Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish

by Shirley Jump

  Fury raged inside of Stockton. He had lived in this town all his life, and never seen anyone think they could treat another townsperson that way. “Mrs. Richardson, where Jenna comes from or what she wears has nothing to do with the quality of her work.”

  “I disagree.” Gertrude straightened and a haughty look filled her features. “People are where they come from. Why, their roots form the very foundation of who they are.”

  “My roots are just fine, Mrs. Richardson,” Jenna said. Her voice was firm, but Stockton could read Jenna’s face. All her life, the whispers of her childhood had followed her around. He couldn’t imagine being the constant topic of gossip and knew it had affected her. Maybe in more ways than he had realized.

  “You ask me,” Stockton said, eyeing Mrs. Richardson, “we all have roots we aren’t too proud of or that we wish were attached to a different tree. Wasn’t it your granddaddy, Mrs. Richardson, who was arrested for selling moonshine during Prohibition?”

  Gertrude’s face paled, then reddened. “That’s not the same thing.”

  “I don’t know. Back in those days, I think that was quite the scandal. Seems to me, if we all did a little less judging and a lot more understanding, the world would be a better place.”

  Gertrude drew herself up. “Well, I never,” she said, then huffed and puffed and turned away.

  After Gertrude had stomped out of the diner, Jenna turned back to Stockton. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to stand up for me.”

  Stockton’s gaze met hers across the table. “I think it’s about time someone did, Jenna. And told the people of this town that you’re not their personal gossip punching bag.”

  “I’m…” Her voice trailed off. “Okay, maybe I have been.”

  “I should have said something sooner. Years ago. But I was young back then and hell, half those women in the quilting club scared the life out of me.”

  Jenna laughed, the sound sweet music to his ears. “You and me both.”

  The moment extended between them for another few seconds. Stockton knew he should say something, should jerk them both out of this connection and back to reality, but he didn’t.

  Finally, Jenna looked at her watch. “Oh, I’m late for my meeting with Betsy. I really hate to say this, but I have to go.” She scrambled out of the booth, swinging her tote bag over her shoulder as she did.

  Stockton dropped a few bills on the table and followed after her. They both exited at the same time, and the cold slammed into them, hard. “About the anniversary party,” he began.

  “I can set up another meeting with you later today or maybe early tomorrow. Or—”

  He waved her off. “I trust you, Jenna. Do what you think is best.”

  “You trust me?” Her gaze narrowed.

  He nodded and his gaze met hers. The green in her eyes seemed to deepen, become a storm of its own. “I do.”

  She glanced away for a second, then nibbled on her lower lip. “What are we talking about, Stockton? A party or something else?”

  He took another step, and saw her inhale. Her eyes widened. The cold seemed to disappear, replaced by a growing heat deep inside him. Every time he thought he was putting distance between them, he seemed to do the opposite. What was he thinking? He didn’t have time for a relationship, especially one he knew would be complicated. “I don’t know. Because last I checked, we were over.”

  She nodded, but the gesture was short, barely a movement.

  “Aren’t we?”

  “What?”

  “Over?”

  “What does it matter? You live here, and I live in New York.”

  “Don’t dodge the question, Jenna.”

  Her gaze darted away from his face and she worried her bottom lip again, wearing off her lipstick and revealing her soft pink mouth. “Of course we’re over.” The words escaped in a frosty cloud.

  “Good. I’m glad we have that settled,” he said. “Because the last thing I’d want to do is to repeat past mistakes.” He was so close, the sweet scent of her perfume filled his senses, and he could see the slight tick of her pulse in her throat. The wind ruffled the fur around her face, danced across her features. The urge to kiss her rose in him, a force so strong, he had to take a step back to resist the desire. “And I suspect neither would you.”

  Then he said goodbye to her and headed down the sidewalk, before he did something he knew he’d regret.

