The Giving Heart

by Toni Blake

  Despite temperatures below freezing, embers of desire smoldered inside him and his skin rippled with wanting her. Being with her was too damn easy—when she let it be. And as they neared the Summerbrook Inn at the westernmost end of Harbor Street, the tree he’d brought her shining through the window like a beacon of holiday warmth, he suspected she felt the same way, suffered the same longings. Pointless my ass.

  Together, they ascended the steps to the porch, greeted by the outside light she’d left on. Their gazes met, and he didn’t hesitate to ask her, “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

  “Please,” she murmured—and damn, he liked that, and didn’t hesitate to lower his mouth over hers.

  As he lifted his hands to her face, sinking deep into the kiss, it felt like...finding the place you belong. Where it’s easy and exciting all at once. Where it’s fun and profound. Sweet yet heavy.

  Her hands pressed against his chest, through his coat and her mittens, but still the touch reached him potently, and he absently wondered if she could feel his heart beating double time for her. Mostly, though, he just kissed her. Kissed her like a man intoxicated with her. Kissed her like a man who would never see her again. Because maybe he wouldn’t. Likely he wouldn’t. After all, this had been their “see you before I go” dinner. It was, effectively, goodbye.

  When their lips parted, she rose on tiptoes to whisper in his ear—as if there were anyone around to hear. “Doesn’t have to be goodnight.”

  His hunger for her hardened at the sweet, sexy invitation, her breath warm on his neck, and temptation hung thick in the cold night air. Heat—more kinds than one—lay only a few steps away.

  So it took a Herculean strength to say, “I want to. You know I want to. But...”

  A small gasp of surprise left her. “But?” She peered up at him, eyes glimmering with yearning and confusion.

  He took a deep breath, blew it back out, tried to crush down the ache in his groin. “It still wouldn’t end well. Whether in an hour or tomorrow morning, at some point you’d tell me to leave and we’d both feel bad and it would be more complicated than either of us wants.”

  She bit her lip, looked up at him, appearing a little sad. “You’re getting awfully good at turning me down.”

  “Not pointless anymore?” he asked.

  She didn’t reply—just lowered her eyes, clearly trying to hide just how very pointless it wasn’t.

  He used one bent finger to lift her chin, met her pretty gaze, let it own him a little too much, and then bent forward, his forehead lightly touching hers. They stayed that way a long moment, a long moment of rigidly mounting desire, of fighting down the temptation, of accepting the reality that she was really leaving and this was really ending and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

  “Thing is, Lila,” he said, voice deep and low, trying like hell not to let her see how difficult this was, “much as I want to come in, knowing how things would end, I’d rather have this nice memory of kissing you goodbye in the snow.”

  And then he kissed her again, long and hard and deep. Her arms circled his neck as his closed around her waist and they clung to each other, just kissing, kissing, kissing. It reminded him of being sixteen, when it was all new and endlessly consuming—he had no idea how long they stood there continuing to kiss, only that he didn’t want it to end, not any of it. He kissed her until her lips took on that puffy, slightly bee-stung look, until his own mouth felt used up and tired. He kissed her until he realized that no matter how long he kissed her it would never be enough—it wasn’t a well that could be filled.

  He could have said a million more things—he thought there were a million more conversations they could have. But at this juncture, one thing that did suddenly feel pointless was more words—since they would undoubtedly turn to what couldn’t be. So after drawing back to share a long, quiet look, wherein he tried to memorize her bright eyes, slightly turned-up nose, heart-shaped lips, the curve of her cheek, the color of her hair, he simply lowered one more kiss to her forehead and walked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SITTING AT THE kitchen table, Lila made a list of things she needed to do before taking the ferry back to St. Simon in two days and then driving down to Ann Arbor.

  * * *

  Finish wrapping gifts.

  Pack suitcases.

  Ask Suzanne and Dahlia to come over—give them gifts. Even if that might be awkward. She only hoped Suzanne would come.

