4. Nolan
4
NOLAN
T he morning after his unexpected reunion with Laney Gray, Nolan stopped on his way to work to buy a coffee from his brother’s country store. Max was by the soda section, restocking energy drinks. Thankfully, it was too early in the day for Santa. By then, the local postman who played Santa every year would be ready to listen to children’s wishes and hand out candy canes. At Christmastime the outside area was transformed into Santa’s workshop. Kids came from miles and miles to visit Santa. Happily, for Max, their mothers and fathers also bought things they needed and didn’t need at the store afterward. By the weekend, there would be a line across the parking lot to visit Santa. But for now, it was quiet.
Max greeted him with his usual cheeky grin. That grin was kind of famous around these parts. Nolan suspected there were many a broken hearts in this town because of Max and his notorious smile. Not to mention the rest of him. Of all four brothers, he was the most charismatic. People flocked to him.
“Hey there. You want your usual?” Max asked, headed toward the industrial-sized espresso machine.
“Yeah, only throw in a little bit of that peppermint flavor for me this morning, would you?”
“Peppermint? That’s new.” Max narrowed his eyes. “You never do anything new.”
“What can I say? I have the Christmas spirit.”
“Hmm…we’ll put a pin in that.”
Nolan rolled his eyes. “Just make my coffee.”
They chatted about their family’s plans for the holidays while Max brewed a latte behind the counter. The store had many sections: wine, local produce, and crafts. You name it and Max stocked it. Everything Max sold couldn’t be beat anywhere in town or in the surrounding counties. He had the best produce, a lot of it grown in greenhouses right here in Sugarville Grove, including one a stone’s throw from the store. His coffee was divine. The wines he sourced were some of the best in the world. A bakery in town supplied most of his fresh treats, restocking daily. He only sold cheeses and meats that came from local farms. His customers knew they were getting quality products no matter what they were shopping for.
“You want anything else?” Max asked.
Nolan hesitated. Should he tell him about Laney and risk endless teasing? Although Max might already know she was helping out her Aunt Edna for the holidays. This was a small town, and Max had a lot of people in and out of his store all day long. Gossip abounded. Not to mention the old guys who played checkers in front of the store. Between them and Kris Olaffson, the town’s postman who also played Santa every year, there weren’t many secrets in Sugarville Grove.
“Yeah, so you won’t believe who I ran into yesterday,” Nolan said.
“Who’s that?” Max asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. Laney Gray, right? I heard she’s working at her aunt’s bookstore for the holidays. Is it true she called off a wedding at the last minute?”
“Something like that. How did you know?”
“Someone mentioned it yesterday. You know how it is around here. Anyway, how is she? Is she still as pretty as can be?”
Nolan sighed, the memory of her smile spreading warmth through his chest. She was the sun, that girl.
“Yeah, she’s beautiful. Sweet, too. Given her called-off wedding, she’s a little down, but she still has that optimistic, curious attitude. She’s here to figure out what she wants to do next.” He told Max what she’d told him about her fiancé and the best friend.
“Wow. That’s cruel, man.”
“I know. Similar to my story, right?”
“Sure is. Weird.” Max tilted his head, looking at him sympathetically. “How are you holding up? Did you go out to see Dylan the other day?”
His family knew he visited the grave site on the anniversary of Dylan’s death.
Nolan pinched the bridge of his nose as the familiar ache entered his chest. “I’m fine. I just thought that after all this time it might be a little easier. You know, hurt a little less. But it just never does.”
“You loved him. That doesn’t change just because you can’t see the physical version of him,” Max said.
“I should go. I’ve only got a few more classes to teach before break.”
Max reached under the counter to pull out a metal bin decorated with snowmen. “Here, take these cookies. Mom dropped them off yesterday. She had a car full, making her rounds.”
“Nah, she’ll bring some by for me.”
“Then take them in for your students. I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”
Nolan looked at him incredulously. “You? Why are you trying to lose a few pounds?”
“Oh, trust me, I need to. I’ve gained five in the last month. It started with Halloween—you know, all that candy—and then Thanksgiving, and now it’s Christmas, so it’s even worse. Plus, this place has been a zoo, so I stress-eat.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve never known you to stress about anything.”
“Well, maybe you don’t know everything about me, do you?” Max asked.
“Maybe I don’t.” They exchanged brotherly grins, born from years and years of teasing each other. “Seriously, though, what are you stressed about?”
Max lifted one shoulder. “This place might be killing me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It never ends. I can never have a day off. Or make any time for a social life.”
