The Love Letter

by Rachel Hauck

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t have a bit of Christmas light in your life.” She rattled an old string of lights, shaking out the tangles. “These are Mr. Crumbly’s, but since he’s not here . . .” She handed the plug to Jesse. “The socket’s under the sill.”

  He regarded her for a second, pretty sure he looked like a grinning fool, then dropped to one knee to do her bidding.

  A burst of red, blue, green, and golden light warmed the room and changed everything.

  “Here.” Chloe handed him the strand. “You do that side, I’ll do this one.”

  Together they wrapped the tree in lights. Chloe softly sang “O Christmas Tree.” The short wisps of her reddish-gold hair freed from her braid bounced to the tune she sang.

  Jesse peered at her through the branches, finding rest in the cushion of her voice. She was a blend of confidence and timidity, savvy and innocence, casual and classy, walking in a beauty she neither flaunted nor ignored.

  And in those jeans—shew! A tad sexy.

  “Tuck this last bit around the top,” she said, passing him the end of the strand, her fingers brushing his, making this moment a come-to-life Currier and Ives.

  If he could click his heels and decimate his past and unlock his heart, he’d spend the rest of his life creating memories like this with Chloe Daschle.

  But he didn’t have a pair of magic shoes. A way to undo what had been done. No way to justify his right to any sort of romantic happiness.

  “Perfect.” Chloe admired their handiwork. Jesse stood alongside her, and heaven help him, he slipped into a moment where they were married and this was their first Christmas. The scene unfolded before him like a movie. Like a life he had yet to live. The sentiment buzzed in his chest. Sent chills down his arm.

  The movie, his upcoming departure for Boston, Jeremiah’s recent news were a million years away. But as quickly as it came, it faded. He was flawed Jesse again, feet firmly planted in his rented guesthouse, unworthy of the woman next to him.

  “Y-you’re a fan of Christmas?” he said, distracting his thoughts from a journey not worth traveling.

  “Absolutely! Please don’t tell me you’re not. I was really starting to like you.” She retrieved a few baubles from the box. “I couldn’t find Mr. Crumbly’s ornaments. These will do until I buy more.”

  “You don’t have to buy more.”

  “And have you sitting over here with a naked Christmas tree? Please. I’d not wish it on my worst enemy.”

  Jesse laughed. “You’re something else, Chloe Daschle.”

  “Am I?”

  His compliment, and her tone, crossed into an intimate zone. Her gaze lingered on him.

  “I think you know you are.” He reached for one of the ornaments, setting it on a thin branch. But it was too big and the thing just sagged.

  “I try to believe, but . . .” Chloe removed Jesse’s ornament, setting it on a lower, stronger branch, where it swung happily side to side. “Maybe I’m just a legend in my own mind. But since I got . . . well . . .” She peered up at him. “Saved. I’ve changed.”

  “Yeah? Seems hard to imagine, but I guess faith helps people.” He picked another ornament and the appropriate-size branch. “So, you’re a real fan of Christmas? Of Jesus and His birthday?”

  Chloe hesitated, fixing an antique-looking, gold ball on the edge of a branch. “I am.” She peered at Jesse, her eyes glossy. “He truly saved me. Quite literally.”

  There was a time he’d have debated her. Just because. Even if his scientific mind understood that the universe flowed under the hand of an unseen Creator. But the tone of her voice, the emotion in her eyes, stirred him toward curiosity instead of deliberation. “You’ll have to tell me the story one day.”

  “We’re building up a lot of stories to tell each other.”

  When they’d arranged the six ornaments and Chloe was satisfied, she motioned toward the big house. “Mom and Dad have gone out. The lanai fireplace is glowing, the tree is lit, and Glenda made her amazing chicken and rice.” She tucked her fingers into her pockets. “If you’re not doing anything . . .”

  “Chicken and rice? One of my favorites.”

  Jesse walked with her across the lawn, through the cool breeze, toward the Daschles’ lanai, which had been turned into a Christmas fairyland. White lights wrapped the posts and ran the perimeter of the ceiling. A grand, tall Christmas tree ornamented the corner by the fireplace, the branches stuffed with glass balls and a flowing, gold ribbon.

  Music dropped down from hidden speakers. “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”

  “Have you done your shopping?” Chloe said, opening the doors to the kitchen, the warmth of the house escaping.

