by Holly Rayner
Or maybe it didn’t matter, but it felt weird to her. So much about what they did felt weird.
“Can you hand me that towel?” She pointed at where she’d left the towel on a lawn chair.
“Certainly.” He seemed to get the hint, because after handing her the towel, he stepped back into the house. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
Once Ken was gone, she scurried from the tub, wrapped the towel around herself, and went to get dressed. It wouldn’t be Christmas caroling like at home, with Corinne by her side, but it would be exciting nonetheless.
She dressed as warmly as she could, doubling her socks and breaking out the long flannel underwear. The group was assembled in the front den, everyone bundled up and in good spirits.
“I’ve never been Christmas caroling,” Trish said. “Goodness, I don’t know if I can even remember one song.”
“Just get your cues from Adison,” Ken said. “She knows the words to every Christmas song ever written.”
“You do?” Trish asked in amazement.
Adison’s face warmed. Ken had been joking…but he could be close to right.
“I know a lot of them,” she admitted.
They packed into two cars, and Ken ended up in a separate one. With Thea, Adison noticed.
The two of them had spent a lot of time together that weekend, starting with when Thea drew him aside to talk the evening he and Adison arrived. It had Adison wondering again about romance between them.
Not that it was any of her business. Ken wasn’t hers to have. Their line had been drawn.
Still…if he was seeing Thea, or at least interested in her, she hoped he kept it completely under wraps. If she saw the two of them holding hands or kissing, it would be a punch to the gut.
An image of what that would look like flashed across Adison’s mind, and she felt dizzy. Closing her eyes, she forced the picture away. Today was supposed to be fun.
The houses in Thea’s area had too much space between them to comfortably carol, so they drove to downtown Jackson and parked in front of one of the bars.
Thea climbed out of her car laughing, and then Ken came around the front with a grin on. A heavy knot formed in Adison’s stomach, and she looked away.
“Where to first?” Bill asked.
“Let’s start at the general store.” Thea pointed at a storefront halfway down the block. “They’re old-timey and love this kind of thing.”
They assembled at the front of the store and, at a cue from Thea, started singing “Jingle Bells.” Out of the corner of her eye, Adison noticed Ken struggling to keep up. It appeared that the only words of the song he knew were the ones in the title.
A small crowd of shoppers gathered, and when they finished the song there was a round of applause.
“Do ‘Silent Night,’” an old man called.
Thea turned around to catch Adison’s eye. “Can you lead us on this one?”
“Sure.” Adison drew a breath, found the first note, and began singing.
“Silent Night” had been one of her mother’s favorite carols. Adison remembered learning it on the piano in elementary school. Even after her interest in the instrument waned, the song had remained important to her. Now, she couldn’t hear it without tearing up.
As she sang, she did her best to fight the tears. It was hard, though. They crept from the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away the best that she could.
As she finished the last line, she noticed Ken wasn’t singing. Everyone else in the group was adding something, even if it was only harmonies or mouthing along and pretending to know what they were doing. But Ken only stood there, watching Adison.
The last note vanished into the crisp night, and the audience applauded loudly.
“That was beautiful.” Thea squeezed Adison’s hand. “You can really sing, girl.”
Adison ducked her head. “Thank you.”
Her voice had been one of the best things her mother had passed on to her.
The carolers moved down the street, ready to bring music to the next business. Adison lagged a little behind, though, enjoying the slow walk.
“That was amazing.” Ken appeared at her shoulder.
“Thanks.” She eyed him. “You don’t know that one, huh?”
“No. I do.”
“O-kay.” Adison laughed. “So why didn’t you sing along?”
He looked down as they walked. “I guess I forgot to.”
A thrill went down her back. It had felt good to have his gaze on her. It always did.
She cleared her throat. Say something, Adison.
“Anyway,” she ventured. “There’s the next song.”
“I’m sure you’ll crush that one as well.”
They arrived at a hair salon, and the group launched into “Deck the Halls.” Adison and Ken stood in the back, singing—in her case, at least. It seemed he was more humming than anything else.
They made the rounds down the street, the cold starting to creep through Adison’s many layers. Her toes were numb, and she shivered every once in a while. Still, she wasn’t ready to quit. The town was decorated with wreaths and lights everywhere, and every person they passed seemed to be in good spirits.
“I love it here,” she said. “I could stay forever.”
“What happened to staying in Buffalo forever?” Ken pulled his coat’s collar high around his ears.
She blinked, surprised that he remembered her saying that. “Oh. You’re right. I could never leave Buffalo. My whole life is there.”
“What if you were offered a home here?” he pushed. “For free? A big house like Thea’s?”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that what you’re giving me for Christmas?”
“Er…”
“Right. Didn’t think so.” She tossed her head and smirked—and nearly walked right into someone’s back. “Oh! Sorry!” Adison side-stepped to avoid crashing into the man.