Ironic. Max had always been the playful, fun one, never taking anything too seriously. School had been easy for him, but he hadn’t really cared, either. Everything worked out for Max without him even trying.
Before Nolan could ask for any further details, a customer came in, so Nolan said his goodbyes and headed out to his car to head to work. As he drove the two-lane highway toward the university, he turned on Christmas music. Before Dylan’s murder, he’d been a sucker for anything Christmas, just like his mother. But after it happened, December represented the month Dylan died instead of Christmas. Maybe it was time he snapped out of his funk and embraced the season?
As he drove, he took in the beautiful scenery. Frost clung to the bare branches of trees, glittering in the pale morning sunlight. Rolling fields were blanketed in snow, and occasional plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys of scattered farmhouses. Clusters of pine and oak trees created dappled shadows on the road. All in all, it seemed very Christmassy.
He turned up the radio, enjoying George Strait’s song about cookies.
His thoughts drifted back to Laney. He still couldn’t believe she was here. He also had trouble believing his reaction to her. It was as if he’d stepped right back in time.
Was it wise to spend time with her, given his feelings? She wouldn’t be ready to date for ages. After what she’d gone through, who could blame her after what that idiot had done to her. Not to mention she’d lost her best friend. The supposed best friend.
When he thought back on his broken relationship from three years ago, he knew it was partially his fault. If he’d admitted to himself that he was playing a part, pretending to be the man she wanted, they would never have gotten engaged in the first place. But he’d been at a low point, still reeling from the death of Dylan, when he’d met Jill. She’d seemed like the answer to prayer.
Spoiler alert. She had not been.
There were many times in his life he felt like an outsider. Even in his own family. He was the quiet one. Cerebral and pensive, his mother had said once. But with Laney, that summer, he’d felt accepted just as he was. Maybe it was that they knew she was leaving at the end of the season, therefore they could both show their real selves instead of trying to fit in. Teenage years were rough for everyone, but they’d felt harder for him than his brothers. Maybe that was only his perception, but he didn’t think so.
He’d been such an innocent, gawky fourteen-year-old boy. But with Laney, he’d felt like a king. She’d hung on his every word, clearly delighted when she made him laugh and vice versa. He certainly loved making her laugh. In fact, nothing in his life had been as satisfying.
With Laney, he could be himself, without pretenses of trying to be cool. However, the thought of Laney and him rekindling a flame that had never gotten as bright as it should be was ridiculous. I mean, how long had it been?
They’d been fourteen that summer and were thirty now—a decade and a half plus one more. Yet he could close his eyes and recall details from those days in alarming clarity.
The moment he’d first met her at the bookstore, he’d been transfixed by her pretty eyes and silky hair. Then she opened her mouth, and he was a goner. She’d been articulate and smart, with impeccable manners. Once they got to know each other better, she opened up to him about what it was like to grow up as an only child of two intense parents. She’d told him how difficult it was at the prep school she attended. Rich and spoiled kids who expected the world to fall at their feet were also surprisingly driven. Schoolwork had been competitive. Sports and extracurricular activities had not felt like fun but more like building a college résumé. He remembered her telling him how much pressure she felt to be thin and dressed just right. How mean the girls had been.
By the end of the summer, she had transformed into a girl who belonged in Sugarville Grove. Sadly, she’d had to return to her real life.
Leaving him bereft.
No one was like Laney Gray back then. He had a feeling the same was true today.
The day had dragged on, and he’d found his thoughts drifting back to Laney much too often. Finally, though, he’d been able to call it a day and head home. He and Laney had exchanged numbers the night before, and he’d texted to confirm their dinner. She’d not texted back right away, which had made him nervous. Like a silly kid. But she apologized once she did, saying the store had been really busy. She promised she would be there at six with wine.
He once again stopped at Max’s store for a package of locally made fresh pasta, tomatoes, garlic, onion, and a few cans of tomato sauce. His brother was not in the store, but Nolan spotted him in the outdoor picnic area helping Santa’s elves to herd kids and parents into a dignified line.
When he arrived home and parked in the garage, he grabbed his leather satchel and the bag of groceries, balancing it in one arm as he entered the mudroom attached to the kitchen. He kicked off his snow-dusted boots and hung his keys on their hook, then set the groceries down on the counter in the kitchen.
This house had been a labor of love. It had taken six months after gutting the place to complete the remodel. His dad and brothers had been great, helping when they could, but they all had work and lives of their own. Thus, he’d hired most of it out to a contractor. Regardless of how long it took and the amount of money he had to borrow from the bank, it had all been worth it. It was now a home and sanctuary.
