A Tiara Under the Tree

“I just want you to know it’s our pleasure to you have you here, Miss Southwood,” the mayor gushed. “We know your time is precious and I’m hoping no one has any objections to allowing Miss Southwood to go first.”

“It’s really not necessary,” Waverly said with a red tint to her cheeks.

“Well, okay, we’ll continue with the agenda as regularly planned.” The way Anson cut his eyes in Dominic’s direction told him the mayor hadn’t planned on letting him speak today. Thank God for his secret weapon.

The council continued on. Dominic listened to everyone vote on who would be on the judging panel. Miss Annie made it. Some of the ladies at her table got on to the food committee, which sat at the judging table for the Christmas cookie contest held at the elementary school. Southwood Middle School would host the Christmas dance for kids and then the adults would get a dance at the Southwood High.

“And now we get to hear from Miss Southwood.” Anson inclined his head toward Waverly. He stepped aside for her to join him at the podium, something Dominic noticed the mayor did not do for the other presenters.

Waverly gave Dominic a slight wink as she rose from her seat but didn’t move toward the stage. “Hi, everyone.” She gave a friendly wave with both hands.

Everyone greeted Waverly with a round of applause.

“I don’t want take up too much of your time. I just wanted to remind everyone about the donations of your services and goods for the girls at Grits and Glam Studios. The proceeds will help send everyone to the pageant in the spring. Friday is December 1. Grits and Glam is ready to sell the 3-D Southwood Advent Calendars. Most of you have already turned in goodies but I’m missing a few days for a hundred calendars.” Waverly paused for a moment to peer around the room. Judging from the bowed heads, it was easy to decipher who was slacking. “I would love to have everything complete by the time I leave this evening.”

Dominic sat back in amazement at the list Waverly had placed on his table. Several companies were listed. He assumed the ones with a black check mark had already fulfilled their promises. He was impressed. He scanned the list of businesses she’d collected from already: coupons for The Scoop, movie passes for the drive-in theater and the indoor theater, and enough other discounts to make up the twenty-four-day countdown.

“If y’all don’t mind,” Waverly began, “I have one more thing to introduce.”

“By all means,” said the mayor.

“Good,” said Waverly. “I’d like to introduce, or maybe reintroduce, Dominic Crowne.”

“Oh, look,” Anson said drily, “it’s Mr. Waverly, Miss Southwood’s handmaiden.”

The applause Dominic received wasn’t as loud as Waverly’s, but at least it was something that covered up the mayor’s remarks. Waverly continued, “I am guessing there was a mistake in Dominic not being on the agenda, so I thought I’d share my time with him. You all may like his idea for the parade.”

Dominic took his cue and rose to his feet. Like Waverly, he spoke from his table. He gave his speech about the antique cars he recently acquired whose dates of manufacture stretched all the way back to the twenties, which would add authenticity to the parade and the wardrobes. And with Dominic hiring drivers, the townspeople would be able to enjoy more of the Southwood through the decades. He waited with bated breath for some form of reaction. Kenzie started the slow clap of approval. Relieved, Dominic nodded his head in thanks at Waverly.

“This is a perfect idea with our theme.” Kenzie, short in stature but with a big voice, made her way to the podium. “And great timing, too. I’ve got a few couples from out of town who heard about Waverly’s idea and want to donate. If my calculations are right, we’ll hav

e clothes from the Civil War.”

“Oh my God, Kenzie!” Waverly cheered.

“I’m glad you think so, Miss Southwood,” Kenzie said with a wink. “Can I pull you away from your pageant duties to pick them up?”

Waverly shook her head. “Kenzie,” she drawled the name with her Southern accent, “you do remember I still get lost in town.”

The comment drew friendly giggles and nods, agreeing with Waverly’s statement. A few people called out a few times and places they’d had to set Waverly on the right path. The best idea came to mind for Dominic. He would be willing to take her wherever she needed to go.

“If it’s driving around town yourself,” Ascot began, but Kenzie quieted him down by pressing her folder against his chest. “I bet with Dominic back, he can take over bringing Miss Southwood to her appearances, and you can focus on your job in city hall,” Kenzie said to the politician. “It’s a win-win situation, don’t you think, Mayor?”

At that moment Dominic wanted to pull Kenzie off the stage and swing her around in joy. By the time the meeting ended, everyone clapped Dominic on the back and welcomed him back into the Southwood fold. It was nice feeling: like a hero. He finally belonged somewhere. Take that, John Crowne.

* * *

When the meeting was officially over, Waverly finished up collecting the coupons from the members from the Commerce of Business. She accepted their donations and apologies and placed everything in its appropriate folder. All she had to do was put the calendars in their boxes. Perhaps she’d overachieved by making 3-D replicas of downtown Southwood. Twenty-four boxes were spread out around the picture of town. She’d spent all summer and fall getting the orders perfected. Thank God she had nothing to do tomorrow.

Waverly headed over to the table with the refreshments and selected one of Miss Annie’s cookies shaped as Scottish terriers dressed in Christmas sweaters. A smudge of red icing smeared against the side of her index finger. Waverly debated what to do next: lick the icing off her finger and risk getting icing from the cookie on her nose, or use her common sense and set her binder on the table with the rest of the food.

“I would pay you any amount of money to lick the icing off your finger or any body part.”

Feeling his breath against the back of her neck was enough to make Waverly lose her appetite. She set the cookie down on the top napkin of a stack and did the deed of getting the icing off herself. The sound of Anson’s guttural growl evoked the image of an Elvis lip curl. “Go away, Anson.”

“Do you know how eligible I am?” Anson asked, walking around to face Waverly.

In truth, Anson would be considered a handsome man. Some women went for the clean-cut, all-American guy.