Mistletoe and Mr. Right

by Lyla Payne

  He nods, still pale. “I knew about the baby. That she lost it. I caught her tossing drinks in the trash a couple of times and she refused to ride in a really big horse show, so I put it together.” He cuts a glance at the Donnellys. “I thought she told Brennan, though.”

  “That poor girl,” Mrs. Donnelly reiterates, wiping tears from her eyes.

  We sit in silence, nothing left to say. After a few minutes, Molly starts stuffing discarded wrapping into a giant trash bag, the bright paper and stringy, happy bows out of place now that the family has been rocked. No one feels much like celebrating, Jesus’s birthday or not.

  Everyone slowly drifts from the room, Mrs. Donnelly and her daughter to the kitchen to see about breakfast, Mr. Donnelly to check on the animals, Grady in tow. I don’t have anything to do because this isn’t my house. Isn’t my family.

  “Aw, c’mon lass. No one looks good with a face as long as a horse’s.”

  I’ve almost forgotten Granddad Donnelly is here, too, but there he is leaning on his cane and looking at me with the kind of exasperation I reserve for my roommate when she barfs peppermint schnapps into the sink.

  “I’m worried, is all.”

  “Humph. Worried about yourself.” He shakes his head at me. “Sometimes roads in life don’t lead the place you think when you set out. Don’t be too daft to realize when you’ve gotten to where you belong, anyway.”

  He clomps off, back into the front room. A moment later the sounds of wrapping paper being torn finds my ears. I can’t help but smile at the thought of him in there tearing into his presents alone, even if he did just call me a horse face and spout nonsense.

  Anyone can see Brennan and Katie aren’t done. So obviously this road has led me to a very pretty dead end.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s hours before Brennan comes back. We didn’t even eat dinner together; Mrs. Donnelly left it all out in the kitchen for people to come through and fix plates, but Mr. Donnelly and Grady haven’t returned, either, not that I’ve seen. Maybe they’re avoiding the excess of estrogen.

  I’m sitting on the porch, bundled up in coats and hats and blankets, reading Wuthering Heights in the last rays of Christmas Day sunshine. It glints off the melting snow, little drops forming the soundtrack of my day as they fall off the gutters and splash into puddles. The wind has started to pick up, another storm brewing on the horizon, when Brennan traipses up and sits next to me on the padded porch swing.

  He’s soaked through and vibrating with tension, his fingers twisting together, knee jiggling, My boyfriend is normally as put together as I am, but right now everything about him is askew—hair out of place, dirt smudged on his pants and face—and my heart goes out to him.

  I cover his big hand with mine and he grabs onto it for dear life.

  “I was going to be a father.” The softness in his voice, the wonder, can’t overtake the raw edge of loss. There’s nothing to say so I don’t speak, just squeeze his hand tighter. “How could she not tell me?”

  It’s a real question. He turns his head toward me, searching for answers I don’t have. Can’t fathom. “I don’t know. It’s a pretty personal thing and it sounds like you had already decided to go to school in the States. She didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

  “That’s what she said, too, but it doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel damn well worse, to know that she didn’t think I could handle it.” His fingers tighten on mine. “I would have done the right thing.”

  “Exactly. Katie knows that, too. She wanted you to live your life.”

  “She can’t decide that for me!” He pulls away, running his hands through his hair so hard it stands up everywhere. “I never wanted to leave Fanore, to leave her. I only went abroad for school to get everyone to shut up.”

  I swallow hard, because only the most terrible sort of person would make this about her. But it stings, to hear that he’d be better off, happier, if he’d never met me at all.

  Brennan seems to realize the way his statement might affect me and turns, horror hanging on his already ravaged face. “I’m sorry …”

  He trails off, because we both know there’s nothing else to add to the sentiment. He’s sorry that he hurt my feelings, that the truth spilled out with no filter. Sorry that things have turned out this way.

