Gloria, page 8
After he wished her a good day and turned toward his truck, she stood in the doorway, watching him go. She thought about calling an apology after him, then decided against it.
Mainly because she wasn’t sorry. Just… just a little taken aback.
Who honestly didn’t like Christmas?
Gloria hadn’t been trying to antagonize him. Not really; at least, not in a mean way. She actually liked her neighbor—more than she should, to be honest. He was a workaholic who spent crazy hours down at his garage, only to return to an empty cabin up on the mountain. Even if some part of her wanted more with this man, Gloria liked the idea that they could at least be friends.
Forget not having an affinity for the holiday. No one wanted to be alone at Christmas.
After Nana died last October, Gloria almost didn’t want to do anything for the holiday season. A couple of her friends invited her over and she declined every invitation. In the end, she compromised on buying a small one-foot Charlie Brown Christmas tree for her apartment, drowned her grief in chocolate mousse while watching the saddest holiday films in her collection.
This year would be different. New house. New life. New start.
Besides, Nana would’ve been so disappointed to see Gloria so gloomy at Christmas. Even when it was just the two of them, while Gloria was growing up, Nana did everything she could so that her granddaughter had a very, merry Christmas.
This year, it was her turn.
Too bad Franklin didn’t seem to want to be cheered up.
Over the next few days, as a series of intermittent snow flurries had Franklin returning home earlier and earlier, she couldn’t help but notice that.
Oh, he didn’t stop her from going all in on celebrating the holiday in her way or anything. Not that he could—but Gloria appreciated that he didn’t try. And it wasn’t like he came out and started bah humbug-ing her like he was some sort of buff Scrooge. But after he carefully unwound the garland from his post and handed it back to Gloria, she began to realize that this was going to be a long couple of weeks until the holiday.
To her surprise, so long as she didn’t try forcing any kind of holiday cheer on him, Franklin actually stopped pretending like he didn’t notice her when they were home.
He even helped her carry in the Christmas tree she lugged home. Impulsive as ever, Gloria didn’t realize that she didn’t have a tree stand or anything to keep it vertical until Franklin brought it inside of her cabin and asked her where she wanted it. Franklin didn’t sigh or say anything nasty. He just propped the tree along her wall, said he’d be right back, and headed for his cabin.
He disappeared inside and returned five minutes later, carrying a sturdy stand in one hand, a box of neatly packed ornaments in the other. He drew the line at actually decorating the tree, though he spent the time setting the tree in the stand before he made a hasty escape.
Gloria didn’t understand his strange reactions—and it wasn’t for a lack of trying, either. Every Sunday, like clockwork, Franklin climbed into his truck and drove into town. He went to the Hamlet Church, attending the pastor’s weekly sermon. He had a cross hanging up inside of his home, and she noticed a St. Christopher medal clipped on the visor inside of his truck. So it wasn’t a religious thing.
It was definitely about Christmas.
And she couldn’t figure out why.
Gloria never really thought of herself as a curious person. But the mystery of Franklin Carter was one that she couldn’t stop obsessing over. And if the exchange the day he returned the garland was bad enough to trigger her curiosity, that was nothing compared to how quickly he was to hand over his Christmas ornaments.
Franklin had them. The ornaments and the tree stand, both, he had them in his house—tucked and stored as if he no longer had any use for them. That was her breaking point. After he came out when he saw her struggling to take her tree off of her car, then brought her the carefully packed box of ornaments plus the tree stand, she finally had to say something.
“Won’t you need these?”
He shook his head as he nudged them carefully toward her with the toe of his boot. Almost as if he couldn’t bear touching them with his hands for any longer than he had to. “No. They’ve been in my attic for years. You might as well use them.”
“What about your tree?”
“I don’t get a tree. Don’t decorate, either. I thought I made that clear already.”
