Georgia knew she'd lost the small battle, all too aware of the lengths southern mamas—what Joan Remillard—would go to in the hopes of securing what they deemed a well-suited match. In her mama’s mind, the Lovett boys were prime picking. Georgia grimaced and excused herself to the auditorium to find the family seats, taking in the beauty of the church’s auditorium.
Living Hope had been a second home to her since they’d settled in Sugartree. After she’d spent so much of her young life moving from place to place every few years—never settling down, never staying, and never getting too attached—the church, and the people that made it, had pulled her into a family much larger than her own. It was much more than just a building. Or just a group of people. Living Hope was everything the Church should be. Filled with flawed but genuine people who loved Jesus and loved his people well.
The building had been transformed for the holidays over the weekend. A single, large evergreen stood in the front right corner of the room, and Georgia could almost imagine its strong scent in the cozy air. Twinkling white lights wrapped in the tree’s branches cast a warm glow into the dimly lit room. Evergreen boughs with entwined silver ribbons hung from banisters, windows, and the small stage. And stalks of cotton stood in large, clear jars in the foreground of the stage.
“Southern snow,” Lake said in her ear as he took the seat next to hers, engulfing her in the smell of his cologne, a mystical mixture of cedarwood and cinnamon.
She looked past the man invading her space and saw her family still standing at the entrance to the auditorium. Her parents affectionately held hands, talking with the same older couple they’d followed inside. Dakota and Caroline made easy conversation with Evan who, like Lake, had also abandoned his post as greeter, while Ginny seemed to have forgotten all about the youngest of the Lovett brothers and had taken to flirting with a guy from the youth group who’d walked in behind them. Her sister poked her manicured fingers into the lanky teen’s biceps, laughing at something he said as if he were a stand-up comedian.
“That’s what we call the cotton.” Lake leaned in closer, making it hard for Georgia to avoid looking at his clean-shaven face. “Southern snow.”
She put space between them. “Great. Cool. What are you doing here?”
“Pretty sure the same thing everyone else is doing here,” he replied, casually.
“No.” Georgia waved her hands along the side of Lake’s long body. “What areyoudoinghere? In this seat?”
He had the nerve to stretch out. Making himself Oh. So. Comfortable.
“You escaped so quickly back there, I didn’t even get the chance to say hello.”
“Hi, Lake. Bye, Lake.” She turned her eyes to the front and prayed the service would start soon.
“Peaches…” he began.
“Don’t. Please don’t call me that. My name is Georgia. Not Peaches. Not Peanut. Not Bulldog or any other kooky nickname you have hoarded away in thatclever, cleverbrain of yours. GEORGIA. And your little southern charms and wayward son act with the perfect smile and perfect fluttering eyelashes may work on everyone else, but I know you, Lakeland Lovett. They won’t work on me.”
Georgia caught her breath as Lake shifted in his seat, sitting straighter. From her peripheral, Georgia could see he now stared ahead, too, looking much more contemplative than his usual demeanor. For a moment, she felt contrite, knowing she wasn’t treating Lake as she should. But holding up these angry walls was her only defense against him and the aforementioned charm, smile, and ridiculously long eyelashes.
“Okay, Georgia. You’re right. I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.”
She sighed softly.Was that what she wanted?
“But,” Lake continued, “I’d hoped maybe we could start over? Ya know, be friends again? Or… I don’t know.”
A countdown started on the screens that hung on either side of the stage, indicating the service would start in two minutes. Before she could answer—before she knewhowto answer—Lake rubbed his hands down his long legs and stood, making room for her family to join the row, then left to sit with his own family a few rows ahead.
Service began, and the congregation sang in one accord:
Joy to the World, the Lord is come.
Let Earth receive her King.
Let every heart, prepare him room.
And heaven and nature sing…
Sitting beside her healthy, happy parents, hearing her sisters’ beautiful voices, and Dakota’s deep, rich voice harmonizing beside them, Georgia closed her eyes and let the lyrics wash over her. What compared to the joy of Christ coming to earth? What room was there in light of His goodness and grace for long-standing bitterness and, admittedly, a little bit of heart break, when she’d been given so very much, while so undeserving.
She listened to the pastor’s first lesson of the Christmas season on the long-waiting expectation for the Savior—before His birth and, now, for His return—and the gift of His grace to the world. All the while, Georgia was only semi-distracted by the man three rows ahead. The man she knew she needed to show grace and forgiveness towards.
Traditionally, at the end of the first Sunday service of the Advent season, members of the congregation were invited to place an ornament of their choosing on the church’s Christmas tree. The ornament would be representative of the family or person united with the rest of the congregation in the celebration of Jesus’ birth.
The Remillard family had picked a small globe as their yearly ornament for Living Hope’s tree. A reminder that they could find family in Christ anywhere they might find themselves around the world. And when the Lovett family placed the final ornament on the tree, Georgia caught Lake’s eye. She gave him a simple smile, and a nod she hoped he’d understand.
Yes, the nod said,we can give friendship a try.
ROCKING AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE
