A Coldwater Warm Hearts Christmas

by Lexi Eddings

  He wondered if she ever laughed. If so, he got the feeling she didn’t do it often.

  He shoved the book into his glove box and went to join his crew. They were breaking ground at the high school, so he’d be playing in dirt and gravel all day. If he worked hard enough, he ought to be able to put the squirrelly little teacher out of his mind.

  After a couple of hours, he decided meeting Angela Holloway was like having a smashed thumb. The more you tried not to think about it, the more it throbbed.

  * * *

  The double doors of Bates Library were sturdy and heavily carved, fashioned of old oak and embellished with polished brass fittings. Dark lines of wood grain pushed through the patina of age and swirled around a lead glass transom overhead. Angie opened one of the doors and entered the circa 1890s house that had been repurposed for the college’s use.

  There were a number of rooms leading off the wide main hallway, all filled with books and periodicals and maps, but the best part of the space was the center atrium, where the ceiling soared two stories to stained glass skylights. On the upper level, the stacks of books led off from a narrow walkway that could only be reached by the wrought-iron spiral staircase in the far corner.

  Angie inhaled deeply. There were few things in the world that smelled better than a library. She used her tablet for convenience sake, but nothing could match the scents of old leather and slight mustiness that accompanied real books. In the pregnant quiet of a library, there were thousands of minds waiting on the shelves for her. Each one called to her, ready to engage her in a private conversation, in an adventure, in a love affair that, even when it ended, left no guilt, no sorrow, and no regrets.

  “Angela Holloway, is that you?”

  She started at the sound of the voice, but she’d heard it so often in her dreams, she recognized it at once. This time, though, she wasn’t dreaming. The guy was really there, leaning one elbow on the circulation desk. He didn’t exactly meet her gaze. His always seemed to drift a little lower to her lips.

  Oh, the things his mouth could do to hers.

  Her lips tingled a little.

  Dressed in chinos and a polo shirt, he looked as if he’d just stepped from the pages of GQ. Angie would have said he hadn’t changed, but that wasn’t true. He was even more devastatingly handsome than she remembered.

  She pulled her ratty sweater closer around her. This is what I get for wandering around town dressed like a bag lady.

  “Peter,” she whispered.

  When he smiled, the years melted away. The way her heart pounded, they might still have been back at Baylor.

  The impulse to turn and run was strong. She wanted to, but it was as if someone had glued her feet to the floor. Then Peter closed the distance between them, and gathered her in a quick, sexless hug before she could straight-arm him.

  How does he do that? How can he pretend we don’t have a history? That, for one breathless semester, we weren’t the sun, moon, and stars to each other?

  Oh, that’s right. He’s a lawyer.

  Peter had explained to her once that pursuing the law meant he had to be able to compartmentalize, to put things into mental boxes and not let the edges touch.

  She wondered if he’d tucked her into one of his little boxes, or if he’d thrown out memories of that time in his life completely. Straightening her spine, she decided that if he could act like this was just a chance meeting between old friends, she could too.

  He wasn’t entitled to her pain.

  Angie found her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “There’s a career fair tomorrow,” he said. His voice was as resonant as James Earl Jones, but with none of the Darth Vader wheeze. “I’ve been invited to give a presentation about going into law.”

  “On the theory that the world needs more lawyers?”

  He smiled. “You and your Shakespeare. Still think we should kill all the lawyers?”

  “Only some of them,” Angie said with poisonous sweetness. Just the ones who stomp on people’s hearts. She settled for giving him an indignant smirk instead of a clout to the head.

  “Anyway, I’m here to extol the benefits of postgraduate study,” he said, apparently unfazed by her snarky expression.

  Oh, that’s right. Lawyers have the hide of a rhinoceros to go along with their neat little mental compartments.

  “As I understand it,” he went on, “most graduates of Bates College end up seeking advanced degrees.”

