Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

her apron. Wyatt met her halfway and threw his arms around her, squeezing her for a long moment.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said through tears. “Home for Christmas. Let me look at you.”

She held his shoulders at arm’s length, which wasn’t very far for her. She had to crane her neck to see his face.

“Ma, I want you to meet someone,” he said, turning his eyes to me. She wiped her cheeks and shifted to look at me. Her whole face lit up and a bright smile spread wide across her features.

“Is this the one?” she said, beaming at me.

The one?

“Hi, I’m Georgia.” I closed the distance and offered my hand. She brushed it aside and swooped in for a hug.

“Wyatt’s told me so much about you,” she said, breaking the hug to squeeze my hands. “You’re even prettier than he described.”

“Ma!”

I had no idea how pretty I looked at present considering my bed head and the dried up drool in the corner of my mouth. Also, I was fairly certain I had pillow marks on my face.

“Uh, thanks?”

She scrunched up her nose adorably. “Let’s get you two inside. I was just about to make biscochitos.”

We followed her up to the house, our path illuminated by the paper bag lanterns, each one with a flaming votive candle inside. They were everywhere—even covering the perimeter of the roof. It was one of the most spectacular sights I’d ever seen.

“Should we be worried about a fire hazard?” I whispered to Wyatt.

“Nah. She lights these every Christmas Eve.” He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. “It’s tradition.”

Heaven help me, those lips were even more velvety than they looked. I turned to goo right then and there.

He tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow and pointed out areas of interest like a proud tour guide:

These agave plants have been here for seventy-five years.

And:

My great-grandpa built this house with his bare hands. He formed every adobe brick out of mud and hay.

It was all so beautiful and fascinating. The inside of the house was adorned with a mixture of Spanish and Native American decor. Cast iron sconces flanked a mantle made of reclaimed wood, the floor was a terra cotta tile, dried red chili peppers hung in wreaths in the archways, and colorful water color paintings of men in feathered headdresses or dark-haired beauties adorned every wall.

Wyatt’s mother was a work of art herself. She wore a pink western button down with fringe pockets, a woven vest with embroidered orange doves, and enough turquoise jewelry to open a shop on eBay. She wasted no time in serving up some hot cocoa and planted us on the sofa right in front of the fireplace. Reeses made himself at home on the rug.

“Thank you, Mrs. Silva.” I blew on the cup, enjoying the warm steam on my face.

“Oh, please, call me Anita. Most of my children do. Except for Wyatt.” She winked at him. I got the sense he was her favorite, even though no mother would admit such a thing.

“Your sisters will be so surprised.” She leaned over and draped her hand on Wyatt’s knee. “Palanca and Steven are coming. You won’t recognize Sophia, she’s almost two, and if she stays awake at Mass, we’ll let her open one present.”

“Palanca’s your sister?”

Wyatt nodded. “Yeah. Listen, Ma—“

“Janet and Jennifer,” she glanced at me and then added, “Those are the twins. They said they’d try to make it tonight but for sure will be here in the morning.”

Wyatt tried again to speak but she went on. “Claire couldn’t make it this year...”

“Second youngest,” added Wyatt. “She’s backpacking through Europe.”

“And Vickie’s around here somewhere. She was supposed to clean her room.” She rolled her eyes. “Teenagers.”

I giggled. My roommate at Juilliard was as messy as a teen.

Wyatt squeezed Anita’s hand. “Ma, we can’t stay. We’re only here for a couple of hours and then have to get back on the road.”

Anita studied his face for some time, maybe trying to find the joke in his eyes.

Just kidding, we’re staying forever. Surprise!

“It’s Christmas Eve, Wyatt. You’re here now, the best Christmas present I could ask for...and you’re not staying?” There was hurt in her voice and my heart cracked a little. I’d do anything to spend one more Christmas with my parents. I hardly knew my mother—what a gift Wyatt had.

“What about midnight Mass?” she asked. “It’s a tradition.”

Wyatt knit his brows together. I could tell he was conflicted. “Georgia’s brother is getting married tomorrow and I promised I’d get her to L.A. on time.”

Anita glanced at me, tears threatening at the rims of her eyes but she was trying hard not to show it. “A wedding on Christmas! That’s wonderful.” She stood, clearing her throat. “Then you really must go soon.”

“We can stay for a little while, Ma. We’ve been driving for hours.”

He had been driving for hours, not we. I abandoned my navigating duties in favor of a warm bed.

“Then you must be hungry,” she replied with a brave smile. “I’ll heat up some empanadas.”

“We can stay,” I blurted. Wyatt jerked his head toward me. “What time is your church service? Midnight? If we leave right afterward, we’ll get to L.A. at eleven or so.”

“I don’t know.” Wyatt shook his head. “That’s cutting it awfully close.”

“I told you the wedding’s not until four. We’ll totally make it. And you can take a nap.”

Anita inclined her head in agreement. “She’s got a point. You don’t want to fall asleep on the road.”

I silently congratulated myself for coming up with the plan.

“Okay,” Wyatt agreed. “But only because I can’t say no to two beautiful women.”

Anita swatted him on the arm and scurried into the kitchen. Wyatt took my hand and whispered, “Thank you.” His voice was a low rumble and made my insides melt. I breathed him in, so ready for a kiss. But then I remembered we were on his mother’s couch and winked instead.

“De nada, limonada.”

He arched a brow. “You speak