A Sweethaven Christmas

by Courtney Walsh

  “From what I can tell, it paid off. Did you sell anything?”

  “Luke, thank you,” Campbell said. “And yes. I sold things and signed up lots of kids for the Christmas vacation art classes.” She smiled.

  “Are you ready to go? Dinner at my place? I’ve got everything ready.”

  “Let me get my stuff.” Campbell locked the doors, turned the lights off and flipped the sign in the window to Closed. Before they left, she turned to Luke. She wanted to finally respond to his profession of love from the other day, but when she met his eyes, she froze again.

  “You okay?” He brushed her hair away from her eyes and studied her face.

  She nodded. “Just really happy.” Luke’s trips to Chicago on the weekends had slowed, and she had to wonder if that was yet another sign that he’d gotten more serious about the two of them. Maybe she was overanalyzing.

  He wrapped his arms around her. His kisses had become cozy and familiar, but when accompanied with the echo of three key words in her mind, her insides went to mush. Would she ever be able to vocalize how she felt? When he pulled away, she held his gaze, the words I love you, Luke rushing through her mind.

  “Luke, I . . .” She looked away. She couldn’t say it.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing, it’s just . . . what you said the other day.”

  His brow popped up and he smiled. “The ‘I love you’ thing?”

  Campbell couldn’t hold his gaze. “Yeah, that.” She cracked her knuckles. “Do you say that a lot?”

  He stared at her, a look of amusement on his face. “You seem uncomfortable with it. Should I not have told you?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m just . . .”

  “You don’t have to have it all figured out, Campbell. You’re bound to have some stuff to work through after losing your mom. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She let out a stream of hot air. “It’s not that I don’t, I just . . .”

  He put a hand up to her mouth and forced her to look at him. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.” And just like that, the moment passed.

  Luke had the table set for two, complete with candles and a vase of flowers. She hardly noticed that the candle was scented and the flowers were still in their cellophane wrap. They ate chicken parmesan and laughed as they discussed the customers that had been in and out of their businesses earlier that day.

  As the conversation lulled, Luke stood, walked to the bookshelf and pulled down a wrapped gift she hadn’t noticed.

  “Luke!”

  “I didn’t want to wait till Christmas,” he said. He handed her the box, then sat across from her, eyes expectant.

  “I didn’t get you anything yet.”

  “This isn’t really a Christmas present. It’s more of a ‘just because’ present.”

  “But it’s wrapped in Santa paper.” Campbell raised her eyebrows to challenge him.

  He laughed. “Just open it.”

  When she pulled off the wrapping paper, she found a square scrapbook album and a stack of photos of the two of them, starting with the gallery showing the night they shared their first kiss. In less than a year, Luke had invaded every thought she had and taught her more about unconditional love than she ever hoped to know. He protected her and put her first. It was obvious by the way he acted that what he said was true—he did love her.

  “I know you have the Circle and do pages for the group album, but I thought we should have one of our own,” he said. “Do you like it?”

  “Are you kidding? I love it, Luke.”

  I love you, Luke.

  She swallowed the words again. They almost felt too big for her to comprehend. Maybe the truth was she didn’t want to love him. Love meant putting yourself out there—exposed. And if it went south, the pain would be more than she could handle. “Thank you.”

  He leaned across the table and kissed her, then picked up the plates. “I’m just going to wash these really quick. Then we can watch a movie or something.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No.” He laughed. “You’re the guest.”

  “I can still wash dishes.”

  “You can help by making my Christmas tree presentable.”

  Campbell looked at the poor excuse for a Christmas tree. “You need a real tree. Don’t you want the smell of pine to fill this place?”

  “They’re too messy. Last year, my real tree fell over three times. Do you know how hard it is to get those needles out of the carpet?”

  She laughed. “Okay, but I’m not sure I can make this one magical.”

  “I have faith in you,” he called from the other room.

  Campbell opened a box of ornaments and wondered what stories were attached to each one. In her house, Mom had bought her a new ornament every Christmas, and always as a reminder of something she’d done that year. In sixth grade, it was a bumblebee, to commemorate winning the school spelling bee. In eighth grade, a camera, to document her interest in photography. Her senior year, a tiara—to remind her how it felt to be named Homecoming Queen.

  It was as if Mom had known her time would be short, and she made up for it by leaving reminders of herself everywhere.

  Campbell pulled a strand of tinsel from the box and started wrapping it around the tree. “I didn’t know anyone still used tinsel,” she called to Luke.

  “You’re not allowed to make fun of my decorations,” he said, eyeing her from the doorway of the kitchen.

  “I can’t make that promise,” she said.

  She worked on the tree in silence for a few minutes, and as she leaned around the back of the tree, she spotted a small black velvet box tucked behind a white envelope without a name on the front. Campbell tossed a glance back toward the doorway, and when she didn’t see Luke, she picked up the box.

  Metal clanged in the kitchen and Campbell hurried the box to its spot on the shelf, scolding herself for snooping and waiting for Luke to appear in the living room.

