by Donna Alward
“George.” She whispered now, though she couldn’t explain why. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. That was all I was going to say.”
He didn’t look at her. “You regret it.”
“No! I mean . . .” Oh Lord. Why had she even mentioned it? “You . . . you’re still a very good kisser.”
Now he looked at her. “Be careful, Amy. This would be a big mistake, don’t you think?”
If he’d just said it would be a mistake rather than asking her opinion, she might have left it alone. She put down her needle and thread. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just know that I still find you very attractive.”
A blush colored the crest of his cheeks, and it delighted her.
“And you’re a pretty woman. Not just pretty . . .” He stumbled over his words a bit, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Listen, you got what you wanted from me. Maybe it would be best if you went home. This is just going to complicate things.”
He was right, but it had been so long since she’d felt anything like this that she was loathe to let it go without at least exploring it a bit. “If we . . . I mean, I’m going home at Christmas. I’m only here another week. Can’t we agree to enjoy the time a bit . . . together?”
He kept stringing popcorn, faster and faster, forgetting to put a cranberry in at regular intervals. “I don’t know how to do anything casual anymore. I know I used to be that way, but things change. I’ve changed.”
She got up from her chair and went to him, squatted down beside him, and stilled his busy hands with her own. “The thing is, George, you see your changes as being a problem. And I see them as a sign of growth and strength and courage. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about your apartment, or your rusty truck, or your job. Don’t shake your head at me, either. I’ve seen the look on your face when you think I’m not looking. You judge yourself far harder than anyone else does. Things mean nothing to me. Character does. And you’ve got that in spades, George. You always did.” She and Liam had had a decent life, but in the end their house and favorite restaurants and good jobs and circle of friends hadn’t been able to save their marriage.
He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Oh, don’t be fooled, Amy. I wasn’t honest with you back then, and I wasn’t honest with Jennie or even myself.”
“So you made mistakes. Haven’t we all? It doesn’t mean you weren’t—that you aren’t—a good man, in here.” She reached up and placed her hand on his chest.
He put his hand over hers.
“Amy . . .”
She stood up and told herself to not overthink anything, but to do what felt right. She slid onto his lap, heard the sharp intake of breath that relayed his surprise, felt his warm, strong hands settle on her hips.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Just shh.”
She sank her fingers into his short, dark hair, then let them slide over his scalp, tracing the hairline of his forehead, down along his cheek where his hair turned from brown to gray. It was soft, silky, and smelled of his shampoo. Her fingertips grazed his cheekbones, slid over his eyelids, down the bridge of his nose where the end turned up just a little. And still she kept her eyes closed, seeing him by touch alone, imagining each feature as she read them with her fingers. She rubbed her thumb over his full lower lip, and a flash of desire darted straight to her core when he grabbed for her thumb with his teeth.
Whatever had happened to him in the intervening years didn’t matter. The man before her right now was strong, sexy, and if she were any judge, as turned on as she was right now.
She was debating whether she should kiss him again when he took matters into his own hands. He slid one hand around her neck, pulling her closer, and kissed her.
Kissed her the way he’d kissed her all those years ago, on her parents’ back step with the outside light turned off for privacy. And now, like then, her knees went weak, saved only by the fact that she was sitting on his lap and not required to be upright.
She clung to him tightly as the kiss built into something wild and sensual, like she was that last bit of water in the desert and he’d die if he didn’t drink. Her body responded with a rush—God, it was good to feel wanted again—and she curled herself around him, a small sound issuing from her throat.
His body tightened beneath hers and their breath came faster, harder. But still he stayed in the chair and didn’t make any attempt to move them in any way. She bit down on his lip, just a light nibble, and he ran his hand up her ribs to cup her breast in his palm. She pressed into it, imagining what it would be like for him to peel off her sweater and bra . . .
He broke off the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “Jesus,” he murmured, breathing heavily. “We’ve got to stop, Amy.”
“I don’t want to stop,” she answered honestly.
“Don’t say that . . .”
She heard the longing in his voice. He wanted her, too. What a revelation. And it would be good, wouldn’t it? She’d always thought so. Wondered a time or two this week if he’d changed too much, if they’d both changed to a point where the chemistry would be gone. But it was very alive and well, wasn’t it?
“It’s the truth,” she whispered, shifting her head to drop little kisses on his cheeks. “You feel so good.”
He didn’t say anything, and she drew back to find him with his eyes closed, his jaw tight. Unease settled in her chest. “Did I say something wrong?”
George shook his head. “No. And it’s not that I don’t want to.” He made a strangled sound, halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “Believe me. But it would be a mistake, Amy, and you were right earlier this week. Ian would be ashamed of how I’ve acted. I won’t compound that with disrespecting his memory further by sleeping with his sister.”
He picked a hell of a time to be honorable.
He was also right. Sex right now would be a one-night proposition, and they both deserved better. Her brain and heart knew it. She just had to convey the message to her body, which still hummed from his touch.
“But kissing,” he continued, “kissing might be okay. Because I could kiss you all night.”
