Seaside Christmas Page 2

  A lump formed in Talia's throat. She tried to speak, but no words came.

  He leaned over the shifting column and wrapped her in a hug. "We'll get through this together. You and me."

  Talia nodded, trying to hold it together. "Is it going to get any easier?"

  "I'm sure it will. It has to."

  "How do you know?" she asked.

  "Because everything else I've experienced has shown me that. Mom and I went through heartbreaking pain when we had all those fertility problems. We dreamed of a home teaming with kids, and as much as we loved you, it nearly crushed us coming to terms with having such a small family."

  Talia glanced up at him in surprise. "I never knew that."

  "But we pulled together and whenever we looked at you, we knew we were blessed. We focused on what we did have rather than what we didn't. Otherwise, the situation would have torn us apart. If we hadn't supported one another… I don't know how we would have gotten through."

  Talia studied his face, noticing the lines around his eyes and mouth had grown deeper. She put her hand on his shoulder. "You know what we need?"

  "What, hon?"

  "One of those daddy-daughter dates we used to go on. Grab some ice cream and tell each other jokes."

  He smiled and the lines decreased. "I'd like that. After dinner?"

  "Forget dinner. Ice cream first. Let's celebrate you finally moving up from assistant to head pastor. You've wanted this your whole life, and before long, that little church won't hold all the people clamoring to hear you preach."

  "You're right. It's a skipping-dinner-and-going-straight-to-dessert kind of night. I saw the perfect little place a few blocks back." He pulled out into the road and maneuvered a U-turn.

  "Is that legal here?" Talia glanced around nervously.

  "What are they going to do? Arrest the pastor?" he joked.

  Talia laughed. It was nice to see him joking around again.

  They went down a few blocks and parked in front of an ice cream parlor. But no one was eating ice cream. Those seated were all eating warm desserts, like pies and cobblers.

  "Would you rather have an apple crisp?" asked her dad.

  Talia shook her head. "Ice cream. We're celebrating."

  While they stood in line, Talia tried to remember her favorite jokes. It had been a long time, and felt like even longer since her mom's passing, but she and her dad needed to laugh. And he was right. Her mom would want them happy, or at least trying. It was time to find a new normal, and stop resenting what had happened. If her dad was willing, then so was she.

  They found a table. He dug into his hot fudge sundae and she into her banana split—with plenty of sprinkles, just like old times.

  "So, Dad," Talia said, trying to keep from smiling.

  He arched a brow. "Yes?"

  "Did you hear about those two girls out in the woods?"

  "Nearby?"

  "Yeah, didn't you know they have woods on the other side of town?" Talia asked. "Anyway, they came to some tracks and started arguing about what kind they were. The first one said they were deer tracks, but the other girl swore they were moose tracks."

  "What were they?"

  Talia shrugged. "No one will ever know. They were still arguing when a train hit them."

  He burst out laughing. "You got me, and I know that one."

  She twirled a strand of her natural blonde hair around a finger. "Well, I left out the color of their hair on purpose. It's irrelevant, anyway."

  "I've always said blondes are smarter. Whoever started those jokes must have been a brunette."

  "You have dark hair."

  "I never claimed to be a genius." He shrugged, his eyes sparkling.

  "So, do you have any old jokes? I'll even take a new one."

  He looked up, appearing deep in thought. "It's been so long since we've told jokes. I think that part of my mind is a bit rusty."

  "Pastor Allen?" came a male voice from behind Talia.

  She turned around to Jake, one of the brothers from earlier. He stood with a pretty brunette with bright eyes. She was obviously expecting.

  "Jake," her dad said. "Nice to see you again."

  "You, too. Allen, this is my wife, Tiffany. Tiff, this is the pastor I was telling you about, Allen, and his daughter, Talia."

  Tiffany smiled widely and held out her hand. "It's so nice to meet both of you."

  They exchanged greetings and then Jake and Tiffany went to get ice cream.

  "I guess it's true what they say about ice cream and pregnancy," Talia said, smiling.

