Mark. The hero boy who gave her glass doorknobs and fire extinguishers, who brought her not-even-burgers and built her fires when he was terrified of fire—
Had he told people about that night? When he knew her need for privacy? She remembered how she’d felt in his arms then, and just now with that pull between them.
Her hand covered her face, and her rocking stopped. She couldn’t do this now. She couldn’t fall—
She couldn’t fall for Mark. Not in this little town, not now.
She stood and shook away her thoughts. She had a job to do. And she had a lot of hours to spend in Mark Rivers’s company yet. It was good that they’d drawn boundaries.
Boundaries kept her heart safe.
Mark frowned. What had just happened? He’d gone in there worried Riley would be mad that Steph had talked to him, but then things had gotten pretty close. And then they hadn’t.
And then he’d given her a fire extinguisher.
He honked as the Taggart boys crossed the street without looking. They had the decency to look startled and raise their hands in apology.
Mark had meant to ask Riley to attend the memorial ceremony with him—and the firemen’s ball, too—as maybe more than a friend, but with the vibe she was giving off, he’d chickened out. Sure, she said she’d be there, but as a friend. A neighbor. Nothing more.
Although, had he asked, and had she said yes, it would have meant she’d be standing next to him on an important day. And the town would see that as more than it was. His family would see it as more than it was.
Who was he kidding? He’d see it as more than it was. And it definitely wasn’t more than it was. He may as well have been spilling his guts to Steph on the couch that night, right?
The sensation of waking up with Riley in his arms returned.
He slammed on his brakes at the four-way stop, and his tires screeched to a halt. This time, the startled looks came from a group of kids wearing birthday party hats waiting to cross the street with Erin Petty, who gripped her son’s shoulder.
Mark raised his hand in apology. “Sorry,” he said and motioned them across.
He felt Erin’s glare through the windshield. He deserved that. Kind of refreshing that she gave it without any reserve.
One thing was certain. Spilling his guts to Riley that night on her couch was nothing like spilling his guts to his sister.
Another thing was certain. He had a whole lot of hours left to work on her house with her. It was better that he knew the boundaries. Better that he didn’t talk to Gus or Steph or his dad about whatever the town was saying. Better that he didn’t get pressured into doing stupid things because people thought their ideas were better than reality.
He’d just been dished a taste of reality.
Bitter as ever.
Riley rested her chin on her hand, looking blearily over the class outline for advanced art on her laptop. The seniors were allowed to choose their own projects, as long as they were working during class and making progress. But today her sixth-grade art class had asked how to paint snow, and that led to a demonstration of negative space, and now she was thinking of teaching the technique to her seniors, and she maybe had an idea for their final project.
She glanced at her phone.
She hadn’t heard from Mark since Sunday, and Thanksgiving was tomorrow. She forced her gaze back to the computer screen.
He’d been busy, she knew that. He’d finished mudding the new wall while she was at school and was gone before she got home. He’d installed the fire extinguisher next to the back door in the kitchen. He’d gotten her a quote for the electrical work. And he was helping his dad. Then there was the whole awkward Stephanie-Dalton-bathroom thing.
Dalton was giving her space, somewhat, but she still felt unsettled.
Truth be told, she wanted Mark’s opinion on paint color and to have him visit her classroom and to share a not-even-a-meal so she could tease him about milkshakes named after him. That reminded her that Thanksgiving was tomorrow and she hadn’t offered to bring any food.
She picked up her phone.
What can I bring for Thanksgiving? Anything but pie. Or a turkey. I’ve never cooked a turkey. Or stuffing.
Sorry I didn’t ask earlier.
Oh, or yams. I don’t know what to do with yams.
She set the phone down and watched it, waiting. She picked it back up.
I could probably find a recipe, though, if you really need someone to make yams.
She went to set it back down again when it beeped.
This is what we’ve got.
Turkey: check. Mashed potatoes and gravy: check. Stuffing: a big maybe—we’ll see how it goes. Pumpkin pie: check. Yams: SKIP. We’ve got corn and rolls. What do you want to add?
She bit her lip, thinking.
I have a good cranberry sauce recipe. Green beans? I can make apple crisp. That’s like pie.
Sounds great. Dad says thanks.
She smiled. I’ll bring whipped cream, too. The real kind, not the stuff in a tub.
Perfect. Come around 2:00. See you tomorrow.
She stared at the last text, wondering why it felt like a dismissal.
She made a shopping list and closed her office, wishing she knew more about holiday cooking. As she passed her display board of starry nights, she knew one thing.
She missed Mark.
In the hallway she heard her name called, and she turned with a smile. “Hey, Yvette.”
“Hey, yourself.” Yvette pulled her into a hug. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”
“Bleh” was what managed to spill eloquently from her mouth.
Yvette chuckled and stepped back to study her. “You’re figuring stuff out?”
“You mean about Dalton being a shallow letch and Mark being a completely decent human being?” She nodded.
“Oh, sweetie, he’s much more than decent.”