  He’s just sorry. But it doesn’t change anything.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  An understanding stretches between us, an acknowledgment that this thing we had was real but it’s over, that maybe it was never going anywhere, anyway.

  “You know why I really came here?” I ask, still holding his hand.

  “Why?”

  “I was worried we weren’t moving fast enough. I wanted to make you see that I’d make the perfect wife after graduation.”

  The glance he gives me is full of his trademark amusement tinged with exasperation. “Oh, chicken. You had to know I wasn’t even on that wavelength.”

  I nod. “I think I did. It was desperation, flying all the way out here to surprise you. Because that’s how I get when things start to derail. When I can’t predict the outcome.” I bark a short laugh. “I certainly couldn’t have planned for any of this.”

  “Well, I might not have been ready to go ring shopping over the summer, but I never expected any of this to go down, either, I can promise you that.” He turns and our eyes meet, then he pulls me into a hug.

  “It’s over then, I guess?” I mumble against his shirt. It smells like sweat and some other girl’s tears.

  He pulls away, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not going back to school. It’s hard to say how things will end up with Katie and me at the moment, but she’s a mess. Never dealt with the whole thing because nobody knew the truth, and her parents are going to take it rough. She needs me.”

  My heart twists. Someday, I’ll find a guy who feels this way about me. Who understands what I need and is willing to give it to me no matter what I’ve done to hurt him.

  The thought makes me smile. “You’re a good guy, Brennan. She’s lucky to have you, and I’ll eat my hat if you two don’t end up together. So will half the people in this town, from what I hear. Maybe more.”

  He smiles back, but it’s sad around the edges. Distracted. “You’re going to find someone way better than me, I promise.”

  It’s odd that Grady’s face flashes in my mind at that moment. I take it inside with me and lay it beside me in bed, letting my tears fall. Grieving for the loss—not of Brennan, but all of my plans. I don’t have any backups in the works, but for the first time I think maybe that’s okay. I’m smart. I’m getting a college degree.

  Everything will be fine.

  *

  It takes me a few minutes to change my plane ticket to the earliest flight out the next day. It’s leaving from Knock, not Shannon, which is farther away, so I’m up and out the door before anyone else is awake. I leave a note for the Donnellys, thanking them for their hospitality. Last night I’d told Brennan I was leaving early, and he hadn’t argued except to tell me to be careful because a storm was blowing in.

  All the more reason to get out of here now.

  The rental car is right where I left it, and the dogs run off when the engine turns over, breaking the stillness of the snowy morning. I have to wait while the car warms up and melts the snow crusted on the windshield. A brief thought of staying crosses my mind, reinforced by the memory of navigating these roads in the rain the other night, but the weather could get worse. The snow started not that long ago—if I wait it out, I might not be able to leave at all.

  Decision made, I back out of the spot and step on the gas, navigating my way down the winding lane toward the main road with care. The livestock stay clear of my car but my tires slip off the lip of the road and into thick drifts more than once. My hands sweat on the wheel and I pray that the main road shows up sooner rather than later.

  When I reach the road, the snow isn’t any shallower. It was stupid to
think that in a town this small someone would be out plowing roads the day after Christmas. Main is an arbitrary word around here.

  The GPS on my phone can’t find a signal, so I pull over and snatch a map out of the glove box. To get to the airport in Knock I’m supposed to go back through Ballyvaghan, so I take a left on the road out of Fanore.

  I’m taking a curve as slow as humanly possible when the tires slide again. The brakes lock up when I step on them, and my heart jams into my throat.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” I chant, twisting the wheel right, then left to no avail. On one side of the road is a rocky hillside that goes pretty much straight up, and on the other, one of those now-depressing stone walls is the only thing separating me from the shoreline.

  The thick snow on the side of the road stops the front of my rental car from smacking into anything hard enough to crunch it, and for a moment I sit there, limbs trembling with adrenaline, swallowing my heart back into my chest.

