Chapter 33
“Do you know what you’re doing, Libby?” Amelia asks, as we’re double-checking the ropes we used to secure the tree on top of the car.
I know precisely to what she’s referring—Liam. She sees right through the facade I’ve put on since we got back from cutting down the tree. The charged energy between Liam and me was surely palpable, especially to my little sister.
After we returned from getting the tree, Liam showed Amelia and me around the rescue.
I fed the goats and the alpaca; Amelia learned how to remove eggs from under a nesting chicken without getting her hand pecked; and then Liam’s dog George—the sweetest mutt—snuggled into me on the porch’s sofa while we warmed up with hot chocolate.
We kept the conversation light and breezy, the reality of what had almost happened sitting right underneath the surface in my mind.
It was agreed the four of us would meet up later, at the Sip and Glide ice-skating event—though I made it very clear, and Amelia backed me up, that I would not be donning ice skates.
“Trust me, you don’t want her to put on anything with sharp blades,” Amelia said, which made everyone laugh.
“Yes, I know what I’m doing, Mila,” I reply now, hoping it’s the truth.
She shifts the car into drive to head back down the laneway. I get a last glimpse at Liam, who’s on the porch, hands in his pockets. He pulls one out to wave goodbye, and I raise a hand in similar fashion out the open car window.
“I sure hope so,” she replies, glancing left and right before pulling out onto the main road. We drive more slowly with the tree on the top of the car. “He’s a good guy, Libby. He’s been through a lot, too.”
“I know,” I say, but slightly more forcefully than I intended. “Like I said, I know what I’m doing.”
But… what am I doing, exactly? Blowing up the life I currently have—the one whose timeline I’ve been ripped out of—and assuming, like I did with Mom’s ankle, that I can change anything that’s happened?
I met Liam mere days ago. Spending all this time with him in Christmas past is giving me too much bravado.
There’s definitely a spark there—he almost kissed me, between the evergreens.
Would have kissed me if I hadn’t stopped him.
“The two of you had some funny energy when you got back. Did anything happen out there?”
“No—we cut down the tree, had a nice walk in the snow.” Neutral tone, nothing to hide.
“Okay then,” she says, but I know I haven’t convinced her.
“Fine. I haven’t been totally honest,” I say. “About Austin.”
“I figured as much,” Amelia replies, her tone softening.
“Things have been… not the best.” I sigh, wondering how much I can get away with saying. “It’s like I’ve had a glimpse of the future, and it’s not what I thought it was going to be. I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore.”
“That’s a hard thing to notice, especially when you’re so close to something,” Amelia replies.
“It really is.”
“Well, you’re brilliant and capable and wise, and I have no doubt you will figure this out. But I’m here if you want to talk about it. No judgement.”
Reaching out, I squeeze her shoulder. “I know. And thank you. Also? Same goes.”
Now Amelia smiles and gives me a quick, almost nervous glance. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yes, please,” I reply.
She laughs to herself, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it, and never expected it, but…”
“But… what?” I already know where this is going, but I wait for her to tell me.
“Let’s just say I have a date for Sip and Glide.” She glances over at me again, and she can barely contain her excitement. Her eyes are wide, her smile wider, and she lets out a tiny squeal that makes me laugh.
“Oh, reeeeally…” I set a finger to my lips. “With whom?”
“Nice,” Amelia says, at my use of “whom.” “Becks asked me out, and I said yes.”
“Sissy, this is officially the best news I’ve heard all week. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks, Libby—I’m happy for me, too.” We laugh again, and then, emboldened by Amelia’s good news, I pull out my phone. I know what I have to do. After only a second’s hesitation, I type out a message to Austin. “Need to talk. Call you soon.”
Then I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and turn up the radio, as Amelia and I sing along to the cheery holiday music.
It’s late afternoon by the time Amelia drops me off at our parents’ place.
We’ve taken the tree to the clinic, and Miss Betty is planning to decorate it tomorrow after the boughs have had a chance to fall.
Amelia and I make plans for dinner—she’s going to pick up a family-sized portion of lasagna from the diner.
“Mom and Dad can freeze that mayo-and-ham casserole,” she says, with a slight shudder. “I’m sure it will keep… forever.”
We chuckle, while also acknowledging the kindness of Millicent Mueller, along with the other neighbours and friends who have shown up for Mom and Dad in the past couple of days.
“I’ll be back by six,” Amelia says through the open car window.
“Sounds good,” I reply. “Also, today was fun.”
“It was,” she says with a grin. After she pulls away, I head up the stone path towards the front door.
I’m distracted, my thoughts swirling: Liam …
Amelia and Beckett … my mom’s ankle and the clinic …
the conversation I need to have with Austin .
Definitely not looking forward to that one, and I feel crappy to be doing it over the phone. However, I can’t put it off any longer.
“I’m home,” I call out, shutting the front door behind me. Holiday music mingles with voices—Mom’s, Millicent’s, and a male voice that at first I don’t recognize. Dad is out on house calls, so it isn’t him.
“Hello?” I take off my boots and hang my coat, then walk into the living room. “I’m back, and the tree—”
The words stick in my throat. What in the world…?
“Libby! Darling, look who’s here,” Mom says from the couch, where she rests with her casted leg on the pillow.
“Austin,” I say, my voice strangled. My ex is in my parents’ living room.
Wearing jeans and a navy-blue sweater over a blue-and-white-checkered button-up shirt that I gave him for his birthday— last year .
His blue eyes a near-perfect match to the colour of the shirt, which is why I bought it for him.
His short blond hair as perfectly coiffed as ever…
as is the wink he gives me now, which makes my stomach do a flip-flop, but in a not-pleasant way.
