by Olivia Miles
His mouth tugged into a smile. “Hi, Honeybee,” he said, and then, noticing the disapproval in her face, he held up his hands. “Sorry.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t. A nickname implied an intimacy they no longer shared. It was a spoken memory, a reminder of their history—one she hadn’t forgotten, try as she might.
“I can leave if you want.” He held her stare as if in a dare, challenging her to tell him to go. And oh, how she wanted to do just that. But a larger part of her couldn’t bring herself to tear her gaze from those piercing eyes.
Grace glanced around the shop, suddenly not wanting to be alone here with its haunting memories and the emotions they brought to the surface. Everything in it, right down to the old, dusty books, felt like they belonged in a different time. “No, it’s okay. It’s strange being here by myself, honestly.” Unsettling. Wrong. This was her father’s space. It came alive when he was here. And now…
“I saw you in the window,” he continued. His voice was low and gentle and achingly familiar, and it took everything in her not to collapse into the warm safety of his arms, to hear his thick, rich voice tell her it would all be okay. Then she remembered that he couldn’t offer her that comfort anymore, and the distance between their bodies proved it. “Are you all right?”
Grace shrugged and jutted out her chin, willing herself to stay strong. His deep blue eyes penetrated hers, making her feel raw and exposed, and she glanced away, hugging her arms around her chest as she moved to the back of the room and studied the thermostat. It was freezing in here. She was too distracted to notice before, but now, she wasn’t sure how she could tolerate it much longer.
The radiator hissed as it warmed up, and Grace remained hovered over it, waiting. Luke was behind her now, a silent force in the empty store. “Did you know it was closing?” she asked, glancing at him.
“I knew it hadn’t been opened since—” He stopped himself, running a hand through his wavy hair. “I didn’t feel it was my place to say anything last night. I was hoping it wasn’t a permanent decision.”
“Well, looks like it is,” she said bitterly, and then stopped herself. This wasn’t his fault. Many things were his fault, but not this. She wasn’t sure anyone was really to blame for Main Street Books going under, and that was what made her feel most helpless, she realized. “My sisters are busy with other things, and my mom, well… she isn’t up for the challenge, I guess you could say.”
His brow knitted. “How is she?”
She hated the concern in his voice, in the slant of his eyes. Yet, more than that, she hated how good it felt to be here talking with him. The one person who could understand.
Grace blew out a breath. It was so cold in the room she could almost see it plume in front of her. “She’s hanging in there, I suppose.” She slid him another glance. “But if someone’s looking to enter the Holiday House contest, I’d say this is the year to do it.”
Luke tossed his head back, his rich, booming laughter echoing off the walls. Grace smiled against her will, her heart aching in her chest. She had missed that sound—the thick, deep rumble that left you craving more. She waited for him to stop, defusing the sound with her own willful chuckle.
“I thought she stopped competing years ago,” he said, and Grace slid him a smile.
He remembered. He remembered things about her life. Things that Derek never knew or never cared to ask. She tried to imagine telling Derek—sleek, flashy, glamorous Derek—about her family’s Christmas traditions and found herself laughing even louder than Luke just had.
“Sorry,” she said, noticing Luke’s confused expression. Composing herself, she turned back to the radiator, placing her palms on the metal coils, absorbing their faint heat. “I was only… never mind.”
An awkward silence stretched across the room, and Grace began racking her brain desperately for something to say. Something to make him stay and talk, to get him to leave—she didn’t know anymore.
“How’s Mark?” she blurted, fixing her eyes on him. She could tell by the sparkle that passed through his blue irises that he had been watching her the entire time, and she couldn’t fight the flush of pleasure that spread up her face at the idea of it.
“He’s good,” he said. “He probably wants to see you while you’re in town.”
“I’d like that,” she said. She glanced away. The room was much too quiet. She wished there was a radio or something. Even Christmas carols would do.
She stared at her hands, thinking of what to say, an excuse to leave. She couldn’t stay here much longer—what was the point? She could sit in that armchair all day, clinging to the past, of a time that was lost, or she could quietly say goodbye, close the door behind her, and go. A long time ago, she’d made the decision to leave the past in the past, to put distance between things that were once hers and were no longer. This bookstore was no different than her relationship with Luke in many ways: it represented a happier time in her life. A time she could never get back. A time better forgotten.
Still, the thought of letting go of it was… unbearable.
She drew a breath and turned to face him. She’d tell him she had to meet Jane, that she was only stopping in to get something. He was probably as desperate to make an exit as she was. He’d only come in because he’d seen her crying, after all. She didn’t need his pity. She didn’t need anything from him.
“I—” she began but he cut her off before she could finish her thought.
“I read your book,” he said and she froze. From four feet away she could see his eyes flash with intensity, the way they always did when he had something on his mind. “I read all your books.”
Oh. Grace felt a hot blush creep slowly up her face. “All of them, eh?” she forced a smile, but her heart began a slow and steady drum.