  My worst nightmare comes true when I put the car in reverse, step on the gas, and … nothing happens. The tires spin over and over but they’re off the road and deep in a snowdrift, so I finally give up and wrap my hands around the useless steering wheel while the heater blows stuffy air in my face.

  Tears sting my eyes but I blink them back, rolling my eyes at my own drama. I put my shoulders back and my mind to the task at hand. The car will run out of gas eventually, and once the heat goes off it’s going to get real cold, real fast. My suitcase is in the trunk, which means I’ve got more layers of clothes. A few packages of crackers and at least one bottle of water are lurking in my carry-on bag in the backseat, so I won’t starve. The snow outside will melt in an empty bottle, too, if it comes to that.

  My heart rate slows as confidence builds up from my center. I’ve got this. The plan to spend an Irish Christmas winning over my boyfriend might be a bust, but this place sure as hell isn’t going to kill me on the way out.

  I get out of the car and dig through my suitcase, dragging out a second sweater and a warmer pair of gloves, then wrap my red pashmina around my neck and face. I crouch down to inspect the back set of tires. Given that this tiny little toy of a car is likely rear-wheel drive, they’ve got to be my problem.

  I’m thinking that maybe I could dig out some snow, or maybe use the car’s floor mats underneath them to gain some traction, but even those long shots are decimated when it becomes clear that the rear axle is high centered on something—snow, a rock—and the tires aren’t even touching the ground.

  “Well, fuck a duck,” I tromp back to the driver’s side—then around to the actual driver’s side—and kicking snow off my boots before climbing back inside the car.

  My fingers ache from the chill, and I hold them in front of the vents for a few minutes, then down my bottle of water. I fill it with snow so it will be melted when I’m ready for more, then I take a deep breath.

  It’ll probably take me more than two hours to traipse back to the Donnellys—or even to a closer residence where I can use a phone—but there’s nothing else to be done.

  “Well, let’s go Jessie. Onward and upward.” All I know is that I’m getting to the damn airport.

  I’m about to shove open the door when a strange, tinkling sound meets my ears. It sounds like sleigh bells, a jingle that I’ve only heard in movies and daydreams, and if I was anywhere but Ireland I would dismiss it as crazy fancy.

  But I am in Ireland and when I step out of the car, Grady Callaghan leaps off the sleigh, giving Garth a pat on the rump and performing an awkward, sweeping bow.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my jaw falling open. It’s like a Christmas card.

  He brushes snow off his coat and I can’t help noticing his coveralls. And thinking they’re kind of sexy. “Got yourself in a bit of a pickle, right? And what is my latest résumé entry?”

  “Showing up when I’m embarrassing myself?” I laugh, unable to stop myself.

  “Yes, but we’ve got to quit meeting like this,” he jokes, bending to inspect the rear tires. “Turn that thing off. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “No.”

  “Jessie, the thing is stuck in the shuck. We’ll have to pull it off, and I don’t have any straps in the sleigh,” he explains, more patience in his tone than I probably deserve.

  “I mean, I know the car isn’t going anywhere but I need to get to the airport.”

  “Yeah, I know. We can drive the sleigh back and get my truck.”

  I narrow my gaze at him and put my hands on my hips, realizing he never really answered the question of what he’s doing out here. In a sleigh. “Where were you going?”

  “What do you mean?”

  His obvious stalling makes me roll my eyes. “You were just out for a lovely morning ride in your neighbor’s sleigh?”

  “Oh, that.” He tugs on the hem of his stocking cap and bites his lower lip, looking off toward the ocean before snapping his blue, blue eyes back to my face. They linger, hesitant, and what might be a blush touches his cheeks before he shrugs. “Coming after you.”

  It’s not the answer I expect but it’s the one I wanted. “You were coming after me? In a sleigh?”

  “You were so excited about getting a sleigh ride the other day and now it’s finally snowed enough, so I didn’t want you to miss out.” His cheeks redden further. “And I’m coming after you in a sleigh because I couldn’t let you leave Ireland without telling you something very important.”

