by Olivia Miles
“He was the best,” Grace said quietly, and immediately Luke regretted saying anything. It was too soon. Too fresh. He knew better than anyone how long the mourning period could be. “You meant a lot to him,” she continued, surprising him slightly.
Luke managed a sad smile, feeling touched at the generosity in her statement. “Well, the feeling was mutual.”
“Sometimes I was almost jealous of you,” Grace admitted.
“Jealous of me?” Luke darted his gaze to her, but she was staring out the window, her attention focused well beyond the confines of the car.
“Oh, you know. Three daughters.” She sighed. “He’d never admit it, but I’m sure he always wanted a son. You were like the one he never had.”
“Oh, now. He adored you girls.”
Grace smiled, seeming satisfied with the reassurance. “You’re right.”
They lapsed into silence as they turned into town—the decorations serving as an easy distraction. Luke scowled as they wound through the streets. The snow was letting up and the wonderland was in full view, made even more spectacular by the fresh blanket of whiteness that lent an almost eerie hush to the quaint storefronts. Each tree was wrapped in twinkling lights, each lamppost in pine garland and red velvet ribbon. A life-size depiction of Santa and his reindeer flew over the town square. Each shop window was decked out for the annual window display contest, and they didn’t stop at wreaths or holly or a simple candle in the window.
They didn’t stop until there was nearly a power outage, he thought, grimacing.
“Oh, well, look at this,” Grace mumbled with clear disdain.
Luke looked at her quizzically. “I thought you loved this type of thing.”
“That’s my mother you’re thinking of, not me,” she corrected him.
“I seem to recall you getting pretty fixated on winning that igloo-building contest one year. You even drew up blueprints.” He grinned at the memory of Grace bent over the table in his mother’s kitchen, her eyes earnest and stoic when she informed him exactly how they were going to win. He always loved her determination—the way she could set her mind to something and see it through to completion. The way she stayed focused, and didn’t let anyone sway her resolve.
He supposed that’s why she’d gone so far in life at such a young age. Why Briar Creek could never be enough for her.
“Well,” Grace huffed. “That was a long time ago.”
“I guess I figured you came back for Christmas seeking this out. All this… spirit.”
“I don’t exactly have much Christmas spirit this year,” she replied tersely.
“Then what do you know,” he said with a small chuckle. “We have something in common, after all.”
Grace looked at him. “You don’t feel up for it this year either?”
Not this year. Not last. Luke fixed his eyes on the road, pulling to a stop at the intersection. “Nope,” he said simply. It didn’t seem like the time or place to elaborate.
After a long pause, Grace said quietly, “We have more in common than our lack of Christmas spirit, you know.” A lot more, came the unspoken words.
Luke took a long, hard look into the depths of her large, green eyes, hating the shadow of hurt that passed through them. “I know,” he said, holding her gaze until he began to feel something he shouldn’t. It felt too familiar to be here with her like this. After all these years, he’d figured he was safe, that they would feel like strangers when they met again. Instead it felt like old times, and the ease of their conversation only solidified the depth of their connection. It felt like the past five years had never happened—
He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t think that way. It wouldn’t be fair. Or right.
“I’m sorry about Helen,” Grace said, as if reading his thoughts.
He ground his teeth. The sound of Grace’s voice uttering his wife’s name felt wrong… awkward. It felt like a betrayal, even now, after all this time.
“I know you probably don’t believe me,” Grace continued, “but I am truly sorry. No one deserves to die that young.”
Nope, they didn’t. Luke took a hard right down the next street. Chuck’s Auto Service was at the end of the block. Their time together was nearing its end. Although, he thought grimly, he supposed their time had ended long before tonight. “You staying at your mom’s?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“I’ll let Chuck know you need a tow and then I’ll drop you off.”
“Just drop me off at the bookstore,” she told him.
Luke froze. “The bookstore?”
Grace gestured toward the next intersection. “If you bring me over to Main Street Books, I can call Jane from there. It won’t take long for her to come and get me. I’ll call Chuck while I wait.”
He nodded slowly, focusing on the road as his mind reeled. Didn’t she know? Hadn’t someone told her? Obviously not.
“It’s probably not open right now,” he lied.
“Well, it’s worth a try. Besides, it’s not even five thirty, as you were so quick to point out earlier.”
“Most places in town close early around this time of the year. Maybe you don’t remember—”
“You’re going to miss the turn!” she cried out, and reluctantly he turned the wheel, easing off the accelerator until the car crept to a stop in front of Main Street Books. The front windows were dark, a stark contrast from the sparkling storefronts that lined Main Street, and the light that had once illuminated the front stoop was off. He could barely make out the brass letters of the sign; only a few obvious books haphazardly arranged in the display case gave insight to its purpose.
“Closed. See.” That was all he would say on the subject.
Grace was already unfastening her seat belt, and as she reached for the door handle and began to climb out, Luke scrambled to do the same. Sooner or later she was going to find out about her father’s bookstore, but he didn’t want to be here when that happened. She blamed him for enough already.
