Part 18 in Thurmount Holiday (see the category  “Thurmount Holiday” for the other entries).


If you’re expecting me to tell you that Will and I had a passionate night, making up for lost years, reveling in making love to each other for the first time, the sex being the best either of us ever experienced, taking us to new, unexplored heights, sorry, ain’t going to happen.

When we arrived at Will’s cabin, his folks were there. His mom couldn’t be dissuaded from believing that Will could manage on his own, with me there, of course. Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. Will is not a mama’s boy. His younger brother fills that particular roll, so I’m not quite sure what dynamic was at play. I don’t think that Nadine Garrett dislikes me, but who knows. I have never been the perfect daughter-in-law material, too red-headed, too loud, too fierce.

So, needless to say, Megan drove me back to our parents’ home and, to continue our sisterly bonding, she decided to sleep over again.

It was another gorgeous sunny morning and the temperatures were rising quickly because I could hear the melting of the snow from the roof of the house, the drips cascading downwards.

“Kayla, get down here this instant,” Mom yelled. Immediately I felt like I was ten again and my mischief-making had been discovered.


“Put clothes on.”

I threw a sweatshirt over the tank top I slept in and slipped into jeans. Still yawning I clomped down the wooden steps that led to the kitchen.

Mom stood by the window that looked out toward the driveway.

“There are reporters out there. What have you done?” she asked.

“Don’t look at me. I haven’t done anything.”

“Why are they there?”

I shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

I opened the front door. Immediately like a horde of cockroaches, several reporters rushed across the lawn, cameras flashing. “Kayla Anderson, is it true you’re carrying Blake Hunter’s baby?

“Kayla, hon, look here and smile.”

“Kayla, I hear you’re touring with Blake Hunter and that you all are going to Las Vegas to elope.”

I slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. My mom looked at me with wide eyes. I have a feeling my eyes might have been wider and more terrified.

“You’re pregnant?” she asked.

“Not unless it’s another immaculate conception.”

“You and Blake? I thought you loved Will.”

“I do. This is all Blake. His manager tried to get me to tour with them.”

“That’s a huge break.”

“But without Will. Will could have done that three years ago but he didn’t abandon Jasper and me. I’m not going to abandon him and Jasper either. I like what we have. Damn Blake Hunter.” I stamped my feet like an infuriated five-year old.

Calm down and we’ll figure this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. I’ve decided I’m going to shoot Blake Hunter.”

“Now, dear, violence doesn’t solve anything.”

“This is such a mess. What does Blake hope to prove by doing all of this?”

Megan appeared, holding her phone, her brow furrowed. “Kayla, Blake has a put a video up on youtube with him singing a song to you and asking you to marry him. When did that happen?”

“It never happened,” I said as I took the phone and watched the video. The pictures were definitely from two years ago when Blake coaxed me into going blonde, for a whole week before I decided that redheads definitely have more fun. “What is he trying to do?”

“Break you and Will up. Get you to run off into the sunset with him.”

“Do you think if I ignore it, it will go away?” I asked.

There was a knock at the front door and we looked at each other. I shrugged. “I’ll answer it.”

I slowly opened the door, hoping for the best. Blake stood there in a black button-down shirt, a silver and turquoise bolo tie snug against the collar. He held a bouquet of purple and white roses, which were just about the prettiest flowers I had ever seen.

“For you, Kayla, love of my life.” He thrust the flowers at me and I instinctively took them. Immediately he pulled me into his arms and kissed me, long and hard, my body tilted almost into a dip. I’m sure to anyone watching, it looked like the perfect romantic moment, the perfect romantic kiss.

“I want you to marry me,” he said loudly enough for all of the reporters milling around to hear. Then he sauntered away, got into his pick-up and left.

I’m sure that there are a lot of pictures of me standing in the foyer of my family home, gaping while holding a bouquet of exquisite flowers that I couldn’t bear to dropkick. Damn Blake Hunter. And while I could imagine the fallout from this particular event, time proved that my imagination was just not good enough.

end 12/22/2016

S. Darlington

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