  I smile, hot all over and with a sudden and uncommon urge to tease. “What, pray tell, is important enough to chase someone down in a snowstorm?”

  He shifts his weight from foot to foot, then seems to make a decision. “All right, then.”

  Then Grady Callaghan steps forward, cups my jaw with both of his big, gloved hands, and draws my lips to his.

  My fingers and toes are cold but my chest boils, blood swirling fast through my veins. My surprise fades as quickly as snowflakes on warm skin, and I find myself kissing him back as though there was never another option. The lips that were tentative, tasting, maybe even asking turn hungry against mine, devouring like it’s his very last meal. My own lips part, tongue eager to allow him in, to drink in the fresh, heady wine that is Grady—a boy who intrigues me but was all wrong.

  It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way his mouth feels against mine, how his arms hold me tight so our bodies mold together through layers and layers, and the surprising strength of the need spilling through me.

  He pulls away, his hands falling to my shoulders. Desire and curiosity fight for prominence in his bright gaze, neither winning out until I give him what feels like a dazed smile. “Oh, good. You’re not going to pop me, then.”

  “Not for the kiss, anyway.” My mind swirls, trying to figure out what this means, whether I’m a terrible person for enjoying Grady so much when I’ve just broken up with Brennan, and what we’re supposed to do now.

  “Stop.”

  “Stop what?” I ask, biting my lower lip.

  “Worrying about a million things neither of us have any control over. I kissed you because I hate the thought of you walking out of my life. Without at least asking whether you might want to keep in touch with me after you get home.”

  My heart thuds at the prospect. At how this little kiss, this chance encounter, feels like something so much more enormous. At the possibility that with Grady’s help, I could learn to sit back and see what happens instead freaking out about all the things that could go wrong.

  Because he’s showing me that sometimes things go right even when you don’t ask them to.

  “I don’t want to not see you again, either.” I give him a playful look. “Not that you need to hear that.”

  “I’ll always need to hear that, Jessie MacFarlane.” He draws me against his chest, hugging me tight and bending to bury his nose in my hair. “But I am freezing my arse off, so how about we get in the sleigh.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” I squeal, runn
ing over and letting him boost me up into the red velvet interior. It smells like a bouquet of musk and man and winter—and yeah, a little bit like a barn. The woolen blanket on the seat scratches my hands but once Grady is under it with me, his thigh pressed against mine, I can’t come up with a single complaint. “No hot chocolate?”

  “Good Lord, who do you think you’re dealing with here?” He reaches into the back and pulls a thermos from under the seat, tossing it my lap before he flicks the reins.

  “You brought hot chocolate.”

  He looks over, cheeks still red, but maybe it’s from the wind. “If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I take my sleigh rides very seriously.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Okay. Let’s get you to the airport.” Grady urges the horses into a trot and the snowy morning rushes past my cheeks, fingers warm around the thermos.

  I don’t expect the relief over his not pushing the issue or trying to get me to stay. It’s refreshing, that Grady understands so much without my having to tell him—that my whole life is rearranging, and dealing with unexpected feelings or a new relationship, no matter how lovely, is going to take time for me to sort out.

  It kind of makes me want to jump him, but he’s kind of busy. Driving a sleigh.

  “Oh, and the airport is in Knock,” I tell him, snuggling into his side.

  Grady looks down, blue eyes shining with happiness. “That’s a bit beyont a tiny jaunt, you know?”

  “I know. You still up for me?” I hold my breath because maybe I’m not just asking about the ride to the airport. I might be changing, might be considering a different path, but I’m not stupid enough to deny I have issues that are going to take a while to dispel—and Grady knows every single one of them. There’s no point in pretending I’m perfectly fine.

  Acting as though I had it all together didn’t get me anywhere with Brennan and this thing with Grady, if it happens, is going to be different.

  He gives me a smile, dimples popping, as though he’s read every thought in my neurotic head. “Oh, I’m thinking that being up for you isn’t ever going to be an issue.”