“Hey, babe,” he says, striding over and hugging me. I smell his soap, which he has imported from France but is indiscernible from local grocery-store soap, followed by his cologne, a musk and tobacco scent that I used to find intoxicating but which now feels overpowering.
Austin pulls back to kiss me, but I turn my head slightly at the last moment and his lips land near the corner of my mouth. He gives me an odd look—my lukewarm greeting certainly not what he anticipated—but recovers quickly, smile intact.
“Wow… how… why are you here?” I cross my arms over my chest. I can’t catch my breath, and I’m lightheaded. With one hand I reach into my back pocket, my shaking fingers finding my cell phone. “Didn’t you get my message?”
“I just did, actually,” Austin replies. “We were stringing popcorn for the tree, and then these two card sharks took advantage of my less-than-stellar bridge skills.”
A charming smile delivered effortlessly to Millicent and Mom. The popcorn garland is around the tree, the bowls with a few kernels left in them still on the coffee table.
“What do you want to talk about?” His expression is open, mildly questioning. Mom and Millicent are watching me as well, though Millicent’s eyes keep shifting back to Austin. He’s undeniably good-looking and charming. But in a less genuine way than Liam is, I’m realizing now.
“Uh… maybe we could go upstairs?”
“Sure thing,” he says, before turning towards Millicent. “It was nice meeting you, Millicent. Hope to see you again soon?”
Millicent nods. “Lovely to meet you, Austin. Libby’s a lucky woman.”
She gives me a smile, as Austin says, “Oh, I’m the lucky one.”
It’s bizarre, having Austin in my childhood bedroom. We sit on the bed, and he looks around. “Wow—your parents haven’t changed much, huh?”
“They’ve changed nothing,” I reply. “Same with Amelia’s room. Though she’s home more often than I am.”
“Home?” Austin turns my way.
“I mean at my parents’ home, obviously,” I reply. But in truth, this does feel like my home—not only the house, but Harmony Hills, too.
“My parents turned my bedroom into a gym the week I moved out,” Austin says, in a tone that implies that’s a more appropriate choice. “You weren’t kidding about the Christmas stuff. It’s everywhere.”
I consider what the house looks like through Austin’s eyes. The festive decor, the holiday knickknacks, like the Christmas lantern lamp and Polar Express train in the living room, the twinkle lights strung around all the doorways, the scent of cinnamon and pine diffusing from my bedside table.
“My parents enjoy Christmas.” I’m defensive, and I think about his whole kids-shouldn’t-be-lied-to-about-Santa-Claus position. “There are worse things than having a house full of holiday cheer.”
I sound petulant, irritated. I don’t want to be reacting this way, but his unexpected arrival has set me off.
Particularly because I never expected to see him again, least of all in my childhood home…
the same afternoon that I almost kissed Liam.
Now I feel guilty, though I remind myself that technically—at least in my reality—Austin and I are no longer together.
“Hey, I didn’t mean anything. I’m impressed, actually,” Austin says, shifting closer to me to hold my hands. “Don’t be like this, okay?”
Like what? I think. But I ignore this, and plough ahead. “Why did you come here, Austin?”
Now he frowns. “That doesn’t sound like someone who is happy her boyfriend dropped everything and drove five hours to make sure she’s okay.”
“I told you I was fine,” I reply, evenly. “We agreed I’d come back to the city tomorrow.”
“Come back ‘home,’ you mean, right?”
I give him an exasperated look, and he changes tack.
“I was worried about you. Helena said you weren’t… yourself.” Austin reaches out to brush his fingers on the side of my face, where Liam’s fingers lingered not long ago. But while the feel of Liam’s hand on my skin electrified me, I have a sense of dread when Austin does it.
“Helly overreacted.” I shift on the bed so I’m out of his reach. “I had food poisoning, got dehydrated and a bit loopy, imagined a few things that didn’t happen, and then got some electrolytes in me and was better in no time.”
Austin keeps his eyes on me but doesn’t say anything.
“As you can see, I’m perfectly coherent and lucid.” I’m nervous, though, and my palms are sweating. I press my hands into my quilt and am about to issue another round of reassurances when suddenly Austin’s lips are on mine. I’m so taken by surprise I don’t have time to pull away.
After the kiss, Austin holds my head to his, our foreheads pressed together. My body is rigid, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.
My eyes are on the quilt, regretting everything that has led to this moment. Then Austin’s body shifts, putting some blessed distance between us. “What’s that?” he asks, his voice strained. He sounds nervous.
Following his gaze, I see my duffel bag—his sweatshirt resting on top. My stomach twists. “Oh, that’s my overnight bag.”
He’s off the bed in a flash, pulling the sweatshirt from my bag. I hold my breath while he runs his hands across the fabric. His fingers pause on the sleeve, which is folded on top of the sweatshirt. “How did this get here?”
My thoughts ricochet between answering “I don’t know” and “You tell me!” But then I say, “I borrowed it. I found it in the back of the closet and didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t mind,” he replies, facing me again. I think of the ring box, no longer in the sleeve of that sweatshirt but tucked inside the duffel bag. “What’s mine is yours.”
Our eyes lock, and for a moment I have this crazy thought he knows that I know. That maybe he’s about to propose, even without the ring.
It’s a ludicrous thought, because why would he choose this moment, over so many others we’ve had recently? Birthday dinners, quiet nights at home with Thai takeout, a good movie, and some heart-pounding sex. Even Valentine’s Day, however clichéd, could have been a reasonable option.
“I should head downstairs,” I say, sliding off the bed as well. Wanting to stop whatever momentum might be building. “Amelia’s coming back with dinner soon. I need to set the table.”
“Sure, sure,” Austin says. I go to step past him, to open the bedroom door, when he adds, “Wait. What did you want to talk about?”
I pause for a beat. Then take a breath and smile. “Nothing that can’t wait until after dinner.”