Mistletoe on Main Street (series t/k)

by Olivia Miles

  Luke hissed out a breath. “Unbelievable.” He looked around the room, and sure enough there was Jackson Jones, Briar Creek’s mayor, watching him with interest from across the room. Near the window sat Nate McAllister and his brother Rhys. All good guys, guys he had known all his life, people Luke might even classify as friends. But not today. Today no one in this town was his friend. For a fleeting moment he understood why Grace ran from small-town life. Living here, half the locals knew your business before you did. He turned back to Mark and said, “So you all conspired to keep this from me. As if I wouldn’t find out.”

  Mark lowered his voice. “We all know this time of year is rough for you. We were only trying to help.”

  Luke shook his head and stared out the window at the front of the room. The snow had continued through the night, leaving downtown Briar Creek a veritable winter wonderland. Frost collected on the bottoms of the diner windows, which had been decorated with a hand-painted snowman and snowflake design. On the sidewalk, throngs of people bustled along the sidewalks, wrapped in colorful scarves, clutching shopping bags bursting with shiny, wrapped packages. At the post office across the street, a line was already forming out the garland-draped door.

  Yep, it was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, all right. And he didn’t like it one bit.

  “Doesn’t this music drive you crazy after a while?” Luke asked Mark, gesturing to the speaker tucked into the corner of the ceiling. Mark shrugged and slid a steaming plate of hash to Arnie Schultz, who ate at least two meals here a day. The fact that Luke knew this wasn’t lost on him—he really needed to get out more. He just… couldn’t.

  “Sure I can’t get you anything?” Mark asked.

  Luke frowned. Since winter break started last week, he had been in here each morning, unable to stand the emptiness of his house. Weekends were especially tough, and Luke made a point early on to keep himself busy. He had dinner with his mother or Mark once or twice a week, breakfast at the diner with the newspaper on Saturdays. And Sundays. School breaks were lonely times—especially summer, when it seemed everyone around him was grabbing their sweetheart by the arm, heading off to the lake or a picnic in the park. Still, nothing compared to Christmas break.

  Last year, his first Christmas since Helen died, had been unbearable. He had been determined to have a better handle on it this year. And then Grace Madison had to come back to town.

  Luke rubbed a hand over his face and turned back to Mark. “I’ll take a Western omelet,” he said, and let Mark refill his coffee. Growing up in the same small community, the two were more like brothers than cousins. They were born the same year, and both knew how it felt to lose a father at an early age, even if under different circumstances. Luke was one of the few people who knew how much it hurt Mark when his father up and left town without so much as a glance back at his wife or two young sons. His own father had tried to step in and make up for his brother’s wayward act, and when he died shortly thereafter, Mark took the news almost as hard as Luke and his sisters. Luke thought they had an unspoken pact, a loyalty. But this… He gritted his teeth.

  “So you mean to tell me that I’ve been in here every morning this week, and you chose not to mention this?”

  A twinkle sparked Mark’s brown eyes. “Yep.”

  “It’s not funny,” Luke reprimanded, but Mark’s mouth twitched. “You knew I was bound to find out. Were you waiting for me to come in one morning and tell you?”

  “Yep.” Mark tipped his head, fighting a smile. “Come on, Luke. Do you really blame me? We all knew how you’d react to hearing that Grace was back. I didn’t want to have to be the one to tell you.”

  “And how was I expected to react?” he demanded.

  Mark shrugged, eyed him up and down. “Pretty much like this. Agitated. Restless. Conflicted. We all know how you feel about Grace.”

  “Felt,” Luke corrected. “How I felt about Grace,” he said, and Mark lifted an eyebrow, saying nothing. Luke’s chest tightened and he rubbed his jaw, scratching at the morning stubble, thinking of Helen, of her long, blond hair and her sweet smile.

  “Sorry,” Mark said as an afterthought, and Luke grimaced, giving a slight nod.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  “No, no it’s not. It was insensitive.” Mark heaved a sigh. “I feel like a jerk.”

