by Donna Alward
He honestly didn’t give a damn what the decorations on his tree looked like. The fact that he even had one was enough.
“They’re nice,” he answered, but she’d already tucked them under her arm and was looking at tree toppers, namely stars covered in some sparkly something-or-other. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you decorations for your tree.”
He frowned. “Then here. I’ll get them.”
“Nope. My gift to you.”
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Amy, I can get a few decorations.”
She tilted her chin in the air. “Let’s look at it from my point of view, shall we? I don’t have a tree at the cottage, and every year I decorate mine alone. You already have the tree and stand. And helping you . . .” Her big eyes shimmered at him. “It’d be nice to decorate with someone for a change.”
Amy? Lonely? He hadn’t considered it before, but maybe she was.
“Is this a pride thing?” she asked. “Because if it is, I’ll let you buy me a hot chocolate at The Purple Pig.”
She was so impossible to resist. He should have known that first day she’d driven into town and faced off with him at The Ladybug that he didn’t stand a chance. Less than a week later he’d spilled his guts and was out being social of all things.
“I suppose I’ll have to say yes,” he replied, and dropped his hand. She smiled triumphantly and took the decorations to the cash register. Then she tucked them into the pink-and-cream tote.
“Now you know why I brought the big bag,” she teased, stepping through the door as the bell dinged above them.
Snow was falling a little harder now, but still only what he’d call a “gentle flurry.” Their steps slowed as they walked along, stopping to admire a few different wreaths. George even stepped closer to a business door to examine the wreath’s construction, which led to more teasing from Amy. At The Purple Pig he bought two dark hot chocolates, made with organic cocoa and milk, as well as two holiday shortbread cookies in the shape of snowmen. Further down the block they crossed to the Green at a crosswalk, found a vacant bench, and sat to sip and nibble.
“This is nice,” Amy said quietly, tilting her face to the sky. She stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and then giggled. George watched, fascinated, entranced. She seemed so . . . young. And most of the time he felt so old, but tonight that all disappeared. Tonight he felt the weight of his past fade away, and when she looked over at him and lifted an eyebrow, he tilted his head back, stuck out his tongue, and waited for a little cold flake to land on it.
“You look silly,” she remarked, and bit the rest of the head off her snowman.
“Who cares?” he asked, grinning. “Want to know something? I went through years of people either not actually seeing me or seeing me and pretending I didn’t exist. It taught me not to care so much about things like how I look. What I really have to worry about?” He held his cookie in his hand but pressed his hand over his heart. “How I feel in here. Being square with myself. I spent so much time thinking I wasn’t worth it, determined not to accept help. I started over, and if I want to catch snowflakes on my tongue I’m damned well going to do it.”
“Good. You should.” She gave an emphatic nod.
They were still chatting when a voice interrupted them. “George?”
He looked up and saw half the Gallagher clan walking through the snow. Laurel was there, holding Aiden’s hand, her baby bump just visible beneath her jacket. With them was Aiden’s brother, Ethan, his partner, Willow, and his two little boys. Willow was glowing; her pregnancy wasn’t quite as far along as Laurel’s, but wasn’t far behind.
“Hey, boss.” He smiled up at Laurel, but felt heat rush into his face. Particularly when everyone seemed to be staring at Amy like she was some kind of curiosity.
“Looks like lots of people are enjoying the lights tonight,” Aiden remarked, giving Laurel a gentle nudge with his elbow. She stopped staring and smiled.
“Everyone, this is Amy Merck. I knew her brother a long time ago.” There wasn’t as much pain at the words as he expected. “Amy, you’ve met Laurel. This is her husband, Aiden, and his brother Ethan; Willow, who owns the Purple Pig, and Ethan’s sons, Connor and Ronan.”
Amy smiled widely. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Aiden, and Willow . . . I just love the food at the café.” She looked down at the boys. “And I suppose you guys are getting excited for Christmas.”
Ronan held onto Willow’s hand and stared. Connor started jumping around and talking about wanting hockey skates for Christmas, so he could be just like Cam Collier. Amy nodded. “Sure,” she said brightly. “But I’m a Rangers fan, so I’m not so much into Collier.”
“What?” Connor’s mouth dropped open in dismay, and George laughed. “I think you just insulted his superhero,” he muttered. He looked at Connor and shook his head. “I know, Connor. I mean, the Rangers? Really?”
With the ruffled feathers smoothed, everyone enjoyed a laugh.
“We’d better keep going. We parked at the garden center. Willow and Ethan are going to take their tree home tonight.”
Ronan still hadn’t said a word, but George noticed his eyes brightened with excitement.
For a moment a bit of wistfulness hit him. He’d never have a family like this, not now. But maybe what he had was enough. He’d been alone for so long. Having a real family invite him in . . . it was more than he’d ever expected again.
“You two enjoy your evening,” Ethan said. Willow approached George and knelt down in front of him.
“How’s the CD working out?”
She was so kind, so generous. “Like a charm.”
“You know where I am if you need anything, right?”