  When he didn’t, she picked up the box again, leaning across the armchair beside the tree. She pried it open, and a diamond ring sparkled in the light of the Christmas tree. Silver-colored and antique style, the ring boasted one large diamond at its center, surrounded by a circle of smaller diamonds. More diamonds were set into the sides of the ring, and as she stared at it, Campbell’s breath caught in her throat.

  Is this why Luke had gotten so romantic lately? He was planning to propose?

  She hadn’t even told him she loved him.

  Her heart raced, but she couldn’t place the emotion that coursed through her veins. Excitement? Terror? Nervousness?

  What if he planned to propose tonight? He said the album wasn’t the real Christmas present.

  “Cam?” Luke’s voice called from the kitchen, and she snapped the box shut and set it back on the shelf.

  “Yeah?”

  “You want some ice cream?”

  Campbell’s mind raced, thinking of all the people she’d ever loved. Though the list was short, the results were always the same—and they weren’t good. In seconds, she imagined herself right back at Mom’s funeral, watching them lower the casket into the ground.

  And before that, the one time she gave her heart to a guy, he returned it to her in pieces.

  Campbell grabbed her purse and walked to the kitchen door. “I just remembered some stuff I need to do for the gallery before tomorrow,” she said. “I’m sorry. Rain check on the movie?”

  Luke turned from the refrigerator, a pint of ice cream in each hand. “Okay.” Confusion spread across his face. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” A quick kiss on the cheek and she turned around. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  In the quiet of the street outside, she knew Luke most likely watched her from his apartment above the café, but she didn’t stop to wave at him like she normally would.

  Instead, she raced back inside the gallery and upstairs to her own apartment.

 
She tried—and failed—to pretend she hadn’t fallen for Luke. She told herself to stop acting foolish because love only leads to pain. She’d have to make sure Luke knew she wasn’t ready for a proposal—and she wouldn’t be for a long time.

  But the image of the ring flashed in her mind.

  Luke was going to propose, and in that moment she realized, if she said “no,” she’d lose him for good.

  Adele

  Adele sat in the dining room with a pen and a legal pad and made a list of recipes to include in the cookbook. The editor, Kathy, had told her to come up with an outline and list of recipes. So far, she had more than she could fit in one book and what she thought was the perfect idea for a cookbook. But just as the idea nagged at her, so did the memories it conjured.

  The plan was to infuse the recipes with personal stories, and it didn’t get much more personal than her friendship with Henry Marshall.

  No, it was more than a friendship. She’d loved Henry. Despite her dad’s beliefs that she was too young, she knew now that love was love. No matter what age she happened to be.

  The little journal lay on the table. Adele pulled off the band and opened it. The pages were yellowed with age, and the ink had faded, but the memories were still intact.

  “Henry.” Adele ran a hand over a black-and-white photo of the two of them, dressed in their Sunday best for the Christmas dance at The Commons. The first night they met.

  Adele’s cousin Jerry had a band and had been hired as the entertainment, and as soon as Jerry spotted her in the crowd, he pulled her up on the stage.

  “My little cousin Adele has a voice you all are going to rave about,” he said into the microphone. Adele covered her face with her hands and giggled as she peered out over the crowd.

  The band began playing “Unchained Melody” as the lights dimmed and couples paired off all over The Commons. While the song was written for a male lead, the band changed the key for Adele’s strong alto voice, and as she sang, she lost herself in the music, closing her eyes and forgetting where she was.

  Music had a way of transporting her to another time, and she let herself go—as if she had a choice. When she opened her eyes, the crowd seemed to part, and Henry Marshall stood at the back of the room, staring at her. She nearly forgot the words. She’d seen him around town. The girls were all crazy about him, but he was quiet and never even glanced in her direction.

  The song ended and the couples in the crowd stopped and applauded her addition to the band. Jerry thanked her and Adele was swept back into a sea of faces until she found her friends waiting for her.

  Seconds later, someone tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned, she saw the handsome boy two years her senior, the one she’d admired since the beginning of summer. She’d always been too shy to say anything to him, and now here he stood. Inches away.

  “I didn’t know you could sing like that,” he said.

  Adele smiled. “I sing a little.”

  He laughed. “You sing a lot.”

  She looked away, her face feeling flushed after being under the hot stage lights.

  “I’m Henry.”

  “I know.” She met his eyes. “I’m Adele.”

  He smiled. “I know.”

  Her friends chattered on behind her, but she couldn’t make out what they said. The rest of the room had seemed to go dim, as if she and Henry were the only two people there.

  “Do you want to dance?” He held out a hand to her.

  She glanced back at the girls standing beside her. All three wore grins like the Cheshire cat. Adele took Henry’s hand and followed him to the dance floor. She stayed there, in his arms, for the rest of the night.

  Now, Adele studied the photo that had been snapped that night. Beside it, she’d written:

  Spent the evening dancing with Henry M. Do you believe it? He kept telling me my voice knocked him off his feet, and he even told me I was beautiful. No one’s ever said that to me before. I think “Unchained Melody” will be our song. Isn’t that a good one?

