by Lizzie Shane
He had to think of Astrid. He always had to put Astrid first.
In a different world, he might have kissed Ally. They might have been good for each other. But this was the world they lived in. This was his life.
It didn’t matter how perfect the moment was. Or how pretty she looked with her face tipped questioningly up toward his. Or how badly he wanted to just lower his head, close the distance between them, slide his arms around her—
A cymbal crashed as one of the kids in the marching band dropped it, the sound echoing across the square, jerking him out of his thoughts and reminding him of how public they were.
“No.” He rocked back. Ally turned her face to the side, flushing with embarrassment, and he held out his hands, afraid to touch her, but needing to make her understand. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I—”
She shook her head, backing away. “No, it’s fine. It’s just a silly—”
“It’s not that I—things are complicated—”
“No, I understand. I should…” She dodged around him toward the exit to the gazebo. “I need to get back to my grandparents before they send out a search party.”
“Ally…” He reached out a useless hand.
She was already clattering down the gazebo steps, smiling a huge, false smile for the girls as she passed them. “See you later, girls!”
Ben stared after her, a pit settling hard in his chest. He hadn’t wanted to start something that had no future, especially not in full view of the town, but he hadn’t meant to hurt her, either.
Way to go, West. The looks on Astrid’s and Kimber’s faces when he met their eyes confirmed he was, in fact, the most useless of men.
“What did you do?” Astrid asked him, appalled.
“Nothing. Let’s go home.”
He’d done the right thing. Ally was moving back to New York. His life was here with Astrid. He couldn’t get involved with her. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Public mortification: 1. Mistletoe: 0.
Ally rushed through the crowded town square trying not to wonder how many people had seen Ben reject her right there in the heart of the town.
He’d had an explanation—because of course he did. It was complicated. Sure it was. But she really didn’t want to stick around to learn all the reasons he didn’t want her. She shouldn’t have listened to Deenie and Elinor and Astrid and everyone else who had seemed to be silently speculating on the two of them.
They were friends. And if she’d been hoping it could be more, that was obviously one-sided.
That was all it was. No big deal.
She probably didn’t even like him as much as she thought she did. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d latched on to a guy because she was lonely and he was convenient. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to do that anymore. She’d been lonely in New York, but she liked Pine Hollow. She liked working at the shelter and going to town events. It felt good to be a part of something, and she was probably mixing all those feelings up in what she thought she’d been feeling for Ben. That was it.
The chaos around the diner had cleared out by the time she got back to the Furry Friends truck. Her grandparents had loaded all the dogs into their crates, and she jogged the last twenty yards to meet them. “Sorry that took so long!”
Just busy having my self-esteem crushed.
“Not to worry,” Gramps assured her. “You have perfect timing. The last truck blocking us just moved.”
“Did you find Ben?” Gram asked, a gleam in her eye—which Ally studiously ignored.
“Yep. And Kimber’s parents, too. They’re all set. Did Deenie take off?”
“She had another engagement.”
“Great.” She clasped her hands together. “Let’s get these dogs home.”
The dogs. The shelter. That was what she needed to be focusing on. She had more important things to think about than Ben West and an abandoned mistletoe kiss.
* * *
“You two make such a sweet couple.”
Ben gritted his teeth through the same patient smile he’d been using all day and repeated the same phrase he’d uttered at least twelve times already. “Ally and I aren’t a couple, Mrs. Kowalski.”
The sound of barking echoed off the walls of the Summerland Estates common room as the white-haired octogenarian leaned forward, one hand held up to her ear. “Hmm?”
“She’s just a friend!” Ben clarified at a half shout.
“Of course she is, dear.” Mrs. Kowalski beamed. “And what a lovely girlfriend!”
Ben gave up—as he had every other time he’d had this conversation in the last twenty minutes. He almost hadn’t come today. He’d told Ally he and Astrid would be here, but after the botched mistletoe moment, it had been tempting to skip the pet fair.
