by Jane Porter
“Yes!”
“Can I give you a hug?”
“Yes.”
Whitney crouched on the carpet and Daisy moved into her arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Thank you for my presents,” Daisy whispered.
“You are most welcome,” Whitney whispered back.
When the hug ended, Whitney rose, but Daisy slipped her hand into hers, her small warm fingers wrapping around Whitney’s. Whitney gave Daisy’s hand a little squeeze. Daisy squeezed back and Whitney felt a rush of love as well as a wash of gratitude. She was grateful that the bond was still there, and perhaps it was slight and fragile, but it was something. It was enough. It’d give them a chance to build a new relationship, one that would hopefully weather time and life’s storms.
As Cormac carried the tray of popcorn and drinks towards the theater, he glanced at Whitney and their gazes locked and held. His eyes were warm, and the corner of his mouth curled. There was so much intensity in his eyes that her insides did another crazy rollercoaster loop-de-loop, but this surge and flip had nothing to do with Daisy and everything to do with Cormac’s smile.
Daisy sat between them at the movie, and then afterwards wanted to hold each of their hands as they walked to the Italian restaurant Rocco’s on Church Street for dinner. Cormac said it was a couple blocks away, on the opposite side of Main Street as if you were heading to Bramble.
Whitney didn’t mind, thinking the walk would be good after the bucket of popcorn. She wasn’t yet hungry for dinner but also wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Daisy and Cormac.
They snapped and zipped their coats and Cormac wrapped Daisy’s scarf around her neck before putting her mittens on her hands.
Whitney’s lips twitched. He was such a doting dad.
He caught her amused smile and warned, “Don’t say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re surprised I don’t tape her in bubble wrap.”
Whitney grinned. “Who says that?”
“Oh, just about all of my brothers.”
She did laugh now. “I think it’s sweet. But Cormac, little girls can be just as tough as boys. She’s a person, and not made of glass.”
“So you say,” he said, sounding amused, too.
Rocco’s was just opening for dinner when they arrived. It was early, not quite five thirty, and they had the restaurant to themselves.
“Daisy loves this place,” he said, helping her with her coat.
“It’s like Italy,” Daisy said with the extreme confidence of a four-year-old.
“I’ve never been to Italy,” Whitney answered, “so it’s a good thing we came here.”
Tuscan landscapes covered the faux plaster walls, with trompe l’oeil fountains and statues painted in corner niches. The ceiling featured a trellis with vines and clusters of oversized burgundy red grapes. Red-and-white-checked cloths covered each of the tables, topped by the obligatory red candle burning brightly in an empty Chianti bottle.
The interior was a tad cliché, but at the same time, it exuded warmth and charm. Whitney immediately understood the appeal to a little girl. It appealed to her, too.
Peeling her coat off, she hung it on the back of her wooden chair and sat down. She hadn’t thought she was hungry but suddenly she craved bruschetta, or pasta, or whatever that incredible buttery-garlic smell was coming from the kitchen.
“This is fun,” she said as Cormac pushed Daisy’s chair in and then took a seat, too.
“Haven’t been here in a while,” Cormac said. “This was a family favorite. Rocco’s has been here forever. My grandfather Sheenan used to bring Dad here as a boy, and then he and Mom would bring us.”
Daisy tipped her head back. “I like the grapes.”
Whitney looked up. “They do look good, don’t they?”
“They’re not real, though,” she added sorrowfully. I tried to eat them when I was a baby. But they’re just plastic.”
“But now you know,” Cormac said. He glanced at Whitney. “Everything here is good. Everything’s homemade. All the pasta is made fresh daily.”
“Any recommendations?” she asked, feeling that funny little flutter in her middle as his eyes met hers.
He smiled lazily, eyes glinting, broad shoulders shifting. “Depends what you like.”
The flutter in her middle became a wild thing, setting her pulse racing, making her heart pound. “You know me, I’m easy.”
