe. We miss you, don’t we?” That last question was addressed to Nova, who coos sweetly in the background.

We say our goodbyes, and I start to rummage around in the glovebox for the number for roadside assistance. I’m so focused on trying to find it that I jump about a foot when someone taps at my passenger side door. My hand flies to my chest, and my breath starts coming rapidly.

“Shit. You scared me!” I shout at Beckett’s scowling face as he leans over to look in the window. He pulls the door open and crunches his long legs into the passenger seat, adjusting his wool coat as he sits. He closes the door quickly, then twists to look at me.

His scowl deepens as he looks me up and down. Probably assessing the stains on my clothes or something.

“Are you okay?” he asks harshly.

“Wow. Try not to care too much,” I fire back. I am in a mood now, and he’s just stoking the fire with his shitty attitude.

He swallows as his bushy black eyebrows knit together. “You’re okay,” he says again. This time, it’s not a question.

“I’m fine. It’s my car that’s broken,” I remind him.

He looks me up and down again. Was he… worried? No. There’s no way.

But he doesn’t say anything, and him wordlessly staring at me is starting to get weird. I decide to break the silence since he’s not going to do it. “I was just going to call a tow—”

“I did already,” he interrupts me.

I blink a few times. The cold is starting to addle my brain, I think. “You what?”

“I called a tow truck. They should be here in half an hour. We can wait with the car if you want. Or they said they could tow it to the nearest garage for us to pick up on the way back.”

I tick an eyebrow up. “Did you think my lady brain couldn’t process what to do about my little car trouble?”

He rears back a bit in his seat. “No. Why would I think that?”

I press my lips together, then take a deep breath. “You must not have been on a job site with a woman in a while. Insulting my gender is kind of par for the course.”

Beckett goes back to regarding me silently, though this time he looks a little curious. It’s unnatural, seeing so many emotions on his face in one interaction. I’d kind of like it if it weren’t so off-putting. After a minute, he shakes his head as if to clear it. “I know a guy out this way. He works on my car. I called him because I didn’t know if you had roadside assistance.”

“You bring your car all the way out to Homewood to get an oil change?” I ask skeptically. “There’s no one nearer to your penthouse?”

“I don’t have a penthouse, and he’s the best.” He shrugs a shoulder as if it’s nothing.

“Of course he is.” I roll my head against the headrest so I can see out the windshield. I sigh, defeated. “He’s probably expensive, too.”

“He owes me one,” Beckett says.

I whip my head to him. “No.”

“No, what?”

“Just no. You’re not paying to tow my car.”

He looks at me as if I must be even more stupid than he originally thought. “You’re right. I’m not. He owes me,” he repeats slowly, as if he’s talking to an idiot.

“Then use the favor on yourself.”

He scoffs. “My car isn’t going to break down.”

“How could I forget?” I ask sardonically. “Only the best for Beckett Camdon.”

I could swear his light blue eyes flash at the use of his full name. Probably out of anger. Or surprise. He clears his throat. “Do you want to wait with your car?” The question is gentle and laced with understanding. Not sympathy, though. He’s just being… nice. Which is unexpectedly attractive. But it’s also clear he’s not letting me call my own tow truck. Which might actually also be him being nice.

It completely throws me off.

“Uh…” I stammer. I run a hand over the steering wheel, willing the lump in my throat not to rise. This car has been with me through a lot. Saying goodbye to her on the side of the road is making me gloomy.

Beckett, to his credit, just waits for me. It doesn’t feel impatient or moody. It almost feels like he understands.

“No,” I say finally. “This has been a long time coming. I kind of doubt your guy will even think it’s worth fixing. Let’s just go.” I slide my gaze from the dashboard to meet his, which is impassively trained on me. “But it’s your lucky day. You get to spend even more time with me.” I forcefully twist my mouth into a cheesy grin.

“Oh, joy,” he responds with zero emotion.

There’s the Beckett I know. It settles me to be on firmer ground with him. I tap the steering wheel once and check my rearview mirror before stepping out of the car. He follows behind.