Not that he’d botched it. He definitely shouldn’t have kissed Ally in the middle of the town square, but he might have been able to handle the dismount more smoothly. Astrid had spent the night at Kimber’s, so he’d had plenty of time to think about what he should have done. He owed Ally an apology, but for now he was trying to keep his distance as much as he could in the Estates common room. For all the good that was doing.
Every senior Ben spoke to had another comment about how wonderful it was to see him and Ally together. What a “charming couple” they made. He could talk himself hoarse explaining that they weren’t actually together, but the Summerland residents simply smiled and patted his hand—either not hearing him or not believing a word he said.
At least the pet fair seemed to be a success, though he couldn’t take any credit for that. When he and Astrid had arrived at Furry Friends this afternoon, Deenie and the three Gilmores were already loading the dogs into their crates.
They’d brought all the dogs who were under the weight limit—the dachshund mixes Fred and Ginger, the papillon JoJo, the chihuahua Peanut, the one-eyed Jack Russell terrier Trapper, and one scruffy little black mutt of indeterminate breed named Daisy, who might be a tiny bit bigger than thirty pounds, but there wasn’t a scale around, so they were fudging it. And even Daisy—who had an unfortunate tendency to pee when she was nervous—seemed to have found a fan club among the Summerland residents.
Though not as much of a fan club as Ally had.
She’d brought her camera and moved around the room, smiling and snapping shots of the seniors with the dogs. Ben watched her, admiring how effortlessly she charmed everyone—just as she’d charmed the whole town.
“Lilian, look at this little angel!” Mrs. Kowalski called, holding Peanut up for her companion’s appreciation, and Ben took the opportunity to step back and let Peanut work his wiles on the women. The ancient chihuahua seemed to be the biggest hit with the residents, even though he was completely deaf. He had giant bug eyes and always seemed to be shivering, but he was fast on his way to becoming the Summerland Estates unofficial mascot.
Trapper was currently ensconced in the basket of Mrs. Walker’s walker, making the rounds and being cooed over by one and all. Deenie was nearby showing another resident all the tricks she’d been teaching JoJo. Daisy had tucked herself close to Astrid’s side but was peeking out from behind her leg and being coaxed onto the lap of another resident.
No one seemed to be paying him any attention, so Ben took the opportunity to weave through the crowd toward Ally.
“Hey,” he murmured as he came up beside her. “Getting some good shots?”
Ally flicked a glance at him without lowering her camera. “Yep.”
Not exactly encouraging. But he didn’t know if he’d have another chance. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday. That thing with the, you know.”
Her cheeks flushed. “It’s fine. We don’t need to—”
“It’s just there were some rumors going around, about the two of us. You and me.”
Her lashes lowered. “I’ve heard them, too.”
“I know mistletoe doesn’t mean anything romantically, but
I didn’t want to fan the flames. I hope you weren’t offended—”
“No, of course. That totally makes sense—”
“I have to think of Astrid—”
“Right. Absolutely.” They both spoke quickly, the words folding over one another—until Rita Gilmore’s face suddenly appeared between them.
“If anyone asks, Trapper is now Hemingway,” she whispered urgently. “Bob Blake is this close to taking him, and he used to be a literature professor, so I made a little fib about Hemingway’s name to seal the deal. Those two are perfect for each other. Both so ornery you can barely stand them. How are you two doing? Any luck?”
Ally’s face was still rosy and she wouldn’t meet his eyes, but she spoke to her grandmother as if they hadn’t just been having one of the most uncomfortable conversations of his life. “Peanut’s a crowd favorite.”
Mr. Gilmore approached, leading Fred and Ginger. “Any ideas about who might be good for the lovebirds?” he asked. “Everyone adores them, but no one seems willing to consider adopting two dogs.”
Ally crouched down to cuddle the matched pair. “Maybe if they were each adopted by someone here they could visit one another regularly?” she suggested.