  “None.”

  “Jesse Gates, you’re a Scrooge!” She took two plates from the glass cupboard.

  “I’ll shop once I’m in Boston.”

  “What? Two days before Christmas?”

  He grinned with a shy laugh. “I suppose you plan your gifts for weeks.”

  “Months.” She lifted the lid of the slow cooker. The aroma of roasting chicken and rice steamed as she filled two Christmas tableau plates, handing one to Jesse. “The cutlery is in that drawer. Can you grab me a knife and fork?” She retrieved linen napkins from another drawer. “Drinks are in the outside fridge.”

  He followed her. How could he not? She hooked him deeper with every encounter, and like a black hole, one day he might not be able to escape her pull.

  But for now they settled on the sofa, Chloe sitting cross-legged, plate anchored on her knee, popping a Diet Coke.

  Jesse leaned forward, plate on his palm. “Why all the planning?”

  “Christmas is personal. The gifts should mean something.” She scooped a big bite of chicken and rice. “Everything about the holiday, at least in the beginning, speaks of intimacy.”

  He frowned. “How so?” And why did her words disquiet him?

  “Think about it? God becoming man. No, a baby. To save the world, yes—but also to somehow save you, me. It’s personal. It’s the ultimate epic story. Worthy of Mel Gibson.”

  Jesse nodded, though the disquiet became discomfort. “You’re lucky you found the story.”

  She set down her fork and reached for her drink. “Lucky is one word for it. I was so, so, so lost . . . hurting. Oh! Your gift.” She jumped up.

  “What? Gift? Chloe, wait—”

  She left the lanai, ran across a patch of wintergreen grass, and disappeared down the mansion’s breezeway.

  Jesse set down his dish and reached for his tea. A gift? She bought him a gift? His mind raced. He didn’t deserve a gift. Did he have anything at the guesthouse he could disguise as a gift?

  Chloe returned, breathless, her cheeks rosy, and handed him a large, square box wrapped in green and gold paper.

  “Open it.”

  “Chloe, you didn’t have to do this. I didn’t get you—”

  “Will you be quiet? Sheesh, Jesse, the purpose of a gift is to receive, not dismiss. Besides, you did give me a gift. Your screenplay.”

  “Hardly. I didn’t even know you when I wrote it.” He tugged at the ribbon, her generosity humbling him.

  “But He did.” She pointed upward. “You may have written it to complete your grandfather’s love story, or to answer some question in your own heart, but I think Jesus said, ‘Write it for Chloe too.’” She’d cupped her hands around her mouth, whispering, as if the voice of a Savior could be heard. “Go on, open it.”

  She took up her plate again and sat back, smiling, eating, tucking her bare foot between the sofa cushions.

  After tearing the ribbon and paper away, Jesse lifted the lid from the box. Nestled in red tissue paper was a light-wood and brushed-silver frame. The glass was empty, but the bottom held a gold plaque.

  Bound by Love BY JESSE GATES

  DEDICATED TO HIS ANCESTOR HAMILTON LIGHTFOOT

  When he looked closer, he saw lines from the script etched into the glass. Bits and pieces of the story. Bits
and pieces of him.

  He’d not entertained tears in years. When he looked at Chloe, he could not hide them.

  “This is incredible. But why? How?”

  She set down her plate and leaned toward him. “I thought you could frame the letter, you know, if you wanted. I was going to sneak into the guesthouse when you weren’t there, but trespassing for a Christmas present seemed a bit much.” She tapped the edge of the frame. “I had a friend make it. This is cedar, because it’s timeless and fragrant. The brushed silver is for redemption. How you redeemed your grandfather’s story.”

  “And the etching?”

  “The story itself. Transparent. For all to see.”

  Jesse cleared his voice. He was the exact opposite of transparent. “It’s too much, Chloe. Th-thank you.” The intimacy of the gift drew him even more to her. “It’s the coolest gift I’ve ever received. I feel undeserving.”

  “Don’t we all? Isn’t that what Christmas is about?” She pressed her hand to his leg. “Merry Christmas, Jesse.”

  “Merry Christmas, Chloe.” Taking her hand, he pulled her to him.

  “Merry Christmas, Jesse.”