His brows lifted. “Good. Then you won’t be disappointed, no matter what you order.”
*
They walked back to the Graff with Daisy between them, with Cormac and Whitney each holding one of her hands. Daisy wanted them to swing her and they’d count, 1, 2, 3 and then lift her off the ground. Each time she’d go a little higher, be carried a little farther and she’d squeal with laughter.
They were lifting her and swinging her as they crossed Front Street when suddenly a truck came flying down the street and squealed around the corner, nearly taking them out.
In one swift motion Cormac dragged Daisy up into his arms, and yanked Whitney violently backwards, sending them crashing down on the curb. Cormac took the brunt of the fall. Whitney yelped as her elbow and knee hit the ground but at least they were safe.
Cormac shouted something at the truck as it gunned down the street, but the truck was long gone, either oblivious or just uninterested in how close it’d come to running them all over.
*
“You okay?” Cormac asked, standing and extending a hand to Whitney.
She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.
“Yes.” She rubbed her elbow as she got to her feet. “That was crazy. Thank goodness you have fast reflexes.”
Cormac’s jaw thickened. He was livid. “There is no excuse for that. Incredibly stupid, reckless driving.”
“Stupid,” Daisy repeated.
Cormac exhaled and glanced down at Daisy, giving her a little jiggle in his arms. “Do you hurt anywhere?”
“No. But he was stupid.” She smiled up at Cormac. “Right, Daddy?”
“That’s why you always have to look both ways before crossing the street, Daisy. You have to pay attention. That driver wasn’t.” Cormac shot Whitney another narrowed, troubled glance. “You sure you’re okay?”
She could feel his tension. He was really upset. “Yes,” she said. “I’m fine, I promise.” And then suddenly she understood what was happening. She understood his tension.
This wasn’t just about the truck that had gone speeding down the road. This was about Las Vegas, and the taxi that had lost control, crashing into April and Daryl’s limo. He was reliving the accident.
“We are all good,” she said quietly. “We’re here, one piece.”
And yet she, too, felt the past return. Memories flooded her of the weekend they spent in Las Vegas for the renewal of Daryl and April’s vows.
Her memories of the weekend were fragmented, told to her while she recovered in the hospital. She’d forgotten most of what had happened, her memory of the weekend damaged in the accident.
She remembered landing at the Las Vegas airport, and checking into the MGM Grand Hotel. She remembered the late lunch by the pool the next afternoon and then heading in the limo for the wedding chapel. And that’s all she remembered without others filling in the missing pieces.
She didn’t remember the service at the chapel. She didn’t remember getting back into the limo after. The accident happened on the way home from the dinner following the wedding at the chapel.
The limousine had just dropped Cormac off at the Four Seasons, his hotel, and was pulling back out onto the Strip when broadsided by a cab. The limo burst into flames. April died. Daryl died. Whitney was hurt. But Cormac was okay. And of course, Daisy was safe, because she was home in Denver with a sitter. But Whitney had to be told the grim details over and over because her memory wouldn’t retain the information.
*
Whitney had said she was fin
e, but she’d turned awfully pale and Cormac was worried.
Whitney wasn’t just anyone. She was Daisy’s godmother and long before that, his girlfriend.
Even when she became his ex-girlfriend she was still important.
She was the only woman who’d ever gotten under his skin. The only woman who had tempted him to drop his armor. The one that had very briefly made him want…more.
He’d even bought her an engagement ring. Taken her to dinner. Had the proposal all planned out. But then something during the dinner unsettled him. A couple a table away quarreled throughout their meal, their tense, taut expressions, rise and fall of voices, the angry scrape of chairs made Cormac’s blood freeze.
He froze. He didn’t want to be that man. He didn’t want to live with that unhappy woman. He didn’t want to be the man that made a woman so desperately unhappy. And he would.