Riley pursed her lips, hiding a smile. “I know. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
Yvette threaded her arm through Riley’s and started walking. “That’s fine. I’ll be able to see all I need tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I’m joining you and the Rivers men for Thanksgiving. You didn’t know?”
“No. I haven’t seen much of Mark the last few days.”
“Cal saw me in the IGA the other day, and we got to talking, and when he learned that my plans to see my sister had fallen through, he invited me.”
“I’m glad. I’m sorry your plans fell through, but I’ve been worried about what kind of conversation I’d be up to with just the three of us.”
“Well, my youngest son will be at his dad’s, and my sister has a couple kids down with strep throat.” She sighed. “And no need to worry about conversation. Cal’s a great talker, and the way those two men banter is enough entertainment for anybody.”
Riley smiled. “True.” They pushed the exterior door open, and Riley hunched deeper into her coat despite the midday sunshine. “I just don’t know where I stand with Mark, or what the town thinks. I don’t want to give people the wrong impression. I already know what some of them believe.”
“Who cares what the town thinks?”
Riley did. A lot.
It must’ve shown. Yvette shook her head. “Okay, maybe that’s easy to say. I know my divorce was the subject of enough scrutiny. That sucked.”
“I think you just made my point.”
Yvette laughed. “I think I did.” She stopped and faced Riley. “Only you can judge what really matters. Everything else is just talk.”
Riley nodded. Mark had said that, too, in so many words. “Can I ask you something?”
“You bet.”
“Dalton told me you were dating Cal when Mark was hurt.” Riley lifted her brow, curious how her friend would respo
nd.
Yvette matched her expression. “Is that a question?” She shook her head, smiling. “Okay. Yes. We had only just started dating. And it was . . .” Her eyes got a soft, faraway look. “It was nice. But then Mark had his accident, and Jay was killed . . . and Mark hadn’t even known we’d gone out—he’d been living his own life in Wenatchee. We both knew it just wasn’t our time. Cal had lost a good part of the orchard, and Mark needed his dad twenty-four-seven.” She blinked and refocused. “So that was that.”
“And now,” Riley said, “Cal has asked you to Thanksgiving.” Her brow rose.
“Oh, don’t you go there. This is a last-minute thing. That’s all.”
Riley placed her hands over her heart and batted her lashes.
Yvette put her fists on her hips. “Is that how you want to play? Because we can have an interesting time tomorrow, Miss ‘Mark is a decent human being.’ Puh-lease.”
Riley’s shoulders sagged in good-natured defeat. “Fine. I take it all back.” She watched as a mischievous smile grew on her friend’s face. “And I’ll help you grade tests and I’ll wash your windows and I’ll shovel your driveway if you will please not tease me or Mark about anything tomorrow.” She clasped her hands together, begging. “I won’t mention you and Cal again. Unless you want me to.”
Yvette leaned forward, her eyes dancing. “Lucky for you I believe things work themselves out. As should you. Now, I’ve got pie and rolls to make. I will see you tomorrow, Smee.”
Riley saluted as Yvette sauntered away. “Aye, Cap’n.”
Mark watched Riley across the dining room table. She laughed, holding her stomach like she would bust if she laughed any more. He didn’t blame her. He was as full as he could get. The food had turned out great, and his dad and Yvette had taken the spotlight off whatever was or wasn’t happening between him and Riley.
She caught him looking, and he glanced away. His dad was shaking his head, grinning at an old story he’d told a dozen times.
“You remember that, Mark?” Dad asked.
“Gets better every time you tell it.”
Riley stood and started clearing dishes.
“Hold on there, Riley,” his dad said. “I’ve got dish duty. Mark and you ladies did the cooking.”
Riley put a hand on her hip. “Well, then get in there to the sink, and we’ll get the dishes to you.”
His chivalrous father didn’t even argue. “I like how this one thinks,” he said, and hoisted himself up, grabbed some dishes, and left for the kitchen.
Mark and Yvette stood and the three of them began clearing plates and bowls of food.
Yvette gathered goblets. “The turkey was delicious, Mark.”
“Thanks. Usually Steph handles the turkey.”
“It was as good as any I ever made. Be proud.”
His hand brushed against Riley’s as they both reached for an empty bowl, and between Yvette’s compliment and the touch of Riley’s hand, his face warmed.
“Sorry,” he said, letting her take the bowl.
“Don’t be,” Riley said. “And she’s right, the turkey was fantastic.”
He nodded his thanks.
He hadn’t seen her for days. Long days. She’d curled her hair, and her dark red sweater, tight black jeans, and those black boots he liked had made it hard to take his eyes off her since she’d arrived. And she smelled like heaven. Even more so with the delicious aromas still hanging in the air.
He watched her walk into the kitchen. Yvette gave him a nudge, and he followed with his armload.
Riley had set the dishes down on the counter next to the sink, where his dad had hot sudsy water ready and the dishwasher open. He was already scraping plates.