  The touch of her bow lips shot love—no, not love, affection—into his heart. But she was changing him. Any more moments like this and he’d lose control. His kiss was a shallow response to the depth and pleasure her gift stirred in him.

  When he broke away, she tapped her head to his. “This is getting complicated.”

  “Thanks to you,” he said, slipping his hand around her neck and kissing her again.

  “Maybe after the movie we can—”

  “Chloe, we . . .” Jesse set the frame back in the box. He was twisted. Divided. Torn. Bursting to be free, to love, yet still anchored to fear. “I don’t know . . . I guess . . . I’m just . . .”

  “If you tell me whatever you’re fighting to hide, maybe I can help. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

  Jesse stood, pacing to the fireplace, into the glow of the Christmas lights, and back again. Okay, okay, tell her. Just . . . do it.

  “In the box where you saw Hamilton’s letter there was something else. Something far less pleasant.”

  She picked up her plate and cradled it in her lap, watching, waiting.

  “I feel rather numb about it all . . . it’s the past . . . but also it haunts my present and, I fear, my future.”

  “One of those things you can never entirely shake.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I get that, Jesse. I do.” Chloe thoughtfully stirred her chicken and rice, taking a small bite, gazing toward the fireplace. “Just when I think I’m free from the past, it rises from the dead to mock me.”

  Returning to his seat beside her, Jesse took up his plate, his stomach rumbling, though his appetite evaded him.

  “We’d dated for a year,” he said.

  “Ah, it’s always a love story, isn’t it? Not one like the movies, but a real life one. Painful. Sad.”

  “How long did you date your sad love story?”

  “Three years. Three stupid years,” she said.

  “We met in class my senior year at MIT. She was brilliant, witty, gorgeous—”

  “Of course.”

  “—and crazy.” He gave Chloe a pressed smile. “But oh, we were . . . hot and heavy.”

  “Oh my gosh, same here. We met on set.”

  “Naturally.” Jesse slipped a bit of chicken into his mouth.

  “He was gorgeous, talented, charming. I mean, wow. I couldn’t believe he noticed me. But he was a bit loco, and I don’t mean in a good way.”

  “My brother tried to warn me. We were going too fast.”

  “No one warned me, but it wouldn’t have done any good,” she said. “He was my soul mate, and anyone who declared otherwise was no friend of mine.”

  By the music of the season, the twist of the Southern California December breeze, and the glow of the tree, Jesse and Chloe wove their stories together. Like a well-rehearsed play. Jesse wasn’t sure he’d have gotten his out otherwise. He loved the rhythm of their unusual conversation.

  “Spring break came,” he said. “And she invited us all to her uncle’s in Melbourne Beach, Florida.”

  “We were coming up on our third anniversary. Surely he was going to propose.”

  “Loxley wanted me to propose. Even took me ring shopping a month before spring break. But I was twenty years old. Book smart, yes, but extremely immature. Suddenly, the girl I thought I loved was choking me.”

  “Twenty?” she said, a fork full of chicken and rice suspended in front of her mouth. “You got your bachelor’s from MIT at twenty?”

  “No.” He sipped his tea. “My master’s.”

  “OMG,” she whispered. “Now I’m intimidated.”

  “Don’t be . . . you’ve not heard the rest of my story. W-what about you? What happened next?”

  “I was twenty-six, fixed on finding my true love, and Haden, at least in my mind, was the guy. And I was also determined to have a meaningful career.” She mimed an explosion. “Boom!”

  “But you do have a meaningful career, Chloe.”

  “You’ve not heard the rest of my story either. What happened next with you?”

  “My brother and I had already started a tech company. DiamondBros. Most of it was on paper, design ideas, where we wanted to put our efforts. Mom helped us incorporate, and Dad introduced us to a couple of investors.”

  “For me, I was a twenty-year veteran in the business, but I’d gone no further than supporting characters and cinematic death. Haden was up for the part in—”

  “Haden.” Reality dawned. “Stuart. You dated the star of Space Avengers?”

  “Don’t judge me.”

  Jesse sat back, hands up. “I’m not. I love that franchise. But Haden Stuart—” He’d met the actor a few times. He was a world-class jerk.

  “Tell me about it. But I was in love. And supposed to play Twist, his kick-butt sidekick and occasional girlfriend.”

