by Toni Blake
“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly. Possibly the softest words she’d ever spoken to him.
His next words came without forethought. “Does that make me greedy?”
“No,” she said quickly.
“Because sometimes on the news you see some kid who has decided to give all their Christmas presents to someone less fortunate. And I always think it’s admirable as hell. Because I sure didn’t have that kind of vision as a child.”
“Well, it’s an extraordinary act. That’s why it made the news—it’s rare,” she pointed out. “I’m sure the rest of the kids out there are just being kids and liking their presents as much as you and I did. And...it’s different when it’s being taken from you. You never really had a chance to give if the choice was never yours.”
He just looked at her. Damn. Talk about hidden depths. The unexpected insights went so far as to squelch that tiny voice inside him that feared his dad might actually have been right.
“And all this was enough to make you eventually cut ties with him?” she asked.
“There was more to it than that. He didn’t...” Ah, shit. He’d walked right into this—suddenly seemed to be spilling his guts here. Great job saying as little as possible.
But again—hell, why not? Why not just put it out there? He was proud of the man he’d become, no matter what his father might think of his choices. Even if Lila Sloan might take his dad’s side on this one. “He didn’t like the professional paths I followed or the way I conducted business.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Like cutting down the trees behind people’s houses?”
He shot her a look, let it be his only response to the remark before going on. “I wanted to make enough money to be comfortable and have nice things. So I learned skills and worked hard. I started in construction, then became a foreman for a large home builder. From there, I got interested in land development and worked my way into a lucrative career where I’ve ended up doing better for myself than I ever set out to or knew I could. And if any or all of that is a crime, then I’m guilty.”
Across the table, she paused her fork and knife to eye him curiously. “I’m still not sure I understand the estrangement part, though.”
Yeah, it was complicated. Harder to explain than he’d realized. “He...wasn’t proud of me. The opposite, in fact. He thought I was greedy, that I worshipped money more than God, just because I didn’t give most of it away.”
“Did you?”
“I guess I think the two acts can co-exist. God wasn’t mad at me. My dad was.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
“And then one Christmas, I got fed up.” He probably could have shut up and been done at this point, but he suddenly wanted to tell her the rest. “I was in my late twenties, making some money, enough to buy everybody some nice gifts for Christmas. I bought Dad a good leather coat—one I knew he’d like. And he did like it—but he wouldn’t let himself enjoy it. He went on about how it was too much, too expensive. And then—by God—he gave it away.”
“What?” Across from him, she blinked, jaw dropping.
Her surprise was gratifying and urged him on. “Yep. He gave it to a poor man on the street. I’d really wanted him to have that coat, Lila. It meant something to me to be able to give it to him. But it didn’t mean anything to him.
“And that was the last straw for me. Between that and the constant criticism, I decided I didn’t want him in my life.” He stopped, shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong—he was a good man. People who benefited from his kindness would probably say he was a great man. But he and I operated on two different levels—and he couldn’t accept mine or stop judging me for it.
“After that, I only saw him at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I kept contact to a minimum even for the few hours I spent around him on each holiday. And I was happier. Might sound cold, but it was the best thing I ever did for myself.”
“It’s not cold if it was...taking care of yourself,” she reasoned. Which he found more charitable than anything his father had ever said to him. And again, unexpected. And again, wise.
“Thank you for...getting that,” he said. “For getting the whole thing.”
Rather than respond to the thanks, though, she took a bite and moved on. “And so you...also said you were married.” She spoke lower now, reminding him how uncomfortable she seemed with that. He wondered why.
“Have you ever been? Married?” he asked.
“Me? No.” She said it as if he’d suggested something preposterous.
“You sound...against it,” he observed.
But she shook her head. Wiped a napkin across her mouth. “Not at all. I’ve just never found anyone who...rocked my world in that way. Like in a forever, unconditional kind of way. Not even close.”
“No?” He raised his eyebrows. “No great loves—nothing?”
“No,” she answered, light and a little terse, as if perhaps embarrassed by it. “I mainly run into the kind of men who, say, mow down the trees behind my grandmother’s house without a care.”
He narrowed his gaze on her, tried not to smile. “Ah. Ruffians.”
“But about your wife,” she said, shooting him a pointed look. “Don’t think you can change the subject without me noticing.”
His wife. He sighed. Where to begin. But this part he would keep simpler. “I married Chandra seven years ago. We were both thirty-two at the time. And our marriage was pretty much...one disaster after another. And you know how they say tragedies either bring you together or pull you apart? For us, it was the latter. Her mom passed away after a long illness. Her brother died in an accident. Then she wanted to get pregnant but found out she couldn’t have kids. It was all hard on her—and I tried to be there for her as best I could. But—” he shook his head “—it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t fix anything. Wished like hell I could—but...well, over time she just shut me out. And then my dad was diagnosed with stage four bone cancer last year.”
Across from him, Lila sat up straighter in her chair, went stiffer. “Oh.” A tiny gasp. Even having heard his dad was deceased, she clearly hadn’t seen that coming. No one ever did.
