A Heart for the Holidays

by Dana Volney

  “You’re still in the medical field.” The hopefulness in his tone nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  He wanted her to find peace. Why didn’t he want it for himself? Why didn’t he want to heal if given the chance? In his shoes, she wouldn’t have to think it over or pull her name off a list.

  “You know, seeing what I can’t be every day almost makes it worse.” She’d never admitted that truth out loud before. The antiseptic smell of the hospital reminded her of the anticipation of the challenge she used to feel walking through the sliding doors. The men and women in white coats, with pens in their pockets, reminded her of rounds, when she’d meet her patients, get to know them, watch them recover.

  Holy crap. She’d gone about this all wrong. She’d never considered doing something outside the walls of a hospital. This could be the answer though. She needed a whole new start.

  A smile she couldn’t contain spread across her lips, and she leaned in, kissing Fisher smack dab on the mouth. “Thank you.” She pulled back, letting the enjoyment of her impulsive reaction to her epiphany sink into her bones.

  “For?”

  “I think the reason I’ve been wallowing this entire year is because I didn’t take myself out of that space. Every day I’m reminded of what I can’t have. I need to find something new.”

  “Sounds like something I’d say.” Fisher chuckled, reached his arm around, and laid it on the back of her chair. He touched her shoulder with his thumb ever so slightly. Technically, he was only touching her fluffy jacket, and the only reason she knew was because she’d heard the swish of the fabric. But still. The gesture was endearing. And made her want to start stripping some layers off—outside, in a park, in the middle of winter.

  Snow started to fall whimsically, each flake melting before the next came along. Tonight was more than she had bargained for—both sharing and caring. Fisher was more than she’d thought she’d ever find.

  • • •

  He rubbed his thumb over her puffy jacket. The dark navy color matched her eyes, and the gold of her scarf accentuated the pink of her cheeks. Her blond hair flowed over her coat—he hadn’t realized it was so long. She’d always had it pinned up.

  “How many of these lightings have you been to?” she asked.

  “None.”

  “What?” Her eyes brightened as her cheeks plumped up in a grin. “This is your first time?”

  “And it was perfect.” He winked automatically, clearly unable to help himself around her. He knew he was headed down a path he shouldn’t walk. Didn’t want to walk. But there was no stopping the words that wanted to come out of his mouth around Silver.

  Silver was a lady who was put together. Calculated. Precise. One he liked to be around.

  “I’d hate for your first time to be anything less than.” Her chin turned up, the Christmas lights making her face glow. Little snowflakes fell around them, and his chest warmed. He’d not felt this strongly even with Maggie’s mother. Which might’ve had something to do with their being so young and quick to fight. And then there was her whole “leaving when things got hard” bit that he’d allowed to jade him toward all relationships for the past ten years. Ten years. Damn, he’d let that woman ruin a good chunk of his life.

  But he couldn’t blame it all on her. There was Maggie’s diagnosis. Then his. Then the transplant and the subsequent failure. It didn’t seem fitting now to take a perfectly good heart away from the good guys on the list below him just so it could fuel the shell of a man he’d become. Pearly gates and streets of gold sounded like an upgrade.

  His quick, curt smile stung—how cold the night had become. He didn’t much feel like socializing any more.

  “If you didn’t come here for lights, what did you do to find your holiday spirit?” Silver continued.

  “What makes you think I don’t have this holiday spirit you speak of all year round?”

  He should live in the moment. That’s what he’d vowed to do when he decided to take his name off the list—not take any of his days for granted, because they were numbered.

  But living them fully didn’t mean he had to drag someone into his numbered days, take them down with him. And certainly not Silver, who already had enough to deal with in her own life. He never should’ve allowed himself to be around her so much in such a short amount of time.

  “You are quite the do-gooder year-round, but there is a special spark that only this specific time of year can bring.” Her gaze wandered to the cheer blinking all around them. Most of the people were gone—it was just them, surrounded by twinkling lights and snow.

  “Maybe it’s just you. Your natural spark.” He couldn’t help himself; he dropped his gaze to her lips and lingered too long. He wanted to kiss her, too. Kiss her glossy lips, trail his lips and the tip of his tongue down her creamy neck, and slip his arms around her hips.

  Damn his warring mind and body. He knew this was wrong, but he did nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop it. Her lips kept distracting him. Her small peck on his lips hadn’t been enough. What would they taste like? The answer to that question contradicted everything he’d set his mind to. Everything. He wanted to be in a bad mood and storm off, but he couldn’t. Not when she was practically in his arms.

  He swore he saw a nano-smile on her full lips. Her gaze fixed on his, silently prompting him to … what? Kiss her?

  He glanced behind her to break the moment. They shouldn’t even be having a moment. “Holiday parade. That usually kicked off the season. Then driving around to look at the lights on houses. There used to be this place up on the east side, a Santa funhouse.” The multicolored glow of lights around them was a good distraction from her beautiful eyes—ones that didn’t look on him with pity, because she had no idea he was dying. The decorations on the trees, and the lit Santas and reindeer speckled about were cheery. And calming. “This guy and his wife would decorate their two-story top to bottom, even open the side fence, because their yard was decked out, too. That’s when the spirit caught me, seeing Christmas through Mag—”

  His throat felt like a snake was slowly choking him to death. Megpie’s eyes. Her sassy brown eyes that matched his had always brought him happiness.

