by Shirley Jump
“That’s what I love about Riverbend. You can depend on it.”
Jenna snorted. “And that’s what I hated most.”
“You know, sometimes dependability can be a good thing.”
She let out a breath, watched it form a frosty cloud. “Maybe it is. And maybe it’s just an excuse not to take a chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She’d let that slip without thinking twice. Before she left the house this morning, she’d vowed not to revisit the past with Stockton. She was leaving in a few days. Leaving him behind.
They walked for a while, not saying anything, their hands in their pockets. “Do you remember that spring that was ridiculously warm?”
She nodded. “It was like summer in April.”
“Do you remember what we did?”
“Oh, goodness, of course I do.” She put a hand to her mouth, covering the laugh. “We skipped school. Ran down to the deli, grabbed some sandwiches and had a picnic in the park.”
“And, I might add, caught hell with the principal the next day.”
“You did.”
“Because I was the one who was failing Algebra—”
“And I was the one with straight A’s.”
“You were a bad influence on me,” he said.
Jenna laughed. “If I remember right, it was your idea to skip school.”
“It was indeed. But you could have stopped me.”
“What, and miss one of the best days of my life?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Was it?” Stockton asked softly.
“Was it what?”
“One of the best days of your life?”
What was it about him that made her forget her best intentions and say the very thing she didn’t want to say? Try as she might to put the past aside, it came roaring back in Technicolor images. Her and Stockton, laughing as they ran out the back of the school building, dashing down to the diner and laughing so hard they could barely place their order. Then grabbing a blanket and heading to the park, setting up a picnic beneath a gracious maple tree with new leaves still curled onto the branches.
He’d held her hand while the warm sun draped over them, and kissed her a hundred times, a thousand. The entire day had been…
Magical.
Today, she was sure, would not be a repeat of that afternoon. A part of her longed to return to that spring afternoon and wondered where she and Stockton would be today if they’d managed to stay together. Would they still be strolling down those park paths, happy and kissing, or would they be walking separate paths, miserable and lonely?
“Yes, Stockton, it was,” she said quietly.
“It was for me, too.” His voice was tender, edged with a gentleness that surprised her.
She could have caved to that tone, could have continued this reminiscence. She knew where it would lead—she’d already treaded dangerously close to that path in the last couple of days. Instead, she retreated to the safest subject she knew—work. Because in the end, Stockton was still the man who couldn’t be tied down too long. Back then, it had been to a desk in school, later to an address. But really, Jenna was sure, it was always about being tied down to her. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about your anniversary party—”
He put up a hand. “Stop right there. I already told you I trust you to do a great job. You know me well enough, and I’m sure whatever you put together will be fabulous.”
“You don’t want me to run everything by you first?”
He grinned. “Nope. Surprise me, Jenna.”
For a second, she was transported back to the days when they’d been dating. She’d told him she wanted to plan a special evening out for them—a sort of trial run at what would later become her career—and Stockton had said the same thing. Surprise me.
And she had. Stockton had talked often about wanting to get away for a beach vacation—something neither of them could afford during their high school years—so she brought the beach to him for his birthday that summer. Carting in sand to the patio at his house, adding beach blankets, a CD player with ocean sounds, and even ordering a clambake from a local seafood place. Stockton had been surprised, and touched, and showed his appreciation. Many times over.
If Stockton remembered that night, he didn’t mention it. She told herself she was glad.
“Come on, I want to show you something.” Stockton motioned to the left, and she followed as they skirted a drugstore and headed down a side street. As they moved away from downtown and emerged into a less densely populated area, Stockton’s steps slowed. “Now tell me that isn’t magical.” He pointed at a spot ahead of them. “And what’s more…fun.”
They’d emerged at the back of the town park, beside the small pond that had been converted into an outdoor ice skating rink for the season. A dozen or so people circled the pond, their skates making a sharp swish-swish sound with each scrape of the blade. Snow fell onto the skaters and the pond like fat white confetti, and as the skaters passed the fresh flakes, it swirled into fluffy clouds that danced along the ice.
Jenna inhaled the fresh, clean air, scented with nothing but Mother Nature, and held the breath for a long time. She pressed a hand to her chest, closed her eyes and let the snow drop wet kisses on her cheeks. It snowed in New York, it got cold in New York, but never, ever like this. Maybe because the city was so close, everything so compacted, there wasn’t any room to breathe or feel that natural world.
Had she ever taken the time to really be when she’d lived in Riverbend? Appreciate that tranquility and beauty or had she always been too busy concentrating on escaping small-town life and running from the ugliness she’d encountered to see the beauty this town offered, too? Had she pushed down her happy memories, choosing instead to believe the worst about Riverbend and its people?
“It’s…different from what I remember,” she said finally.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her down the hill.
Even through her gloves, she felt his touch. Heat surged through her veins, and even though she knew she should let go—
She didn’t.