  “That’s because they can’t get a job based on the goofy liberal arts degrees they earn here.” Not that Angie was anti-liberal arts. She was an English major, after all, but Bates didn’t offer the usual courses of study. “Judging from the library, the college used to be pretty mainstream, but now they specialize in more . . . esoteric offerings.”

  Esoteric-(adjective) 1. Something designed to be understood by only a few who possess specialized knowledge, or 2. (and this is my personal definition) What you call something when it would be rude to call it weird.

  Now that she thought about it, running into Peter Manning in Coldwater Cove was pretty . . . esoteric, too.

  “Esoteric, huh?” Peter looked around. The library reeked of tradition. “How do you mean?”

  “Bates offers degrees in things like Popular Culture and Online Society, Decision Science, Ecogastronomy—”

  “What’s that?”

  “Not sure, but if you have to ask, is it any wonder the grads can’t find a job that uses their newfound knowledge?” Angie shrugged. “You can even earn a BA in puppetry here at Bates.”

  “Puppetry?” Peter shot her a surprised grimace. “You’re kidding.”

  “No joke. Puppetry.”

  Bates College didn’t even offer an education program so its grads could pass on their niche market expertise to others as teachers. Not that trying to get high school kids to warm up to the Bard was a dream job, but teaching paid the bills. And Angie loved teaching.

  Except maybe when her students’ problems opened up her old wounds....

  “Even if they study underwater basket weaving, as long as they have a bachelor’s degree, a decent grade point, and score high enough on the LSAT, my alma mater wants to talk to them,” Peter said. “It doesn’t matter what their undergrad background is. Nothing is ever wasted on a lawyer.”

  “Yeah,” Angie drawled, “I’m trying to imagine using puppetry in a courtroom.”

  He laughed and the circulation librarian shushed him.

  “That’s your fault, Angie,” he whispered. “You always made me laugh.”

  And you always made me cry.

  But she didn’t say it. He didn’t deserve to know she still bore, if not the exquisite ache, at least a vivid memory of the wound he gave her heart. So she lifted her chin and faced him squarely.

  “So after your talk tomorrow, you’ll be heading home,” she said, wondering if he’d stayed in DC after he finished law school.

  He shook his head. “Not immediately. After the career fair, I’m going to be a guest lecturer in a couple of classes for a few days.”

  “Your firm doesn’t mind?”

  “My name’s on the letterhead, so if I want to take some time away, I can always ask one of the junior partners to step in.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I should have known you’d make partner in record time. You never did anything by halves, did you?”

  “Even when it wasn’t the right thing to do.” His habitual smile faded, and his gaze turned intense. “I wish I . . . Angie, I just want you to know—I never forgot about you.”

  She made a small hmph-ing noise. “That must be why you called and wrote so often.”

  He shook his head and gave her his best self-deprecating sigh. Angie bet members of a jury ate him up with a spoon.

  The female ones anyway.

  “Law school was a crazy time for me. You have no idea the pressure I was under.

  “Still ending sentences with prepositions, I see.” He should know better than
that, but he’s trying to turn on the Manning charm. Grammar was the best shield she owned. Angie crossed her arms and leaned against the nearest bookcase.

  He smiled. “And you’re still a grammar freak. Glad some things haven’t changed.”

  “But some things have.” Fluttery feeling in her chest notwithstanding, she was proud of herself for not swooning into his arms at first sight.

  “You know, I tried to find you after I landed my first job.”

  Those flutters grew more insistent but she tamped them down.

  “But you’d gone to grad school someplace and moved away from Waco,” he said. “I contacted some of our friends, but nobody had a forwarding address for you.”

  That wasn’t surprising. She’d lost touch after they scattered to take up their new post-graduation lives. Her college buddies were off to Dallas, Atlanta, Chicago, and Seattle. They were all totally jazzed about teaching in challenging urban districts.

