“I don’t know.”
It was one of the things he and Sam had liked best about their business. They never planned too far ahead.
Jane nodded, as if his answer was what she’d been expecting. The energy between them shifted. She didn’t move, at least not physically, but he could feel her pulling away.
A wave of anger went through him.
“I’m not leaving until tomorrow. Why can’t we—”
“Make love until you have to leave for the airport?” She shook her head. “That really is your idea of the perfect relationship, isn’t it?”
Another wave of anger. “When did we start talking about a relationship? I thought we were talking about here and now.”
She smiled a little. “Sorry. That’s the mistake every woman makes with you, isn’t it? They sleep with you and start thinking about the future. They think they’re different. Special.”
His heart squeezed in his chest.
You are different. You are special.
How could she not know that? How could she have experienced last night and not know that?
Their connection wasn’t just physical. He’d had physical chemistry with women before, and it had never felt like this. He’d shared more than his body with Jane last night.
For the first time, he let himself think about doing what she’d asked. He could change his plane ticket and stay here over the holidays—or even fly with her to LA to spend Christmas with her parents.
He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.
To him, Christmas would always mean loss. Things falling apart. Over the years he’d learned to stop dreading the holidays, but that was only because of the tradition he’d started when he was eighteen. For the last twelve years, he’d spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s hiking alone.
Once adventure trekking became his business, he’d had much less time by himself in the wilderness. This one week a year had become sacrosanct. He already had a solitary trek planned out for himself in Australia, before his first group expedition in January.
He could give it up this year, of course. He could sacrifice his Christmas tradition to be with Jane.
But it wouldn’t end there, would it?
Once you started changing yourself for someone, you could never stop. He knew from watching his parents—and from his own dating experience—that it would never be enough. Your partner would expect you to change more and more of who you were. Eventually the sacrifices made you bitter, and you took it out on the other person. And that’s when everything fell apart.
If he and Jane spent Christmas together, it would be the start of something—and he knew all too well how it would end. She lived here in New York, and he lived . . . nowhere. That wasn’t a recipe for happily-ever-after.
And if any woman in the world deserved a happily-ever-after, it was Jane.
She was still trying to cope with Sam’s death, which was probably why they’d ended up in bed last night. But once she began to heal, she’d be back to thinking about dream men and fairy tales and romantic gestures.
That wasn’t him. If they tried to turn last night into something more, he’d let her down again and again. Then, after everything good between them had turned sour, they’d call it quits.
Jane’s hand brushed against the side of his face.
“Hey,” she said softly, and he opened his eyes.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I know last night was just last night. I know you’re leaving, and I know you can’t change your plane ticket. That’s why I didn’t want to make love again this morning. I’m not a masochist, and I’m not stupid.”
He reached up and covered her hand with his, holding it against his cheek.
“You are stupid if you don’t know you’re special. If you don’t know that last night was special.”
It wasn’t the kind of thing he usually said, and he sounded gruff and awkward saying it.
“I felt the same way,” Jane said, pulling her hand back. “But I guess it’s not enough.”
After a moment she curled up on her side, facing him, her head resting on her folded arm. The sheet, caught partly under her body, stretched over the curve of her hip.
He didn’t want to be having this conversation. He didn’t want to be talking at all. He wanted to slide under that sheet with Jane and stay there until it was time to go to the airport. He wanted to make love to her again. He’d been like a teenager last night, desperate and lustful, unable to take his time. His plane didn’t leave until tomorrow. There was no reason he couldn’t spend today being the kind of lover Jane deserved.
Except she didn’t want that.
She rolled onto her other side and sat up, keeping her back to him. She had the most perfect back he’d ever seen, graceful and beautiful, from her delicate shoulder blades to the incurve above her hips. He reached for her before he could stop himself, but she got up and went over to the closet.
She pulled open the door and grabbed a long-sleeved shirt, leaving the door open when she went to the bureau. As she pulled out a pair of sweatpants and started to dress, he looked back at the closet. Something on the shelf above the hanger rod had caught his eye.
“Will you go to LA for Christmas?” he asked abruptly.
She turned to face him again, her hands reaching up to braid her hair. “Probably not.”
“I wish you wouldn’t braid your hair,” he almost growled.
She stared at him, her hands stilling for a moment. “Why?”
“I just . . . like it better down.”
She stared at him a moment longer. Then, slowly and deliberately, she finished her braid.
His hands curled into fists. “Why won’t you go to LA?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“You’d rather stay here and wallow in your misery.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not wallowing. Sam only died two months ago.”
He pointed at the closet. “You haven’t scattered her ashes yet. I can see the urn right there. Is this how you’re planning to spend Christmas? Alone in your apartment with that thing? If you won’t go home to be with your family, at least do something worthwhile and scatter Sam’s ashes the way she wanted.”
