by Olivia Miles
Henry tossed the wax paper wrapper into a bin and jammed his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want to think about going back to that house. Not today. It would cloud his creativity, and right now he needed to stay on assignment.
Just ahead Jane was helping Rosemary Hastings drape a folding table with a white cloth. Her ash brown hair fell loosely at her shoulders, the morning sun reflecting off the subtle copper highlights. Catching his stare, she looked up at him, and he held his hand up in a wave. After a beat, she returned it, but the wariness in her smile had returned. He hadn’t liked the way they’d ended things the other day in the shop. He’d been trying to comfort her, but she’d left seeming rattled and upset, unable to make eye contact as she hurried away, still smiling. Always smiling. Whenever he thought of Jane, he thought of that smile.
He strode purposefully to the dance studio’s stand, noticing the way her eyes flickered in alarm.
“This looks nice,” he said, gesturing to one of the costumes they had on display that a couple of girls had stopped to admire, but he was barely noticing the stand. He couldn’t take his eyes off Jane, the way the sun brought out the amber flecks in her eyes and the pink in her cheeks.
“Audition for The Nutcracker and you can wear it all you’d like,” Rosemary remarked to the girls. She handed over a clipboard with a sign-up sheet, but the girls just glanced at each other.
Jane, Henry noticed, was frowning, and the light in her eyes had gone flat. Clicking the top of his ballpoint, Henry said loudly, “What are the performance dates? I want to be sure to feature the show in my article.”
The girls elbowed each other and looked at Henry with sudden interest. Pretending he hadn’t noticed, he continued. “You never know. Depending on what month the article is featured, I might even be back to cover the show.”
The taller of the girls reached for the clipboard and signed her name, and the other one followed suit. Henry watched as they ran off to a group of friends, discussed matters, and then three others added their names to the sheet.
“Well, Henry Birch, I don’t suppose you’re looking for a new job by any chance? Dance recruiter?”
Henry grinned. “I think I’ll stick with travel writing, if you don’t mind.”
Rosemary set her hands on her hips, but her blue eyes twinkled when she said, “What? Briar Creek not interesting enough for you?”
Henry shifted his gaze to Jane, who was helping a few other kids with the sign-up sheet. “Oh, it’s interesting all right. I’m actually writing an article on the town while I’m here.”
“Well, isn’t that exciting! It isn’t often someone puts Briar Creek on the map. Tell me when it comes out; I’ll be sure to buy a few copies.”
Henry nodded. “I’ll let Ivy know.”
“Oh.” Rosemary pinched her lips tight. “Not in town for long, then?”
Henry shifted his gaze to Jane. She quickly looked down and began straightening some fliers. “I have places to be, Mrs. Hastings. It’s not personal.” But it was. It was very personal.
“Well, what is it then?” Rosemary asked. “We haven’t seen you around these parts since—”
“It was six years this past June,” Jane said, before the words formed on his lips. He stared at her, but she blinked and looked at Rosemary. “The last time we saw Henry was the night of my wedding. It’s an easy date to remember.”
And it was one she probably wanted to forget. Almost as much as he did.
Henry met Jane’s cool gaze, feeling his heart kick with each second that ticked by. Her eyes were clear, free of the emotion he’d seen in them at the flower shop, as if challenging him to call her out on it, to remind her that he’d warned her, that he knew this is how it would end. That Adam, good friend that he was, wasn’t the man for her.
“Oh, look, here come a few more girls. Henry, work your magic.” Rosemary wiggled her eyebrows. She waited until the girls were in earshot to loudly exclaim, “Oh, yes, Henry, we do indeed offer a number of classes, and of course we are thrilled that you’re going to be featuring The Nutcracker in your article on Briar Creek! It’s not every day a little girl has a chance to see her picture in a nationally distributed magazine.”
Henry nodded his agreement. “With these costumes, you never know. The show might just make the front cover of the magazine.”