  Angie had stayed in academia to get her Masters, even though it hadn’t been necessary to teach, and then accepted a job in little Coldwater Cove because it seemed like a cross between Mayberry and Lake Woebegone. She had no family, no safety net. When she was a kid, she’d fallen through the cracks in the foster system. A child who didn’t act out tended to be ignored. Now that she was an adult, she didn’t want to end up someplace where no one would notice if she wasn’t there.

  “You’re not even on Facebook,” he said accusingly. “Who does that?”

  “People who value their privacy.”

  “Come on, Ange, it’s like you’re in witness protection or something. How could you expect me to find you?”

  “I didn’t ask you to.” Oh, shoot. Now I’m dangling prepositions, too.

  “That’s just it. I didn’t expect to find you here. There I was, talking to the librarian, minding my own business, and suddenly you walked in.” He cocked his head. “Think it’s a sign?”

  “A sign that you still try to get by on charm.”

  He took a step closer. “Is it working?”

  “No,” she lied.

  Knowing how he operated didn’t negate its power. There was something beguiling about Peter. Always had been. It was more than attractiveness. He had a way of making everyone he was with feel as if they were the most important person in the world.

  Angie just hadn’t been able to keep him with her.

  “Look, Ange.” He reached a hand up and planted it against the bookshelf, his splayed fingers close enough to her left ear that she could imagine them ruffling through her hair. Her whole body stiffened. “I know just rolling into town can’t make up for the past.”

  She snorted. “You think?”

  “But that doesn’t mean we can’t start over, as friends, I mean. Let me take you to dinner.”

  She relaxed a bit, but then Emma and Tad’s conversation scrolled through her head. Angie could almost hear Emma gushing over how nice it was of Tad to take her to breakfast. The girl had infused a simple meal with far more meaning than Tad intended.

  But Angie wasn’t doing the same thing. She knew Peter didn’t mean anything by the invitation. And wouldn’t it prove she was over him, once and for all, if she accepted his dinner invitation? If they shared a cordial meal and then parted ways as soon as they polished off dessert, maybe it would take away the sting of their final days together.

  “Peter, you can’t take me to dinner.” The look of surprise on his face was so worth it. Then she pulled out her phone and went on, “But you can meet me for dinner. We’ll go Dutch. Give me your number and I’ll text you where and when.”

  This was so much better than her fantasies of him groveling and her swooning. It felt good to be in control. She’d pick the place. She’d dictate the terms of their encounter. She could wear something nicer than her Matrix sweater and faded jeans.

  And if that something left Peter full of regret, so much the better.

  Chapter 6

  Now at the Green Apple Grill for a limited time!

  Hypocrite’s Vegetarian Omelet, chock-full of ham or sausage.

  Have our six-ounce steak on the side. We won’t tell if you don’t.

  What happens at the Green Apple, stays at the Green Apple!

  —The Coldwater Gazette classifieds

  Seth wasn’t a big reader. Not that he couldn’t, of course. It was just that he hardly ever sat still long enough to read a whole book, and when he did, it was more likely to be nonfiction, engineering, or applied science. Why should he dive into someone else’s imaginary world when the real one around him kept him busy enough?

  And in trouble enough.

  Angie Holloway’s pixy face seemed to hover before him at odd times throughout the day. It was hard to concentrate on moving earth and laying cement when she kept creeping back into his head.

  But despite his usual lack of interest in fiction, after he got home and showered off the day’s work, the teacher’s paperback began calling to him. When he leafed through it, he didn’t read the story. It was the notes in the margins of Sense and Sensibility that drew his eye.

  The English teacher obviously spent a ton of time in someone else’s imagined world.

  The characters seemed real to her. They must, or she wouldn’t be alternately scolding or consoling them in so many of her scribblings in the white space around the text. There was hardly a page without an underlined passage or two.

  For example, the words “She was stronger alone” were underlined three times and, just in case that wasn’t enough, Angie had highlighted them with a yellow marker.

  “Guess those are her words to live by,” he mumbled. Well, it sounded like she had to be stronger alone since she had no family.