“It’s okay.” The man raised his phone. “Sorry. Just taking a quick picture and then we’ll get out of the way.”
“It’s all right. No worries.”
The man joined a woman and two teenage daughters, raised his phone up high, and took a picture of the four of them smiling. He looked at the screen but frowned.
“Want me to take it?” Adison offered.
“That would be great. Thanks.” The man handed his phone over. Adison took a few different snaps then passed the phone back.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
The caroling group had gotten ahead by now. They were at a shop halfway down the street. Adison hustled to catch up with them, and it was then that she realized she had no clue what had become of Ken.
Turning on her heel, she looked down the street in the direction they’d come, but he wasn’t there.
“Ken?” she called.
“Here.” He stepped out of a doorway and onto the sidewalk.
“I thought you’d disappeared.”
“No.” He dug his hands into his coat pockets and started walking.
She studied his profile, confused about the sudden mood change. They’d been having a nice time joking, and then he’d withdrawn. Right when they stumbled across the family taking pictures.
“Is everything okay?” she asked cautiously.
“Of course.” His smile was fake. “Is everything okay with you?”
Adison bit the inside of her cheek. She could just drop the matter. Her curiosity was strong, though, and before she could stop herself the words were flowing from her lips.
“Did seeing those people taking pictures bother you?”
It was so slight that at first, she thought she had imagined it, but no, it had been real. Ken had flinched at the question.
“Why would that bother me?” he asked.
Okay. So he was answering her questions with more questions. This wasn’t conducive to a productive conversation.
“I guess it wouldn’t,” she said.
<
br /> They walked in quiet, with Adison stewing inside. She wasn’t blind; Ken’s mood had changed because of the picture-taking family. Had seeing a happy family upset him? Did it make him miss his parents?
She recalled her first day at the Montoya Foundation, when she’d discovered Ken’s dislike for all things Christmas. It would be easy to dismiss him as someone who didn’t like to be bothered by what they saw as impractical festivities, but she got the sense Ken’s dislike of the holidays went deeper than that.
The holidays were a time for slowing down, for appreciating what you had and spending time with family. She knew all too well how hard that could be when you felt alone. Perhaps Ken needed a little extra Christmas cheer.
Or perhaps he just needed to be left alone. He’d told her nothing was the matter, and it wasn’t her business.
But knowing that didn’t stop her from wondering about it for the rest of the night.
Chapter 19
Ken
The wind blew them into Thea’s house, a group of chatty and laughing people. Trish murmured something to Adison, and Adison threw her head back with laughter.
She shone when she laughed. Glowed.
Ken looked away and removed his hat and gloves. The car ride had been lengthy enough, but he still didn’t feel like he’d warmed up. There was a chill in the middle of his chest.
“How about a movie?” Thea led the way toward the den. “We can vote on which one.”
Almost everyone followed her. Ken hung behind in the foyer, taking time hanging up his coat.
“What do you think?” a voice filled with sunshine asked.
He stilled, his hand on the coat rack. “About?”
“A movie?” Adison asked.
Ken slowly shut the closet door, and even more slowly turned to face her. She stood with her arms folded, shoulder propped against the door jamb. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her hair tangled from the wind. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her look so beautiful.
“Come again?” Ken asked.
“A Christmas movie,” Adison giggled. When he didn’t respond, the smile dropped off her face. “Oh. Have you ever seen any Christmas movies?”
“Of course I have.”
His answer was harsher than he’d meant it to be. She blinked, taken aback.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay.”
He frowned. “I’m not feeling that well. I think I’ll skip the movie.”
Adison’s arms tightened around herself, like she was protecting herself from his words. Or his presence.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell Thea. I’m sure she’ll miss you.”
Adison turned on her heel and disappeared.
Ken’s fingers flexed, then curled into fists.
He stalked down the hall, in the direction of his room. Halfway there, he changed his mind about going to bed empty-handed and rerouted for the kitchen. No one had made their way their yet for movie snacks, so he had the pleasure of being alone while pouring himself a scotch.
Drink in hand, he slunk to his room, feeling sorry for himself. It had been a great night…which was why he felt so awful.
Self-pity wasn’t an emotion Ken typically indulged in. He had a one-day rule when it came to moping. If something bad happened, he had the rest of the day to sulk about it. The next day, he had to move on. Wake up and focus on the things that were truly important.
According to that rule, he had a couple hours to be sad about the condition he’d found himself in. But that was all.
Settling into the armchair that faced the windows, he put the scotch on the coffee table. He’d been rude with Adison, and though he hadn’t wanted to, perhaps it was for the best. Every time he reminded himself that they needed to keep their distance, he went right back and overstepped that line.
It was such a predictable dance. So far, no one had been burned too badly, but if they continued on this way it was only a matter of time.
