by Olivia Miles
In the distance she could make out the sound of the stereo. She gritted her teeth, holding back a sigh. God help her, it was their song. They were playing their song.
She looked up at Luke, hooking her gaze on his stare, wondering if he had heard it, if he even remembered it. The shadow that came and went over his face gave her the answer.
“I think this about seals it,” she said over an unhappy laugh. “Hands down, this is the worst Christmas ever.”
Luke’s mouth tugged into a lazy smile. “We used to love this song.”
We used to love a lot of things. She looked away and took another sip of her wine before setting it on the counter. She wrapped her arms around herself, fingering the soft material of her sweater, wishing his arms were holding her tight instead. It was hard enough listening to this song, reliving those memories, but standing here alone with him brought it all much too close to the surface.
“I got you, babe.” His voice was husky, deep like a growl, and she pressed her lips together to ward off a smile. “Babe,” he said, in beat with the song.
She turned to him. He was grinning now, his blue eyes glittering. Confusion swept over her as she stared at him. He threw his head back, grinning, as he belted the song painfully off tune. Oh, how she had missed that grin. “They say we’re young and we don’t know—Come on, sing with me!” he chided.
“No,” she said firmly.
He crooned the next line, forcing a chuckle to sputter from her lips at how badly he sang, then reached out to poke her shoulder with his finger, cajoling her into joining him. He wasn’t going to let up. And she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.
She smiled wanly and shakily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Stop. We don’t need this.”
“Come on, maybe it will put it to rest. Maybe if we sing this song now it will give it a new meaning.”
She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Still, she thought, as she brought her glass to her lips once more, he did have a point. Enough things were off-limits in her life as it was—all too painful in the emotions they stirred up—but if she could handle coming back to Briar Creek, then certainly she should be able to handle diffusing the power of one silly song.
He set his beer down and backed up, wiggling his fingers by invitation. His smile was contagious, his eyes so blue, brought out by the hue of his shirt, and her heart squeezed so tight she thought it might break.
Oh, to hell with it.
She yelled out the next line, wincing as her voice echoed off the empty walls, and he laughed, but as he took a step closer, his expression hardened, and she stiffened.
“Then put your little hand in mine,” he sang softly, reaching down to take her hand, pulling her closer to him.
She stared at him, feeling the heat of his skin next to hers, his eyes so close she could see the flickers of color around his black pupils, count every eyelash if she wanted to. His lips hovered inches from her own, his fingers laced with hers, this time not letting her go. She reached her hand up and placed it on his chest, out of habit perhaps, or out of an urge too deep to restrain.
His free hand slid around her waist, sweeping her into the sway of the rhythm in one effortless movement, moving with her so naturally it was as if they had never spent a day apart. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his shoulder, feeling the strength of him in her arms, the warmth of his body through his button-down shirt.
She knew the next verse and listened with a pounding heart as the muffled words came through the walls, over the raucous laughter and chatter in the next room. I won’t let go. I won’t let go, she chanted to herself. But that was exactly what she had done once, and now, being here in his arms like this, feeling his broad chest pressed against hers, his hand resting casually over the base of her spine, she wasn’t sure how she would be able to let go again.
She’d stayed away all this time because she was afraid of this moment, afraid to feel something she shouldn’t. To want something she could never have.
“Grace.” His voice was husky and low, and she tilted her head up, her heart thundering in her chest, the world around her stopping as everything in that moment became about Luke, about the familiarity of his face so close to hers. His gaze was fixed on her mouth, and she parted her lips, sucking in a breath.
He stiffened. “We should probably get back to the party,” he said, refusing to meet her eye as his arms dropped. He raked a hand through his dark hair and reached for his beer, quickly bringing it to his mouth.
Disappointment flooded her, but she refused to let him see it. She swallowed hard, feeling so vulnerable and stripped down that she might as well have been standing in the kitchen naked. “Yeah, probably.” Seeing the pain in his eyes, she gave him a sad smile. “You go first. If we walk out there together we’ll never hear the end of it,” she added, forcing a small smile.