  Christmas through a child’s observation was pure joy. A whole different perspective. One long forgotten by the time adulthood was in full swing. Those four years Maggie was alive were the best he’d ever had. Probably ever would.

  “Through?” Silver turned in her seat, her lips not much farther than a small crane of his neck.

  Dammit, he needed to get it together. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t have enough energy to love someone else, to let them in only to have them shut out in the worst way possible. There was no coming back from death.

  “My daughter,” he said in a rushed breath as the snake continued to constrict.

  “I didn’t know you have a daughter.” She tucked her blond hair, curled at the ends, behind her ear. “How old is she?”

  The hopefulness in her eyes was almost enough to bring him to his knees—if Maggie had still been alive, would Silver have wanted to join their little family? Maggie would’ve adored Silver with her “princess hair,” to use a term Megpie was so fond of.

  He shook his head and felt his body completely deflate. “She died five years ago. When she was four.”

  Her hand jutted out and clenched the top of his thigh. “I’m so sorry.”

  “She loved Christmas and all of the decorations.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Maggie Elaine.”

  “As in Margaret?”

  “No.” A quick chuckle escaped his lips. “Just Maggie. My little Megpie. She was my ball of joy and always on the move.”

  “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.” Her gaze left his for the ground.

  “She was a preemie. Lung problems from the get-go, but everything seemed fine at first. It wasn’t until she was about one that things took a turn. Soon after that we found out she’d need a double lun
g transplant, and that took years.”

  He could practically see Silver’s mind at work, sorting it out from a doctor’s viewpoint. She remained silent, slightly bobbing her head as she took in the information.

  “I finally got word that she was a match. Things were looking good.” He’d finally, finally started to see a future with no hospitals, only raising his little girl doing normal, everyday activities. “Then they weren’t. Her body rejected the lungs, and it all happened so quickly. Felt like one day she was sitting up, asking for her dolly, the next day she was gone.”

  He didn’t even know if she’d heard him say good-bye.

  Tears threatened, because they always did when talking about his little girl and how she’d died—hooked up to all of those machines in a sterile hospital room. Awful. All awful. He wasn’t about to go out the same way. He was going to die on his own terms.

  “No one should ever have to go through what you did.”

  “No, they shouldn’t.” On either side of the equation. “The anniversary of her death is coming up, just after the new year. I bring her flowers. Pink carnations. She called them princess flowers.”

  “It sounds like you were a great dad.”

  “I like to think so,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Neither of them moved as silence settled over them, and suddenly he wasn’t so cold anymore. Talking about Maggie, telling Silver about his daughter, had warmed him inside and out.

  “What about your wife?” Her question nearly startled him out of a trance.

  “Wife?”

  “Maggie’s mother?”

  “We were never married. She left us when Megpie was diagnosed with chronic lung disease.”

  There one day, gone the next. Luckily for Maggie, Sharon came from a wealthy family, and her dad offered a substantial sum for him and Maggie to basically go away. He’d had no choice but to take the money; Maggie needed the surgeries, and the care was expensive. There’d been a small amount left over when Megpie died, and he’d used that to create the endowment that was sustaining CCH.

  “That’s horrible.”

  “I have no regrets. I don’t know what Sharon has.” He stood. He didn’t know how else to get away from all of the emotions clouding his mind, tightening his chest, and numbing his body. It was time to go home.

  chapter SIX

  “You know what sounds good right about now?” Silver turned in the passenger seat to face Fisher.

  His eyebrows rose in question as he pulled up to her home and put his SUV in park. She’d get her car in the morning—Lorelei could pick her up for Sunday brunch. Her parking garage was a considerable distance farther than where Fisher had parked, and his vehicle had heated seats.

  “Pumpkin pie,” she answered her own question.

  He turned his head away from her; silence filled the cab. She was pushing too hard. She needed to pull back. She just couldn’t with him. Not until she was able to tell him what she knew. Not until he decided to live.

  He turned back to her, rubbing the whole of his index finger over his bottom lip. “It just so happens that pumpkin is my favorite pie.” He cut the engine, halting the steady stream of heat, leaving her skin to feel the sting of the night as she opened her door.

  “I happen to have one sitting in my fridge. Homemade. Would you like to come in?”

  She was going with it. She didn’t want the night to end.

  This whole thing had started with her wanting to show Fisher that he still had a life to live, but now she was starting to find hers again. The future, her future, seemed brighter when he was around.

  “It’s never too late for pie. I think that’s a holiday rule.” He followed her up the stoop to the wraparound porch.

  She opened her front door and flipped on the light in the entryway. “It’s written in a book in the North Pole, I’m pretty sure. The living room is through there.” She pointed down the hall. “I’ll get us the pie. Do you like whipped cream?”