  Allen nodded. "It was with your mom. Anything dairy, really. Do you mind if I ask them to join us? Or would that ruin our date?"

  "Sure. They seem nice."

  When Jake and Tiffany walked by with their cones, her dad stopped them. "Would you two like to sit with us?"

  Tiffany smiled, and she exchanged a glance with her husband. "We'd love to." She sat next to Talia and Jake next to Talia's dad.

  "How long have you two lived here?" her dad asked.

  "I've been here my whole life," Jake said.

  "And it's been about a year and a half for me," Tiffany said. "It was just supposed to be a quick stop into town, but then I met Jake." They exchanged a lovey-dovey look. "The rest, as they say, is history."

  "How do you like the town?" Talia asked her, curious to hear from another move-in.

  "There are a lot of great people here. It's everything you would think of a small, touristy beach town."

  Her dad smiled. "Seems like a nice place to raise a family."

  Tiffany beamed. "So much better than Seattle. Not that it's a bad city. I just never wanted to raise kids there."

  "We're from Issaquah," Talia said. "Practically neighbors."

  Tiffany smiled. "That's a nice little town."

  "Not so little anymore," her dad said.

  "Not so nice, either," Talia muttered.

  Her dad raised an eyebrow. "We had a bad experience. The town itself is just fine."

  "Kittle Falls isn't without its own problems, either," Jake said. "So, how soon do you plan on opening the church?"

  "We'd like to have our first service by Christmastime," her dad said.

  Jake's eyes widened. "Really? That soon?"

  "Dad's always been a big dreamer," Talia said. They would be lucky to have the building ready by Easter given the shape it was in.

  "There really isn't that much to do," he said. "Yes, it was turned into a restaurant, but there wasn't any significant remodeling done. The stage remains at the front of the sanctuary. It looks like they used it for live entertainment, and none of the tables or chairs were nailed to the floor. Even the old pews are downstairs in a room we can use for receptions. We just have to move everything around and clean it up."

  Tiffany's eyes lit up. "Maybe I can help."

  Jake wrinkled his brow. "You're supposed to rest, sweetie."

  She sighed. "I'm going stir-crazy at home. I'm not saying I'd move pews up the stairs, but I could polish them or something."

  He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know, Tiff."

  She begged Talia for help with her eyes.

  "We'd love that," Talia said. And a new friend in the new town would be even better. "We could find some light cleaning if you really want to help out."

  Her dad cleared his throat. "Maybe Tiffany should check with her doctor first."

  Tiffany frowned.

  "I know!" Talia exclaimed. "I could bring over a meal sometime when Jake's working. We could play a card game or something. Get your mind off having to rest."

  Tiffany's eyes widened. "Really? I'd love that. Most any day at lunch would be great."

  "How about tomorrow?"

  "Perfect."

  "It's a date, then. What do you like to eat?"

  Talia noticed Jake and her dad exchanging smiles as she and Tiffany discussed the details.

  Three

  Cruz turned onto the main drive back into town. He did feel somew
hat better after the long ride, but not a lot. Nothing had changed. Laura and the council had still lied to him, and now he was back to square one. The plan had been to double the building as a parlor and his home.

  He'd even worked with Lana, his future sister-in-law, who was an architect. The upper level, where the restaurant had been, was supposed to be the room where they etched the tattoos and then the downstairs was going to be turned into his living quarters. So much for that.

  He pulled into his parents' driveway. The automatic light came on, lighting up the entire front yard. This was going to be home for longer than he'd hoped. He'd really been looking forward to getting out on his own, and out of the room he'd grown up in. Now he'd be forced to either keep staring at the band posters on the walls or take them down and decorate the room more to his current tastes. But that would be admitting defeat.

  Cruz cut the engine and sat on the bike, contemplating his options. Maybe it was time to fire Laura, the only realtor in town, and call his cousin from Oregon. Sullivan and Cruz had already looked around at houses before he decided to do a two-in-one. He'd gone back and forth several times before deciding.