She waited until Luke left the kitchen, without another word or glance back, and then leaned back against the counter, releasing a shaky breath. It had meant nothing, nothing but an impulse to fall back into the routine that had once been so natural to them, and once Luke had realized what he was doing, he corrected himself.
She told herself to remember it was better this way. No good could come of slipping into their own ways. They were over, long over, and besides, she’d moved on. Or so he thought.
“Grace?” Ivy stood in the doorway, frowning. “You okay?”
Grace gave a wan smile. “Sure, of course.”
“Mark’s getting the karaoke machine out.” She rolled her eyes.
“He always was the life of the party,” Grace observed.
Ivy tipped her head. “You sure you’re okay? We could leave if you want, go somewhere and talk. I’m sorry I brought up Luke. I shouldn’t have—I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, it’s fine, really,” Grace lied. “I was just feeling nostalgic, being back here.” She realized there was more truth in her statement than she had planned. Somehow, being at this party, being alone in the kitchen with Luke, so close to him it only made sense to lean in and kiss him, made her feel like no time had passed at all, that somehow the five years had never happened.
“Thinking about your dad?”
Grace paused as something occurred to her. “Did you know about Main Street Books?”
Ivy nodded, her face creased with guilt. “It’s been a tough year for you, Grace.”
“Here’s the thing, Ivy. I’ve been thinking there might be a way to keep the store open.”
“Really? That would be great!”
Grace licked her lips. “Keep this between you and me, Ivy, but I really feel like there’s still a chance for the place. Tell me: what do you know about that empty storefront next door?”
A strange expression took over Ivy’s features. “I don’t really know,” she said after a pause. “Why?”
Grace hesitated, considering the idea that was taking shape, and then pushed it away with a shake of her head. “Nothing, forget it. It was a silly idea,” she said. And that’s exactly what it was. A stupid, silly idea. Saving that shop meant staying in town, and there was no way she could do that. Hell, she couldn’t even handle staying at this party.
“If you don’t mind, I think I would like to take you up on your offer,” she said, thinking of how awkward it would be to see Luke’s sisters, or to watch Luke talk with other people as if she weren’t even in the room, as if he hadn’t almost kissed her. Because he almost had—he most certainly almost had. “Mind if we head out?”
Ivy grinned. “Not at all.”
Grace followed her friend through the hall, looking out of the corner of her eye for any sign of Luke as she shrugged on her coat, but as she stepped out the front door and into the cold, winter night, she realized as she saw the taillights of a black SUV growing smaller in the distance that he was already one step ahead of her.
CHAPTER
12
In the more than ten minutes since she had picked up Grace from thei
r mother’s house at noon sharp, not a word had yet been spoken. Exasperated, Jane turned up the volume on the car radio as a particularly happy jingle was starting. Good, she thought, feeling a bit better already. They could use a bit of cheer this afternoon.
“Do you mind?” Without waiting for an answer, Grace leaned over and switched off the car radio. Jane counted to three, waiting for it, and sure enough, Sophie’s protest wailed from the back seat.
“Hey! Turn back on the music!” the small voice cried.
Jane pressed her lips together. Stay calm. “Auntie Grace doesn’t want the music on right now, sweetheart.” She’d rather pout instead, she finished to herself. She knew that Grace would be disappointed about the bookstore, but honestly! It was the pragmatic thing to do; surely Grace would see that too if she could stop and look at the facts.
“Oh!” Sophie grumbled in disappointment and then kicked the back of the driver’s seat, causing Jane to almost slam on the brakes in reaction.
“Santa’s watching, Sophie!” she warned, even though she herself felt like doing nothing short of the same. Only to the back of someone else’s chair.
