When I said nothing in reply, she hitched a thumb toward the wreath and mumbled, "I was just, well, um…" Her words trailed off into silence as she looked from me to the house across the street.
I gave the house a quick glance but saw nothing worth noticing. I looked back to Lexie and prompted, "You were just what?"
With obvious reluctance, she reached into the pocket of her bulky wool coat and pulled out a roll of toilet paper – not a full roll, but full enough. "I was just, um, toilet papering your wreath, actually. But then I felt bad, so I was cleaning it up."
She was lying.Thanks to my phone, I'dseenthe person who'd vandalized the wreath.It wasn't Lexie.
So why the lie?
I debated consulting my phone to see what I'd missed while driving back to the house. But then I thought better of it.No need to show my cards just yet.
As for the lie, I had a theory. If it was correct, she was protecting therealvandal – the redhead who'd been so hostile when I'd returned their custom yard sign.
But why would Lexie be protecting her?
And how did she arrive on my doorstep at all?
I saw no car. And even if I did, this wouldn't explain how Lexie had gotten through the gate. The neighborhood was private and required a code to gain access. I had never given her the codeormy home address.
Did I regret it?
Hell, no.
Before Lexie, I'd considered myself a good judge of character.Not anymore.With her, I'd been so wrong it was laughable – except I wasn't laughing.
And neither was she.
Chapter 23
Lexie
He wasn't happy to see me.This much was painfully obvious as he eyed me with open distrust, like I'd just been caught stealing his only Christmas tree – assuming he had one at all.
But of course, I'd been caught doing something equally asinine – at least as far asheknew, because there was no way on Earth that I was going to rat out my sister, not when I was the reason she'd done something so absurd.
It was only fair. But now, I didn't know what to say.
Cole was still giving me that look. "What's going on?"
I'd already told him.Or at least, I'd told him as much as I'd planned to. Still, I lifted the roll of toilet paper in a mock toast, similar to the way Harper had done to me. "I was just, um, well, it was a practical joke, I guess. But then I thought better of it, so I decided to clean it up."
As part of my clean-up efforts, I'd already stuffed a good bit of the wreath's toilet paper into my other coat pocket, the one that hadn't been holding the half-empty roll. With sudden inspiration, I reached into that pocket and pulled out a big wad of the loose paper and gave it a little wave. "See? If you'd just returned a few minutes later, the mess would've already been gone."
Cole was standing just out of arm's reach, and I fought a sudden crazy urge to close the distance and beg him to forget our last dinner when I'd been such a sorry excuse for a date.
But then I rememberedwhyI'd been so miffed. Cole had laughed at somebody's misfortune – Lloyd Grampkin's to be exact. And then, afterward, he'd gone eight whole days without contacting me.
Sure, our date hadn't been so terrific, but he could've called or texted.We could've talked it out.
Or maybe not.
The point was, we would never know, because during this time, the rift between us had solidified into something that felt nearly unbreakable – like Aunt Matilda's godawful fruitcake, the one she sent us every Christmas.
With a skeptical look, Cole replied, "Is that so?"
I'd been so lost in my own thoughts that it took me a moment to recall the last thing I'd said to him – that the mess would've been gone by the time he'd returned if only he'd stayed away a little longer.
It was a good point, and I latched onto it like a kitten onto a sweater.