  Adele’s cheeks flushed at her childhood naïveté. She’d been so smitten after just one night. When Henry asked her if she wanted to be part of his band, she didn’t bat an eyelash. And she would’ve been content to be in his band for the rest of her life.

  But things don’t work out like they do in love songs.

  Adele glanced over at the computer. The girls said she had to wait, but what did that mean? Facebook didn’t make a bit of sense to her, and she wasn’t very good at waiting. She turned on the dinosaur of a computer and waited for the screen to show all the little pictures.

  At the start-up, she double-clicked on the Internet button and waited. It took her two tries, but she finally found the Web site again. When she saw her own photo—the one Meghan had taken with her phone—she stared at the screen. Now what?

  Meghan had explained to her about the friends and the wall, but she’d forgotten everything. She clicked on the word Friends and saw that she had four. Jane, Campbell, Meghan and . . . Henry.

  Adele’s pulse kicked up a notch. If he showed up on her page, did that mean he’d accepted the request? Of course she assumed he was happily married with lots of family around him now, but did she want to know the truth? Throughout her marriage to Teddy, she rarely thought of Henry, but once Teddy passed away, her lonely mind started reminiscing. Was it normal to wander down memory lane most nights?

  Adele clicked on Henry’s name. A photo of him jumped out at her from the screen. Older and more distinguished, but easily recognizable. Henry’s dark eyes hadn’t changed.

  “Who’s Henry Marshall?” Luke’s voice from behind startled her out of her chair.

  “Lucas Barber!” Adele’s shrill voice startled him back.

  “Sorry, Ma,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender.

  Adele hurried back to the computer and clicked three different buttons until she finally saw Facebook disappear. She inhaled and turned to face her son, whose raised eyebrows and slight smirk told her she’d been caught.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Luke,” she said. She picked up the little journal, snapped it shut and propped it back on the shelf where it belonged.

  “Are you going to tell me who he is or am I going to have to take his name to the sheriff?”

  She turned to face him with a hand on her hip. “You will do no such thing. You have your own matters to attend to.”

  Luke frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What are you getting Campbell for Christmas?”

  “Don’t change the subject, Ma. I want to know who this guy is. You look a little flushed. Do you want me to open the window?” He grinned.

  “Very funny.” She sighed. “He’s an old friend. The girls made me sign up for that ridiculous Web site.”

  “And you hope he writes?” He bit into an apple and plopped down in the kitchen chair.

  She shrugged, then brushed it off, choosing instead to turn the attention back on her son. But even as they spoke, her mind flitted back to the Web site where the photo of Henry would greet her the next time she turned on the computer—and while she wouldn’t let on, she knew without a doubt that yes, she absolutely hoped he wrote.

  Lila

  Lila returned home from shopping and spent the rest of the evening hidden away in her room. She didn’t like feeling like an outsider, and around Mama and Daddy it had come to that. They argued in hushed tones, just low enough that Lila couldn’t make out what they said, but she knew there was something going on they weren’t telling her.

  And it had to do with this mystery woman.

  A woman Mama had clearly intimidated in public. What was so important that this woman could cause such upheaval? If she was just another one of Daddy’s affairs, Mama would’ve turned a blind eye like she always did.

  No, something about her was different. And Lila hated being the only one who didn’t know.

  Tom’s words from earlier that morning came back, and she reminded herse
lf not to take on unnecessary stress. This pregnancy was the most important thing, helping to alleviate the pain of her miscarriages. This baby was their chance of a new life, a happy life, together.

  Having spent the day on her feet, Lila now felt swollen and craved water. Despite the turmoil in her emotional life, she had to pay attention to what her body needed. Her hands fell to her stomach.

  “You just stay safe in there, okay?” she whispered. “You’re the best thing in our life, so take whatever you need from me.” This baby meant everything. Her chance to be a different kind of mother than Mama had been to her.

  In the kitchen, Lila found a bottle of water and then glanced into her father’s study where he sat in an old leather chair reading the newspaper. Like there was nothing wrong.

  Like he and Mama hadn’t just had it out. Like his own daughter could still look him in the eye without suspicion.

  Why had she spent all evening locked in her room, stewing over this situation, when he seemed unfazed by any of it?

  Think of the baby. No unnecessary stress.

  But the longer she stood there, the bottle of water chilling her hand, the angrier she got. Didn’t he see that his indiscretions had done this? They’d caused everyone pain—everyone except him.

  Lila walked toward the door of the study, her presence pulling his attention from the newspaper.

  “What’s wrong, Lila? You look upset.” His shoulders tensed.

  She needed to stay calm. For the baby’s sake. Lila took a deep breath. “Daddy, who was that woman in the restaurant? I saw you talking to her—she didn’t seem like a stranger.”

  Her dad cleared his throat. “Lila, I don’t know her.”

  “But she knows you. How does she know you?”

  He stiffened.

  Lila narrowed her gaze, trying to read his body language.

  “Mama practically accosted her in the store today. So tell me what’s going on.”

  “She what?” Daddy leaned forward. If Lila didn’t know better, she thought he actually looked concerned—but about whom? “What did your mother say to her?”

  “Does it matter?”