Rosemary smiled serenely as she handed the clipboard over to a few girls. “Auditions this Wednesday. Every dancer gets a part.” She slid her eyes to Henry and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Henry folded one of their glossy fliers into his notebook and held up a hand, his gaze steady on Jane, who was still determined to avoid eye contact. A heaviness settled over his chest as he took a step backward. “Always a pleasure, ladies. Good luck.”
Rosemary clucked her tongue as he turned. “Now, that’s the one you should have married, Jane,” he heard her mutter, followed immediately by Jane’s urgent whisper to let it drop.
Henry flicked his collar and moved quickly to the other end of the festival, hoping to ward off the fresh sting of regret. For months after Jane and Adam’s wedding, he’d tried to block out the image of her standing there in that simple white dress, all frothy and feminine. They said every woman was beautiful on her wedding day, but he’d never believed it until he saw Jane. Her hair was swept back below the transparent gauze of her veil, and her eyes shone with such joy that he instantly wished he could let it drop. But he couldn’t.
Within seconds of seeing her in the doorway of her dressing room, her smile had faltered. “Don’t tell me Adam’s got cold feet,” she gushed, and Henry felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, until he realized she was only joking, and he swallowed back the concern that up until that moment had plagued him, leaving him guilt-ridden and agitated. Was he really going to warn her? Tell her she was being foolish, that Adam wasn’t the man for her? He’d seen firsthand the way Adam flirted with the women at college—was he responsible for making Jane aware? And what kind of friend would that make him to Adam?
It was too late, he told himself. Jane wanted to marry Adam, and now all he could do was stand by and watch her make the biggest mistake of her life and hope to hell his friend honored his vows and took good care of her. For the hundredth time that day, he told himself: Say nothing.
“You look beautiful, Jane,” he said instead, and his heart began to thump as if he’d just told everything else he’d been holding inside.
“Do I?” She’d been so young then, so fresh faced and eager almost, and the hopefulness in her eyes when she’d posed the question nearly tore him in half. Jane was the most beautiful girl he’d ever met, and by her reaction it was clear the man she was marrying didn’t bother to tell her so often enough.
Her father arrived then, looking nervous and proud, and clearly struggling to keep his emotions from getting the best of him. “My baby’s getting married,” he said, swallowing hard. “You ready, sweetheart?”
Jane nodded then, leaning in to give her father a hug, and over his shoulder she looked up and smiled at Henry, and it was that smile he could never forget. It was that smile that twisted his gut as he walked down the aisle and stood beside Adam, his best friend since he was six years old. There were the Browns in the front row, glancing at him almost as much as Adam, reminding him that he was one of them, that they’d taken him in, given him a home, given him love. They were his family in a way, and now Jane would be, too, and he’d just keep looking after her, keep subtly nudging Adam to walk a straight line.
He’d handed over the rings and listened to Jane recite the words they’d rehearsed. For better. For worse. He’d kept his mouth shut in a firm, thin line when the priest asked if there were any reasons why these two should not be bound in matrimony, but he couldn’t keep quiet when he saw Adam three hours later, flirting with the daughter of one of his mother’s friends.
Jane wasn’t ready to hear the truth back then. But he couldn’t blame her. The truth hurt.
“Mommy, can we carve p
unkins now?” Sophie’s cheeks were sticky from her caramel apple, and her eyes had taken on that glazed sheen that came with too many sweets.
Jane looked over at Rosemary, who nodded firmly. “I’ve got this covered. You go show your little one a good time.”
Jane flashed a big grin at her daughter and took her hand. The pumpkin carving contest was one of their annual traditions, and this year she and Sophie were ready. They’d done their research, bought a set of special tools, and even traced their design in advance. If they didn’t win (and Jane, never much of an artist, was fairly certain they wouldn’t), Sophie was going to take it hard. She’d always been a sensitive child, but the emotions reared high ever since Adam moved out. The littlest thing could bring her to tears, but when it came to discussing anything directly, she seemed completely adjusted. Jane had tried talking to Adam about it a few times, but he just shrugged it off and told her to stop worrying. Oh, her lovely husband. Always the pinnacle of support.