“Where are we going?”
Stockton turned to her and grinned. “Ice skating.”
She started to sputter a protest, but Stockton silenced it with a finger on her lips. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
“Do you remember when we were little, we went ice skating every winter as soon as the ice was hard enough?” he said. “We skated until your aunt came and dragged us off the ice and back home.”
The memories came back to her in a rush. Her and Stockton, the wind in their faces, laughing and speeding around the icy circle. When they’d been little, they’d never noticed the cold. There’d only been the next adventure to try, the next snow pile to climb. “I remember,” Jenna said. “And when we were done, Aunt Mabel would fill us with hot cocoa until our bellies sloshed.”
He laughed. “That she did.” Then he sobered and met her gaze. “We had fun, Jenna, the kind of fun where you don’t worry about today, or tomorrow or yesterday. You just are. When was the last time you had that kind of fun?”
“The problem with that is that tomorrow always comes, Stockton. The principal calls you down to his office and reminds you to get back on track. The bills come due, and you have no choice but to go back to work.”
“All work and no play, Jenna Pearson, can make you grumpy.”
“All play and no work can get you in trouble.” She turned away from the pond. “Now, about Eunice’s party…”
“No. I’m not going to talk about that right now. I might be all grown up and responsible ninety-nine percent of the time, but for today, I want to be that kid I used to be.” His blue eyes met hers. “The one you used to be.”
The man knew her too well, shared too many memories, and it showed in the way he repeated her own thoughts back at her. The knot of tension in her shoulders that had been a constant com
panion for the past months seemed to tighten, as if in defiance against his words. She glanced at the ice skaters, at their laughing, happy, cold-reddened faces, then back at Stockton. “I don’t think we should.”
“I’ve poured my whole self into that restaurant for the past year, and I know you’ve done the same with your business. I think—” his gaze returned to the skaters “—if anyone deserves a few moments to just be, it’s you and me.”
She should have disagreed, should have told him they were here to discuss business and nothing more. But she didn’t.
She just nodded, then headed the rest of the way down the hill with the only man who had ever been able to talk her into doing something completely and totally insane. The only man with whom she’d ever been just Jenna.
And that was a scarier prospect than trying to navigate a frozen pond on two lethally sharp stainless steel blades.
They rented skates from a vendor who had set up shop in a small red shed sitting on the banks of the pond. The snow had dissipated, with the occasional flake drifting on the slight breeze. Crisp, clean air gave a bite to every breath they took.
“I don’t know about this,” Jenna repeated, lingering on the bank. She gave the ice a dubious look. “I haven’t skated in so long, I’ll probably fall flat on my face.”
Stockton put out his hand to her. “I’ll catch you. I promise.”
The words were meant to be nothing more than a friendly offer. But for a second, Stockton wondered if Jenna would read more into his sentences.
Of course she wouldn’t. They were both mature adults, who knew where things stood between them.
But as her hand slipped into his, and she flashed a trusting smile at him, he realized something. Things were shifting between them, and if he wasn’t careful, they’d shift down a path he didn’t want to journey.
He’d meant only to show her a good time, to ease the lines of worry etched between her brows. He got the feeling it was becoming something more. Very quickly. Already, he could feel the constricting reins of a relationship. The expectations. Something he’d never been good at fulfilling for other people.
Stockton skated backward a few steps as Jenna came onto the ice. She kept her gloved hand in his, fingers curling tightly as she took her first steps. They stayed that way for a while—him moving backward, her skating tentatively toward him.
It was like old times, but with a new, spicier edge brought on by their entry into adulthood. Holding her hand then had been the act of a supportive friend. Holding it now ignited a fire in him, and as her hips swayed with the motion of skating, his thoughts traveled down decidedly adult paths.
They were just skating. Nothing more.
“You’ve got it,” he said, as her movements became more confident.
“That’s only because you’re holding me up.” Jenna laughed. “I’m too old for this.”
“If you are, then what about them?” He gestured toward an elderly couple, gliding across the ice, hand in hand. They were smiling and laughing as they moved, clearly enjoying the experience—and each other.
“They’re the exception to the rule,” Jenna said softly.
“Yeah.”
Jenna and him started moving along the ice, sticking to the far outside of the rushing circle of skaters. Some people shot them annoyed glances at their slow movements, but most offered encouraging smiles, a camaraderie that seemed to come part and parcel with small-town life. A few people paused to say hello to Jenna. A few others, Stockton saw, noticed Jenna and began to whisper.
No wonder she wanted to avoid this town. Every time she was here, people wanted to gossip about the real-life scandal in Riverbend. The blatant love affair, which ultimately left an orphan in its wake when her mother tried to run off with the other man. Stockton wanted to go to every single person who was talking behind her back and confront them.
“Don’t,” she said softly.
“Don’t what?”