  “Definitely.” The silkiness in his answer drew warm lines down her back that swirled around her waist. She walked into the kitchen quickly before he saw her cheeks redden. She scooped out the pie and plopped it onto paper plates in a jiffy, then she grabbed the whipped cream can and forks on her way out.

  “I thought you’d have a tree up and your place decorated to the ceiling with Christmas,” he said as he took a plate and fork from her.

  She sat on the couch next to him, handing him the whipped cream before folding her legs on the cushion. “I didn’t feel like it this year.”

  “Maybe now that you’ve been to the tree lighting, you’ll get out your stuff.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for it. I’ve only unpacked what I’ve needed since moving back, and the rest is in poorly marked boxes in the garage.”

  She took a bite of pie then set her fork down on her plate. It had been a long day, and the familiar ache was returning. She’d have to remember her meds before bed.

  “Have you done all that you can for your hand—physical therapy, that sort of thing—or are you out of options?”

  “That last one.”

  “You must have been scared.”

  “Sometimes I still am.” She picked up her fork again, suddenly needing the comfort of the sugar high. He nodded and shoved pie—well, mostly a fork full of whipped cream—into his mouth.

  “I’m starting to realize that there is more out there than surgery.” She sighed and nestled further into her plush couch cushions. “Maybe I can find something else to love.”

  A flash of heat flitted across his eyes, and she set down her fork.

  He glanced down at his plate. “Any ideas?”

  “No clue.” She chuckled, but more out of nervousness than anything else.

  “Do you like cooking? This pie is great, by the way.”

  “I didn’t make it.”

  “You said it was homemade.”

  “I didn’t say by me. My mother picked it up at a bake sale today.”

  He laughed, a full-throated, belly laugh that made her smile. “Baking’s out. Okay. What about teaching? Could you teach in your field?”

  “I have been thinking about that more and more lately.” She did enjoy helping at the research hospital.

  “Good. Now we’re on a roll. And if you wanted away completely, there’s always things with makeup and hair and nails and all that stuff you beautiful women like to do.”

  Her neck warmed at his compliment. “Those things are more like hobbies for me.” She laughed. “Did you always want to do nonprofit work?”

  “Social work is right in that gray area. I never had an opinion either way.”

  “I can see little Fisher Tibbs helping families and kids cope with issues. Out to save the world.”

  “Nah, when I was a kid I wanted to be a fireman.”

  “It was the outfit, wasn’t it?”

  “The gear?” He winked. “It is pretty cool.”

  “What swayed you to go for social work?”

  “There are so many people who don’t have a voice. I wanted to be an advocate for them.”

  “Why children’s hunger?”

  “We have a lot of good nonprofits in the area that cover issues for kids and adults, but there was a gap for keeping kids fed at dinnertime and over the holidays. I wanted Maggie’s life to make a difference.”

  “Why didn’t you name it after her?”

  Darkness crossed his eyes. “I don’t usually talk about her.”

  “Why not?” Keeping that bottled up wasn’t healthy—she should know, she was well versed in the matter. But she really needed to settle down. If she pushed him too hard, he was going to stop being so open with her. “Whoa, sorry, that was forward.”

  “It’s difficult”—he blew out a breath of air—“and there aren’t a lot of people in my life I willingly spill my guts to.” Yet he’d told her about his Megpie—he could’ve sidestepped the details, but he hadn’t.

  �
�I’m the same. I have two close friends, and that’s about it for me. Well, Lorelei, Maisy, and Vincent, my brother. I respect keeping it close to the vest.”

  “I’m not sure if it makes each day easier or not, but that’s the route I’ve gone.”

  “Well, one day, when you’re ready, I’d love to hear more about her.” Silver shook the whipped cream container and sprayed on more so that she wouldn’t stare at him until he kept going. She wanted him to keep sharing. She wanted to know everything about Fisher Tibbs. And not because of her mission, but because he was a thoughtful, kind man with a killer smile that made her insides warm.

  “She had blond hair that bounced when she walked.” He smiled proudly. “And she loved yellow.”

  He leaned in, glancing down at her lips, which parted. The air grew thicker between them. “You have whipped cream …” He pointed to her cheek, then reached out and ever so gently wiped his thumb over the side of her lips.

  She leaned in, hot tingles spreading over her body and swirling around her. He moved a couple of inches, and she pressed her lips to his. The smoothness of her lips brushing against his turned the tingles to white-hot waves of need. She swept her lips over his again, and he opened his mouth to her, their tongues swirling together. She breathed in his scent, desperate to be consumed by him.

  Suddenly, he pulled back, his gaze laced with regret. Her chest tightened. Now she’d done it.

  “I have to go.” His brows wrinkled together, and he stood quickly, not touching her once.

  “Uh, okay.” She blinked and rubbed her lips together. “Sure.”

  “I have an early morning.” He was halfway to the door.

  “I guess I misread the situation.” Oh my goodness. Tears pulled at her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  “I don’t want to get close to you. I can’t.”

  “Why not?” She knew why. It was a dumb question. But maybe his answer wouldn’t be medical. She was up and on his heels.

  She’d started to fall for him. She’d known it from day one. But he was keeping her at arm’s length. He was nice and friendly and flirty, but he was holding back.