She glanced at her sister. So much for thinking Grace would be there for her. Since she’d been back in town, her sister had been nothing but silent and brooding. Like everyone else in her family, Jane mused. It seemed she was the only one capable of pulling herself together for the season, putting on a game face, and forcing some Christmas cheer. She, of all people. If she stopped to think about it, she laughed.
Until she cried.
“I don’t like Auntie Grace anymore! She’s mean!” Sophie continued and Jane dropped her jaw, feigning horror, but secretly holding in a burst of laughter that was bubbling much too close to the surface.
Jane slid her eyes to Grace, who was staring out the window, seemingly oblivious to her niece’s insults. It was typical of her sister. Grace was always able to find escape in her own mind and imagination. It was a trait Jane wished she too possessed, especially now.
“Let’s be nice, Sophie. Apologize to your aunt.” She made a show of pausing, rolling her eyes to Grace in mock exasperation, when what she really thought was, That’s my girl.
Her heart warmed. Some days—in fact most days—it felt like the world was against her. Like she had no one on her side. And then Sophie would say something that would turn her mood around, lift her spirits.
She had Sophie, she reminded herself firmly each day. And that was all she needed.
“Don’t you like Christmas music, Aunt Grace?” Sophie asked, and Jane took interest in this.
Grace pulled her attention back to them, frowning. “No, honey,” she sighed after a moment. “I really don’t like Christmas music. Not this year, at least.”
Sophie fell silent, absorbing this unexpected response, her little forehead crinkled as she tried to understand. Perhaps Jane had sheltered her too much, she mused, glancing in the rear view mirror. Maybe Sophie was tougher than she had thought. Maybe she would handle the breakdown of their family better than Jane feared…
Well, not if she could help it.
“We’re almost home now, and we can listen to music while we make our cookies!” Jane said brightly, as she turned down their street. She took in the houses, mostly boasting young, growing families, and felt a familiar pang in her chest.
She could still remember when she and Adam had purchased their home, just before Sophie was born. She remembered the sense of wonder that filled each room, the possibility of the four bedrooms on the second floor, the thought of filling this house with children, laughter.
What had happened to those dreams? She had thought Adam shared them, wanted the life they had planned for each other. The one that had meant more to her than her dreams of dancing, pursuing her ballet. She’d chucked it all, giving up her scholarship at the dance academy to marry Adam when he graduated from college, knowing that a life with him was enough for her. And it had been. She loved their life together, the role of wife and mother.
She had stayed the course, followed their predetermined path. She had done nothing wrong; it was he who had strayed—her lying, cheating, unfaithful husband. So why then did she lie awake at night wondering what she could have done differently, what she had missed? She had failed her family, herself, her child. She had been unable to keep her family together, and now Sophie would grow up in a broken home.
Jane blinked rapidly. She couldn’t cry now, not with Grace here, and especially not in front of Sophie. She would protect her child some way or another. And maybe, just maybe, she could even give her the best Christmas gift of all this year: the security of knowing that her parents would stay together, that all would continue as it was intended to all along.
“I love your house,” Grace said as Jane pulled into the driveway. It was shoveled; Adam had done that much at least. It was a small contribution to their family, and Jane was ashamed to realize how much it had meant to her. Somehow it signified more than she knew it should.
“Thanks,” Jane said, tracing her gaze over the Dutch colonial. It was a beautiful house, a house she had thought she would live in forever, but now… Now it was only another source of uncertainty, another piece in the puzzle that had become her marriage and everything connected to it. She’d always assumed that if Adam filed for divorce that he would let her keep the house, but now, looking up at the house with its crisp white siding, black shutters, and hunter green door, she wasn’t so sure if she could even live there without him. It would be a constant reminder of the hope she had once felt and the dream she had lost.
Foolishness! She was going down a dark road, imagining worst case scenarios. To hear herself think, why it was as if she was already planning for a divorce—and she wasn’t. She most certainly was not.
