by Olivia Miles
He stepped off the curb, quickening his pace. Just being here with Grace made him feel uneasy, agitated. The wind was picking up, but he stared right into it. It was better than facing Grace. Just being here reminded him of too many things he would rather forget.
“Not like my life is anything fabulous these days,” Grace continued, and Luke studied her. He’d imagined sleek New York restaurants, a chic, modern apartment, and Grace, happier than ever, Briar Creek long forgotten. Along with everyone in it. He expected that Grace had gotten the life she had wanted. The one she wanted more than him.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Come on now,” she said, catching his furrowed brow. “You can’t say you don’t know that my last book was a bust. You read it. It—”
“It was wonderful,” he finished, unable to stop himself. He had devoured each of her books, ordering them online and keeping them in his desk at work so that no one in town got the wrong idea. He would lie awake at night and tell himself it was nothing, that lots of people remained friends with old girlfriends, that the past was the past and Grace was only someone he used to know. Still, he knew deep down it was more than that. Grace was gone, he had lost her forever, but when he sat down and read her books, for a brief period of time at least, it was like he was alone with her again.
“Honestly, Grace. It was a great book. I loved it.”
She snorted. Only Grace could turn that sound into something pretty, elegant. “Well, I don’t believe you. And besides, it doesn’t matter if you liked it or not. No one else did.”
“It used to matter to you if I liked your work,” he pointed out.
She shifted her gaze. “Yes. It did.” She seemed to hesitate. “But then, a lot of things used to matter to me, Luke.”
“For example?”
“You used to matter.”
Her words were a punch to the gut. “And I don’t anymore?” She shrugged, infuriating him. As quickly as that, all pleasantries were over. “Very nice, Grace.”
Her eyes flashed on him, green and vivid. “What do you expect, Luke? You were the one who gave up on me. You showed me how little I mattered. Was I supposed to hold on while you went on with your life?”
“You broke up with me, Grace,” he reminded her, but he clung to her last words. She really had let go, moved on. She had been doing just as he imagined with her life. She never stopped to think about him. Maybe it was wrong of him to have hoped she had.
“And what choice did you give me?” she demanded. They had stopped walking now, and she stood in front of him, lifting herself to full height, so close to him that he could see the freckles that dusted her nose.
“You had plenty of choices,” he growled.
Her gaze narrowed. “And so did you.”
He held her stare, his heart thundering in his chest, and then shrugged. Shrugged off the pain, the hurt, the frustration that had lingered for years and was now bubbling at the surface.
He had plenty of choices, she was right about that. And leave it to Grace to home in on the one thing that had nagged him all these years. Had he made the right one?
All this time it had been easier to blame Grace, to hold her solely accountable for the demise of their relationship. Perhaps it wasn’t that black and white; perhaps he had given up, let her slip away.
But no. No. He wasn’t going to let her turn this on him. Inhaling sharply, he huffed out a breath. “Grace, you were the one who decided to leave this town. And me. You have no one to blame but yourself for your choices.”
“True enough,” she said. “Yet, seeing how quickly you moved on, it’s a good thing I didn’t give up everything for you.”
Luke narrowed his eyes; his stomach burned. She couldn’t go there. He wouldn’t stand for it. “Don’t bring Helen into this.”
“Why shouldn’t I? She played a part in all of this, too.” Luke’s eyes flashed wide with warning, and Grace had the sense to stop herself, her pupils darkening with what he knew to be shame.
Luke glared at her, wanting nothing more than to turn and walk away right then and there. Forever, this time. His chest was pounding, and his ragged breath escaped in white clouds of frost.
“Well,” Grace huffed, resuming her pace as she took quick strides down Main Street. The sidewalks were slick despite the salt that covered the patches of ice, and busy shoppers weaved past them, flashing them curious glances. “We were young then. Foolish. In the throes of passion, as they say!” She paused, becoming more somber. “You know how it is with first loves—you think you’ll never find another, that it will last forever. And you proved to me that it wouldn’t. Twice.”
He frowned. “Twice?”
“First when you laughed at my dreams—”
Oh, now this was unfair! “I didn’t laugh at your dreams.”
But she wasn’t listening. “Then when you got engaged to Helen.”
Luke gave her a level stare. There was nothing he could say.
“And then!” She stopped, her eyes laced with pain so deep he felt his pulse skip. “And then when I came back for you,” she whispered angrily, “and you had a chance to set it right between us again. And you didn’t.” The anguish in her face shocked him, made him ache in a way he had only experienced a few times in his life. His chest burned with regret, with shame, and guilt.
Always guilt.
“Guess that’s three times,” she said on a brittle laugh, turning her profile to him once more.
He lowered his head, contemplating her words. Was that all she had taken from the experience? It was so one-sided. So goddamned unreasonable of her! “What did you expect me to do, Grace? I made a promise to Helen, and I couldn’t go back on it.”
“So you married her out of obligation?”
“No,” he said flatly. “I married her because she wanted the same things as me. A boring little life in this boring little town.”
She scowled. “Stop.”