His father had made his mother unhappy. His father had disappointed their mother. He knew. He knew because he’d read letters she’d written, letters she’d hidden away but he—the writer and reader in the family—had found them and read them all and her anguish scared him. She regretted her choices. Regretted her marriage. Regretted even motherhood.
She loved her sons but she would have been better alone. She would have been better a teacher or a social worker. She would have done something positive with her life…
And so that night at dinner, the ring remained in Cormac’s coat pocket. He never proposed. Whitney never even knew he’d planned on proposing.
He broke up just days later. She was devastated. She’d loved him. He knew she’d loved him and had wanted to spend her life with him.
He retreated to escape her pain. She fought for him. So he pushed her away, hard. They were not a couple. They would never be a couple. He was her boss. She was his subordinate. That’s all they were. End of story.
This time it worked. She stopped reaching out. She turned in her notice. She tried to move on.
Right around then, April and Daryl decided to renew their vows now that Daryl was back from Afghanistan. They asked Cormac and Whitney to join them in Last Vegas for the ceremony.
They’d had a courthouse wedding the first time. This time they wanted Las Vegas pomp and so Cormac was to be Daryl’s best man and Whitney, the Maid of Honor.
Unthinkable such tragedy for what had been a joyous day. And no matter what others said, he couldn’t seem to forgive himself for surviving, walking away from the accident unscathed.
It was years before he realized he was wrong. He hadn’t escaped the accident unscathed. He lived with guilt, endless guilt, for not being in the limo at the time of the crash, because maybe if he’d been there he could have done something for the others. Or maybe, if he’d died, Daryl and April might have lived and Daisy would have been raised by her real parents.
*
It wasn’t until she reached her room that Whitney realized she was still carrying the to-go bag with Daisy’s kid pizza.
Whitney texted Cormac letting him know she had the pizza and did he want her to drop it off at the front desk, or…?
He replied that Daisy would probably snack on a slice before bed and would Whitney mind bringing it to the room? He sent her his room number.
Whitney took the stairs up a floor and walked down the hall to the room with the sign Copper Mountain Suite. He had a little doorbell and she pressed it.
Cormac opened the door a few moments later, his blue plaid shirt all the way unbuttoned revealing an impressive chest with pecs that gave way to an even more impressive set of six pack abs.
She tried not to stare at his torso. He’d always carried muscle but he looked even better now than she remembered. All that muscle…all that tan skin…
She held the bag out. “Pizza,” she sang, trying to cover the fact that she was a tad flustered by his very appealing body.
“Thank you,” he said, his deep voice husky and gravelly, putting vivid pictures in her head.
Heat surged through her. Her skin felt hot all over. “My pleasure,” she said tightly.
“I feel like I should tip you…or something.”
She heard the way he paused and then his inflection when he said or something. Her imagination was working overtime. She could only think hot and sexy thoughts.
Suddenly he leaned forward and slid his hand behind her head. His head dropped and his lips covered hers.
It wasn’t a shy or tentative kiss. His lips were firm and warm and he kissed her as if he knew her, and remembered her and she shivered because it felt so right, even though it was so wrong.
She couldn’t kiss him, shouldn’t kiss him, and yet the pressure of his lips was achingly familiar. She lifted a hand to his cheek, breathing him in, her heart hurting. She’d once loved him so much. She’d never been happier than with him. As the kiss deepened her eyes burned and her chest squeezed tight.
Lock this away, she told herself, save the memory but end it now…
You must end this now.
And she did. She drew back, crossing her arms over her chest as if to protect her heart. She felt shattered and she didn’t know why. He was the past. The past. And there was no place for him in the present.
Couldn’t be.
She curled her fingers into fists, nails digging into her palms. “That was wrong.”
He didn’t look at all apologetic. “So wrong but so right,” he countered, leaning against the doorframe, his huge body dwarfing her.
“No.” She hardened her voice. “And that can’t happen again.” She sounded flinty to her own ears. “I’m not single. Not available. And not interested in you.”