“Try Verna and Lyle Johnson,” Mrs. Gilmore said suddenly, tugging Ally’s arm and pointing to a couple across the room. They weren’t crowding around the dogs like some of the other residents, just sitting along the sidelines, watching and holding hands. “Those two haven’t spent a night apart in sixty-five years. If anyone understands why Fred and Ginger need to stay together, they will. You two both go.”
Ben barely had time to react before a leash was thrust into his hands, and Rita Gilmore gave him a surprisingly hard shove in the middle of the back.
Ally frowned at her grandmother but seemed to decide against protesting. She met his eyes. “Shall we?”
“After you.”
* * *
Ally crossed the room, excruciatingly aware of the man at her back and trying not to fuel the rumors already swirling around them. She hadn’t expected him to come today, but she should have known Ben West never forgot a promise—even one as casually given as his offer to help with the pet fair had been.
She focused on the Johnsons as they approached, determined to find the perfect home for Fred and Ginger. Just like the dachshunds, the Johnsons were a matched set, both on the short side with neat, close-cropped white hair and glasses, and each wore engraved nametags pinned to their shirts, as most of the residents at the Estates did.
“Hello,” Ally greeted them cheerfully. “I’m Ally. And this is Ben.”
“We know, dear.” Mrs. Johnson smiled. “You’re Hal and Rita’s granddaughter. And you are the councilman everyone can’t stop talking about.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” Ben shook the hand Mr. Johnson extended.
“Lyle and Verna Johnson,” Mr. Johnson offered, before bending down to extend his fingers to Fred. “And who are these little hot dogs?”
“That’s Fred, and this is Ginger,” Ally explained. “They’re a bonded pair. We think he’s twelve and she’s thirteen.”
“Aren’t they sweet?” Mrs. Johnson murmured.
“We weren’t expecting dogs,” Mr. Johnson explained. “We’re just here for the Christmas concert. We always come early to get the good seats.”
His wife patted his hand. “We’re so glad you brought the dogs here, though. It’s so good to see everyone enjoying them. What a treat.”
Ben sat on the chair beside Mr. Gilmore, but Ally ignored the one opposite and sank down into a crouch, patting Ginger. “It was my grandmother’s idea.”
“Rita’s such a doll. She fits right in here already.”
Ally smiled at the common misconception. “I know they’re out here a lot, but my grandparents don’t actually live here. They’re just visiting friends.”
“Of course, dear. I only mean when they move in next year.”
“They aren’t…” Ally trailed off, looking to Ben for help.
Conversations had a tendency to take unusual turns when there were multiple hearing aids involved, like a very creative game of telephone. She knew Mrs. Johnson was confused, but thankfully Ben caught her look and leaned forward, his next words loud and crisp. “Have you lived here long?”
“Fifteen years.” Mr. Johnson sat up a little straighter, proudly. “We were among the original charter residents. Before they built all those patio homes.”
“And you like it here?”
“We love it here.” Ginger leaned against Mrs. Johnson’s ankle, her tail rhythmically thwacking Ally on the shin, and Mrs. Johnson smiled. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” she asked Ginger, stroking her head. “I know there are some folks who don’t adjust well—the ones who feel like they’ve been put here rather than made the choice to come on their own. Like poor Bob Blake. But for us, this was how we maintained our freedom, rather than giving it up. We have the help we need, and we don’t have to be dependent on our children and grandchildren if we don’t want to.”
“It’s a community,” Mr. Johnson went on, seamlessly picking up his wife’s thread. “The best thing about Summerland Estates—heck, about all of Pine Hollow—is the community. But you get out of it what you put into it. You have to reach out to your neighbors to feel them reaching out to you.”
Ally frowned. She’d never thought of it that way. She figured you either fit or you didn’t.
“You two make such a sweet couple.”
The words jerked her back to attention.