  “You’re doing a good job avoiding him,” Livia said later that afternoon when Jenna called her friend using the video camera on her laptop. Jenna had a plan for Eunice’s party, but thought it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. And, she’d wanted someone other than Aunt Mabel to talk to about the confusing rush of emotions she’d been feeling for Stockton. She’d told Livia the whole story—about dating Stockton in high school, breaking up before she went to college and about thinking she was over him—

  Until she saw him and realized she wasn’t.

  “I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m working,” Jenna replied. The stack of notes before her was proof of that. So what if she’d barely accomplished anything since returning from her meeting at Betsy’s? So what if her mind had been on Stockton, and on the question he’d asked her, the entire time she sat in Betsy’s kitschy Christmas-gone-wild parlor? “In fact, I think I should head over to the party store and check out the options for centerpieces. I was thinking of doing different ones for each table, to symbolize the passing of the decades since Eunice was born. Betsy and I discussed the idea earlier today, and she seemed really excited about it.” Jenna flipped the pages and turned a series of sketches toward Livia. “An antique tea cup and a string of pearls here, a set of toy Model T cars here and maybe a tiny disco ball and platform heels here.”

  Livia nodded her approval, her movements made slow and jerky by the internet connection. “What about the menu?”

  “I’m working on that, too.” If she could call adding “call caterer to work on menu” to her To Do list working on it. So far, all she’d done was a whole lot of thinking about the caterer.

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all under control.”

  Jenna laughed. “I think so.” The only way to get back on top of her business was to make this work. Between Stockton’s party and Eunice’s event, she had two opportunities to prove her mettle. A flicker of doubt ran through her, but she ignored it. What was with her lately? Why did she keep on faltering?

  “Good,” Livia said. “I have to go. I’ll see you in a few days and in the meantime—” Livia grinned “—call that caterer.”

  Jenna sighed. “Okay. I will.”

  Livia leaned in close to the computer monitor, as if she could see inside Jenna’s thoughts. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

  “Of course not.” She toyed with the pen, then clicked it off. “Maybe. A little.”

  “I’d be surprised if you didn’t, honestly. For one, from what you’ve said, he’s a hunk, and for another, you two clearly have a history. How long did you guys date?”

  “It seemed like we always did.” Jenna took a sip of coffee. The hot liquid seared her throat, good and rich and dark. She’d sent the grounds to Aunt Mabel as a Christmas present, because her aunt had complained about the lack of good coffee in the little town. Right now, though, she barely tasted the Kona blend. “I’ve known Stockton most of my life, and we just…gravitated toward each other. He was my first friend in elementary school, the one who showed me the ropes, sat with me at lunch and made the new girl feel welcome. I don’t know when it became something more. It just did.”

  “High school sweethearts, huh?”

  “And elementary school, and middle school.” She ran a finger over the rim of the mug, circling the white porcelain again and again. “I guess it was just expected that we’d end up together. By everyone who knew us, by his parents, my aunt and, I guess, by him and I.”

  “And yet you didn’t. Jenna, that happens to millions of high school couples.”

  “True.” She s
hrugged, but it seemed such a small gesture for a decision that had changed both their lives. “We went away one weekend, and I realized that Stockton wanted a completely different life than I did. I mean, he’d always said he wanted to wander the world and learn how to cook, but I hadn’t thought he was serious, you know? I thought he’d hear about my plans for New York, and go with me. But—” she bit her lip “—he didn’t want that at all. Heck, I think he was always halfway to the airport in his mind. I couldn’t wait for a man who never knew when, or if, he’d return. I had my own dreams and plans. I had told him a hundred times, but I just think he…didn’t listen.”

  Livia laughed. “He’s a guy. I think not listening comes with the testosterone.”

  “Maybe. But to me, this was huge. If he couldn’t listen about the big stuff, how could I be sure he’d hear me on the little stuff? So I went to New York.”

  An understanding smile filled Livia’s face. “And thought he’d follow you.”

  “No, of course not.” Jenna worried her bottom lip again, then let out a breath. “Okay, maybe a part of me thought he would.”