He nodded. Willow had surprised him a few months ago by sharing a small bit of her own story. She’d dealt with her own mental health issues and never hesitated to offer a helping hand or a non-judgmental ear. Not that he’d really taken her up on it; he was too private. But she was able to read between the lines without pressing, and he appreciated it.
Willow looked over at Amy. “It’s really lovely to meet you. Come on into the café at any time. We should have tea.”
“Oh.” Amy looked flustered but pleased. “Thanks. I’d like that.”
Willow reached over and patted Amy’s hand, then stood and reached for Ronan again. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s go pick out a tree.”
When they were gone Amy looked over at him with big eyes. “Wow. They’re really nice people. And Willow is so pretty!”
“That family has been . . . well, not my surrogate family, but my friends. They’re good people. The best.”
“The boys are sweet.”
“Ethan’s first wife died a few years back. But this past year, he and Willow started dating. They’re expecting a baby in the spring.”
“That’s so sad.”
“With a happy ending.” He shrugged. “She loves his boys and they love her. There are three other kids in the family, too. When they all get together, it’s a bit overpowering.”
“I bet.”
His cookie was long gone. “Do you want to keep walking? There are lights all along here. And you must be getting cold.”
She nodded and he took their empty garbage to a nearby receptacle. When he came back, she reached out and took his hand in hers.
His stomach flipped over, and he left his hand in hers while wondering what the hell he was doing. He was in no position to offer her anything. Not materially, not emotionally. But how could he deny himself the simple sweetness of her gesture? There was innocence in it, and trust. Trust most of all.
They passed several little illuminated scenes as they walked along the path, but George barely noticed them. He was too busy thinking about the woman beside him. Ian had spoken of his twin sister often, worrying about her, telling George stories of their childhood, both good and bad. Girls, he’d explained, could be really horrible to each other. Particularly when someone wasn’t in the popular cro
wd. When it had been time for their senior prom, he’d gone with his girlfriend, but his best friend had taken Amy when her date had cancelled on her two weeks before the dance. George looked at her now, her face lit by the myriad of holiday lights, and wondered if her marriage, and her past experiences, had left her feeling like she was always second best.
She wasn’t. No way.
He kept his hand in hers as they approached the Kissing Bridge.
“So this is the famed bridge?” she asked. “It’s beautiful.”
The town council had strung lights from one side of the stone bridge to the other, making it worthy of a fairy-tale. Other people were strolling, across it, in front of it, taking pictures, even the odd kiss. Quite often kissing and taking pictures.
But George didn’t even really see the bridge. He was too busy looking at her, marveling that she was there with him, and smiling, and that for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t just optimistic, he was happy.
“So are you,” he said, before he could change his mind.
She turned to face him. “I’m what?” she asked, having lost the thread of their conversation.
He swallowed, even more aware that he held her hand in his. “Beautiful,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t say it, but it’s true. You always were, and you still are.”
“George,” she whispered, and her eyes softened.
“Just in case you forgot,” he added. “In case your ex made you feel as if you weren’t. Or . . . whatever.”
“Sometimes,” she admitted softly. “Oh, George. How did we get to be so broken?”
They stood at the edge of the bridge for a long time, staring at the lights, the way they sparkled off the snow, listening to the chatter of people around them. Amy took out her phone and snapped a couple of pictures. After a while they started walking across the stones, over the frozen creek to the other side. George held his breath. He knew the legend of the bridge, didn’t really put any credence in it, but didn’t want to tempt fate, either. Other couples laughed and kissed; they ambled. When they got to the other side, and the path that led away from the bridge and to the half-full parking lot, they hesitated. George wasn’t ready to leave. There’d been something magical about their walk through the snow tonight. Something tenuous and beautiful that reached in and made him feel so alive.
Amy looked up at him, her eyes wide and serious. Then her gaze dropped to his lips and he felt the jolt in his solar plexus. When was the last time a woman had looked at him this way? He still didn’t feel he deserved it. As she leaned closer, he realized that his time on the street had left him feeling dirty and unworthy of what most people took for granted as normal.
She stood up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his. She teetered on her heels a little, and reached out to the stone rail of the bridge to keep her balance. Only for a moment, though. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her firmly as they kissed. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to rock his world.
Shorter and sweeter than he remembered, but no less potent.
He pulled away first, ran his tongue over his lower lip. He tasted the soft sweetness of her lipstick. Oh boy. This was not supposed to happen. He was just supposed to be showing her around town.
“Is it okay that I did that?” she asked, her voice quiet and uncertain.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It surprised me. I haven’t . . . I mean . . .” He smiled a little. “Shit, Amy, I’m out of practice.”
She smiled a little in return. “I didn’t notice.”
Damn. Just damn.
“Let’s just put a pin in it,” she suggested. “Call it a nice moment, maybe? And not read too much into it?”
It sounded like the perfect way to handle it, but it was more than a nice moment. Did she realize the gift she’d given him? He’d done a lot of things in the last few months that had helped give him back his dignity and his sense of self and pride. But this . . . One sweet, simple kiss had given him back a bit of his manhood. Of his sexuality. He felt . . . desirable.