“Now, let’s make sure we get a big, round one,” Jane called after Sophie as she broke loose from Jane’s hand and ran toward the huge display of pumpkins, donated by Finnigan’s Farm. Jane stood back and let Sophie inspect the offerings, trying to fight the heaviness in her chest when she considered how much had changed in the span of twelve months. At last year’s festival, all three of them had selected the pumpkin, and Jane had tried to fool herself into hoping that maybe the suspicions were all in her head, that she hadn’t seen, clear as day, her husband kissing another woman the previous summer. She’d dared to feel some hope as they walked through the festival, the picture of a smiling family, but the distance in Adam’s eyes had only confirmed what she already knew, and by the end of the day, she found herself staring at other families—happy families—comparing them with her own, seeing the way a husband would whisper something in his wife’s ear to make her laugh, or the way he would idly take her hand as they left the cider stand.
She steadied herself with a breath. Strange as it was to say, last year’s festival had almost been a lonelier experience than this year’s. At least she wasn’t pretending anymore.
“You girls entering the pumpkin contest?” a voice behind her asked, and Jane felt every hair on the back of her neck stand to attention.
She turned ever so slowly, until her eyes latched squarely on Henry’s. A warm tingle spread over her body as his mouth pulled into a grin. So much for getting control of herself.
“We are!” Sophie called out, doing her best to carry a pumpkin at least her half her body weight in size. Jane laughed and went to help her, but Henry beat her to it.
“Do you mind if I take some photos? It’s for the article,” Henry explained.
“Oh, I see. I suggested the article and now I’m being called on for favors.” Jane couldn’t help but grin when she saw the way Sophie lit up around him.
“I seem to recall making a few suggestions of my own.” Henry fell into step beside her as they moved toward an open picnic table, his body so close she could feel his torso shift with his stride. Her stomach turned over, and she put a hand to it, taking a steadying breath. “Have you given any more thought to the adult dance classes?”
Jane brightened. “As a matter of fact, I discussed the idea with Rosemary and she loved it.” Better yet, she’d told Jane to take over the classes, bringing her total for the week to six. It still fell short of her original ten, but whenever the pulse-racing fear woke her late at night, she remembered that things were slightly better than they’d been only a week before. Thanks to Henry. “We’re going to do ballroom dancing and adult tap.” She slanted a glance at him. “Don’t laugh.”
“Come on, Mommy, you have to start tracing the picture!” Sophie thrust the pencil drawing of the witch flying across the moon on her broomstick. “Come on!”
Henry eyed the paper with wonder. “Impressive.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d traced it from an image they’d downloaded off a craft website. “I doubt the same will be said for the pumpkin.”
“You just don’t give yourself enough credit.” His voice was smooth but firm, and she felt herself blush.
After another wail of impatience from Sophie, Jane set to work scoring the image onto the surface of the pumpkin, wishing she’d thought to bring some tape. The image came out lopsided, and there was no way she was going to be able to cut around that broomstick without the entire section caving in. She should have gone for the nice, easy jack-o’-lantern face. Instead, she’d had to choose the elusive and challenging one. Wasn’t that just the story of her life? Even with the most basic task, she had to go and make things difficult for herself.
She was just getting ready to pick up the carving knife, when Henry set down his camera. “Stop there. You forgot to clean out the guts.”
“The what?” Jane paled. She turned back to the pumpkin and studied it with a frown. Ah, darn it. Adam usually did this part, and she gladly let him. Barely suppressing a sigh, she cut a hole around the stem and stared into the contents. God help her.
“Come on, Mommy!”
“I’m getting there,” Jane told her firmly, as she pushed up the sleeves of her coat. The wool was thick and it didn’t stay put. She had just started to roll the hem when she heard Henry’s soft chuckle.
“Here.” He peeled off his jacket and pushed up his sleeves, revealing those thick, strong, slightly tanned arms. Jane’s breath caught as he reached down next to her, his body close behind her, his chest hunched forward, his skin slightly brushing against her wrists. She swallowed hard.