Aware that Grace was staring at her, Jane jolted herself back to her surroundings. “Sorry,” she muttered, turning off the ignition. She popped the locks and scrambled out of her seat before Grace could pry into her thoughts, and opened the back door, releasing Sophie from her car seat.
“I can’t believe she still has to sit in one of those,” Grace observed. She was hovering on the opposite side of the car, hands in her pocket, and as Jane caught her eye, something in her softened. She’d missed Grace. A lot. It was easy to forget that Grace had suffered her own disappointments recently, too.
It’s not all about you, Jane. Although sometimes it felt that way, especially with no one to confide in. Oh, she had friends, but it wasn’t the same as a sister, and deep down she knew her sisters were always her closest friends, even when they didn’t always get along or went for years without face-to-face contact. Grace always made a point of keeping in touch via email or phone. Jane always felt a knot in her heart on the days her inbox sat empty.
“She’s only four,” Jane said, “but I know what you mean. I don’t remember sitting in one of these at her age.”
Grace shrugged. “Times change. I remember sitting on the armrest in the front seat. Right in between Mom and Dad. I liked being high up so I could see out the windshield.”
Jane snorted and then burst out laughing, imagining her own daughter doing such a thing—ludicrous! It felt good to laugh. She hadn’t done enough of it lately. “I wish I could remember that!”
“I miss those days,” Grace said, her voice so low that it was nearly lost in a chilling burst of wind.
Jane shuddered and rubbed her arms over her ivory down parka. “Come on inside. It’s freezing out here,” she said, coming around the car to place an arm around her oldest sister’s waist, her earlier hostility already fading.
Grace was her sister. She knew her and loved her like few in this world could, and she needed to remember that, focus on it. It was becoming so much easier to stop trusting in people, to assume they would let you down in the end, the way her husband had. The one person who had vowed to love her forever.
Once inside, Jane set the kettle to boil for tea and placed Sophie’s red snow boots near the radiato
r to dry. She took Sophie by the hand and brought her into the family room—the family room!—where she scrolled through the channels until she found a Christmas show long enough to keep Sophie distracted while she prepped the ingredients for the cookies. The tree sparkled in the corner, standing tall enough to skim the ceiling, proudly boasting all the ornaments she and Adam had collected over the years. It had pained her to hang each one. Normally, they did it together, but this year Adam had told her to go ahead and set it up without him. Busy at “the office”… of course.
She’d kept her mind occupied that night stringing popcorn, until the garland could have wrapped the tree fifteen times over. It was all she could do to keep her thoughts from trailing to what her husband was doing. Or who he was with.
Jane walked over to the hearth and straightened the knit stockings. Three in a row. She had thought someday there would be a fourth, maybe even a fifth—now she would be lucky to hold on to the three. The thought of only two stockings hanging from the mantel by next Christmas sliced at her heart. She turned away, brushing a tear quickly and inhaling a shaky sigh.
“Grace?” When her sister didn’t answer, she wandered into the kitchen, finding it empty and the teakettle whistling. Turning off the gas, she set the kettle on the back burner, tipping her head as she saw Grace in the hallway. “Grace?” she repeated, stepping closer, and then halting in her path when she saw her sister staring at the framed photo that hung near the base of the stairs.
Their wedding photo.
“There you are,” she breathed, becoming aware of the pounding of her heart.
“You look so young in this,” Grace mused, barely giving her a glance.
“Well, I was young,” Jane said as she stepped closer, aware of the defensive edge creeping into her tone. It pained her to look at that photo, to reflect on the excitement of the day, to recall the overwhelming sense of anticipation she had felt. What a stupid, stupid girl, she thought now.
“Nineteen, right?”
Jane nodded. “Adam was only twenty-two,” she said, frowning at the image of his handsome, younger face. They were so innocent. He had proposed when she was just eighteen and she had said yes, thinking at that time that all she wanted was to be a wife and a mother. Now she was filled with regret, thinking of what her life might have been if she’d been more practical, more self-protective. Less foolish.