And if he ever admitted such a thing out loud, he’d be laughed out of Darling. But it didn’t change the expansive feeling in his chest, or the fact that he wanted to kiss her again, but this time properly.
“George?”
He shook his head and dropped his hands from her shoulders. “Sorry. Do you want to decorate the tree now? Or would you like to do something else?”
Her eyes twinkled at him. “Your tree. I have some surprises in my bag.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “Let’s go.”
The truck wasn’t far away, and within a few minutes they were pulling into the parking lot at his building.
Something new sat between them, a delicious kind of tension that was a hangover from the kiss and had bloomed into what George thought might be attraction. It certainly was on his part. He might be out of practice, but he’d given her the opportunity to call it a night, and instead she’d seemed excited to go back to his apartment and decorate his tree.
A nice moment indeed.
But she wanted to keep it light, and he’d oblige. So they hopped out of the truck, she grabbed her bag, and they headed upstairs to the naked tree that waited for them.
Chapter Seven
Amy didn’t know what had come over her back at the bridge, but she could still taste him on her lips and was still tingling all over from the possessive way he’d gripped her shoulders, keeping her from tipping over.
She’d kissed him. Kissed him! She couldn’t even really explain why, except that something had happened between one side of the bridge and the other. Nothing tangible, nothing specific she could put her finger on, nothing but a connection that ran between them, both poignant and sweet at what they’d lost and what they’d gained over the years since they’d last met.
And when she’d looked into his eyes she’d seen a flash of hunger there, a glimpse of the man he’d once been, who’d looked at her as if there was no one else in the world he’d rather be with at that moment. The same breathless feeling had overcome her.
Back then the kiss had been wild and reckless; this time it had been soft and sweet. But no less devastating.
Now, though, as they entered his apartment, she was reminded of the differences in their lives. Differences that would be impossible to overcome. The very thought was precipitous, wasn’t it? He certainly wasn’t in the market for romance, and neither was she.
“Home sweet home,” he said quietly, shutting the door.
“Indeed.” She tried a smile. “Before I dig out the ornaments, do you have a big pot we can use on the stove?”
He frowned, clearly puzzled. “A pot? What for?”
She had to restore some normalcy to their interaction or she was going to kiss him again. Once really didn’t seem like enough, and her voice of logic wasn’t speaking loudly enough tonight. Distraction was the only way she was going to keep from compounding her mistake of earlier . . . if it could be called a mistake. It didn’t really feel like it.
She reached into her tote and pulled out a bag of popcorn kernels. “We’re going to string popcorn for your tree.”
He stared at her with such a blank look that she burst out laughing. It helped to dispel a little of the tension still simmering between them. “What, you’ve never done it before?”
He shook his head. “Never.”
For the second time in as many days, she was incredibly thankful for her upbringing. She certainly didn’t pry further; she suspected his response would be that none of his homes had really done any of these activities. One day she’d like to talk to him more about his childhood. She knew foster parents, had grown up with foster kids in her neighborhood. Some had flourished, others not so much. It was sad to think that George was one of the ones who’d somehow fallen between the cracks. All Ian had ever said was that George had been bounced from home to home, and then when he’d turned eighteen he’d signed up and the ar
my had become his home.
Which meant he’d been homeless in more than one way since he’d been discharged. She hadn’t considered that before.
“Well,” she said, shaking off the sad thoughts, “there’s a first time for everything. Our mom never let us put these on our main tree, but we had this little artificial bottle brush thing that we kept in the downstairs den, and she let Ian and I decorate it however we wanted. We went crazy every year with the tackiest decorations we could find, usually at a local dollar store. I’ve got everything here we need. Popcorn, needles, string, cranberries . . .”
“Cranberries?”
“And if there’s any popcorn left over, we can eat it.” She didn’t tell him that there was hardly ever any left and that they’d have to pop more than one batch. Baby steps.
But George seemed game for it all, found a big pot, and they began popping. He swatted her hand when she reached for a few kernels, and then laughed when she stuck out her lower lip in mock outrage. They sat at his little table, a huge bowl of popcorn between them, and a large bag of ruby-red cranberries, and started stringing.
Amy didn’t see a stereo or anything around, and a cursory glimpse at the TV revealed no cable box . . . did it even work or was it simply a piece of his furniture? Instead of asking, she took out her phone and splurged, just this once, by turning on her data. A few clicks later and Christmas music filled the silence, a bit thin and tinny in the phone’s speakers, but festive just the same.
“You have Christmas music on your phone?” he asked, then put his tongue between his teeth as he poked the needle through a cranberry.
“It’s a streaming service. I have a subscription.”
“It’s nice.” He smiled at her and she picked up a piece of popcorn.
“George, about what happened in the park . . .”
His gaze touched hers. The sparks she’d felt when they’d kissed came back full force, making her breath catch.
Then he looked down again, and started to string a piece of popcorn. Her eyes followed the movement, and she saw his fingers were shaking.