  Tell Suzanne when you’re leaving so she can take over cat-sitting duties. Also potentially awkward, but hopefully could be lumped with number 3.

  Clean kitchen. She wasn’t as naturally tidy as Meg and wanted to leave the place as spotless as it had been upon her arrival.

  Return bulldozer key to Beck. Or maybe not. Think through this.

  Say goodbye to the trees. She wasn’t even sure what she meant by that, but she’d written it down, so she’d think through that, too.

  * * *

  SHEESH, IT HAD turned into quite a list, the items having gotten harder as she went.

  She wasn’t any more ready to leave Beck behind than she was to tell Meg the impending fate of the trees, but she had to face such things if she intended to take control of her life.

  And she knew keeping that bulldozer key wouldn’t prevent work from proceeding when the snow began to melt, so maybe she should indeed just give it back to him. But at the same time, surrender didn’t sit well with her here—at least not about this, no matter how much she’d come to care about Beck. She’d surrendered so much already, back in Chicago.

  So maybe she’d just leave that key for Meg to decide what to do with.

  And she’d break the ugly news to her sister over the holiday. Or, well—maybe after, so as not to totally ruin it. Meg would probably give the key back—she was just a more accepting person than Lila, and faced things more gracefully.

  Maybe when you boiled it down, that was ultimately the biggest difference between the two of them. Grace. In that moment, Lila aspired to approach life with more grace.

  With that, she marked number 6 off the list, and let her gaze linger on number 7. Standing up, she crossed the kitchen to the window over the sink, then peered out across the brook at the hillside of trees that had caused...well, everything between her and Beck. You could say they’ve kept you apart—but they also brought you together. Without them, unlikely you’d have met. Well, unless Suzanne had, by now, introduced him to you as her new boyfriend. Lila cringed with jealousy at the notion and tried not to think about what might happen between Beck and Suzanne now.

  You’re horrible. You’re leaving, and you refuse to be with him regardless, but you don’t want him and Suzanne to be happy here together? In a place, no less, where you know there’s a very small dating pool? You’re a despicable person. And even if she wasn’t despicable for many of the things that had caused her guilt, she truly felt despicable not to wish them both romantic happiness, and it surely seemed like the most likely path to that would be the two of them, together, becoming a happy Summer Island couple. This is not how one attains grace.

  Refocusing on the trees across the stream—many bare of leaves now but the evergreens still sporting snow-covered boughs—she wished she could see them in spring one last time. She hated how much she’d taken them—and this whole place—for granted her whole life. “Oh, Gran,” she whispered, feeling as if her grandma were somehow there with her, looking out on the trees, and Lila wished she could have somehow protected them for her. A tear rolled unexpectedly down her cheek.

  But she wiped it away, said out loud, “That won’t do,” and reminded herself that she’d done all she could for the trees—she’d done her very best, and now she had to let them go. With...grace. Real or imagined. Fake it ’til you make it.

  And to do that, she headed upstairs, and to the attic. Pulling down the fold-up ladd
er, she started carefully up it, and this time she wouldn’t have to search for what she’d come for—she knew exactly where they were. A moment later, she lifted the old snowshoes from where they hung on nails in the wall.

  * * *

  SHE’D NEVER SNOWSHOED. But how hard could it be?

  Turned out somewhat hard, leaving her suddenly thankful Harbor Street was so quiet as she stumbled and fumbled around the front yard trying to get accustomed to the damn things.

  Fortunately the brook had frozen over and was covered with snow, so when she finally felt accomplished enough on the snowshoes to make her way to the hillside, crossing the water didn’t complicate her journey.

  A winter white sky served as a backdrop as she stood peering up from the foot of tall, bare trees at a complex web of branches above her. She reached out to touch the trunk of one. An oak? A poplar? Something else? She didn’t know much about the most common trees—but she knew she was sorry these would soon die after gracing this hillside her whole life and longer.