  “Really? You would’ve been an amazing Twist.”

  “But I blew it.”

  Jesse frowned. “How did you—”

  “You go. Last I heard, young genius Jesse Gates was in Florida for spring break.”

  “Right, so, on our last night there, Loxley kept hinting . . .”

  “About the ring? The question?”

  “Yep, but I knew one thing. I didn’t love her. Not like a man should love a woman he’s about to marry. Again, I was just twenty. I wasn’t ready for marriage. But Lox was a list maker and a goal setter. Grad school and engagement were next on her to-dos. But I didn’t feel like being someone’s check box. Even if she . . .” He shook his head, the sharpness of his dark confession disrupting his peace. “Let’s just say being book smart doesn’t make you heart smart.”

  “Oh, trust me, I know. I’m not a genius like some folks sitting on this sofa—”

  “Stop.”

  “But I was an A student. Even in math and science.”

  Jesse popped Chloe a high five. “Go on. Last time in our story, our heroine was hot and heavy with Captain Steel Jones.”

  “Ha! Very funny. Okay, well, a girlfriend invited me to dinner at E.P. & L.P. We had a rooftop view of the city at sunset. Perfect setup for a proposal. Haden’s behind this, I thought. He’s lured me up here for a surprise engagement party.” She arched her brow. “I’m nothing if not a dreamer. I imagined this whole scene, Kathy and I arriving to find the deck reserved for a special occasion. She’d pretend to sneak up to see what was going on, begging me to go with her. Of course, Haden would be waiting for me on one knee, holding up a big, fat diamond ring.”

  “I was in a movie with that scenario once. I played the best friend.”

  “That’s probably where I got the idea. The fantasy of it all.”

  “I take it he wasn’t waiting there with a ring.”

  “Oh, he was there, all right.” Chloe sat back, taking a bite of her dinner, motioning for Jesse to cont
inue.

  “I found a plastic ring in a gumball machine at the local convenience store. Spent about five bucks trying to get it, but I did. It was hideous. I thought, This is going to be so funny. Giving her a fake engagement ring.” I figured she’d get mad, tell me to grow up, and maybe, hopefully, decide I was a tasteless cad and break up with me. Have the old ‘You’re so immature’ argument.”

  Chloe set her plate on the table and took up her Diet Coke. “As my girlfriend and I walked to our table—she was going on and on about a new role she’d auditioned for—then bam! There he was. Haden.”

  “So he was there?”

  “All golden and gorgeous. Perfect. I ran over to him just as he bent forward to kiss the woman sitting next to him. Marilyn West.”

  “Marilyn West? He threw you over for Marilyn? Wow . . . Way to trade a million-dollar-girl for one who’s a dime a dozen. The man has no taste.”

  “Maybe, but that moment was a knife to my heart.” Her eyes glistened.

  “I’m so sorry, babe.” The intimate nickname slipped from his lips without warning, without premeditation. “That had to hurt.”

  “Oh, the story gets worse. Your turn.”

  Jesse set his plate aside and slumped down against the cushions, bracing for the painful edge of his memories.

  “We’d gone down to the beach for a game of football and a final dip in the waves. The music was playing, the guys were running for fake touchdowns, and the girls were strutting in their bikinis. That’s when I get the wild idea to fake-propose in front of everyone. The joke would be on me.”

  “Turns out the joke was on me,” Chloe said. “I was so shocked, I walked right up to them. ‘Haden, what are you doing?’” She winced, mirroring Jesse’s move to duck into the sofa cushions. “‘Is this a scene? Are you shooting up here?’ I even glanced around for the cameras and crew. They were filming a romcom together, but I wasn’t aware of any rooftop scenes.”

  “Oh, he was in Slap Happy with Marilyn, wasn’t he? But there were no cameras there that night?”

  “Oh, there were cameras, all right.” Chloe swigged from her Diet Coke. “Your turn.”

  “We’d finished the football game, brought out all the leftovers, built a fire in the fire pit, watched the sunset. That’s when I pulled my stunt. With a glance at my brother, like, Watch this, I bent to one knee in front of Loxley. Dan went crazy, shaking his head. ‘Jess,’ he said. But I ignored him, took the ring from my pocket, and said, ‘Loxley, will you marry me?’”