“You kissed me back.”
She swallowed hard. “It was the wine.”
“It wasn’t the wine. You had one glass.”
“I’m a lightweight.”
“You’re a liar, and I could prove you wrong right now—”
“And I’d hate you,” she interrupted hoarsely. “Do we really want to go there? Do we need to ruin everything?” She turned around and walked away, eyes burning like mad, chest on fire.
Chapter Nine
‡
She spent way too long trying to fall asleep that night. Whitney tossed and turned trying to get comfortable, trying to relax, trying not to think of the kiss.
And yet at the same time, that kiss was all she wanted to think about. She wanted to let herself feel it…because it was amazing. She hadn’t wanted it to end, which is what scared her. Jason was a decent kisser but he didn’t make her pulse pound or her body come alive.
He didn’t make her heart ache.
He didn’t make her want…or hope.
While Cormac made her want so much…
Still.
She bunched her pillow beneath her cheek, squeezing it tight, squeezing all the emotion she was feeling into a little ball, before locking it inside.
It took her another hour to fall asleep, and when she did, her sleep was fitful at best.
She dreamed of Daisy and Cormac all night long. Some of the dreams were sweet and some of the dreams were strangely realistic but others were filled with angst and anxiety, dreams where Cormac was getting married and Daisy was the flower girl and then Cormac’s bride turned and she was very pregnant with a huge baby bump and Cormac was looking at Whitney mouthing sorry.
Waking from the last dream, Whitney rolled over onto her side and pulled the covers high up her chest and laid there, pulse pounding and heartsick.
It was too much being here in the in the same hotel with him. It was too much spending alone time with him. Too much going to movies and having dinner and walking with Daisy as if they were together…a family…
But they weren’t. She didn’t belong.
She had to do something to end the familiarity and intimacy. Needed to create distance and space so that her first thought in the morning and her last thought at night was not about him.
If he was going to be staying here at the Graff until his house was read
y, she needed to find someplace else to live. This wouldn’t work, bumping into each other all the time. It might be convenient from a business standpoint, but she’d much rather have to rent a car or walk across town, than run into Cormac every time she turned around.
Eventually Whitney fell back asleep and when she woke again it was bright outside, the sun playing peek-a-boo from behind gray clouds.
This time she couldn’t remember her dreams and she was glad. She was also glad it was morning so she could get up and get going and find a place to stay that would be her place, not Cormac’s.
After showering and dressing, Whitney grabbed a copy of The Copper Mountain Courier, the local newspaper, from the front desk and skipped down the front steps of the hotel to get breakfast on Main Street.
She ended up at Main Street Diner across from Marietta’s old courthouse, but was surprised at how busy the diner was, considering it was a sleepy November morning. Not wanting to wait for a table, Whitney took a seat at the counter.
She ordered eggs and bacon and a cup of coffee and sipped the coffee while reading the paper waiting for her breakfast to arrive. Snow was in the forecast, the storm expecting to dump a good foot or two in the coming days.
She read the article on the front page of the community section about the parade next weekend and then a piece on the Marietta Stroll the weekend after. This year the gingerbread house competition would be held at the Graff instead of the bank.
Whitney enjoyed the small town news. So different from what she was used to reading at home.
Turning to the classified section, she skimmed the ads looking at furnished studio apartments and Rooms for Rent. There wasn’t much available, at least not on a short-term basis.
“Mind if I join you?” A deep voice asked at her elbow.
She glanced up to discover Kris Krinkles at her side. This morning he was dressed in a cherry red flannel shirt, sturdy dark denim jeans, and heavy boots. With his full snowy beard, thick white hair, and friendly blue eyes he looked like the real thing. He made her wish he were the real thing. Wouldn’t life be better if there was a real Santa Claus and magic hats that could bring snowmen to life?
“Please do,” she said, folding her newspaper in half so it’d take up less room. “It’d be great to have some company.”