  She walked carefully, quietly, studying evergreens—some tall and old, many younger, smaller. Christmas-tree size. She appreciated how lovely they looked with the snow draped upon them, and how warm all the trees made even cooler days feel in summer. She thought of games of hide-and-go-seek played with Meg and their father. She remembered walks with Gran to the blackberry bushes along Mr. Vanderkamp’s fence at the eastern edge of his property. “One cobbler for Mr. Vanderkamp,” Gran would say, “because I fear the man is lonely and seldom gets any home cooking. And then one for us.” She’d end on a wink—the plan both charitable and self-indulgent at once.

  Soon snow began to fall and a cold breeze crept up on Lila—it was getting colder and she should probably go in and get to work on the rest of her list. The day after tomorrow would come fast and this vacation from the real world would be over. And maybe, in a way, it already was. She’d said goodbye to Beck, now she was saying goodbye to the trees. It was all coming to an end, both new things and old.

  “Bye, trees,” she whispered sadly, looking up and around at all of them. I’m so sorry I couldn’t fix this. So, so sorry. Yes, she knew it wasn’t her fault, but she was still sorry. A few tears fell, and she succumbed to them, for just a moment, before wiping them away with one of Meg’s mittens lest they freeze on her skin.

  Walking back across the small snow-covered stream, she reached the backyard and paused, peeking back one last time—and felt it. Grace. Just a little. She’d said goodbye to the trees with grace.

  But the wind had suddenly turned more biting and bitter, so she gave up reminiscing, turned back toward the house, and started on the old wooden snowshoes back toward the front porch, trying to switch her mind from the emotion surrounding the trees to the more practical matters of getting ready to leave the Summerbrook Inn.

  And while there were many things about departing that left her sad, she was looking forward to celebrating Christmas with her family. She’d felt like an empty hull of herself at Thanksgiving, so Christmas would be better. Christmas would be nice. The tree news notwithstanding. And, well, other stuff she knew she needed to tell her family about now, too.

  But don’t think about that. Think about hugging Meg hello, and showing her the pictures you took of Miss Kitty but forgot to text her despite your best intentions. Think about helping Mom in the kitchen, and telling everyone about all the old ornaments you came across. She’d decided to leave the tree up for Meg and Seth to come home to, hoping they wouldn’t mind, thinking Meg might like seeing the ornaments, too. Think about ham and cinnamon apples and pumpkin pie and Mom’s cookies. Think about everyone opening up their hats and scarves. Think about board games and Christmas movies and everything good about the holidays.

  She rounded the front corner of the big Victorian to see someone out on Harbor Street—realizing with a squinting closer look that it was Dahlia. Who had just spotted Lila, too, and began walking in her direction. Only when she got close enough to call, “What on earth are you doing, my dear?” did Lila remember she was taking small plodding steps with netted contraptions of wood strapped to her feet.

  “Oh—I’m snowshoeing,” she called back. “These belonged to my grandma.”

  The older lady tipped her head back with an approving smile. “That’s a novel endeavor, and I always applaud novel endeavors.” She patted mittened hands together lightly.

  And Lila was just about to yell down an invitation for Dahlia and Suzanne to come over tomorrow afternoon—when Dahlia went on to say, “Good you used ’em now. I trust you’ve seen the forecast.”

  Lila blinked, the cold wind beginning to sting her face. Actually, she hadn’t thought to check the weather in a while—too many other things on her mind. “No—why?”

  “Oh my,” Dahlia said, her ominous tone making Lila worry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Dahlia had grown close enough now for Lila to make out the pained look on her face. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid there’s a blizzard blowing in hard. It came up fast—winter storm warning issued just about an hour ago, and the lake’s starting to freeze already. Koester’s is staying open another couple hours, so if you need anything, best get it now.”