“Maybe they closed early today. There’s a key hidden,” she said, bending down to lift a pot that in the spring might have held flowers but was now covered with snow.
He held his breath and waited, wondering what she would think when she went inside, saw its current state.
“No key!” she exclaimed to his relief. She stood, frowning, staring at the pot. “It used to be there. I’m sure of it!”
Luke anxiously glanced through the glass panes in the door, to the stacks of books beyond. He had to get her away from this place. This wasn’t the way for her to find out.
“Ah, well, let me drive you home,” he suggested, forcing a casual grin and hoping she didn’t sense the eagerness in his tone. He thrust his hands in his pockets, turning his back to shield himself from the howling wind that cut through his coat.
“That desperate to get away from me, huh?” She shot him a disapproving look and brushed past him to a large paned window, cupping her hands on either side of her face as she pressed her nose to the glass. The interior of the store was dark, the light from the iron streetlamp was dim, and Luke doubted very much she would see anything inside other than a few shadows. He hoped not, at least.
He shifted his weight on his feet as she searched under another empty pot, traced her finger over the top of the chipped and fading door frame, and jiggled the door handle one more time. With mounting unease, his gaze roamed from Main Street Books to the equally dark storefront adjacent to it.
He closed his eyes quickly, steeling himself against the biting wind, against the pain that was lodged in some deep, untouchable part of him. This was a street full of memories. Full of possibilities now gone. They shouldn’t be here.
“We should get going. Chuck’s going to be heading out soon, and you don’t want your car stuck on the road overnight. There’s no telling how much more snow we’re expecting.”
Grace lazily turned to face him, and he was struck at the disappointment in her e
yes. She looked tired, deflated, and for a moment he forgot where they were. He’d seen that look once before, the last time he’d seen her. She stood there, the glow of the sun reflecting off her hair, her eyes full of hope, her lips still parted from their kiss, and he’d watched in agonizingly slow motion as the light left her face and her smile faded, until the girl he had known, the girl he had loved, was lost.
Catching the empty storefront in his peripheral vision, he stiffened and began to turn back to the car. “It’s late. We should go.”
Grace glanced wistfully back at the shop, finally giving a defeated shrug. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.”
Luke watched warily as she maneuvered her way over the snowbanks that had gathered near the curb, pausing now and then to look over her shoulder. Her dad’s bookstore meant everything to her. He could still remember finding her there after school, so engrossed in whatever book she was reading that she usually wouldn’t even notice he had come in. Ray would often be roaming the aisles, shelving books or going through inventory lists, humming some tune. Grace would always claim he embarrassed her with his singing, but Luke knew better. She was a daddy’s girl, and Ray could do no wrong. It wasn’t only because of her love for books that Grace spent so much time here; it was because this was the one place she could have that special time with her father, away from the rest of the family. It was their place. A room full of happy times. And now it was gone. Just like Ray himself.
Luke cursed under his breath. It would kill her to know that the shop was closed, not just for the night, but for good. This place meant more to her than four walls and a roof. More to her than anyone, other than himself, could really understand.
He forced a grin. “Shops around here close early during the holiday season. This isn’t the big city, Honeybee.”
His pulse skipped at the ease of his words, the slip of his tongue. Silence stretched as he chastised himself. He had no business calling her that; he should have been more in control.
“I haven’t been your Honeybee in a very long time,” she said coolly as she climbed back into the car. The anger in her tone cut him straight to the bone. Any warmth in their unexpected reunion turned suddenly cold, serving as a reminder of how deep their history went. Their bond might be permanent, but it had severed a long time ago.
He set his jaw. “Force of habit.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” she said curtly.
Oh, I don’t intend to. Luke slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. He wasn’t sure which was worse: feeling like she was still the girl who knew him inside out, or feeling like she was a total stranger. That he meant nothing to her anymore.
But Grace Madison could never be nothing to him. And that was just the problem.
CHAPTER
3
Honeybee!
Grace stared out the window, shielding her face with the damp clumps of her hair, and watched the town, lit up and sparkling, whirr by.
She blinked rapidly, hoping Luke couldn’t see how greatly he had shaken her. It was a nickname he’d come up with when they were kids, when she’d been cast in the role of a big, fat, yellow-striped bumblebee for the town’s summer dance festival. She was twelve years old and all the other girls were playing beautiful flowers or butterflies, but not she. While they were gracefully floating around in gauzy, pastel-hued chiffon dresses, she was stuffing herself into a padded black and yellow leotard, her face hot with humiliation. Before it was her turn to go onstage, she’d hidden behind a group of hydrangea bushes at the far end of the park that was hosting the event and wept off all the makeup her mother had so carefully applied.
Luke was the stagehand back then, since his mother ran the dance studio, and when he’d found her crying he’d wiped at her tears and vowed he would never again allow his mother to cast the most beautiful girl in Briar Creek as the ugly duckling. And Grace knew then and there that he was the one.