“I can’t wait to try your pies, Yvette,” Riley said. “The banana cream looks amazing.” She stepped back and groaned, hands pressed to her middle. “Well, maybe I can wait.”
Yvette laughed. “I haven’t eaten like this in a long time. It’s different when you’re alone, that’s for sure.” She turned as Mark set his dishes down. “What about you? You don’t seem to be in any discomfort.”
“Oh, I had plenty. I can barely move.” He headed back into the dining room to pick up another load. Being so close to Riley all day had heightened all his senses until he thought his nerves might catch fire.
“You just carry it better than the rest of us, is that it?” Riley followed and reached past him for the bowl of mashed potatoes while he collected the last of the silverware.
She was close. He breathed deeply and shook his head. “Man, you smell good.” The words were out before he knew it. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”
“I don’t smell good?”
His face grew warmer.
She flipped her hair behind her and looked up at him. “It’s the turkey.”
He stepped back to give her space. To give him space. “The house smells like turkey. You don’t smell like the house.”
“You say the sweetest things,” she said, smiling.
He shook his head, fighting his own smile.
“So, are we talking now?” she asked.
He glanced over the table, empty but for a few crumbs. “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t heard from you for a while. I guess after spending all that time together last week, I got used to having you around.”
He nodded, squashing the hope that rose inside him. “Missed me, huh?”
“Mark.”
He met her gaze.
“You haven’t spoken to me since I got here.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Look,” he said, stepping around her, “I’m just playing by your rules, okay?”
She followed him back into the kitchen. “What rules?”
“You know.”
Yvette and his dad quit their conversation as they entered.
Riley switched tracks. She took a deep breath. “So, do you have any fun Thanksgiving traditions? Besides eating yourselves into oblivion?” She grabbed a dishcloth from the soapy water and started wiping down counters.
“We always had a football game on at our place,” Yvette offered. “And some kind of card game at the table after the dishes were cleared.”
“We watch the game if the teams are good,” his dad agreed. “Sometimes we drive out on the property and pick out the tree. Too early to cut one down yet, but we flag it so we can find it closer to Christmas.”
“That sounds like fun,” Yvette said. She’d joined him at the sink and was drying dishes. “Riley, what are your family traditions?”
She paused, turning the dishcloth in her hands and staring out the back door. “It depended on where we were. When I was little, we’d go to my grandma’s in Bozeman. I’d play in the snow. Once we went to Disneyland. When I was older, it was a formal dinner with one of my dad’s colleagues.”
“Disneyland sounds fun,” Yvette said.
Riley nodded, then rinsed her cloth at the sink. “I’ll just go wipe off the dining table.”
After she left the room, both Yvette and his dad turned to Mark, motioning him to follow Riley.
“I’m going, I’m going,” he growled.
He found Riley wiping the last of the crumbs off the table. He came up behind her, took the cloth out of her hand and set it down, and pulled her toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going outside.” He grabbed her coat from the hook, and she slid her arms inside.
“Why?”
He grabbed her hat and scarf and smashed her hat on her head as she pulled her gloves on.
“We,” he said, grabbing his own coat, “are going to play in the snow.”
To his relief, the lost look he’d seen on her face had faded, replaced with a brightening smile. More confident, he found h
er a pair of Steph’s old snow boots. With his own gloves and boots on, he grabbed her hand and rushed her outside.
“Do you have any sleds?” she asked.
He grinned. “You could say that.”
He led her around the side of the garage, where he grabbed the corner of a tarp and pulled. “Did they have one of these at your grandma’s?”
Her jaw dropped, and she shook her head, staring at the Rivers family snowmobile.
“Riley Madigan, I’d like to introduce you to one of our Thanksgiving traditions.”
Riley whooped in his ear, her hair flying from underneath her helmet. He grinned as they made another pass up one of his favorite slopes on the property, then down, fishtailing across the old cow pasture. The sound of her laughter did good things to his insides.
“Having fun?” he called back to her.
“Yes!”
“Are you cold?”
“Yes!”
“Do you want to head in?”
“No!”
He laughed and accelerated, spraying snow in an arc as they circled around, her arms tightening around his middle. He tried to ignore how much he liked that. “Wanna try a jump?”
“Um . . . maybe?”
“It’s a small jump. Tiny.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it was a lot smaller than the jumps he’d take with the guys over near Snoqualmie Pass. This was just a couple of slowly decomposing hay bales they kept shaped into a ramp. “Hang on.”
He grinned at the sound she made as they approached the white bump along the edge of the pasture. She clasped her own wrists at his stomach and pressed her knees tight against his hips.
Then they hit the jump, and he hollered and she screamed. They were airborne for only a second, and when they hit the ground in a smooth landing, she erupted in laughter.
If she wasn’t careful, he’d ask her to do this every weekend they had snow.
He spun the mobile in a circle and pulled to a stop. “How was that?” he asked, looking behind him.
“So great.” Her eyes gleamed behind the visor.
“You want to go again?”
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