“I can see it in your face. You want to go over there and set those people straight, like you did with Gertrude.”
“They shouldn’t do that.”
She shrugged. “I’m the town scandal. When I leave, they’ll stop.”
He eyed the people again, and reined in the urge to do something. Jenna was right. He couldn’t battle every person in this town. “You know what they need here?”
“Railings for the bad skaters?” Her light tone said she was glad for the change of subject.
He laughed. “No, though that might work.” He glanced down at their still-clasped hands, and thought if there were railings, he’d have no reason to hold her hand. “A coffee and hot chocolate stand. Somebody could really make a killing at that.”
“I think a coffee shop in general would do well in Riverbend. A retreat kind of place, with big leather couches and coffee tables and live music in the evenings.” Jenna glanced in the direction of town, as if picturing such a place. “There’s one down the street from my apartment in New York. I love going there.”
“Sounds like a great place.”
“It is.” Her skates swooshed as she turned to the left. “Why don’t you open something like that?”
He laughed. “Me? Rustica keeps me insanely busy. I barely have a life. I couldn’t add another business onto that load.” He glanced over at her. “Hey, you should do it.”
“Me? But I don’t even live here anymore.”
“You could always move.”
Jenna’s hand slid out of his and she skated forward, wobbling a bit as she did. The cold hit her face and reddened her cheeks, made her breath escape in frosty clouds. The heightened color accented her beauty and made Stockton want to wrap her in his arms and warm her up. The silence between them was broken by the laughter of a child, the quiet conversation of a passing couple.
“This is nice,” Stockton said. Maybe if he established common ground again with Jenna he could get her to open up, because despite everything, he wondered about what was shadowing her deep green eyes. “I work so many hours at the restaurant that I never get time to do this sort of thing.”
“Everybody deserves time off.”
“True. But not everybody remembers that, especially when today is busier than yesterday.” He swung around her, skating backward so he could face her while they spoke. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”
She snorted. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“The month before I opened the restaurant, I spent a week on a beach. The entire experience of finding the location for Rustica, stocking the kitchen, choosing the décor, had reached a boiling point in me and I knew I’d be no good to the place if I didn’t take a few days off to just chill.”
The mention of the beach made him think back to the night Jenna had set up a mini beach on his patio. He’d been to real beaches a half dozen times since that night—and none of them had been as special as that one.
“Did you go with someone?” Jenna asked.
She didn’t look at him when she asked the question and he couldn’t read what was going on in her mind. “Do I detect jealousy?”
“Of course not.”
He didn’t believe that for a second. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Her gaze returned to his, and the fire he knew so well flamed in her emerald eyes. “And you didn’t answer mine,” she said.
He bit back a grin. “No, I didn’t go with anyone. I went alone.”
She nodded, but he thought he detected a flash of a smile on her face. Again he wondered why and whether he was reading something that wasn’t really there.
“I haven’t taken a vacation since I moved to New York,” she said after a while. “I kept meaning to, but the business sucked up all my time.”
They were speaking the same language. How odd, he thought, that they’d ended up leading parallel lives, hundreds of miles apart. “And now? Isn’t this time in Riverbend a vacation?”
She laughed. “Riverbend is not exactly a prime destination spot.�
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“Depends on who you talk to. Some people love small Indiana towns in the wintertime.”
She arched a brow.
“Okay, maybe not a lot of people, but some. And those who live here love this town.”
“Not everyone does.”
“Some people used to love it, and maybe if they give it a chance, they’ll love it again.”
Was he talking about the town? He’d damned well better be, because he didn’t want to fall in love with Jenna again, and vice versa. No matter what Aunt Mabel had said, he didn’t see a huge change in Jenna. A lot more tension in her shoulders, yes, and stress in the lines of her face, but that could all be because her business was struggling. What he didn’t see—what he’d never seen—was a desire in her for the same things it had turned out he wanted. Like a place to call home and put down some roots. They might be leading parallel lives, but they were living them on two different planets—and with two different ultimate goals.
“Are you trying to sell Riverbend to me?” she said.
“You used to like living here.”
“I never did, Stockton. I always wanted to leave.”
He shook his head, and pivoted until he was beside her again on the ice. “No, you always wanted to run away. That’s what you’re good at, Jenna, running.”
She let out a gust. “Me? You’re the runner, Stockton Grisham. The man who couldn’t plant his feet in one place for more than five minutes.”
“I’m planted here.”
“Are you?”
“Of course I am. I have a business, employees who depend on me, customers who—”
“But what about you, Stockton? Has that wanderlust gone away? Are you any more ready to settle down now than you were all those years ago?”
“I’m settled, Jenna.” But even as he said the words, he wondered how true they were. He lived in a barely decorated house. Spent so much of his day at work he rarely saw the sun. Couldn’t remember the last serious relationship he’d had. “But what about you? You come back here, supposedly to plan a party, but there’s more involved.”