“Oh, no.” Ally protested. “We aren’t…”
“I’m just helping with the dogs, until we can get them all adopted,” Ben explained.
“Ah,” Mr. Johnson smiled. “I remember those days. Verna worked in a soda shop, and I’d go in for malts every single day just to see her. I was lucky she didn’t work out at the dairy or I’d’ve been out there bothering the cows.”
Ally flushed, hurriedly changing the subject. “Is it true you haven’t spent a night apart for sixty-five years?”
“Sixty-six. Not since the day we got married,” Mrs. Johnson said proudly. “When Lyle had to go in for his heart surgery, they didn’t want to let me in the recovery room—”
“But I just told them my heart wasn’t going to beat right if she wasn’t with me.”
Mrs. Johnson met her husband’s eyes. “None of the doctors had the heart to tell us no after that.”
Ally’s throat tightened, heart aching for that kind of connection. The kind her parents had, and her grandparents. That person who was there for you. No matter what.
She bent down, gently ruffling Ginger’s ears. “That’s like these two,” she commented. “Initially when they came in, we tried to separate them, but they just cried and cried. They’re always touching.” Mrs. Johnson’s hand was still tucked into her husband’s, but Ally didn’t look at it, trying not to lay it on too thick. “They like to burrow underneath covers, so we put a blanket over their dog bed, and half the time when I look in their run, there’s just one long lump under there from the both of them.”
“You said they were twelve?”
“And thirteen. She’s a little older than he is.”
“How old is that in people years?”
“They’d be about in their sixties—so retirement age. They don’t act like puppies anymore, though they still love treats, and Fred has a chew toy he likes to carry around like a prize. He loves to bark when there’s company coming, but we think his first owner must have worked with him on that, because if you tell him to hush he usually does. Ginger has some back problems sometimes, so she does best in a place with no stairs, and if she’s allowed up on the furniture, it’s best if she has a ramp rather than needing to jump up and down.”
“We know all about bad backs.” Mr. Johnson smiled. “Don’t we, little lady?” He reached down to pet Ginger, moving slowly, and the little dog delicately licked his fingertips.
“And we don’t have any
stairs…” Mrs. Johnson commented, giving her husband a sideways look.
“Oh ho.” Mr. Johnson chuckled. “It looks like we might be getting a ramp for our sofa before too long. Whatever makes my Verna smile like that.” Mrs. Johnson smiled and he winked at them.
Ally looked at the paper-thin skin of their interlaced hands—what must it be like to spend sixty-six years with someone and still want to hold their hand? To have that kind of connection? Those shared memories.
To be loved that much.
Ally forced her gaze away from the link, focusing on talking up Fred and Ginger until the members of the local choir started filtering in and it was time to take the dogs home so they didn’t add their own chorus to the upcoming concert.
She caught Ben’s eye, and they said their goodbyes to the Johnsons.
“I’ll go round up Astrid,” he offered, his hand brushing the small of her back as they crossed the room—though she might have imagined the touch it was so brief. Then he was gone, collecting his niece as she headed toward her grandparents and Deenie.
Gram took Fred and Ginger’s leashes, freeing up Ally’s hands so she could pick up the camera hanging around her neck. She felt more comfortable as soon as she had it in her hands. Turning at the door, she lifted the camera for one last shot of the room. Lyle and Verna Johnson leaned toward one another, smiling and whispering—and still holding hands.
“You coming?” Deenie spoke from beside her as she snapped the picture.
“Do you think that’s still possible?” Ally asked as she lowered her camera, her eyes still on the Johnsons. “Sixty-six years with the same person?”
“If I live to be ninety-five and my husband doesn’t kick it before then. Note to self: Add longevity DNA to my dating wish list.”
Ally shook her head. “You know what I mean. Do you think that’s even out there anymore in a world of apps and instant gratification? Have we lost the ability to stick it out for sixty-odd years and still want to hold hands at the end of the day? Are there still men out there who even want that?”