She flinched as though he’d struck her. “You read the letter she left. She wanted me to climb some mountain in Maine, and it’s the middle of winter. I’ll go in the spring.” She paused. “Or maybe the summer.”
He couldn’t stop himself from wading deeper into the quagmire.
“Or maybe you’ll never scatter her ashes, because you can’t let go. You blame yourself for Sam’s death, even though you know how stupid that is. And you’re punishing yourself. That’s the real reason you won’t go home for Christmas.”
Jane took a step toward him. “Thank you so much for your keen insight.” Her voice was shaking, and she paused to take a deep breath. “But what about you, Caleb?”
He was still in bed, the blanket covering his naked body from the hips down. Now he threw off the covers and strode into the living room.
Her voice followed him. “You think I’m staying here because of Sam. Well, I think you’re leaving because of Sam.”
He pulled on his boxers, his jeans, his T-shirt. Then he turned to face her. “What are you talking about?”
Jane had followed him as far as her bedroom doorway. She was standing there with her arms folded, leaning against the doorframe.
“Being in New York makes you think about her. Maybe being around me makes you think about her, too. That hurts, and so you’re leaving. You’re running away like you always do.”
He sat on the couch to pull on his boots.
“I don’t run away from things.”
“Oh, really? Then answer me one question.”
He looked at her. “What?”
“Why do you always spend Christmas alone?”
His jaw tightened. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“Then I’m none of your business.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“You came here to save me, didn’t you? Cleaning and cooking and . . .” Her mouth started to tremble, and she pressed her lips together a moment before she continued. “And all that other stuff. You came here and made me be alive again. But I’m not allowed to do that for you, am I? No one is.”
His hands had clenched into fists without his realizing it. He forced himself to relax, and then he looked around for his jacket.
“Saying that proves you don’t know me at all. I am alive, Jane. And unlike you, I try to live like it every single day.”
He’d put his jacket in the closet by the front door. He grabbed it off the hanger and pulled it on, and then there was nothing keeping him from leaving.
Jane was still standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She looked small and forlorn and defiant, and all his anger faded away.
He took a step toward her. “I’m sorry.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Really sorry.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Stay with me for Christmas, Caleb.”
He glanced around her apartment. “You’re not exactly ready for the holidays.”
One corner of her mouth lifted, and he realized with a pang that it was the first time he’d seen her smile since Sam died.
“I have seasonal underwear,” she said, and paused. “We could get ready together. Buy a tree, decorate, shop for presents.”
He had a sudden image of what it would be like to celebrate Christmas with Jane.
It would be heaven.
For the last twelve years, he’d spent Christmas alone. Was Jane right? Was it finally time for a change?
The cold clutch of panic gripped his heart and stopped his breath.
Jane was still dealing with her sister’s death. If he was going to face old pain and old demons, this was the worst time to do it.
Or maybe the truth was that he’d never do it.
The moment was over. And the funny thing was, Jane realized it before he did.
“It’s okay,” she said, sliding her hands into her pockets. “Maybe next year.”
It’s what she and Sam used to say every December when he turned down their annual holiday invitation.
Only this time, Jane didn’t have Sam beside her.
“There’s something I want for Christmas,” he said abruptly.
She raised her eyebrows. “You’re asking me for a present? I don’t think you’ve ever done that before. What is it?”
“I want you to go home for the holidays. I want you to be with your family.”
He expected her to argue or to simply say no. But then she shrugged.
A Jane Finch shrug. He wondered, like he always did, what she wasn’t saying.
“Okay,” she said.
He stared at her. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You’ll go home for Christmas.”
“I’ll go home for Christmas.”
“Are you just saying that to get me to leave?”
She rolled her eyes. “No.”
“You should call your parents right away so they can get the ticket.”
“They already bought me one ticket. I’ll buy this one.”
“Last minute for the holidays? It’ll be expensive as hell.”
“I can afford it. I haven’t spent much money the last couple of months.”
“Do you want me to—”
“No. I don’t need your help, Caleb. I can manage.” She paused. “Have a good trip, okay?” She took a step toward him, and he saw the muscles of her throat move as she swallowed. “Stay safe, Caleb. I . . .” She shook her head. “Stay safe.”
He didn’t want to leave her. He felt it in his heart, his gut, every cell in his body.
“You too,” he said gruffly.
He stood there another moment, wanting to stay, wanting to go, wanting Sam to walk in and ask what the hell was wrong with the two of them.
Then, with an effort, he turned the knob and left.
Chapter Thirteen
January was hard, and February wasn’t much easier. March was a little better. Jane was at the bookstore a lot, but she didn’t want to cut her employees’ hours, so she came up with a way to keep everyone busy.
She owned the second floor of her building, but she’d never used it for anything but storage. You had to get to those rooms from a separate entrance, so it didn’t make sense to expand the bookstore up there.