  Sullivan might even be willing to work for tattoos. He already had a sun-shaped one on his chest, swearing it was for good luck. Cruz thought it was just so his clients wouldn't see it.

  Or maybe Cruz would be better off calling Sullivan's brother, Logan. He was an attorney, and had helped out a couple of Cruz's brothers here in Kittle Falls. Logan could help him fight the city council. It was discrimination, pure and simple. They were afraid a tattoo parlor would draw in seedy characters, but they had their heads too far up themselves to realize that respectable people had tattoos, also.

  Cruz's dad came out of the garage. "I thought I heard you pull in. Did you get the papers signed?"

  "No." Cruz frowned.

  "Uh oh. What happened?"

  "Nothin' I want to talk about."

  "Well, Mom made her famous peach cobbler. We thought you'd be celebrating."

  Cruz swung his leg around and got off the bike. He took off his helmet and set it on the seat. "Yeah. Me, too."

  "Have some cobbler, anyway. It'll make you feel better."

  Yeah, right. "Thanks, Dad." Cruz ran his fingers over his light beard, the bristles poking his skin.

  His dad gave him a sympathetic glance before heading back into the garage. Cruz appreciated that his dad knew better than to try to get Cruz to talk when he didn't want to. His mom, on the other hand, would try to drag it out of him… using the mouth-watering cobbler as her weapon of choice.

  He went up the walkway, trying to keep the snow from crunching underfoot. He peered in the kitchen window, not seeing his mom. Maybe she was watching TV, and he could sneak in unnoticed.

  Cruz reached for the knob and turned it, holding his breath—as if that would help it to not squeak. He stopped mid-turn and let go. With his high stress levels, what he needed was something more than a cobbler. He patted his left jacket pocket, feeling the little box inside. Relaxation washed through him just thinking about it.

  He went to the end of the driveway and headed down the street until he came to the empty neighborhood park. An overhead light turned on, flickering above him. He went over to a tree and leaned against it, lighting a cigarette.

  Cruz was supposed to be quitting, but after a day like this, who could blame him? He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, allowing the tranquility to sweep through him. He opened his eyes, flicked some ashes to the ground, and took another puff, holding it in. He released slowly. Flakes started to fall, and they seemed to dance in under the light.

  As he watched them, he continued with the cigarette, contemplating his options. As good as being pissed off felt, it didn't accomplish anything. He could be as furious as he wanted, but that didn't change the fact that he didn't have a new home or business.

  He finished the cancer stick—as his mom called them—and dropped it to the ground. It hissed as it landed on the snow. Cruz twisted his foot, mashing the cigarette with his boot. He turned around and punched the tree, digging the rugged edges of the bark into his knuckles.

  Not his smartest move of the week. He shook his fist and then rubbed it, swearing under his breath. Blood trickled from his middle finger, and the two surrounding ones were already bruising.

  The perfect end to a crappy day.

  Cruz put his bloody knuckle in his mouth to clean it up. It would have to do for now.

  His phone alerted him of a new text. He pulled out his phone and saw it was from his dad.

  Where'd you go? I told Mom you were home, but we can't find you.

  Sry. Needed air. Back soon.

  The cobbler's in the oven, warming.

  Thx.

  Cruz stuffed the phone back into his pocket, sighing. He appreciated his parents—no one had ever supported him more—but it would be easier to be grateful from another house.

  By the time he got home, the kitchen was crowded. His parents sat at the table with Zachary, Jake, and Tiffany.

  "Did I miss the weekly family dinner?" Cruz asked, knowing he hadn't. If he had, Rafael and Brayden would be there with their fiancées, too.

  "Nope," said his mom. "Come over and have a seat. We've been waiting for you to have the cobbler."

  "Let me get my coat and boots off." He waved to Jake and Tiffany, feeling a little guilty about storming out of their driveway like he had.

  His mom jumped up from her chair. "I'll get the dessert ready. Do you want ice cream with yours?"

  Cruz's stomach rumbled. He'd missed dinner, riding longer than planned. He nodded.