  Luke offered a small smile, holding up a hand. “Let it go.”

  Mark glanced around the room and tipped his head toward a booth at the far end of the room. “Want to sit? I’ve been here since six and I could use a break.” He turned to the kitchen. “Hey, Vince! Order me up another Western. Rye toast.”

  Mark grabbed a carafe of coffee and a mug for himself and the two men settled into the booth. “So, tell me. What happened?”

  Luke relayed the events of the night before, replaying them as he had more than a dozen times throughout the night. He stuck to the facts, telling himself it was easier that way, refusing to hint even to himself that he’d actually felt something when he saw Grace again. And he had felt a lot of things—anger, hurt, frustration, guilt. But he’d felt other things, too. Things he didn’t want to feel. Things he shouldn’t feel. Things he should have stopped feeling a long time ago.

  By the time he’d gotten to the point in the story where he’d dropped Grace off three houses away from the Madison residence, dragging three bags behind her and refusing his help, their food was up. Mark stood to collect it, promptly returning, a sly grin forming at the corners of his mouth. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said. “That girl always did have a fiery temper.”

  “She’s a determined woman,” Luke agreed. He didn’t elaborate that he still liked that about her, aggravating as it was. It had never failed to escape him that the one trait he admired most in her was the one that had ultimately divided them.

  Mark salted his hash browns and passed the shaker to Luke. “Do you remember that time in college when Grace saw that magazine picture of a couch she wanted? I was visiting that weekend, and it was all she could talk about.”

  Luke nodded, smiling at the memory. “White slipcovered,” he mused, recalling the way she had breathed the words.

  Mark chuckled and tore off a piece of toast. “She had that tattered navy couch, and she went out and bought I don’t even know how many yards of fabric—”

  “She bought a drop cloth,” Luke said as the memory became clearer. “She couldn’t afford fabric.”

  “She couldn’t afford a sewing machine either,” Mark said.

  “Nope.” Luke grinned, remembering the set to her fine jaw, the fierceness in her eyes. “She sewed an entire fitted slipcover by hand.”

  Mark shook his head in wonder. “How long did that take her?”

  It would have taken most people weeks, and that would have been people who knew how to sew. “Two days,” he said, his mouth twitching. She had stayed up all night, kneeling on the floor, cutting and pinning, and running the needle through the thick, difficult material. By the time she had finished, her fingers were bruised and calloused, but the pride in her face was what he remembered the most.

  “It was a beautiful couch,” Mark commented.

  Luke nodded. “It was,” he murmured.

  He hadn’t thought about that couch in a long time, and he wondered what had happened to it. She probably sold it, he decided. It was a busy time. A murky time. Grace was finishing her graduate program—he’d already completed his the previous spring—and decisions for the future were quickly being made. If he had known then how fleeting their time would be together, he might have paid closer attention.

  “Remember that birthday cake she made you that one year?” Mark said, still traveling down memory lane. He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “That thing must have been eight layers thick. Never seen anything like it, not even in culinary school.” He shrugged. “Guess that’s why she became some famous writer, huh? She never was the type to quit. She always sees things through to the end.”

  Not me,
Luke thought grimly. Not us.

  There was a time when he thought he and Grace would grow old together, that they would carry on the rest of their lives as they always had. He’d thought Grace felt the same way, that she wanted the same things. He thought a life together would be enough for her.

  He’d been wrong.

  “So are you going to see her again?” Mark asked, and Luke startled, sloshing his coffee.

  “No,” he said firmly, but then sat back, squinting into his plate. Seeing Grace last night had been an accident, a chance meeting. Seeing her by choice meant something different altogether. It would be admitting to himself that something was still there, and he didn’t want anything to be there. He just wanted her to go away. And stay away.

  “Well, good luck trying,” Mark said. He cut into his omelet with the side of his fork, saying nothing more.

  Luke narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s a small town, Luke. She’s bound to be around.”