“Chandra wanted me to reconcile with him,” he told her. “But I chose not to. And hell, maybe I should have—who can say? The but the fact is, he seemed fine with having me out of his life—and all things considered, I figured hearing from me might do him more harm than good. Anyway, the marriage was already shaky. I even think she might have been cheating on me. Regardless, my dad’s illness was the last straw—we separated and divorced quickly, and frankly, it was a relief. It ended a little over a year ago—but it feels much longer.”
“Why is that?” Lila asked, head tilted inquisitively and looking pretty as hell.
He shrugged. “Like I said, it wasn’t a great marriage from the start—fraught with problems. And not having kids, we don’t keep in touch or anything, so it just...feels like it happened a long time ago. Maybe because my life is more peaceful without her.”
“And did this sour you on the institution?” she inquired, eyebrows raised slightly.
He shook his head. “No. Truth is—she kind of pushed me into getting married—and I let it happen. Neither one of us was in it for the right reasons. I think she saw in me...what she thought I could give her, not who I was. And for me—well, guess I figured if I wasn’t gonna be close to my own family it might be nice to have another one. But if I ever get married again, it’ll be because my gut tells me it’s right, because my gut tells me this woman is my other half, forever.”
“Sounds like maybe no one’s really rocked your world, either,” she said, again sounding all-wise.
And even as he reluctantly agreed, “Maybe not,” he found himself weighing things. Women. Her. Suzanne. He wasn’t necessarily looking to have his world rocked right now—he just wanted to find a nice lady to date. But like it or not, th
e two women in question both made him feel things. Better things than Chandra had.
“And so the bone cancer is why your dad...died?” Lila asked cautiously.
He ate a bite of chicken before answering. He’d been talking so much his food was getting cold. “This past spring. It’ll be the first Christmas without him. Gonna be hard for my mom and sister.”
“Are you going home? For Christmas?”
He nodded. “They all live in northern Kentucky, just across the Ohio River from Cincinnati. I was born and raised there.”
She smiled, making him realize he still hadn’t seen enough of that and he liked it. “Kentucky,” she mused. “Nothing about you says Kentucky.”
He shrugged. “It’s a beautiful state. Though the area where we lived was more suburban than you’re probably picturing.” He grinned. “Guess I’m still a pretty classic Kentuckian at heart, though. I mean, I know the most important things in life are the three Bs.”
She leaned forward curiously. “Three Bs?”
“Bluegrass, bourbon, and basketball.” He added a wink to say, “Though I’m especially partial to the latter. I’m a big University of Kentucky fan.”
At this, however, her face went wooden. “Oh my God—no way.”
A reaction he hadn’t expected. “Why?”
“Because Michigan rules.”
Beck just rolled his eyes. As if he and Lila didn’t have enough roadblocks already. He usually had to do verbal battle with Duke and Louisville fans, but Michigan was another longtime rival to his beloved Wildcats. “Oh brother.” Though...maybe it came as a nice surprise that she knew something about college basketball.
“And you live in Michigan now,” she pointed out.
“But I bleed blue, baby.” It was a common statement from Kentucky fans—having no professional sports teams of any kind, Kentuckians were loyal to their blue and white. It wasn’t a school thing—it was a state thing.
She tilted her head and asked, “Why did you come here anyway?” And something in the question told him she’d moved on from basketball.
“I scouted around for the right location to buy some land I could develop in a lucrative manner. The search led me north, and I considered Mackinac, but most of the undeveloped land there is part of a park—untouchable. Summer Island turned out to make more sense, financially and otherwise.”
“Well, that’s definitely my loss,” she replied pointedly. A common sort of response from her—but a little jarring to Beck after the last few kinder minutes. She clearly wanted to make sure he didn’t forget. Maybe she wanted to make sure she didn’t, either. She worked so hard to keep that little wall up between liking him and accepting the reality about the woods behind the big house where they sat sharing a meal right now.
So he answered in a different way than usual. “For what it’s worth, Lila, I’m truly sorry about that. I can’t do my job if I get attached to every rock and tree, and believe it or not, I really do try to improve the world through my work—but regardless of all that, I’m sorry it affects you and your family in a negative way.”
“I don’t think that’s why you really came here, though.” Clearly his apology had been a waste of time—she had her detective voice back on.
“What do you mean? It’s the perfect place for a new development—ripe for growth.”
“I think you came here to get away from things.”
“Things?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Your dad’s death. Your divorce. The past.”
He supposed he knew all that already—so why did his chest tighten at the accusation? He ignored the reaction, tilted his head, and narrowed his gaze on her. “Well, how much do I owe you for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Lila?”
“Some trees would suffice,” she quipped.
He gestured toward the room she always called the parlor and reminded her pleasantly, “I already brought you one.”
“I prefer them still living, in the ground.” She saved him from replying to that by shifting without segue, gesturing to an old-fashioned cake stand on the kitchen counter. “Dessert? I bought a pumpkin pie from Koester’s deli.”