He’d wanted to keep the spirit of the early 1900s farmhouse intact after the remodel. Although the interiors had been outdated, he could still feel the love and warmth that had unfolded in what had been a family home. Growing up in a close-knit clan, he knew that the heart of every home should be the kitchen. His mother had helped him choose the refurbished wood he’d had made into wide-plank floors. She had also suggested the creamy white cabinets with open shelves to display vintage cookware and dishes. Large windows flooded the space with natural light. A central island with wooden stools served as a gathering place for the evenings he hosted friends and family. Fresh herbs grew in terra-cotta pots near the window.
Nolan stepped into his cozy den just off the kitchen to deposit his satchel. He’d turned what had once been the maid’s room into an office where he often graded essays or prepared lectures. He’d put careful thought into the space, as he did most things in life. He had to say, it pleased him immensely every time he stepped inside, even if he was tired or burned out after a long day teaching. The natural wood tones and soft, neutral colors, as well as bookshelves filled with some of his most treasured reads, calmed whatever nerves or angst had followed him home.
His father had designed a window nook, and the two of them had built a bench long enough for his tall body. Mom had made a cushion and plush pillows so that he could nap or read in the natural light from the window that overlooked his scenic yard.
Next, he crossed through his living room toward the stairs to the second floor, a gray-and-white rug soft under his feet. A soft gray couch decorated with plaid and floral throw pillows had also been his mother’s doing. A large stone fireplace between built-in bookshelves housed more of his lovely books. He’d found a wooden coffee table at a yard sale and had stripped it and refinished it himself. A prominent oversize clock with a wooden frame had been a gift from Max, who had found it during one of his antiquing excursions. Nolan treasured it, although it lost a minute of time every day. By the end of the week, he had to reset it to make up for seven lost minutes.
Once he reached his bedroom, he shrugged out of his tweed coat and hung it in the walk-in closet. He had few clothes—only pieces he actually wore, many bought from thrift shops. Sustainability and simplicity were tenets of his life, as pretentious as that might sound. Simple white linens layered with earth-tone pillows and a rich brown throw were atop his rustic wooden bed frame. Mismatched bedside tables sat on either side of the bed, one with a lamp and alarm clock and the other with books stacked high.
He’d turned one of the smaller bedrooms in the original house plan into a full bathroom, including a claw-foot bathtub and full shower. Now, he turned on the water and stripped while it warmed. The house had new plumbing but for whatever reason, it took a long time for the water to turn hot, which made him uneasy. He didn’t like to waste water. However, the cold plunge trend held no interest to him.
After his shower, he dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a soft navy sweater, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows as he headed downstairs. Nolan turned on his Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen to listen to classical music while he cooked. As much as his brothers mocked him, the music soothed him and also helped him to focus.
He sliced garlic, halved the tomatoes, and chopped up fresh basil, setting it all aside for when Laney arrived. The dish only took a few minutes to prepare, and it was much better served fresh.
At precisely six, the front doorbell rang. His stomach fluttered as he yanked it open. Laney stood there, bundled in a red coat and hat, eyes sparkling under the light hanging over the entryway. She held a bottle of wine in one hand and her bag in the other.
For a moment, he stood there, overcome by how beautiful she had become in the years since he had known her.
“You look lovely. Absolutely stunning. That coat looks amazing on you.” Oh my God, he was totally babbling like an idiot. He cleared his throat. “Come on in. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Thank you. You’re sweet. And yes, I’m starving.”
He held the door open for her, and she slipped past him. He caught a whiff of sandalwood and vanilla from her perfume. He helped her out of her coat, hanging it in his closet next to several of his spare tweed jackets—Christmas gifts from his mother over the years.
She handed him the bottle of wine. “It’s a Chianti. Since you’re making pasta, I thought it would pair well.”
“Do you know a lot about wines?” Nolan asked as he led her into the kitchen.
“I took a semester on wine at university, and my passion for it grew.”
“That’s an interesting class to take,” Nolan said.
“I thought for a time I might pursue a job in the hotel industry,” she said. “But I changed my mind. Or, rather, my parents changed my mind.”
“Really? I’m surprised you were interested in hospitality.”
“How so?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “Careful how you answer that.”
He shook his head, laughing. “No, not the hospitality part. From what I can tell, you’re very gracious.”
“I like to think so.”
“I assumed you’d pursue some sort of creative field. You were always such a good artist. I can remember you sketching everything that summer we hung out.”