  Seth tried to imagine what that must be like and failed. He’d grown up with a houseful of brothers and sisters and a gaggle of cousins spread all over the county. It was great. He didn’t even mind his mom and his aunt Shirley trying to fix him up with “the right girl.”

  He wondered if somehow they’d gotten to Heather and that’s how he happened to be shackled to Angie Holloway at the moment.

  He could just hear his aunt Shirley saying, “You could do worse, Seth.”

  He didn’t see how.

  He and the English teacher had nothing in common.

  Except this blasted Christmas pageant.

  He didn’t want to be late getting over to her place. It always irritated him when someone stole his time by making him wait, and he tried not to do it to anyone else. So he left earlier than he needed to. First, he made a run by the pizza place and then ducked into the Piggly Wiggly to pick up a cold six-pack. He grabbed some cokes too, in case she was a teetotaler. The soft drinks wouldn’t be cold, but she’d surely have some ice cubes.

  Angie lived in one of the apartments above the secondhand store called Gewgaws & Gizzwhickies on the Town Square. Over the last few years, the merchants on the lower level around the Square had renovated their empty top floors to serve as residential space. The apartments’ front doors were down on the Square, and opened onto long dark staircases leading up. But most residents and visitors used the back doors. The rear of the building featured a French Quarter–style upper deck and long open-air wrought-iron steps.

  It was one of the most charming things about the apartments and had been featured in the Tulsa paper once as a prime example of how to combine retail and residential space in rural areas.

  Seth took the iron steps two at a time.

  On the deck outside Angie’s door, a wicker love seat and chairs had been arranged in a conversational manner. The dry remains of a mandevilla vine still snaked out of its large clay pot and clung around the iron post supporting the deck roof. Seth could picture the little teacher curled up in a corner of the love seat on a summer’s evening, poring over her Sense and Sensibility and sipping a glass of sweet tea. Maybe there’d be a slight breeze and the hem of her sundress would ruffle up a bit.

  Down boy. He gave himself a mental shake. He didn’t usually
indulge the randy side of his imagination and, in this case, he was pretty sure he was wasting it on a woman who wasn’t at all interested in him anyway.

  Still, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and if nothing else, Angela Holloway was that.

  Seth set the pizza and pageant book down on the nearest chair’s side table and knocked on her door.

  No response.

  He rapped again.

  This time, the curtains in the kitchen window parted when a large Siamese hopped up on the sill. The cat stared at him with bored superiority.

  Even when Effie had belonged to his cousin Lacy, he’d never been able to make any headway with her. Lacy had always claimed that Effie was a one-person cat . . . who was still in search of her person.

  Maybe the English teacher was having better luck with the hand-me-down pet, but he doubted it. If someone had dumped the sullen creature on him, he’d have found some other sap to take the cat off his hands pronto.

  The animal laid its ears back and hissed at him.

  “You can’t blame a guy for what he thinks, cat. Only for what he does.”

  Seth banged on the door again. This time he heard a faint, “Wait a minute, I’m coming,” accompanied by the tapping of heels on hardwood. He picked up the pizza and pageant book.

  When Angie opened the door, he decided the wait was well worth it. She was wearing a little black dress with strappy heels. This morning her hair had been bunched up in a sloppy ponytail. It was down now, falling to her shoulders like dark rain. She’d applied some makeup, not a lot, but enough to make her big eyes seem even larger. Her pink mouth shaped itself into a surprised little “oh!”

  She looked nice. Date nice, he realized. She’d been so insistent that this wasn’t a date, he’d only tugged on clean jeans and a flannel shirt after his shower.

  “Whoa, Teach. You clean up pretty good.”

  “Well. I clean up pretty well,” she corrected, rolling those big eyes at him. “I suppose you think that was a compliment.”

  “That’s how I meant it.” He came in and put the pizza and drinks on the kitchen counter. Then he plopped the pageant notebook onto one of the barstools. The cat hopped up into the other one and continued to glare at him with malice. The animal clearly did not like visitors, even ones who brought pizza. Seth took the hint.