“Sounds good,” he said. And it really did. More than he could have anticipated. Sometimes it was the simple things in life. And right now it was just pie. With Lila. And the fact that she still wanted to share it with him even after reminding them both that she wasn’t forgetting about the trees.
And despite everything wrong with this December, everything wrong between him and Lila and the inn, everything wrong with his life in general now that she’d forced him to ruminate on it in a way he usually avoided, he couldn’t deny that...damn if he hadn’t somehow started enjoying the holiday season more than he typically did. He’d never disliked Christmas, though his father had made it hard to love it as much as most kids did. He’d still liked it well enough in a low-key way. But certain interactions with Lila were making a few holiday traditions better. Better than usual. Better than they’d have been without her. If he’d come here to get away from things, maybe it had worked.
Together, they cut the pie and put it on plates. Beck liked being closer to her, same as when they’d dished up the food from the Crock-Pot side by side. He could smell her—some feminine, powdery scent—and that little skitter of electricity crackled through his veins. It happened more when they accidentally touched in small ways, like when he passed her the spatula, and again, now, when she’d handed him a dessert plate from a cabinet. But he stayed aware of it even when they didn’t.
“Let’s have dessert in the parlor,” she suggested, and they made their way down the quiet hall and into the big front room, made more cheerful by the lit-up evergreen next to the window.
“How’s the tree?” he asked, admiring it.
She cast a look in his direction that he almost read as shame. “Well, despite myself...”
“Yeah?” he prodded.
“I’m enjoying it,” she confessed. “I don’t like admitting that to you, but...thank you. Because it’s made the room more merry. And brought back a lot of good family memories. It’s made me...regret not coming here more. As an adult, I mean.”
Plates and forks in hand, they both sat down at opposite ends of the sofa. It faced the fireplace—as usual, alight with warming flames—but they both faced each other as they ate their pie. “What made you stop?” he asked, thinking how fondly she spoke of time spent here in her girlhood.
“Meg got leukemia,” she told him.
All the blood drained from his face. “I didn’t know that.” Meg was the picture of health and vitality. “Is she...okay?”
Lila was quick to nod and assure him. “Oh—yes. It happened a long time ago. When I was in high school. She recovered and has been fine ever since.”
“Good. That’s a relief.” He cut into his pie, took a bite. “But...what does that have to do with you not visiting the island more?”
“Meg came to the inn after her treatment, to spend time with my grandma while she got better. And then after that, Gran died—quite unexpectedly. And I...”
She’d gone suddenly sullen. “You...?”
She peered past him for a moment, into the lights of the Christmas tree, but then drew her focus back to his face. “I couldn’t handle any of it—Meg’s cancer or my grandma dying—so I just kind of hid from it all down in Ann Arbor like a useless coward.” Her eyes had dropped to her plate by the time she finished speaking.
And Beck wanted to hug her. For what she’d just said. For the sadness in her eyes right now. “Lila—my God. You were in a teenager. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
She shrugged, lifted her gaze again. “That’s what Dahlia and Suzanne said, too. Because apparently I can’t stop talking about this lately.” She gave a quick, self-deprecating eye roll. “But the upshot is... I wasn’t there when Meg needed me.” She scrunched up her nose. “I�
�ve always felt bad about it. I’ve always let it keep me away. I’ve only been here for a few short visits since she took over the inn fifteen years ago. I’ve always let the whole thing make us...not as close as we might have been. I’ve been trying to fix it, though.” She sounded more like a little girl at the moment than the usually sassy woman he’d come to know.
“What made you come back now?” he asked gently.
“I wanted...to give Meg some time away. She never leaves, except just briefly around the holidays. She doesn’t like to leave the house for long. Funny, since so many houses here sit empty all winter. But it has something to do with Gran, I think—her need to watch over the place. So I offered to watch over it for her.”
Beck tried not to feel her words too much. Because, for once, she wasn’t pointing out the whole tree issue—but he suddenly felt it, in his bones, way more than any other time it had come up. He instantly understood—in his gut—why it mattered to her so damn much. Because these people loved this house like it was a member of their family. And Lila had been in charge of caring for it on the day Beck’s bulldozer had shown up. His stomach sank like a brick.
And yet—maybe because he didn’t want to keep thinking about that, and maybe just because he’d been wondering about this from the start—he moved past that, yearning to understand something else about her. “What else?” he asked. “What else made you come?”
“That’s all,” she claimed. Blinking. Twice.
“I don’t think so,” he said softly.
She blinked again. Pursed her lips. Shifted back a little toward the more belligerent Lila. “What do you mean, you don’t think so? Are you a mind reader now?”
Oh, sure, it had been fine when she was the one doing the psychoanalyzing. “More of a face reader,” he said, “and yours doesn’t hide as much as you think.”
“I think my face does just fine,” she said smugly, “given that no one else has ever said something like that to me.”