Now, finally, she thought of a way to use that space.
In one of the quiet back rooms she set up writing desks; in another she put easels and her grandmother’s old pottery wheel. In the big sun-drenched front room with the beautiful wooden floors, she put up a ballet barre on one wall and mirrors on the other. In the small room at the top of the stairs she put a conference table and chairs for writers’ groups or play readings or anything else people might want it for.
Her investment was minimal, so she could afford to keep her prices low. Artists and dancers could rent studio space. Writers could rent a desk for an hour or a day.
“But what are you getting out of this?” Kiki asked, skeptical of the new project.
“Money.”
“Not very much.”
“More than I thought when we started. We’re getting pretty popular.”
“You don’t care about the money. What else are you getting from this?”
Jane shrugged. “Company I don’t have to talk to.”
Kiki was an extrovert, so she didn’t really understand the appeal. But Jane found comfort in being around people she didn’t have to interact with, especially people who were reading or writing or painting. The quiet in the writing room and art studio felt rich and warm, not cold and empty like the silence in her apartment.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason her apartment felt cold.
Caleb had spent a night there, and now he was gone.
Weeks went by before she could sleep at night without dreaming of him, or lying awake remembering the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, the look in his eyes as he sank into her.
The difference between Caleb and other men wasn’t on a continuum. It wasn’t like her last boyfriend was a six and Caleb was a ten. It was more like everything else had been in two dimensions, and her night with Caleb had been in three.
It had been a whole other world.
But it wouldn’t do her any good to remember that night. She’d had a few texts from Caleb, and she’d sent a few to him, but the one time he’d called—on her birthday, in February—had felt stilted, and they hadn’t talked since.
It was getting harder to believe that their one night of passionate, fevered intensity had been real.
The one thing she was sure of was that it would never be repeated.
He was in Australia, and she was here. And when he wasn’t in Australia anymore, he still wouldn’t be here.
He’d never be here.
But she was, and she was doing her best to act like it.
She split her time between the bookstore and what she’d started calling the artists’ colony. One unexpected—but welcome—side effect of the new venture was that her store had become very popular with aspiring writers, who, it turned out, bought a lot of books. That meant she could give Felicia and Kiki as many hours as they wanted, and business was thriving.
She’d found a delicate balance for herself, between busyness and reflection, time alone and time with people, thinking about Sam and Caleb and not thinking about them. She knew she was still in danger of slipping back into depression, but she hadn’t realized anyone else knew it until the day she came into the shop and heard her employees arguing.
“I’m going to burn it,” said Felicia.
“It’s not yours, and destroying mail is a felony.” That was Kiki.
“This isn’t mail. It’s not stamped.”
“It’s a letter, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“The heck it doesn’t.
You remember what she was like at Christmas, and you know how good she’s been lately. Do you really want to give her this thing and take a chance that—”
Jane stepped into view. “Take a chance that what?”
The two of them stared at her, and Felicia, holding a letter in her hands, flushed bright red from her neck to her ears.
“It’s nothing. Just a—”
Kiki snatched it away and held it out to Jane.
“It’s a letter for Sam. We found it wedged behind a drawer when we were cleaning.”
Jane’s hand closed over the envelope. She recognized it instantly, and she wished for a moment that Felicia had won the argument and burned it.
She wasn’t afraid of remembering her sister anymore, but she was afraid of remembering the handsome stranger who’d fallen in love with her. She was afraid of remembering her resentment and jealousy, and the question she’d asked herself over and over again last Christmas.
Could she have made Sam stay in the city by telling her about Dan?
Logic said no, but her heart had said maybe, and what if, and a hundred other agonizing things.
She took a deep breath and looked up at Kiki and Felicia, and the concern on their faces was like a warm fire on a cold day.
Her face relaxed into a smile. “It’s all right,” she said. “Thanks for worrying about me, though. I’ll be upstairs, okay?”
She took the letter with her and walked slowly up to the second floor, sitting at one of the empty writing desks. It was still early, and the room was only half-full. In the desk nearest her, a young woman sat with a dreamy look on her face and a laptop open in front of her.
Jane opened the letter and laid it on the desk.
Dear Samantha,
We don’t know each other yet, so this letter might seem crazy to you. But from the moment I first saw you in your sister’s bookshop, something happened to me. It was as though all the light in the universe was shining through you, and I wanted to follow wherever you might lead.
Jane has told me a little about you, and I know you loved Anne of Green Gables when you were a little girl. If you feel like taking a chance on a man who fell in love with you at first sight, I have a proposition.
Prince Edward Island is my home. If you happen to be single when spring arrives, I hope you’ll come meet me at the Lake of Shining Waters. There’s a bridge at one end any local will direct you to, and I will be there at sunset on May 1.
Tell Me Page 12