His phone rang in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see Simon calling. Ken lingered for a beat, debating whether or not he felt like talking. Right as the call was about to time out, he hit the answer button.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening, yourself,” Simon said in a mock-fancy voice. “Sounds like Jackson Hole is treating you well?”
“You gathered as much from two words?” Ken put the call on speaker and placed the phone on the coffee table.
“That or something is bothering you.”
Ken frowned. He should be better at hiding his moods. “I’m ready to get back to Buffalo is all. How are you?”
“Great, although I hadn’t heard from you all weekend. Usually, I get at least several texts or emails about work, but this weekend there was nothing. It’s good to hear you’re alive. I had my doubts.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might be having fun?” Ken tried to keep his tone playful, but he winced at himself. “How are you?”
“You asked me that already, and I’m great…as you don’t seem to recall.”
Closing his eyes, Ken pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I’m not so great.”
“What’s going on?”
Ken paused, debating how much he wished to reveal. Simon was his closest friend, but unless an issue could be solved right away, talking about it did no good. It only meant you were dwelling.
Simon made a noise in the back of his throat. “Does it have anything to do with spending the weekend at a romantic destination with your beautiful party planner?”
Ken chuckled. Talk about hitting the nail on the head.
“I’ll have my head back on straight tomorrow,” he said. He pushed his fingers through his hair and sipped his scotch. He’d been through worse than this. He’d been hung up on women before.
But never like this.
Adison had a way of completely commanding him. She didn’t even know it, but sometimes he felt like a puppy dog around her. It was too much fun to trail along behind her, hanging on her every word. Like in that bakery, when they tested cupcakes. For a short while, he’d stepped out of his boring office routine and into her magical world, one filled with festive lattes and decorated pink.
Ken was gray, the section of the newspaper you read because you felt you needed to. Adison was the rainbow, the comics you couldn’t wait to get to.
“Did something happen between you two?” Simon asked.
“Not since…” Ken trailed off.
“Go on.” There was amusement in Simon’s voice. “This has to be good.”
“Not since her friend’s party, where we kissed.” Ken grunted in frustration. “Which should never have happened.”
“But how was it?”
Spectacular. That’s how it was, but Ken chose to ignore that question.
“It would never work out,” he said instead.
“Why not?”
“Because…” His throat tightened. The words were there, but they wouldn’t come out.
There was a quiet moment. Then…
“You’re not as broken as you think you are,” Simon said.
It felt like all the air had been punched out of Ken’s chest. Simon knew about his past; he knew about his greatest mistake.
But that didn’t mean that he understood, that he got what it was like walking through every day knowing that you had caused irreparable damage and that no matter how hard you tried, you would never be able to make up for it. Ken had funneled billions of dollars into helping children and families in need. He’d touched countless lives. On the regular, he received heartfelt letters and emails of gratitude.
He wasn’t yet forty, and he’d done more than many people would in ten lifetimes, yet it wasn’t enough. Nothing would make up for the mistake he’d made.
“Adison…” He struggled to even give breath to one sentence. “She deserves more.”
Another silence. “Okay.”
Simon—who already knew that when Ken set his foot down there was no ta
lking him out of it—cleared his throat. “If you have time, I’d like to talk about Miami.”
Finally, a subject Ken felt confident with. He sipped his scotch. “I’m all yours.”
“I’d like to book a visit the second week of January. I looked into doing it this week, but the owner of the Brickell place won’t be available till then.”
The Brickell building was the one Ken was most interested in. While he hadn’t flown to Miami to scout out potential business spaces, he’d taken a look at what Simon had forwarded him.
“Do it,” he said. “I’m all in.”
Now more than ever, expanding the Montoya Foundation to Miami seemed like a good idea. Originally, Ken had gone to Buffalo for a fresh start. Manhattan had felt constricting, old, the past too hot on his heels for his liking.
And now Buffalo was starting to feel the same way. If he stayed there, he’d end up doing something he would regret. Without a doubt, he wouldn’t be able to last around Adison much longer. He would make a move, pursue her with the relentless passion he always went after his goals with.
And then he would make a mistake. He would remember who he was at his core: a screwup. He would freak out and withdraw, or he would read her needs wrong and disappoint her. The point being, he would hurt her.
It was a pattern begun early in life, and he’d repeated it in adulthood. The few times he had allowed himself to get close to women, it had ended in catastrophe. A loner at heart, he wasn’t sure how to be properly intimate, how to care for others.
These were the facts. Once he had faced them about himself, life became easier.
Some people might have dealt with falling for an employee by firing them or moving them to a new department. Ken would never be so callous and selfish as to fire Adison, and the Montoya Foundation only had one floor in Buffalo.
Which meant he had to leave town.
It seemed dramatic, but he had been thinking about opening a branch in Miami for a while. The offices there would need someone to run them, and who better than the man who’d started the organization?
“Great,” Simon said. “It’s settled, then.”
Ken drank his scotch, tracking the burn from his tongue down his throat. “Yes. It is.”