  “Well, she’s not sticking around for long,” Luke announced, frowning at his plate of untouched food. “You know this town was never good enough for her.”

  Mark looked at him. “You’re still planning on coming to my party tonight, right? Don’t even think about trying to get out of it.”

  “I’m still coming,” Luke said. He knew Mark was right, that he needed to get out more, try to move on. But not with Grace. Definitely not with Grace.

  “Good.” Mark nodded. “I wasn’t sure you would still come.”

  “Why?” Luke began and then stopped. “Wait. Don’t tell me she’s—”

  Mark leaned back in his seat. “I have no idea if Grace will be there. She has friends here. It’s possible.”

  Luke gritted his teeth. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t show up. She’ll know I’m going, of course. You’re my family, after all.”

  “Well, I’m not sure how you’re going to manage to avoid her unless you lock yourself up in that depressing house of yours.”

  Luke blinked. This was news to him. “You think my house is depressing?”

  Mark pushed away his plate and set his palms flat on the table. “Luke, it’s Christmas, and yours is the only house I know without a tree.”

  Luke’s mind wandered to the Madisons’ house, and then, inevitably, to Grace. “So?” Luke scowled. “Lots of houses don’t have trees.”

  Mark’s brow creased with concern. “You have not changed a thing in that house since Helen died. And I know you didn’t even like the way she decorated it.”

  Luke felt his blood begin to course through his veins. He shifted his weight against the back of the bench, not liking where this conversation was going. “It’s my home. It suits me fine,” he said, but one glance at Mark told him his cousin wasn’t buying it. Mark had seen the lavender hand soaps in the bathroom. The throw pillows on the bed. The faux floral arrangement that anchored the dining room table. The dishtowels that depicted little birds and butterflies.

  “I’m just saying… it’s not the kind of place you could bring a woman to. Not as a bachelor.”

  “Who said I wanted to bring a woman over?” Luke asked. The mere thought of it caused his temper to stir. “That was Helen’s home as much as mine.”

  “And the storefront?” Mark lifted an eyebrow.

  “What about it?” His mind flew to the image of the empty storefront next door to the bookshop, the way it had looked so vacant and lifeless the night before.

  “You paid that lease through the end of the year without trying to break it or sublet it. And you renewed the lease last year. You planning to do the same come January?”

  Lifting his fork, Luke ate half the omelet quickly, not tasting any of it. He didn’t expect Mark to understand why he continued to throw good money at a piece of empty real estate, at a storefront that had never even opened, that only served as a reminder of Helen’s vacancy in this world.

  It was more than a reminder.

  “It’s all I have left of her,” he said bluntly.

  “Helen is gone, Luke,” Mark said quietly, his expression pained.

  Luke refused to agree with that statement. He knew she was never coming back, he had accepted it a long time ago despite what those around him believed. His wife was dead. Gone.

  She had died five days after Christmas, nearly two years ago, from a brain aneurysm. He had come home that day, his mind reeling with the knowledge of what he must do, the certainty of what he must tell her, and he had found her lying there, her cheeks pale.

  He had lived the past twenty-three and a half months knowing she was gone, that there was nothing he could have done to have prevented it. It wasn’t denial that kept him clinging to her, or a lack of acceptance that made that house his own silent prison. It was plain and simple guilt.

  He hadn’t been fair to Helen as her husband. And so help him, he would honor her as his widower. It was the least he could do.

  CHAPTER

  7

  By the time Jane’s car rounded the bend, Grace was already jogging in place, ready to get a start on the day. It had been a long, sleepless night, and the morning hadn’t brought much more relief. She hadn’t expected this Christmas to be the same as those she so fondly remembered, but she hadn’t expected this, either. Why hadn’t Jane mentioned how bad things had gotten? She intended to find out the answer to that. Today.