“All of them,” he repeated, his rich voice so smooth, so concrete, that she felt herself waver.
There was a time when she would have been flattered, maybe even found hope where none existed. She was amazed at how few people in her personal circle took the time to read her work—Derek never had. But Luke had cared enough to read her book. Books. All of them. She winced when she considered what he thought of the last one—the flop.
“Probably wishing you could buy back the time you spent on that last one,” she managed with a brittle smile.
He frowned. “Hardly. I loved it. I love everything you—” He stopped. “I love everything you write. I always did.”
She nodded thoughtfully. That much was true. Back in high school and then into college, he had been her biggest fan aside from her father. He read everything she wrote, encouraging her to keep at it, even when she herself didn’t see much point. “It’s only a matter of time,” he would say. “It just takes the right story.”
She could still remember the day she got the call—someone wanted to buy her book. She’d made it. The dream she had worked so hard for had come true. Her heart soared and then raced, and then her mind immediately flitted to Luke. If there was one person she longed to share the celebration with, it was him.
By then, it was too late. Luke was gone. Out of her life. She called her father instead. It was the happiest day of her life, but she couldn’t stop thinking of the one person who was missing from it. Even then, when her dreams were realized, she was still thinking about Luke and the part of her dream that had never come true.
Her heart was beating quickly, and she felt flushed and agitated. There were too many memories in this room—too much potential for nostalgia. Luke’s presence wasn’t helping either, especially when he was looking as handsome as ever. She allowed her gaze to drift over the length of him, from the long legs to the strong, wide shoulders. Her eyes lingered on his square jaw, that full mouth.
“I should probably get going,” she said suddenly, surprising herself.
Luke looked momentarily startled, but he said nothing, nodding instead. For a moment her stomach fluttere
d with hope that he was disappointed, that he would have preferred to have stayed and talked, but she pushed the thought away quickly. Even if he wanted that, and she was certain he did not, it wasn’t what she wanted.
What she wanted was to be far away from Luke, from this town, to be back in New York, where he couldn’t touch her or look at her like that. She shifted the weight on her feet, lowering her eyes to the floor.
Yes, that’s exactly what she wanted.
“I’m sorry about the store,” he said evenly. “I know how much it meant to you.”
Grace swallowed the knot that had wedged in her throat. “Sometimes I wonder if I ever would have become a writer if it hadn’t been for this place,” she mused. She looked around the room, misty-eyed. Her voice hitched when she said, “I love it here.”
“And there’s nothing that can be done? To save it?”
Grace gave a defeated shrug. “Doesn’t look that way.” Even if she could scrounge up the money to get it running again, it didn’t seem that anyone in her family was willing to oversee it, and Jane had a point that getting a manager wasn’t enough. They needed a real owner. Someone who would love this place as much as her dad did.
As she did.
She turned to the vast stretch of the polished wood counter, her father’s image so clear in her mind that it caused her breath to catch. And suddenly she knew. She knew exactly what her father would have said to her. Well, how bad do you want it? That’s what he would have said.
More than anything else, she decided firmly.
CHAPTER
9
Luke plunged his hands deep into his pockets, rolling back on his heels as he watched Grace struggling with the old brass lock. He knew better than to offer his help—it would only spark a fire in her eyes, a defiant lift of her chin—and so he said nothing, and waited. He didn’t know what he would say when she finally turned to him, but he was suddenly filled with the strange and all-consuming realization that he wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. Even though he knew he should. He really, really should.
This time of the year was hard enough without her turning up to make it worse.
“There!” Grace smirked in satisfaction and stuffed the key ring into her pocket. In the crisp, winter light, her eyes blazed an arresting shade of green. The sun peeking out behind dense clouds glimmered off her hair, highlighting the bronze hues. After all this time, her beauty still had a hold over him.
“Which way are you going?” he hedged. She was wary around him, guarded, and he felt like he was clinging to a slippery fish, trying to get a grip on something that was determined to slide through his fingers, back into the great wide world. Free.
Her expression fell as she swept her eyes up the snow-covered street, over the garland-draped storefronts that blasted seasonal tunes through speakers and the thoughtfully placed wreaths that hung from every red-ribbon-wrapped streetlamp. Someone had even set felt Santa hats atop each fire hydrant. Luke curled his lip. There was no escaping it. Christmas was upon them, with all its garish reminders.
“I don’t know. I might try to find Jane. Or maybe I’ll head over to the café and get a coffee while I wait for her to finish her shopping. I’m depending on her for a ride today.”
“Any update on the car?”
Grace rubbed her nose, which was turning pink from the cold, biting wind. With her rosy cheeks and pale skin, her eyes looked bright and vivid. She shivered into her coat. “I called this morning. I managed to bash a headlight, and they had to call for the part. It should be ready by Saturday.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want you getting stuck in town any longer than you had to be here.” He set his jaw.