  “And now you’re wondering what might have been, had you stayed in Riverbend?”

  “What’s done is done,” Jenna said. But was it? After that moment in the kitchen at Rustica and on the sidewalk today? Was everything as over as she’d thought?

  How could five seconds of conversation in the wintery cold with a man she no longer loved leave her so discombobulated? Since she’d gotten back to her aunt’s house, she’d done the only sane thing—and thrown herself into the planning of Eunice’s party. “I guess I didn’t expect to still be affected by being around him.”

  “Well, if you’re not careful, all those moon-eyed meetings with him will start to make people think you’re still interested in him.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I know. I heard your many and varied protests.” Livia grinned. “What’s that Shakespeare quote? ‘The lady doth protest too much’?”

  “This time it’s true,” Jenna said. She got to her feet, gathering the remaining paperwork and stuffing it into her tote. “And on that note, I have a caterer to see, and a party to plan.”

  Mabel Pearson sat at a corner booth in Stockton’s restaurant, sipping a cup of tea while she nibbled at a slice of tiramisu. Stockton watched her for a moment from behind the oval window in the kitchen doors, and grinned.

  He wasn’t fooled, not one bit. He knew Mabel as well as he knew his own aunts. Heck, he’d spent so much time at her house as a child she was practically family to him, and that meant she often acted like family—by delving into his personal life and then telling him what she thought he should do with his life. Stockton chuckled. Clearly, Aunt Mabel had come here to offer her two cents.

  Armed with a fresh cup of tea, Stockton left the kitchen and crossed to Mabel. He slid into the seat opposite her, and laid the steaming mug before her. “A refill for you.”

  Mabel smiled. “How thoughtful. You were always such a nice boy.”

  “It’s all part of the service here.”

  Mabel pushed her empty cup aside and took a sip from the new one, eyeing Stockton over the rim. “I hear you’re catering Eunice’s birthday party. She’ll be delighted.”

  “I hope so. But that isn’t what you came here for, I suspect.”

  “Oh, I’m here for the tea. And cake.” Mabel took another sip.

  “Aunt Mabel,” he said, reverting to the familiar term he’d always called her by, the name she’d insisted on after setting a place for him at the dinner table for the third time in a week, “I know my desserts are great, but I don’t think you’d brave this cold for a little cake.”

  “I’ve been wondering how long it would take a boy your age to gain some sense.”

  He laughed. “I’m hardly a boy anymore.”

  “True. But you can still act like one.” Mabel forked off a piece of tiramisu and put it in her mouth. Stockton waited, knowing there was more to come after she swallowed. “You know you broke my niece’s heart when you and she broke up.”

  “She’s the one that ended it, Aunt Mabel. Not me.”

  “If you ask me, a woman doesn’t end a relationship unless she has a damned good reason.”

  He arched a brow at the curse. “Well, either way, it’s over.”

  “You know—” she forked off another piece “—for a long time, I was very unhappy with you for letting her get away.”

  He scowled. “She left. I didn’t let anyone get away.”

  “Then why didn’t you go after her?”

  It was the one question he had never asked himself. Eight years ago, he had stood in the Indianapolis airport, credit card in hand, staring at the list of departing flights. There’d been one to New York that morning, and one to Italy. He could have chosen New York.

  He hadn’t.

  “Aunt Mabel,” Stockton said, as firmly as he could, “maybe once upon a time it seemed like we should end up together, but it’s not going to work. Jenna and I tried it, and found out we’re beyond wrong for each other.”

  “Why?”

  “We want different things out of life. We always did.”

  Aunt Mabel pushed her plate aside, then folded her hands on top of each other. “Are you sure about that? Because if you ask me, the Jenna Pearson who left Riverbend, and the one who returned, are two very different women. And the same goes for you.” Her older, wiser gaze met his. “Maybe now you two are the people you should have been back then.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JENNA HATED TO ADMIT that Livia had been right. That Jenna had indeed been avoiding Stockton, and the hour or two she’d have to spend with him, discussing his upcoming event and planning the menu for Eunice’s party. After all, they’d worked together the other night and never come close to repeating any of their past mistakes. And on the street earlier—he’d come close enough to her to kiss her, and hadn’t.