He did. “I heard from Addy and some of the regulars at the coffeehouse that everyone in Hamlet celebrates Christmas. It’s like the Church here. Doesn’t matter what religion you are, you’re welcome. Just like Christmas. Religious or agnostic, celebrating faith or just family and friends… everyone here goes all in for Christmas.”
“Yeah. Everyone but me.”
“But—”
“The ornaments are yours, Gloria. The tree stand, too. You can keep them when the holiday is over.”
And that was the end of that.
After Franklin made his escape, she sat in front of her naked tree, holding one of the shiny, red ornaments in her hand. She held it by the hook, letting it turn to and fro, the light bouncing off of the metallic sheen.
So he wasn’t going to tell her why he was so against celebrating the holiday? That was fine. He didn’t have to. But that didn’t mean she was going to leave him to be a lonely hermit with no holiday spirit.
Not while she was around.
It started as a joke.
At least, Franklin hoped it was a joke.
Maybe he shouldn’t have belittled her snowman last week. It just… it had been such a surprise to see his lovely new neighbor outside, playing with the snow with an innocence he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Even Bailey would’ve rolled her eyes if he suggested she go outside and build a snowman. But Gloria did it with a gorgeous smile, her cute little nose red from the chill, her big blue eyes wide with excitement.
She nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs. But it was a snowman wearing a Santa hat. The reminder that another year had slipped by, that it was Christmas again, had hit him dead in the chest. He folded in on himself, letting his bad memories color another interaction with her.
He didn’t mean to be such a jerk. Part of Franklin wished he could have met Patti Hammond’s great-niece any other time of the year. Summer? Summer would’ve been good. He didn’t have any bad feelings during the summer.
But, no, it had to be Christmas. When Franklin was more of an ass than usual, and just the idea of decorating a tree had his mood turning sour.
She didn’t understand. She couldn't. Franklin knew that. She’d barely been in Hamlet for six weeks. There were locals in town who had lived in Hamlet their whole life who had no idea why Franklin was the way he was.
Bailey knew. His dad. Poor Vanessa, who was a great stepmom to an ungrateful teen who wanted to turn his back on the world. She knew.
Gloria… didn’t. And, if Franklin had it his way, she never would.
Fifteen years. Fifteen Christmases.
It still hurt.
What made it worse? Since Gloria didn’t have any idea why he couldn’t find any holiday cheer this time of year, she kept on coming up with ways to share it with him.
He had to think it was a joke, how far she was willing to go to bring the holidays to Franklin, because he wasn’t ready to accept what it might mean if she wasn’t joking.
It all started with the Frosty the Snowman toy. He knew immediately when he saw it sitting on the rocking chair why she bought it. The reindeer was next. The candy canes. The wooden soldiers and the wreath.
He didn’t ask himself why he kept her trinkets. Most likely that was because he already knew the answer to that question.
Franklin thought when he gave Gloria back the garland, that was the end of that.
He was wrong.
It had been a long day at the shop. Now, Phil Granger had a car. Franklin knew he did because he performed a tune-up on it regularly. But, as the self-proclaimed postmaster for the Hamlet division of the postal service, he used a repurposed golf cart to go around and deliver the mail to the locals. It didn’t matter how many times Franklin told Phil to use his car when there was still snow on the ground, the older man always took out the golf cart.
Which meant that Franklin had to spend hours fixing it whenever the golf cart gave out.
Again.
By the time he got it up and running again, Franklin was ready to shut his shop down early. He tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that said he was only closing up because he couldn’t wait to see what Gloria came up with while he was gone.
And then he drove his truck up the mountain path that led to their cabins and he couldn't believe it.
She’d gone too far this time.
The two cabins looked exactly the same. From the roof to the ground, Gloria must have spent the entire day decking his home out. It wasn’t just garland this time, either. It was garland and wrapping paper on the door, lights strung along the edge of each window and the roof, even a poinsettia set next to his door.