He took the scoop and reached down into the pumpkin, pausing to flash a devilish smile that made her heart skip a beat. “This is the fun part,” he said.
“Ha. No thanks. It’s all yours.” She laughed.
Henry just shrugged and continued scraping out the pulp, until no seeds remained. He held out a few in his palm to Sophie. “If you take these home and roast them, they make a really good snack.”
Sophie made a face of disgust, and Jane and Henry started to laugh. “You clean them first,” Henry added, and Sophie grinned up at him before cautiously touching one of the seeds.
“What happens if you plant them instead?”
“Then you can grow your own pumpkin,” Jane said, brightening. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Sophie contemplated this for a moment. “That sounds like a lot of work. I think I’ll eat them instead.”
“What would you do without me?” Henry winked, and Jane lowered her eyes. Her cheeks flushed and she reached for a tool, but her mind was spinning, and she couldn’t even remember where she’d left off or what she should be doing with the darn thing.
It was a rhetorical question, and one they both knew the answer to. Henry had always been a good friend, and lately, he was one of the best she had. Better to leave it that way.
CHAPTER
15
With Sophie’s help, Jane carried their crudely carved pumpkin over to the judges’ stand and stood back to admire her handiwork. The witch’s hat had gotten lost after a sloppy error with the knife—a mistake Jane blamed Henry for. Henry and his deep, penetrating gaze. Fortunately, the broom and the cape had survived, even if they did look like a spoon and a bat wing. Jane glanced at the other entries and sighed. She’d tried.
“It’s the best punkin ever!” Sophie shouted, clapping her hands.
Well, it was certainly the most interesting. Jane took Sophie’s hand and led her past the expertly carved jack-o’-lanterns. The crowds had picked up in the hour since they’d started their project, and the wind had, too. Jane plucked Sophie’s red mittens from her pocket and slid them onto each small hand, then wiggled her matching hat onto her head.
“What should we do next?” She swept her eyes around the square, evaluating their options. Yes, she may have kept one eye out for Henry while she was at it, but only so she could be sure to lead Sophie in the opposite direction. They were running into each other too much for her comfort, and sh
e didn’t like the way she got all nervous when he was around her. The man was off-limits, despite the way a flash of that grin could send an electric bolt down her spine. Now was the time to keep a level head and focus on her custody battle, not go weak in the knees over the friend of the man who was suing her!
She squeezed her daughter’s hand tighter, feeling her heart wrench at how uncertain the next few weeks were. Not having someone to love or share her life with was hard enough, but the prospect of day-to-day life without Sophie at her side?
“I want to do the corn maze! Wait, no, the apples. Let’s bob for apples!” Sophie pointed to the barrels of water across the grass and tugged Jane’s hand.
Jane curled her lip. Sticking her face in a barrel of icy cold water was not what she had planned for her day, but the gleam in Sophie’s eyes made her laugh. “If that’s what you want to do, okay.”
She handed over a few dollars and helped Sophie onto the stepstool, and they laughed as Sophie chased the apples through the water. Just when Jane was beginning to worry that Sophie’s mouth was too small to claim one, the little girl lifted her face out of the water, her smile triumphant as her teeth gripped the apple.
“Bravo!” Jane clapped, and wiped the water from her daughter’s face with some tissue she always kept in her handbag.
“Now it’s your turn, Mommy.”
“Oh…” Jane looked desperately around the festival for something to distract a five-year-old. “What about getting your face painted?”
Sophie’s lower lip began to wobble. Here we go again, Jane thought, guilt landing squarely in her chest. “You said this was our mommy and daughter day.”
“Well, it is,” Jane assured her.
“But we’re supposed to do everything together!” And just like that, Sophie burst into tears.
Jane cursed her ex under her breath. A year ago, she’d still been able to shield Sophie from the strain of her marriage, but she couldn’t protect her child from the sting of reality forever, and too much change had taken its toll. Jane closed her eyes for a beat, and then crouched down to give her daughter a tight hug. Smoothing Sophie’s hair with her hand, she pulled back and looked into those big tear-filled eyes. “You really want me to bob for an apple?”