She sat back a bit and cupped his face. He looked into her eyes. There was a vulnerability she hadn’t anticipated, and she realized with a start that this was a bigger moment for him than it was for her. She was the one who needed to be patient. Who needed to think of his needs before her own, or at the very least give them equal weight. What George needed right now was affection, acceptance. A slow burn rather than a raging fire. She probably needed that, too, if she were totally honest with herself.
“I like kissing,” she admitted, curling into his embrace. “I happen to like kissing a lot.”
And so they kissed—what Amy would have called “making out”—in his kitchen chair until they both decided they’d drunk their fill.
And then they strung more popcorn and cranberries, looped the strands around the tree, and hung the ornaments. When they were done, George stood back and stared at the spruce. “I like it,” he decreed.
“Me, too,” she answered, standing beside him, leaning against his arm. “It’s not a showstopper, but it’s yours. And that’s exactly how it should be.”
Her phone battery had died a while back, so she looked on the little microwave in the kitchen and saw that it was after midnight. “I should probably get back home.”
“I’ll drive you. Don’t forget your bag.”
“Do you want to walk? It’s not that far, and it’s a beautiful night.”
“If you want to.”
They bundled up and were careful to be quiet on the stairs, then stepped out into the wintery night. The flurries had stopped and the moon was out, its bright light reflecting off the snow as they made their way toward Bedford Cottage. He held her hand, and she wondered at all that had happened tonight. The date, meeting his friends, the surprising physical developments in their relationship. But what would happen in a week when she went back to Brooklyn
and he stayed here? What prospect did they have other than a holiday fling or, if they wanted to put a more serious tag on it, a way to find closure from the past? Could she walk away and not see him again?
After tonight, was it possible for them to be just friends?
He’d been right. Sleeping together would have been a mistake.
“You’re very quiet.” His voice was deep in the snowy silence.
“Just thinking.”
“Me, too. Wondering what we’re doing. What it means in the big scheme of things.”
“Me, too.”
“You figured it out yet?” He looked over at her briefly.
“Not even close.”
“Me, either.” He squeezed her hand. “But if I wanted to keep it simple, I’d say I want to enjoy the next week with you. And that I am fully aware that you’re going back to your life on Christmas Eve. That’s what I know for sure.”
“And you think we can manage that?”
He nudged her with his elbow. “Honey, after the last decade? I can handle a week with you, no problem.”
But that wasn’t what she’d meant. She wondered if it would be so easy to walk away. There was no other alternative, either. She could go right now and put an end to anything between them. Or she could stay and give herself the gift of this one week. If he swore he could do it, she could too, right?
Chapter Eight
George put the last of the poinsettias in the bed of his truck and then carefully unrolled the tarp he’d tied to the box to keep them covered for the drive to the golf course clubhouse. Tonight was the Lights for Literacy fundraiser, and as he’d promised, he was taking fifty special potted arrangements to serve as centerpieces.
There were activities planned for all over town. All children’s books and resource books were on sale at Pen 2 Paper, and a children’s author from Boston was doing a reading sometime in the afternoon. The library was hosting Stories with Santa later this morning, and there was an adult literacy organization’s display as well. Businesses all over town had donation boxes and incentives as either free gifts or coupons. George would hold down the fort at the garden center while Laurel and Aiden got ready to attend the banquet and silent auction. The whole thing was the brain child of Aiden’s oldest sister, Hannah. Between her and the town’s social media manager, Oaklee Collier, it had become the season’s big event.
As he drove out to the golf course, he thought about Amy. They’d spent more time together in the evenings ever since they’d decorated his tree. Once they’d gone to Roberto’s and shared a huge sausage and mushroom pizza. Another time they’d stopped at the Suds and Spuds pub, ordered iced teas, and listened to live music.
It had all been so very normal, but today his muscles were tense with nerves. He was dressed in jeans and work boots and delivering plants. She’d bought a ticket for the benefit and was going with Willow and Ethan. Apparently in the past five days, she and Willow had struck up a friendship. She’d even talked about attending one of Willow’s morning yoga classes.
They were from different worlds. No matter what she said or how much he enjoyed her company, that simple fact couldn’t be denied. She was on holiday. Her real life was back in New York, working at a big company and taking the train to work each morning. Shopping on Fifth Avenue and dinner with her parents.
He didn’t mean to get hung up on financial differences, but he did have a bit of pride, and it took a hit when he looked at his own life and hers.
The clubhouse was already a beehive of activity. When George pulled up to the staff entrance, he saw delivery vans outside the kitchen and a flurry of workers bustling around, adding signage and even more Christmas lights to the already impressive array. He slammed the truck door and went inside to check in and ask where to put the flowers. When he poked his nose into the ballroom, he caught sight of Hannah Gallagher, gesturing wildly to someone who was setting up the sound system at the front of the room.
He waited a moment until Hannah shook the man’s hand and backed away. “Hey, Hannah? I’ve got the centerpieces.”
“George! Perfect. The tables already have their linens on. We can put them right in the middle. You don’t mind helping, do you?”