Hopping out of his car, Franklin marched right over to her front door. He didn’t know if he wanted to shake her for her impertinence—or grab her close and kiss her like he’d been dying to do since she walked into his garage. His head was still whirring, eyes almost blinded from the glitter and glitz and lights that turned his basic cabin into a fixture straight out of Santa’s workshop, as he knocked on her door.
He stood there for a minute or two. No answer. He tried again, then cocked his head, hoping he could hear the pitter-patter of her cute, little feet coming toward the door.
Wait—
“Hark the herald angels sing, ‘Glory to the newborn king…”
He didn’t hear footsteps, though he did hear something.
“…peace and earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled’…”
Someone was singing. A little off-key, and with some feeling, but that was definitely singing.
And it was coming from behind his house.
Franklin jogged toward the back of his cabin. He saw the ladder first, then the bundled-up woman who was standing near the top of it. Gloria was holding a string of lights as she pinned them along the bottom of the roof. She was wearing headphones beneath her earmuffs, the source of the music she was singing along to.
So engrossed in her project and her song, she didn’t notice him striding toward her.
“Gloria? Hey, Gloria.” Cupping his mouth, Franklin raised his voice. “Gloria!”
That finally caught her attention. One problem, though. As soon as she heard his shout, she gave a jerk, turning to look down at him. She was so startled, she let go of the ladder when she jumped and missed the rung with her left hand. For a second, she held onto the string of lights in her right hand, but as petite as she was, it wasn’t enough to support her weight. The strand slipped right through her fingers and, suddenly, she was falling.
“Gloria!”
9
Everyone in Hamlet knew Lucas De Angelis—and not only because he was the only doctor in town. The man definitely had a reputation.
Even Gloria had heard about him a couple of times. The townspeople all spoke about him like he was a miracle worker. No matter what was wrong with you, a couple of visits to Dr. De Angelis would fix you right up. Plus, he was married to the sheriff in town who, by all accounts, was both the luckiest and most jealous woman in Hamlet.
That made sense to Gloria as soon as she got her first peek at the man.
He was absolutely gorgeous. Like, movie star gorgeous. The doctor was a tall man, with a lean build and lovely olive-toned skin. His longish hair was raven-black, meticulously parted on the left and swooped to the side. His features were sculpted perfection, from his sharp jaw and classic nose to the pale, ice-blue eyes that shocked against his darker skin.
If it wasn’t the fact that she had Franklin pacing nervously at her side, the twinge in her wrist and the pain in her back to worry about, she might have been more stunned at just how handsome the doctor was. At the moment, it was only like the fifth most important thing for her to focus on.
Her accident was up there, concern for Franklin close behind. He totally freaked when she got up and, okay, maybe her wrist probably wasn’t supposed to bend that way, but did he really have to pick her up, carry her to his truck, and speed down the mountain path as if her fall was some kind of accident?
Franklin seemed to think so. And now, after he helped her inside of Dr. De Angelis’s mountainside office, she realized that the most important thing on her mind was just how attracted she was to her neighbor. The man scared her enough to have her slip off of the ladder and land in a heap on the snow-covered ground, and she still couldn’t help but think his rugged features had an edge over the doctor’s perfect face.
As soon as the doctor led them to an examination room, Franklin lifted her up onto the table, then backed off.
Dr. De Angelis gave her a smile that didn’t seem to quite reach his icy blue eyes. “Who do we have here?”
“Gloria, this is Doctor De Angelis. Doc, this is Gloria Watson. Patti Hammond’s great-niece.”
“Ah. Yes. I’ve heard so much about you, Ms. Watson.”
She was getting used to it. More than a month coming and going, and she was still the talk of the town.
She smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too, doctor. I’d shake your hand but”—Gloria held up her left arm, showing off her injured wrist—“that might not be the best idea.”
“I see. What happened?”
Franklin cleared his throat. “My fault, doc. She was hanging lights out back and I guess I spooked her.”