  Her cashmere-gloved hand gripped her handbag at the shoulder as she bolted out into the crisp mid-morning air. The sun was shining bright, reflecting off the blanket of white snow that covered everything from tree branches to roofs, and the world around her glistened. Her feet crunched on the frozen snow as she awkwardly leapt over snowdrifts that had collected overnight. She’d offered to shovel earlier that morning, but her mother had been against it, insisting with alarming intensity that she would see to it herself. Grace had persisted until she finally realized it would be a way for Kathleen to keep busy and occupy her thoughts, and so she let the idea drop.

  Now, seeing how much had accumulated overnight, she wished she had gone ahead and done it before her mother could protest. Still, when her mother set her mind to something, she wouldn’t be swayed. It was a trait Grace had picked up from her, along with the green eyes and wavy, chestnut hair. Tenacity, her father always called it, with a twinkle in his eye. It was the type of energy that could wear people down, but not Ray Madison. He’d loved that intensity in his wife, and fostered it in his daughters. It was one of the things Grace admired most about her dad—she could share her wildest dream, muse about the craziest idea, and he would only smile and tell her to go for it. He never held her back. But in the end, maybe that had been the one time he let her down. He’d always told her to go after her dreams, and somewhere along the way she’d learned that if someone loved you, they supported you along the way. And Luke… hadn’t.

  “You didn’t shovel the driveway?” Jane asked as Grace climbed into the passenger seat.

  Grace bit back a sigh of frustration and tossed up her hands. “She wants to do it herself!” Her voice was shrill, and she became suddenly aware of Sophie sitting in the backseat of the car. She turned to face her, her heart crumbling at the sight of the pink-cheeked little girl bundled up in an ear-flapped hat topped with an oversized red pom-pom.

  “Hey, kiddo, I like your hat,” she said.

  “Thanks! I like your hair,” Sophie said, and Grace touched her uninteresting locks, feeling oddly warmed by the compliment.

  An hour ago, she had been thinking about Derek again, or forcing herself to, at least. After Kathleen had gone to take a shower, Grace had quietly cleared the kitchen table, wiped it down with a damp cloth, and then stood at the sink, running water until it steamed and soap bubbles threatened to spill onto the floor, clutching the counter with two hands, wondering what the hell she was doing here and how the heck she could leave now.

  And where would she even go? Most of her stuff was in storage. Angie was having family over fo
r the holiday, so Grace had cleared out her few belongings, bringing them all with her to Briar Creek. She’d been living out of suitcases for months, and while Angie was a good sport, she sensed she was coming very close to overstaying her welcome in the small one-bedroom apartment.

  She had a few thousand dollars left to her name—she winced to think of how quickly she had blown through her money, how reckless she had been, how sure she had been that there would always be more.

  It would be enough to find an apartment, certainly nothing compared to the lifestyle she was used to with Derek, but she needed to figure out where the next paycheck would come from first.

  And right now, she hadn’t a clue.

  “I’m sorry to hear about you and Derek,” Jane said now, and Grace swiveled back around in her seat. “I don’t remember. Had you guys set a date?”

  Grace pursed her lips. “No.” She didn’t mention that this had been just as much her doing as his. They both knew they were forcing something that wasn’t there.

  Silence stretched. Grace slid a glance at her sister, who stared at her sadly as they sat at a red light.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she pleaded. “Seriously, I’m over it. It’s fine. The timing is bad, that’s all.”

  Jane nodded thoughtfully and focused on the road as the light turned green. “Did you guys have a big fight? I mean, did something happen that made you realize you couldn’t go through with it?”

  “How are you so sure that I broke up with him?” Grace asked through an amused smile, but Jane blanched.

  Her sister’s hand flew to her mouth, and her hazel eyes were wide. “I’m sorry, Grace. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Grace laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I broke up with him.” The story of her life, wasn’t it? Too bad it wasn’t a story worthy of another best-selling novel. Or even a novel her publisher was willing to buy.

  Her stomach stirred with unease. She couldn’t think about that now. She had other things to worry about at the moment.

  “Well, I’m glad you ended it when you did, then,” Jane said. “It’s a lot easier to get out now, because once you’re married…”