“Makes sense to only handle them once.” He was happy to have something to do. Hannah Gallagher intimidated the hell out of him. She was nice enough, and generous to a fault, but she was incredibly beautiful as well as being one of those women who just got things done. She was also rumored to be the best realtor in the area, and he figured it was her blend of savvy and charm that made her so good at her job.
She followed him out to the truck. “So,” she said, taking the first box of six pots in her arms. “I hear your friend is coming with Ethan and Willow tonight.”
“Amy? Yeah, she bought a ticket.”
“You’re not coming with her?”
He hefted his own box. “Not really my scene.” Not to mention, a little hoity-toity for his liking. Him, in some fancy clubhouse eating a hundred dollar a plate dinner? Not likely.
“It’s a good cause.”
He knew it was. “I’m closing up the shop tonight so Laurel can get ready.”
“It doesn’t start until six. And that’s just the cocktail hour.”
He was prevented from answering, thankfully, as they entered the ballroom and went in different directions to place the foil-wrapped pots on the tables. Hannah must have gathered that he wasn’t going to change his mind, because she didn’t bring it up again. Instead they worked along, emptying the truck. When all the tables had a centerpiece, she stood back and looked at the room.
“It’s just missing the candles. Once those are lit, it’ll be beautiful in here, don’t you think?”
Beautiful. He got a surprising lump in his throat. Normally he didn’t think about his lost years with a sense of grief, but he did now. He thought of all the Christmases he’d missed, all the good times he might have had if he’d figured things out, kept his life together, made friends. He could never have those years back. And he thought of decorating his Christmas tree and kissing Amy and knew that night was a memory he’d always cherish.
“I should get back,” he said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Laurel’s by herself until I get there, and she wants to leave by three. This’ll be our biggest Christmas tree day, too.”
“Thanks for your help, George.”
“You’re welcome. I hope your fundraiser’s a big success.”
He went back to the Ladybug and threw himself into the rest of the day’s work. Laurel didn’t escape until three thirty, and only because he finally told her if she didn’t leave he’d quit and there’d be no one to man the store.
Tree sales were crazy. All of his wreaths sold and the nails on the wood stood empty. There were precisely four poinsettias left in the whole store, and their baked goods were sold out except for one lonely tray of sliced banana bread.
That Laurel trusted him with all this—with her business—still amazed him. That she was going to let him manage it when she had her baby boggled his mind. At five o’clock he shut the gate and locked it, then went inside to ring off the cash, do up the deposit, and make sure everything was set before locking up for the night. Then he’d have to stop at the bank and do a night time deposit, because ever since Laurel had been robbed last spring, she didn’t like leaving more than the float on the premises.
He’d just tucked everything into the deposit bag when the office phone rang. He looked over at the display and saw that it was Laurel’s cell number, so he picked it up. “What’s up? Are you okay?”
“Oh good, you’re still there.”
“Just finishing up the deposit.”
“Did I leave the auction item somewhere? It’s a Ladybug travel mug with some gardening gloves, a spade, and a gift certificate.”
He looked around. “I don’t see it.”
She sighed loudly. “Argh! I swear I have pregnant brain. Who knows where I put it!”
“L
et me have a look around.” He pressed the phone to his ear and looked through the office, then started through the store. “Are you sure you didn’t take it with you?”
“It’s not in my bag. It could be anywhere. I’m such a dunce.”
He laughed. “No, you’re not.” He went behind the cash and looked beneath the counter, where they put their returned items. “Hey, I think I found it. Does it have clear plastic and ribbon on it?”
“Yes! Oh, thank goodness. Could you do me a huge favor? I have to be there in thirty minutes and I don’t even have makeup on yet. Could you drop it at the golf club? I know it’s out of your way . . .”
“Of course I can.” He didn’t want to; the place would be crawling with fancy-dressed people and he’d be in the way. But he’d do just about anything for Laurel. And he’d try not to think about Amy being there, all dressed up, where she belonged. If anything, it made it easier to think of her leaving next week, when her lease on the cottage was up. He liked being with her, but it was temporary.
And if the thought of her going home burned a hole in his gut, well, he’d handle it. He’d been through worse, right?
By the time he dropped the deposit at the bank and got to the golf club it was almost ten to six. The parking lot was starting to fill, but he didn’t see Aiden or Laurel’s car anywhere. It didn’t matter; all he needed to do was find a staff member to put Laurel’s contribution to the silent auction in the right spot and all would be well.
And he’d done just that when a familiar voice called his name. “George?”
He turned and there she was.
It had been a critical mistake to think that he could be somehow indifferent. To think that he could turn off the feelings that had been growing for the past week, born out of their shared history but nurtured by their time together.
Ethan and Willow were chatting with people a few feet behind Amy, but she stood still, looked at George with her luminous eyes, and he knew that indifference was impossible. She was stunning in her black cocktail dress, but it was more than that. It was simply everything. He’d been taken with her at twenty-five and he was equally smitten now. To discover she was also kind, compassionate, and understanding . . . she was everything he could ever want in a woman. And she was so out of his league it was laughable.