It would take him two years to start looking at her as something other than his friend, but he still hadn’t forgotten his first impression, and by then she almost didn’t mind his little term of endearment.
Honeybee. She hadn’t thought of that nickname in years, and she certainly hadn’t expected to hear it again. Ever. But now she had and she couldn’t deny the part of her that liked it entirely too much.
This was exactly why she should never have come back here.
Luke drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead. How many times had she sat next to him like this, lapsing into easy silence as they swerved through town, or laughing as they sang along to the radio? Now, his presence felt oddly unfamiliar to her, his body larger than she remembered, and even though he was right there, close enough to reach out and touch like she once so casually could, he felt further away from her than ever.
She shook her head and stared out the window, as the lights from town fell dim behind her and the road turned dark. She should have stayed put in town, camped out in the diner or Anna’s café until Jane arrived. It would have been the sensible thing to do.
But then, when was she ever levelheaded when it came to Luke Hastings? The guy had crawled under her skin and stayed there, and try as she might, she couldn’t shake him from the part of her heart that still yearned for him, and everything else that might have been.
“You can drop me off at the edge of the road,” she told him, her tone decidedly clipped. If she let him see how easily he had gotten to her, she wouldn’t stand a chance of getting through this trip in one piece. As far as Luke knew, she was over him the day he broke her heart, and she’d never looked back since. Best to let him keep on thinking that. If he had any idea how long the pain had lingered…
She rolled her shoulders against the seat back. She didn’t want his pity. He didn’t deserve her love. He didn’t deserve any part of her.
“Afraid to be seen with me?”
His banter had succeeded in disarming her, and she gave a small smile. “You know how it is in that house. Two sisters and a mother. If they saw you dropping me off, I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?” He slid her a glance and she lowered her eyes.
“Yes,” she said firmly.
She grew quiet, returning her gaze to the window. Luke knew how her family worked, having known them as well as his own—it was what had made their breakup extra hard, on her at least. She knew her parents expected her to settle down with Luke, live close by, and stop over for Sunday dinners. Instead, she’d spent the last five years hiding out in New York City, licking her wounds and willing herself to forget the man who was so much a part of her, so ingrained in every ounce of her life, that there seemed no other way than to turn her back on her old life—the life she shared with him—completely.
She’d been so busy hiding from the man she had loved and lost, she had ended up losing the one she loved even more. Her father.
She glared at Luke from the corner of her eye. She’d missed so much.
A few minutes had elapsed when they turned down the winding road that led to her family home. Pine trees bent under the weight of snow, and many of the yards showed evidence of a day spent building snowmen. Christmas trees were centered proudly in the front windows, twinkling and inviting.
Grace bit her lip. She could just imagine what her mother would say about their subtle attempts. Surely comments would be made about the mismatched lights, the uneven distribution of the ornaments. While festive, the selection was understated to say the least. It would be nothing compared to Kathleen’s perfected presentation.
She braced herself for the flawlessly executed extravagance, the carefully planned details, and idly wondered what theme her mother had gone with this year. They rounded another bend, nearing the last turn in the road, and Grace leaned forward in her seat as her childhood home came into view, frowning at the sight of the large Victorian. The candles that usually sat delicately on the center of each sill wer
e missing. The garland that Kathleen obsessed over was absent. The twinkling lights that were always draped with near neurotic precision hadn’t been hung. There wasn’t even a wreath on the door!
Grace’s heart lurched. “Slow down,” she said to Luke, her voice catching in her pounding chest. Her eyes swept back and forth across the white Victorian farmhouse, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Jane had implied it was the usual craziness, that she knew how it was. And she did! Christmas was a big deal in their house. Too big. But… “What’s going on?”
She turned to Luke, searching his face for some sort of explanation, but he only shrugged. “What do you mean?”
“Where are the lights?” Her voice was shrill. She looked frantically toward the house, the bare stretch of yard. The naked wraparound porch. Why, it was the saddest house on the street. “The garland! All of it!”
Luke looked bewildered. “I… I don’t know.” He pulled to the side of the road and turned off the radio. They sat in silence, staring at the dark and uninviting house. Grace waited, hoping that at any moment, someone would flick a switch and the house would spring to life. Maybe they were waiting for her to arrive. Maybe Sophie wanted to surprise her. They waited, and with each second that ticked by, Grace knew the lights were not going to come on.
“My mother, as you know, is the Christmas Queen of Briar Creek.” She started to laugh to ease her growing anxiety, gesturing with her arm to the irony of the situation. “This is downright depressing! What the heck has gotten into her? This isn’t like her. Something must have—”
She stopped herself. Luke’s gaze pierced her, his blue eyes filling with sympathy.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”
Luke opened his mouth to say something but she opened the car door before he could continue. “You can drop me here,” she said.
“But it’s slick, and your bags—” He stopped when he saw her expression. In a huff, he put the car into park. “Fine.”