“Fell right off the ladder,” agreed Gloria. “Thank goodness for the snow. It broke my fall.”
“Mm. Let’s hope that’s not the only thing it broke.”
He gestured for her hand. Bracing for another sharp pain shooting up her arm, Gloria gritted her teeth and held her wrist out to him.
The doctor had long, slender fingers that were much softer than Franklin’s. Colder to the touch, too. She shivered a little as he probed her wrist. It hurt, but not as bad as she was expecting.
“Good,” he said, letting go of her. “It’s not broken, though it’s certainly swollen. Probably a sprain. You’re going to need to rest your wrist for the next forty-eight hours. Keep it elevated,” Dr. De Angelis continued in his clipped, no-nonsense voice, “and ice it to get the swelling to go down. Immobilizing it might be a good idea. If it starts to hurt terribly, a couple of ibuprofens should do the trick. If you don’t have any, I can send you home with a bottle.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got a bottle at home if it gets real bad.”
“It seems as if it’s a mild sprain. Take it easy for three or four days. If it doesn’t get any better, come back and see me. We’ll take it from there. Now that’s the wrist. Did any other part of you get hurt when you fell?”
“My whole back, and part of my left side. Good thing I had some padding where I hit, but my poor butt is killing me.” Gloria reached for the button on her jeans. “You want to take a look?”
Franklin cleared his throat. “Maybe I should step out into the waiting area...”
Gloria glanced over at her neighbor. There was a strain in his voice that took her mind off of her aching behind and put it firmly back on Franklin. To her surprise, she could’ve sworn she caught a hint of red staining his cheeks.
He was blushing.
Feeling mischievous, Gloria scooted toward the edge of the examination table, easing her weight off of her sore side before she reached out with the tip of her toes, landing with a soft thump on her heels. “It’s okay, Franklin. I don’t mind. Maybe two eyes are better than one. You might see something that the doctor won’t,” she added, popping the button on her jeans open.
“I, uh, I don’t—”
“It’s fine,” the doctor said, a tiny smile twitching his lips. This time, it seemed as if he actually meant it. “I know you’ve got quite the eye for detail.”
“For a car, maybe. Gloria, if you need me, I’ll be waiting outside.”
Before he could make his escape, a loud ring cut through the small room.
Dr. De Angelis lost any humor he might’ve had. His whole face closed off as his hand slid down to the radio peeking out from beneath his white physician’s coat. He twisted the volume knob on the side. All that did was cut the sound. The radio continued to vibrate, the soft hum as it rattled against the doctor’s belt audible in the small examination room.
Franklin jerked his chin toward the radio. “That the sheriff?” he asked knowingly.
The doctor nodded curtly. “If I ignore her page, she’ll keep on buzzing until I finally answer her. I should take this and then I can take a look at your other injury.”
“It’s okay,” Gloria told him, waving him off. Feeling a little guilty for teasing Franklin, she decided she’d had enough of the doctor’s office. She shrugged. “I’m not all that worried about my butt. Now that I know my wrist isn’t so bad, I think I’m okay.” Using her good hand to support her, she pushed herself up so that she was sitting on the padded examination table. “See? Not even a wince. I’ll be fine.”
Dr. De Angelis’s icy blue eyes narrowed on Gloria. She offered him a wide grin, trying to convince him that she meant it. His lips thinned, then his fingers reached down to his radio, unclipping it from his belt.
“I really have to take this. Ms. Watson, remember what I said. Franklin, you’ve got my channel. Give it to your neighbor if she needs it. Excuse me.”
Dr. De Angelis head out of the exam room first. As he left, Gloria heard him murmur, “Caity? I’m with a patient. This couldn’t have waited…” before the door closed behind him and the rest of his conversation was lost to her.
Once they were alone, Franklin moved toward her. “Here.” He offered out his hand. “Let me help you back down.”
Knowing the time for teasing was over, Gloria slipped her good hand into Franklin’s waiting palm.