“It would take more than a smashed up rental car to keep me caged up in this town.” She gave a small laugh, but the best he could manage was a tight smile. Her words stung, bringing him right back to a time and place he had tried to forget.
Boring town. That’s what she’d called Briar Creek. Boring town, boring life.
He had sat in silence, realization taking a firm hold like a hard rock that had settled into his belly, and he knew that everything he had ever assumed or planned for would never be. This town could never give her what she needed, and neither could he. She would never be fulfilled here. She’d resent him. Blame him. Hate him.
A part of him had hoped she would come back to town with her tail between her legs, admitting that Briar Creek was where she belonged, that she’d been foolish to think the big city could offer something more meaningful. But when she finally did return…
He stiffened his back. It was too late.
His heart panged as his thoughts flew to Helen, and he heaved a breath that escaped in a burst of white cloud. “Well, if you’re headed to the Fireside Café,” he said, referring to Anna’s café a few blocks down Main Street, “I’ll walk with you. I’m parked over in that direction, anyway,” he added, to be sure she didn’t get the wrong idea.
The truth was that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, or why he had come into the bookstore at all. He had walked down Main Street for another look at the storefront next to Ray’s shop, for another reminder of Helen, and once again it was Grace who snagged his attention.
Grace averted her gaze, chewing on the inside of her lip. He should have known better than to suggest it, especially if last night proved anything. She didn’t do well with feeling coerced into things—if anything, it made her do the opposite. She was a woman of her own mind, stubborn enough to drive him crazy like no one else could, and she liked to think through things at her own pace, come around to an idea when she was ready. It was just too bad that he had discovered this trait in hindsight. It was an observation that only distance and perhaps a little maturity could reveal.
She hesitated, her eyes shifting from his, but then her shoulders relaxed. “Okay,” she sighed, jamming her hands into her pockets.
Luke tried to shrug off the sting of her reluctance. Did she really hate him this much?
They wandered in silence, skimming past the ornately decorated window displays without commenting, even for some of the particularly nice ones, like the one inspired by The Nutcracker, with toy soldiers that marched to a beat of a drum and a Christmas tree that grew before your very eyes.
They didn’t have far to walk, five blocks at most, and Luke found himself wishing for once that Briar Creek was a little bigger. Anna had opened the Fireside Café just months before he and Grace had broken up and she had moved to New York. There was a grand opening party, and Grace wore a black dress with thin straps that kept slipping down her bare arms. He could still remember the silkiness of her skin as he slid the straps back in place throughout the evening, the pride that came in knowing she was his. After the party, they went home to his house and made long, slow love until they fell asleep in each other’s arms, waking up intertwined to the light slicing through the trees in the thick forest surrounding his house, reaching for each other under the warm covers.
“Remember that night of your sister’s opening?” he asked, his voice lilting at the end with hope that she remembered it the way he did.
A smile stretched across her face and she nodded, sliding him a glance as they reached the corner and paused at the intersection. “That was a nice night. One of the last fond memories I have of this place,” she murmured, breaking his stare. Her cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink that he knew had nothing to do with the freezing temperature.
“Ah, well.” He clenched his teeth, kicking himself for bringing it up at all. Why do that to himself? To her? It would only serve as a fresh reminder of what happened a few months later—an ironic contrast to the perfection of that day. “You did well for yourself in the end. You were probably right to leave this old town, really.”
She lifted a brow, pursing her pretty lips. He did his best to keep his expression impassive, even though his chest felt like it was being wrung through a vise. This stilted chit-chat did nothing but pain him, remind him of the consequences of their
actions.
Somehow in the past five years he had gone from knowing the details of her daily routine to having no clue how she spent her time. Or with whom.
He drew a sharp breath, pushing the thought away. He’d imagined what her life would be like, how she spent her days, her weekends. Her nights. He could never be certain of the details, and somehow, over time, she had become another person to him—a woman who lived in another city, spent time with people he had never met, went places he had never visited. Now he realized there was some truth to his musings. Who was she now? This Grace, the one standing beside him, the one whose life had gone on for five years without him?
With a twist of the gut he realized exactly who she was. She was the one who got away. Maybe everyone had one of those.
“You’re right,” she said lightly, but he thought he detected an undertone of regret. “I’m not really sure what I would have accomplished if I had stayed here. My life would have been a lot different, that’s for sure.” She left the essence of her thoughts unspoken. Her opinion noncommittal. Different, not better. Not worse. Just… different.
She held his stare, challenging him to say something, looking to scratch up old wounds, and he forced himself to stay put, to not waver under the heat of her intensity. She was looking for a reaction, and damn it, he wasn’t going to give her one.
She knew exactly what her life would have been if she had never insisted on leaving. They would have gotten married, had a few kids, alternated Sunday dinners with their families. They would have lived in the house he had instead shared with Helen.