  Clearly, he was over her. She was glad. She didn’t need to muddle things by getting wrapped up in Stockton again.

  Then why did Jenna hesitate before pushing on the door? Why had she spent a little extra time on her hair, her makeup and changed her outfit twice?

  She shook off the thoughts of Stockton, and entered Rustica. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior of the restaurant. The scent of fresh-baked bread, followed by the sweet scent of chocolate, swept over her as she made her way farther into the restaurant. Soft jazz music played on the sound system, and the waitstaff moved about the room almost soundlessly as they took the last of the lunch orders, refilled drinks and delivered plates. The entire atmosphere of the restaurant was relaxed, but homey, as if someone had filled a single room with the best Italy had to offer.

  Truly, Stockton had done an amazing job. The restaurant held the kind of atmosphere that begged you to linger, to have another glass of wine, a little slice of dessert. It was quiet enough to encourage conversation, and dim enough to drop a veil of privacy over each of the tables without making it impossible to see the food.

  She headed for the bar, deciding it would be best to wait until the restaurant died down a little and Stockton had a chance to breathe.

  “What can I get you?” The bartender, a rotund man with a goatee and a receding hairline, gave her a smile.

  “Just a diet soda, please.”

  “You got it.” He filled a glass with ice and soda, then placed it before her and moved down the bar to tend to the other customers.

  Jenna glanced at the banner draped over the bar, announcing the one-year anniversary party in a couple of days. Holding it on New Year’s Eve was a brilliant move. People would be looking for a venue to bring in the new year at, and Rustica would be one of the only ones in Riverbend. Already, a slew of ideas ran through her head for the party. Something simple, she decided, that wouldn’t overpower the atmosphere or the food.

  “Just can’t stay away, huh?”

  She spun around on the seat. Stockton stood beside
the bar, his white chef’s uniform nearly pristine—unlike her own from last night. “I came by to talk to you about the menu for the party and the ideas I had for your event, but I can wait until you’re done serving lunch.”

  “We’re almost finished. And, Larry is finally all recovered from the flu, so he’s back at the stove. The kitchen is under control. More or less.” Stockton grinned, then put out his hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here for a while.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

  “I’m a hundred percent sure. Sometimes whole weeks go by before I realize I’ve been here since sunrise, and not left until long into the night. That’s why I walked to work today instead of driving. I got to see the world a little bit. And now, that little taste of being outside has whetted my appetite for more.”

  She laughed. “More? But it’s snowing.”

  He retrieved her coat from the stool beside her, then slipped it on her shoulders. “I hear it’s the magical kind of snow, though.”

  “Magical, huh? I don’t know about that. More like cold and miserable. But if you want to go for a walk while we talk, I’m all about keeping my vendors happy.” Jenna slid her arms into the wool coat, then waited while Stockton retrieved his own.

  A moment later, they were outside. The temperature had warmed to just over freezing, enough to allow the snow to fall, but not so cold to make being outdoors unbearable. Jenna was glad she’d opted to change into the jeans she’d bought the other day, and had pulled on a pair of Aunt Mabel’s winter boots. If she’d been outside in one of the designer outfits she’d brought with her, she’d be freezing to death, and in those high heels, not able to walk that far. The sidewalks were quiet, with most of Riverbend’s residents avoiding the outdoors, and choosing to drive to their destinations instead. The snow fell in thick, fluffy flakes, covering her coat, her hood, the ground. “I haven’t been back in this town forever,” she said, glancing around the downtown area with its cute little shops and brightly covered awnings, the decorated street poles, the benches waiting for warmer weather. “Nothing’s really changed, has it?”