Chapter 9
“How are things at the vineyard?” Jude asks as I lean against the counter in my mom’s kitchen, the scent of freshly baked cookies and pine from the Christmas tree surrounding me.
Its twinkling lights cast a warm glow over the open living area, but my mind keeps drifting to the tiny fake tree in Haley’s cramped apartment.
Seeing where she’s been living hit me harder than I thought it would.
I’m more than aware she hasn’t had it easy these past few years, but I didn’t realize just how bad things have gotten. How much she’s been struggling. It’s why I offered her a place to live, even if she doesn’t agree to marry me.
It was rash, considering our complicated history, but I can’t just let her live out of her car.
“Things are good,” I tell Jude, although I know he’s not asking to find out about the vines or the different formulas I’ve been testing.
He’s asking to see if I’ve given any thought to his suggestion.
My eyes scan the crowded living room, ensuring no one can overhear us. With my four siblings here to celebrate Christmas Eve, the noise level is practically deafening. I haven’t seen my mother this happy in a while. It’s been years since all five of her kids have been in the same place at the same time. Probably since before Dad passed away.
Before I was sent to prison.
Still, it’s nice to have everyone together again, especially my older brother, Hayden, and his two kids.
Even if the reason he left his hospital job in Chicago and moved back home is due to his wife’s unexpected death.
“I took your advice,” I tell Jude in a soft voice, sipping on my wine. “About the vineyard. And Haley.”
“You did?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You actually asked Haley McBride to marry you?”
Hushing him, I glance toward my mother, convinced she heard him. When we were kids, she always had an uncanny ability to hear things she wasn’t supposed to, especially when we were doing things we shouldn’t.
Thankfully, she’s preoccupied with little nine-month-old Jeremiah and six-year-old Presley, both of them playing with all their new toys. We may have gone overboard with presents for them, but considering this is their first Christmas without their mom, it’s warranted.
“I did,” I confirm.
“And?” He takes a swig of his beer, leaning against the kitchen counter beside me.
“She asked to think about it. She has a kid to consider. I’m not really holding my breath, though, which sucks since Grady’s met with a few people interested in buying the vineyard.” My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out. “But unless a miracle happens and?—”
I stop short as my eyes fall on the screen, Haley’s name prominent.
There was once a time it was a normal occurrence for my cell to buzz with an incoming text from her.
I don’t think I’ve received a text from her in years.
Not since I went away.
“Maybe you’ll get your miracle after all.” Jude chuckles, glancing at my phone.
“Maybe,” I murmur as I click on her message.
Haley:
Are you at your mom’s?
Me:
I am. Why?
Haley:
Can you come outside? I need to talk to you.
“Is everything okay?” Jude asks.
I rush toward the window over the sink and peek through the blinds, finding Haley’s car parked on the street in front of my mother’s house. My mind reels about why she might be here, especially on Christmas Eve.
“I’ll be right back.” Setting my glass on the counter, I hurry out of the house before Jude can ask any more questions.
Or the rest of my nosy family.
As I step off the porch and jog down the walkway, Haley climbs out of her car, tugging her coat close to her body. Based on the copious amount of makeup plastered on her face and the fact that the only things visible beneath her thigh-length pea coat are her nylon-clad legs and black heels, I assume she came straight from work.
“I’ll do it,” she blurts out before I have a chance to utter a single syllable.
“Do what?” I ask cautiously, trying not to get my hopes up.
“What we discussed last week.” She holds her head high. “I’ll marry you.”
“You will?” My eyes widen in surprise.
“Considering I just quit my job at the casino after a guy…well, it?—”
“After a guy, what?” I grind out, my jaw clenching.
“It doesn’t matter. But since I’m now minus a job, I figure maybe that’s the universe pushing me toward you. Well, not you in that sense. But us. This.” She gestures between our bodies. “Accepting your proposal and all that. As long as you don’t mind that I’m down to just my dog walking job.”
“I hated you working in that casino anyway.”
“The money was good,” she argues, as if that makes enduring hours of wandering hands and rude comments worth it.
“I can talk to Grady. Get you a job in the tasting room.”
“You’re already doing enough for me.”
“I don’t mind.”
“And I appreciate it.”
She gives me a soft smile, and I’d be lying if that small gesture doesn’t cause a crack in the wall I built around my heart. At least when it comes to Haley McBride.
“Just like losing my job is the universe pushing me to help you, maybe it’s also the universe telling me to finally follow my dreams. Without having to work at the casino, I’ll have more time to experiment with cakes and build up my social media presence. Even without a physical bakery, I can still make cakes.”