“What?” he pressed. “Isn’t that what you said? That Briar Creek is boring, that you could never live your life here? That if I loved you, I wouldn’t force you to stay?”
She paused. “Maybe, but—”
“No buts. You said that. And I took you at your word.” He stared at her stonily. “I loved you, Grace, and I didn’t want to force you to stay here.”
“So you let me go?” Her voice pitched, pulling at his heart, and he nodded his reply.
“Yes,” he lied. He had watched her walk away, out of his life, but he had never let her go. No matter how much he wished he could.
She turned away, and this time he felt like she was slipping away for good, like they had exchanged the last words that needed to be said. And somehow, in that moment, he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and pull her toward him, and do what he should have done five years ago. He wanted to feel the familiar curves of her body against his chest, smell her sweet, coconut-scented hair, and feel complete again. No one knew him like Grace. She didn’t take explaining; she didn’t require a recounting of his memories. She had been there. She had lived them. She was part of him.
“I wish I had never come back,” she mused, but her tone was angry, accusatory. “It’s all different! It’s all changed!” She tossed her hands into the air, shaking her head. A tear slipped down her cheek, and he forced his hands to remain put, resisting the urge to wipe it away, to comfort her.
He glanced at her sidelong, giving her a slow grin, jabbing her ribs gently with his elbow, hoping to cheer her up. “Aw, now, it’s not that different. Still the boring little town with the same boring people we’ve known since we were kids and will know until we…” He stopped short of the word. This Christmas was hard enough for both of them.
“It’s not boring,” Grace sniffed.
“What?” Luke cajoled but she’d surprised him. Something within him stirred. If he hadn’t known better, he might have called it hope.
He pushed it away, firmly. He thought of that morning, that day Helen had died. The thought running through h
is head. And he suddenly wished Grace hadn’t come back, either.
She was just passing through, eager to leave. Only in town long enough to mess with his head. And his heart.
“It’s not boring,” she repeated. “I was… young then. Foolish.”
A question burned within him, eroding his stomach, twisting it raw. It had haunted him every night leading up to his wedding day, hovered in the recesses of his mind when he stood at the altar and pledged his vows, lingered throughout every day of his marriage right up until that morning. The morning he decided to find out once and for all.
Now Grace was here, the conversation was broached, and he could ask her, finally have his answer. He opened his mouth, and stopped himself. What would it matter, what could it change? He had married another woman, and now he mourned her death. Grace had left him, then come back for him, and he had turned her away. Nothing she could say now could change the chain of events, and any revelation might only add to his distress, confirm that all of it was unnecessary, that it could have all been so different. So very different.
“Things worked out the way they were meant to,” he muttered, trying to sound more convincing than he felt.
She shrugged, and stared despondently down the street. He followed her gaze, trying to see what she saw. In the town square a group of children were having a snowball fight, and he recognized the boys from the school. Shoppers wrapped in woolly scarves, carrying paper bags stuffed with wrapped packages, trekked across the shoveled paths. The Christmas tree stood proud in the center of it all, beckoning a sense of cheer he couldn’t bring himself to feel.
“Maybe,” was all she said, and they lapsed into silence.
Luke leaned against the brick building that housed the Fireside Café. Through the window edged in twinkling lights he could see that, as usual, the place was filled. Groups of friends clutched steaming mugs of tea and leaned over tables chatting excitedly. A few customers had claimed armchairs near the blazing fireplace, engrossed in books or magazines. Near the window, Luke spotted a couple on a date. The woman was pretty, laughing at something the man was saying, and Luke had to tear his eyes away as disappointment swelled within him. He wondered if he would ever have a moment like that again.
“I should get going,” he said.
Grace nodded almost imperceptibly, her eyes boring through his, and his heart skipped a beat as he waited for her to say what was on her mind.
“Okay,” she finally said.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, took a step backward. “I’ll see you, Grace.”
“Yeah, sure,” she said, watching him retreat, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure they would see each other, and the thought terrified him. This couldn’t be how it ended; this couldn’t be their last conversation.
“I’ll see you before you leave, Grace,” he said, his voice cutting loud and clear through the crisp, still air. “Even if it’s just to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
She raised a brow but her lips twisted with pleasure. “I thought you weren’t feeling up for Christmas this year.”
He grinned. “What can I say? We Scrooges need to stick together.”
Her mouth curved into a delicious, slow smile, and his pulse quickened. “I’ll see you around, Luke,” she said, and just like that, she was gone.
Walking back to his car, Luke was aware of the bounce in his step, of the race of his heart. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys, smiling to himself, until he thought of going home to the house that reminded him of Helen, and then he felt the smile drain from his face.
Helen had been sweet and kind and easy to love. She would never have asked for more than he could give her, never demanded that he sacrifice more than he felt possible. She had wanted the same things as him; she hadn’t pushed him away or asked for the impossible. He had been safe with Helen. He had been comfortable. With Helen, he could have the life that they both wanted, the one he had told Grace he needed. The one he realized might not be enough.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t loved Helen. It was that he had loved Grace, too. And it was a lot easier to live with that guilt when he didn’t have to confront it face-to-face.
