DAY 5
T illy stood in the kitchen, looking out the window. The snow was still falling, and icicles hung from the gutters overhead. A fat red cardinal was perched on the lower branch of a holly tree, and Smoosh, who had been gamboling about in the snow, stopped to watch the bird in rapt fascination.
Christmas was only a few days away. Her first since the divorce. So she’d be alone. Which she could do, because alone was better than unhappy, right?
Her mind kept returning to the expression on George’s face the night before, as he was leaning down to cover her up. Such a sweet gesture. Was it her imagination, or was there something ... some spark?
She sipped her coffee. Absolutely not. He was involved, and he was just being kind. Anyway, the very last thing she needed was to strike up a relationship with a guy who was headed back to his fancy life and fancy fiancée in Boston just as soon as he was mobile.
A moment later she heard a car horn honking outside. Dooley and Theo were back, in their mom’s truck.
The brothers were a blur of activity. By five, the dining room wallpaper was completely stripped and the walls primed, and most of the downstairs rooms had been cleared of the generational clutter.
The doorbell rang, and Tilly peered out the wavy-glass insert. “It’s a delivery guy—with what looks like a load of groceries. And a fully decorated live Christmas tree?”
“I was getting tired of cold cuts, and no offense, but I love a real tree,” George said. “So I ordered DoorDash.”
“You can do that? In Piney Point?”
“Even in Piney Point,” he assured her.
Tilly served their dinner on trays, in front of the fire. “Some kind of fancy-looking paté with mushrooms? Coq au vin and poached asparagus? And a bottle of Veuve?”
“What about the chocolate mousse cake?” George asked, craning his neck as he looked around.
“I’ll bring it in with the coffee. I’m thinking this stuff didn’t come from the Stop ’N’ Shop.”
“Not even close,” he said.
After she’d cleared the dishes and George had uncorked the champagne, Tilly stretched her legs out toward the fire, admiring the fresh pine scent of the tree and the exquisite taste of the Veuve exploding in the back of her throat.
“I could get used to this,” she said. “But it’s probably old hat to you.”
“We order in a lot,” George admitted.
“Tell me what Christmas was like when you were a kid. Did you spend it here with your grandparents and mean ol’ Great-Uncle Gus?”
“Uncle Gus steered clear of holidays, but my aunts and uncles and all the kids would pile in and spend Christmas Eve here. The grown-ups would be in the dining room, drinking Manhattans and playing marathon games of pinochle. My sisters and cousin and I got to sleep down here, in front of the fireplace, like you’ve been doing. Back in the day there was a VCR on top of that TV in the corner, and we’d watch Home Alone and eat Tombstone pizzas, which was a huge treat, until whichever grown-up was sober would come in and yell at us to go to sleep.”
“That sounds kinda magical,” Tilly said, sounding wistful.
George looked around the room, at the Christmas tree, at the fire, and then back at Tilly, who saw something in this old house that he had forgotten about until just this minute.
“You know,” he said slowly. “While you were in the kitchen, I emailed my cousin and my little sisters, and after I shared your ideas about adding bathrooms and a new kitchen, they agreed: the benefits of updating the house to maximize the long-term income potential outweigh what we’d make in a quick sale—especially offseason.”
“So you’re not selling?”
He shook his head. “I thought they needed the money from the sale, and they thought I was the one who wanted to unload Crowe’s Nest. Classic miscommunication.”
“That’s so great that you’re keeping it in the family,” Tilly said. “Do you think Vanessa would want to spend time here?”
George looked down at the champagne bubbles rising to the top of his glass. “I’ve got a feeling she’d think this place is the beach-house equivalent of a Timex. Vanessa’s more Bar Harbor than Piney Point.”
Tilly felt a lump in her throat. “Maybe she’ll come around after she sees it fixed up.”
He looked directly at her. “Maybe I don’t want to have to convince her.”
“Why not?”
It was now or never, George thought. He took a deep breath.
“I’ve been telling myself I didn’t want to go back to Boston because I hate parties, and I can’t dance, and I didn’t want to admit any of that to Vanessa,” he said, his voice shaking a little because he was so nervous. “But none of that is really true. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to call Vanessa and tell her the truth. About everything. I don’t want to go back to Boston because you’re here.”
“Me?” It came out as a squeak.
“I was smitten the first time I saw you in that ridiculous Sea-Gal uniform. Since you sat beside me in glee club and shared your Rice Krispies Treats. But you and me? I told myself it was impossible. When I met Vanessa, I was so flattered she would want to be with someone like me I told myself it must be right. I wanted it to be, but it just never was. And it’s all my fault for not telling her that sooner. But this week—being here with you, and the mice, and the crumbling ceilings, even with a broken ankle—has been the best week of my adult life.”
“You’re concussed,” Tilly said. “You’re not medically cleared to make ridiculous pronouncements like that.”
“It’s not ridiculous; it’s the truth.”
She cleared her throat and started again. “George, I don’t think—I mean ...”
He picked up the champagne and sucked down half of it. But even Veuve couldn’t mellow his dashed hopes. “It’s okay. Even if you don’t feel that way about me, I’m still going to keep the house. We can be friends, if you want. I mean, it’s not what I want, but I get it.”
“That’s not it. What you said, just now, that’s the sweetest, nicest thing any man has ever said to me. But we can’t be anything to each other until you’ve been straight with Vanessa. I won’t be the other woman. Ever.”
“So what happens now?” he asked.
“We could sing some more,” Tilly said, already knowing from the crushed expression on his face how that suggestion would land.
“I’m pretty tired,” George said quietly. “I think I’ll just take my meds and turn in now.”
He closed his eyes and pulled the quilt over his face. But she knew he wasn’t asleep. She turned on her side, with her back to him, and Smoosh, feeling left out, whimpered until she wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear that everything would be all right.