  He went down the long hallway and into the room that had been his since the day his parents brought him home from the hospital. The only time it hadn't been was when he'd lived in LA, going to college and then working full time in someone else's tattoo place. He'd sworn to himself that he'd have his own business, and he fully intended to—here in Kittle Falls, no matter how much opposition he received.

  Cruz slid off his jacket, flung it on his chair, and then kicked off his boots. He sniffed, smelling the cigarette smoke. Quickly, he changed his clothes and sprayed on some cologne. Not that it was any secret he still smoked, but he knew how his family felt about it. He really wasn't in the mood for a lecture.

  He sat down on his twin bed while he slid on fresh socks. It struck Cruz that he hadn't made his bed that morning, but yet it was freshly made. His mom wasn't one to clean the rooms of her grown children. That could only mean one thing…

  Cruz pulled back the covers. Star Wars sheets. Of course. He and Zachary had been playing pranks like that on each other ever since Cruz tricked Zachary into wearing a too-tight Superman shirt from high school. Cruz chuckled, remembering the sight. Now it was his turn once again to get his older brother back with something from their childhood. He'd have to think of something later.

  He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, hoping that final touch would keep the smell away from his family. He shouldn't smell strongly, anyway. He'd only had that one.

  In the kitchen, everyone was already eating the cobbler, and the smell of peaches hit him as he sat down at the one empty spot that had a plate with the dessert. Everyone was laughing and joking, and luckily, hardly seemed to notice his arrival. Usually, he'd jump right in and get the others roaring with laughter, but it just wasn't in him tonight.

  His mind kept wandering back to his tattoo parlor—or lack thereof. He'd stopped looking at other options because he'd been convinced that the old church building had been his. Why hadn't his realtor even bothered to give him a heads up? There had been no mention of anyone else being interested in it. It had been empty for as long as Cruz could remember, and now all of a sudden when he wanted it, someone had bought it?

  Cruz frowned as he stuffed the last bite of ice cream into his mouth. It was too convenient to be a coincidence. Someone—from the city council, more than likely—had gone out of their way to find the Tisdales. That was the only
answer that made any sense, because who was going to fuss over a pastor purchasing an old church building?

  Cruz Hunter, that's who.

  He put his fork down and slid his hand under the table, rubbing the bruised areas. They were tender, but what didn't kill you made you stronger. Was that how he was supposed to look at the building situation? Maybe he'd be able to if he found someplace else.

  Jake stood. "We should get going. This is our second dessert tonight, and Tiffany needs her rest. Sorry again about the building, Cruz."

  Their mom hurried over to help Tiffany up.

  "'Bye, guys," Cruz said. "See you tomorrow, Jake."

  "Bright and early."

  Cruz groaned. The sooner he could open his tat business, the sooner he could drop the early mornings working at his brother's shop. It had been his parents' before they retired and sold it to Jake, the only Hunter brother interested in it.

  "Oh," Tiffany said, her eyes widening like she remembered something important. She glanced at Cruz. "We ran into Allen and Talia. They want to invite you for dinner."

  "Who?" asked Cruz.

  "The pastor and his daughter."

  "They want me to come over? To their place?"

  She nodded. "They're really nice. We ran into them at the ice cream shop."

  "Thanks for letting me know." Now I know to make an extra effort to avoid them.

  Tiffany handed him a folded up paper. "Here's his number."

  While they left, he and Zachary gathered the dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher.

  "Thanks for the cobbler, Mom," Cruz said as he left the kitchen.

  "I'm sorry that—"

  "Don't be. I'll figure something out. You know me. Goodnight." Cruz hurried back to his room. He kicked back on his bed, looking around the bedroom that was a mixture of young Cruz and the current one. He sighed. How much longer would he be staying there? It was supposed to be temporary, but kept turning into something more permanent.

  Someone knocked on his door. He didn't respond.

  "You in there?" called Zachary.

  "Yep."

  The door opened and Zachary came in. "Are you okay?"

  "Why wouldn't I be?"