She smiled, but her eyes dulled.
“My mother and father really didn’t want me to study art, so after a few semesters, they talked me out of it. Then I thought about culinary arts, but I ended up studying marketing instead. But cooking and baking are passionate hobbies.”
“Hmm, you might have mentioned that before I offered to make dinner.”
She laughed. “I’m sure it will be wonderful.”
He led her into the house through the living room, inviting her to sit at the island. While she got settled in, he opened the wine and poured them each a glass.
“The remodel turned out great,” she said, taking the glass from him. “I never imagined it looked like this when we stared at it from the road.”
He chuckled. “It didn’t look like this when I bought it. The place was a disaster.”
“Did you do it yourself?”
“No, I used a professional contractor for most of it. But my dad and brothers helped too. I’ll show you the window seat my dad made for me later.” He gestured toward the office. “It’s one of my favorite places to read.”
She leaned in that direction. “I love everything you’ve done, and it seems so you. Simple yet elegant.”
“Thank you,” he said, touched.
“Tell me more about your work,” she said.
“It might be boring.”
“Not to me.”
He smiled as he reached down to get a skillet and turned the knob on his cooktop, then poured some olive oil in the pan. As he sautéed garlic and the fresh tomatoes, he told her about his decision to specialize in the naturalists and what it was like to teach at the university. She listened as if rapt, hanging on his every word, with an occasional insightful question, all of which made him feel like the most interesting person in the world.
“What about you?” Nolan asked, as he dumped pasta into the boiling water. “What exactly does a marketing consultant for small businesses do?”
“I basically meet with the owners and get to know them. What’s important to them—their values or belief system. What do they think their product or service could do for their customers? And I use that to build a foundation for their branding. After we have that figured out, I design a marketing strategy for them.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“Not really. I have a knack for it, that’s all.” She brought her glass to her mouth, sipping the Chianti, looking pensive. “I’m not sure what I’ll do now.”
“Are you okay?” Nolan asked. “For real?”
“I am. That’s the weird thing. The more time that goes by since it happened, the less sure I am that I even wanted to marry him. Isn’t that an awful thing to admit? The thing with Josh and me—our families knew each other—on paper we seemed like the perfect match. I think I got wrapped up in that idea. It all made sense, the two of us. He must have thought so too. Until he fell in love with my best friend.”
“How did you happen to see the text exchange?” He’d wanted to ask before but wasn’t sure if it would be all right to bring it up. However, his curiosity was too great. He wanted to know the details.
“The morning of the wedding, I was all dressed, ready to go. In my gown and everything—perfect makeup, perfect hair. At some point, I realized I’d taken his phone by mistake and picked it up to text him a message to my phone, hoping he would see it.”
Nolan drank his wine, listening.
“But I never had the chance to write it because I immediately saw a text had come in for him from Dahlia. You know how you can see the preview pop-up?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“I thought it was strange that she was texting him. They didn’t like each other. Or so I thought. So, I opened it. I knew his password—it was my birthday. I always thought that was so romantic…until I read the messages. I went kind of numb, and then that awful sinking feeling came over me. At first, I couldn’t even understand what I was seeing.” She paused, taking in a deep breath. “You know how your mind can’t quite catch up to reality?”
“I do,” Nolan said softly.
“The messages went back months and months. The more I read, the more I realized how serious it was between them. They weren’t just fooling around. It was love. They actually loved each other. Present tense. They still do.”
“That must have hurt so much,” Nolan said.
“It did.” She laughed, a bitter, dried-up kind of sound. “In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised. When we were teenagers, if I liked a boy suddenly, she did too. I learned to keep my crushes to myself. It was impossible to keep Josh from her, though.”
“Who does that to their best friend?”
“Dahlia’s not exactly ruled by a moral compass. Her parents got divorced when we were teenagers, and she uses that as an excuse to act terrible. Still, she was my friend. Almost like a family member. The cousin nobody likes but has to tolerate.” Laney chuckled. “Or something like that.”
“Heck of a family member,” Nolan said, growing more disgusted by the minute.
“The jealous, manipulative sister no one wants.” She laughed before taking another sip of her wine.
“So, you’re in your little bride room, looking like an angel, I’m sure, and you’re reading these texts and then what?”
“My parents found me that way. Or my mom did. And she sent for my dad. He had to go down and tell all the guests the wedding was off. Josh came up to see me after that.”
“Good Lord. The guests were already there?”