CHAPTER
10
Anna’s gaze lingered cool and steady as Grace weaved her way through the crowded tables to the gleaming wood bakery counter at the back of the café. “Talking with Luke, I see,” she said archly.
Grace released a breath, still feeling rattled from the morning’s events. “Why didn’t you tell me about the bookstore?” she asked, refusing to get into a conversation about Luke.
Two days in a row. Chances were high she’d see him again around town tomorrow, unless she opted to sit inside the house all day, and after last night and this morning, she had no intention of that. She wasn’t sure she could bear the sight of him again or the way her body responded to the curve of those lips and the shadow in his eyes, but the thought of not seeing him again made her heart hurt more than she cared to admit.
Anna heaved a dramatic sigh and straightened a tray of blueberry scones. “I was waiting for this.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Grace repeated, her voice rising at Anna’s nonchalance.
Ann tipped her head, fixing her stare. “Do you really want to get into this now?”
Grace felt her brow pinch. “Yes!” she cried, loudly enough for the barista behind the industrial-sized espresso machine to glance her way. She lowered her voice and leaned over the counter. “Yes, I do want to get into this now. I want to know why my family decided to close down our father’s bookstore months ago without consulting me on the matter.”
Anna released another sigh and shifted her eyes around the room. She turned to one of the other girls behind the counter, who was plating a tray of thick, fragrant chocolate chip cookies the size of a small planet, and said lowly, “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Five minutes. Grace felt her temper flare. Here she was, asking to discuss the fate of their family’s bookshop—her father’s passion, his life’s work—and all Anna could spare her was five minutes.
“I skipped breakfast. Can I get you anything while I’m at it?” Anna asked, almost as an afterthought, and Grace shook her head. She’d barely eaten dinner last night or breakfast this morning and her stomach felt raw and empty, but she had no appetite. How could she enjoy a meal when everything her father had worked for was turning to dust? The thought of sitting here, eating a scone, pretending like nothing was amiss… impossible.
She glanced at Anna, who was carrying an admittedly delicious-looking crumble-top muffin and hot tea to a table in the corner, where they wouldn’t be overheard.
“I can’t believe you haven’t told me about this,” Grace blurted as she hung her coat on the back of a chair. She slid into her seat, staring expectantly at her middle sister, who calmly broke her muffin in half and took a bite.
Growing up, Anna had always been the most difficult of the three sisters. They said middle children were easygoing by nature, but such was not the case with the Madison girls. No, Anna was as headstrong and determined as Grace, and with only a two-year age difference, competition tended to brew strong and steady. Perhaps it was from watching the two older sisters go at it that Jane remained so laid-back and quiet, Grace had often reflected. There were times, she knew, where Anna could make her downright angry, like now. Mostly, though, Grace knew she had her sister to thank for a lot of the success she had in life, and that Anna could probably say the same if she stopped and thought about it.
This café was living proof of what a little incentive could do. Anna had worked all through high school and culinary school, saving every penny, refusing to part with so much as a few dollars for a Saturday night movie. By the time she had graduated, she was able to fund the start-up of the Fireside Café, which had thrived ever since.
Anna tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I should have told you. I’m sorry.”
Well, that was something. And more than she had expected after
Anna’s behavior the night before. Grace relaxed her shoulders, feeling her defensive edge melt into the back of her seat. “I’m just so shocked,” she said. “Jane said that Mom is at peace with the store closing. Is that true?”
Anna shrugged and briefly met Grace’s inquisitive eyes. “I’m not really sure what choice she has.”
“Well, has she talked to the bank? Maybe she could get a loan or a mortgage on the house—”
Anna was shaking her head. “No, Grace. It’s too much for her on top of her own work, and it’s too much of a risk. Do you know how much money that place was bringing in for the past few years?” Without waiting for Grace to answer, she said, “Less than the rent, that’s how much. It’s in the red. It’s a liability, and right now Mom needs all the security she can get.”
“I’m worried about Mom.”
“If you’re so worried,” Anna said, “then don’t show her how upset you are about the bookstore. Disappointment is one thing, but don’t attack her. It’s not her fault. It’s no one’s fault.”
Grace studied the pattern of the wood on the tabletop. Christmas music played softly in the background, barely audible over the lively buzz in the room. All around her, people were chatting, occasionally bursting into laughter, enjoying the holiday cheer. As much as she hated to admit it, Anna had a point. A good one. Still, something in her couldn’t accept it. It meant too much. “It’s just—” Her voice hitched. “It’s the last piece of Dad we have.”
For the first time since she had arrived, Grace noted that her sister looked genuinely saddened. Her blue eyes were flat; her pretty lips were turned down. “I know,” she said softly. “Don’t think this wasn’t hard for me, too. For all of us.” She drew a sharp breath and met Grace’s eye. “We’ve struggled with this, and I think that’s why none of us wanted to tell you. It would have made it worse for us than it already was.”
“Because you knew I would be upset?”
“Because we knew how you would react. We knew you would do… this.” She waved her hand in the air, gesturing at Grace across the table in exasperation.