  Lila’s chest tightened. But she still hoped for the best as she asked, “How bad is it going to be?”

  “Well, the ferry just canceled service—for the coming days and likely beyond. And even when the snow ends, the lake will be too icy. I’m so sorry to tell you this, Lila, but I’m afraid no one’s getting off this island for Christmas.”

  PART 3

  Between every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life.

  John Muir

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LILA TEARFULLY TEXTED Meg one of the Miss Kitty pictures she’d accidentally been hoarding, along with the message: Miss K says hi, and we need to talk.

  She was about to send another, asking if this was a good time, when the phone trilled and Meg’s picture popped up. Lila sniffed back her tears—quit being a baby, no one died or anything—and answered.

  “Miss Kitty needs to talk?” Meg asked. “Is she breaking up with me?”

  The unexpected laugh left Lila feeling a tiny bit better—even if this sucked. “No, I think your relationship with the cat is safe. It’s actually me who needs to talk to you.”

  “Are we breaking up?” Meg ventured, still sounding amused. But she wouldn’t be amused in a minute. “Because that would kinda ruin Christmas. I can’t wait to see you, by the way, and hear any juicy island gossip I might have missed.”

  Oh, Meg—you have no idea.

  “We’re heading to Ann Arbor tomorrow,” her sister barreled on, clearly having missed the gravity in Lila’s voice amid her holiday exuberance. “Seth’s grandpa is coming with us, so we’re excited about that! This is going to be such a great Christmas!”

  Lila blew out a heavy breath and spoke dryly. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m afraid you guys will have to celebrate without me.” Lila sniffed, trying not to whine. “There’s a blizzard here and the ferries aren’t running.”

  At this, Meg went silent. Then finally said, “You’re kidding? Before Christmas? They almost never shut down before Christmas.”

  “Except for this year,” Lila said quietly.

  “But...it’s okay. You can just come down in a couple days. I know you were planning to meet us at Mom and Dad’s tomorrow night, but we’ve got a few more days before Christmas, so you’ll get home by then.”

  Lila shook her head, even though Meg couldn’t see it. “I don’t think so, Meg. Dahlia said no one will get to leave until after Christmas.”

  “Oh no.” On the other end, Meg expelled a big, sad breath. “Seriously?”

  “I wouldn’t kid about something like this. I can’t stand the
idea of not being with you guys for Christmas.”

  Meg sighed audibly. “I can’t, either. This is...this is so awful.”

  Trying not to wallow in the disappointment, Lila told her, “Dahlia says I can spend Christmas with her and Suzanne. And Zack. And Mr. Desjardins. But it won’t be the same.” Okay, maybe a little wallowing.

  “Who’s Mr. Desjardins?” Meg asked.

  “Dahlia’s French lover,” Lila replied.

  “What?”

  “You’ve, um, missed a few developments here.”

  “Clearly. Dahlia has a lover? A French lover? What else have I missed?”

  Big mouth. Lila hesitated, then settled on saying, “Nothing that can’t keep. I’m just...so sad. I was really looking forward to a family Christmas.”

  “Listen,” Meg said, clearly flying into regrouping mode, “don’t worry—we’ll just have to postpone it. The ferries will get through again before the deepest freeze comes on—I’m sure of it.”

  “Still, you can’t postpone Christmas,” Lila reminded her.

  “I admit, this is...this is...well, so disappointing that I don’t even have the words to express it.” Another sigh. “But...well, we just have to make the best of the situation.”

  Easy for Meg to say. She’d be with Seth, and Mom and Dad.

  But then, no, if Meg were stuck here by herself, she would make the best of it, not let it get her down. Grace.

  Then again, Dahlia and Suzanne were like family to Meg—so if she had to stay here for Christmas, she’d still have people she cared about to spend it with. Lila didn’t have that comfort level with anyone on the island.

  Well, maybe one person. Who just wanted to remember kissing her in the snow—they’d said their goodbyes already.