“Oh, yes. Josh was literally waiting downstairs. The guests were seated. All the wedding party in place. My father was ready to walk me down the aisle in five minutes.” She shook her head, her voice tightening. “The moment Josh walked in, he knew I’d seen everything.”
“What did he have to say for himself?”
“He told me he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting me, so he just kept pretending. Which, in hindsight, is ridiculous—that hurt worse. And he hurt Dahlia too. She was supposed to stand there and watch him marry me? How cruel is that?”
“How long had it been going on?”
“Six months. Six entire months, most of which we were planning the wedding. Think about that.”
He shook his head, speechless.
“Since I’ve been here, I’ve been wondering—maybe I’m partly to blame,” Laney said.
Nolan frowned. “How could it be your fault? They’re the ones who cheated.”
“I know. But maybe I should have paid better attention. Been more suspicious and aware. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been thinking about how asleep I’ve been—just going through the motions, doing what everyone wanted me to do. All my life I’ve been that way. I could figure out what people wanted and needed and then become that for them. Now I have no one to figure out. No one to please but myself. And that’s terrifying.”
“What did your parents think about all this?”
“Well. My father was, you know, sympathetic and upset. He’s always been such a teddy bear. Mom was more mad than anything. She felt as betrayed as I did, I suppose. She liked Josh. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t now. My mother’s not the most cuddly woman in the world, but she loves me and always chooses my side, despite her prickliness.”
“Sugarville Grove has cured a lot of broken hearts,” Nolan said.
“Is that true for real?” She narrowed her eyes, watching him.
He nodded. “I think so. That’s what my mother says, anyway. That there’s something magical about this place. Especially at Christmastime.”
“Then I guess it was a good move for me to come here.”
“Do you think you want to stay?” Nolan asked, casually, trying not to sound too needy. “Buy the bookstore?”
“I think I might. I love books, and I know a lot about running a small business. Maybe living somewhere quiet—somewhere beautiful like this—would be the best thing for me.”
“You don’t have to decide right now. See how it goes?”
She gazed at him for a moment, resting her chin in one hand. “That seems a reasonable approach, don’t you think?”
He found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her pretty face. “I think so. Very much so.” Forcing himself to focus on finishing up his meal, he tossed pasta with the tomatoes and garlic, then added in the basil.
“You ready to eat?” Nolan asked.
“I’m starving. I’ve been hungry for six months.”
“What do you mean?” Nolan piled pasta into two bowls and brought them to the table. She followed with their glasses and the wine bottle.
“My mother had me on this diet for the wedding. The last three days before the ceremony I was only allowed a juice made from carrots and ginger.”
“Isn’t that abuse?”
She laughed dismissively. “With my mother, one can never be too rich or too thin. Actually, with my blood sugar so low, I’m surprised I didn’t kill Josh when I found out the truth.”
“I don’t think anyone would have blamed you.” He lifted his glass for another clink before they dug in to their food. “Have you talked to Dahlia?”
“No, she’s called a few times, but I haven’t answered. I’m not ready. I haven’t even listened to the voicemails. Anyway, she’s busy. In Paris. On my honeymoon.” She laughed.
“It’s not really funny,” Nolan said, also laughing
“Who needs Paris? I’m happy to be here with you. For whatever reason, I don’t feel at all sad.” Her voice softened as she added, “You always had that effect on me.”
“What effect?”
“Making everything more fun and interesting. In a way that makes it impossible to feel sad.”
“That’s what you do for me,” Nolan said.
“I had such a crush on you that summer. I used to write about you in my journal, imagining us getting married, having babies…all the silly things a teenager dreams about.”
“I don’t find them silly,” Nolan said. “Not at this point in my life, anyway. Regardless, I’m pretty sure my journal had matching entries. I daydreamed about you for years. I can remember lying out in the back yard and looking up at the stars and wondering if I’d ever see you again. If you’d ever come back here. Why didn’t you?”
“My mother didn’t want me to,” Laney said. “I think she felt like Aunt Edna might replace her or whatever. Or maybe if I visited one more time I would decide never to leave. She grew up here. And it was not a good childhood.”
“My mother’s mentioned that to me,” Nolan said. “Sounds like your grandfather was a real peach.”
“Whatever happened during her childhood made her hate this place, which is sad because it’s wonderful here. I wish she’d give it a chance.”
“Maybe she will. Once you stay, that is.” He smiled, letting his eyes twinkle at her. “Can you tell I want you to?”
“Maybe I will.” She smiled back at him, flirtatiously.
If only she would.