“Yes, you can.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, locking my gaze on hers to stop myself from checking out her legs.
“Well, I just wanted to let you know. I guess I could have texted you, but I wanted to see you first. Make sure…” She shakes her head.
“Make sure you don’t mind spending the better part of the next year with me?” I blow out a nervous laugh.
She pulls her coat tighter. “Something like that.” Her gaze drifts up to mine.
I step toward her, drawn into her eyes just like I have been most of my life, even when I knew it was a lost cause. Knew her parents would never approve of me. My heart never seemed to get the message. It still doesn’t.
“You should get back to your family,” she says, tearing her gaze from me and increasing the distance between us.
“Would you like to join us? Mom made enough food to feed all of Sycamore Falls. As usual. She’d love to see you.”
“I need to get home to Maggie. Santa’s coming tonight.”
“Right. Of course. Well, thanks for doing this for me.”
“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Maggie. And me.”
“Regardless, I still appreciate it.”
She nods, then starts to turn. “Merry Christmas, Beckham.”
“Merry Christmas, Haley.”
I watch as she retreats, her heels clicking on the pavement. She only makes it a few feet before I call out, “Haley, wait!”
I jog toward my truck and open the back door, retrieving an oversized box wrapped in penguin-covered paper.
“What’s that?” she asks, warily eyeing the box as I approach her. “Is that?—”
“I was going to drop it off after I left here,” I interrupt. It’s obvious by the size and shape of the box she knows exactly what it is. The Barbie camper Maggie asked for. “There’s no tag so you can tell her it’s from Santa.”
“Beckham, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
“She’s not your responsibility. She?—”
“I know she’s not. But it’s Christmas, and I wanted to do something nice for you and your daughter. Okay?”
My voice seems to echo in the stillness of the air. I glance back at the house. When I do, I notice the curtains immediately shift, confirming that someone’s definitely been watching us.
Most likely my sister, Dylan. Probably my mom, too.
Hell, probably my entire family.
It’s not often they see me talking to another girl, especially Haley McBride.
“I just don’t like to depend on other people for what I should be able to give my daughter on my own.”
“If you’re going to be my wife, I’m going to take care of both you and Maggie.”
“Fake wife,” she reminds me, although I’m not sure if it’s for my benefit or hers. “It won’t be real.”
“True, but we’ll need to make everyone think it’s real. Can you do that?”
“I spent the past several years pretending that I like delivering drinks to drunk men while they try to get in my pants. I’ll be just fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” I scoff, pushing down the renewed anger bubbling to the surface at the idea of anyone trying to get into Haley’s pants, especially the assholes at the casino.
“Yeah.” She places a hand on her hip. “You’ve got your work cut out for you with that brooding persona you’ve had going on the past few years. You won’t be able to get away with being your normal, charming self. You’ll have to act like you don’t hate me. And it will have to be believable, Beckham.”
In a heartbeat, I advance on her, barely a whisper separating us. She inhales a sharp breath, her gaze locking with mine. Fire heats my veins, my hunger for her just as strong as it once was. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this close to her. Probably since the night I lost control.
As I lean closer, I inhale her scent. She smells like she did all those years ago. Lavender. Powder. And fresh air.
Her chest rises and falls, her breathing increasing with every inch I erase between us until my lips almost skim the spot beneath her earlobe.
The spot that once drove her crazy.
Does it still make her moan? Still send a rush of desire through her veins? Still make her burn for me?
A subtle tremble shakes her body as she whimpers. If I weren’t so close, I probably wouldn’t have heard it.
But I did. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to haul her into my arms and kiss her. Find out if she still tastes the same. If her body still fits mine like it once did.
“I think I can make it look convincing,” I murmur, lingering near her ear for several protracted moments.
It’s a test in extreme restraint to be this close and not dart out my tongue to taste her.
But restraint is one of the things I had no choice but to learn over the past several years. My lack of restraint is what nearly cost Haley her life. What sent me to prison. It’s not a mistake I can afford to make again.
With that sobering reminder, I increase the space between us.
“Merry Christmas, Haley,” I say softly before jogging back toward the house.
After climbing up the front porch, I pause, if for no other reason than to give my erection a chance to go down before having to face the barrage of questions I’m sure my mother is desperate to ask.
I glance over my shoulder as Haley carefully slides into her car on unsteady legs, just as affected by me as I am by her.
One thing is certain. The next several months will be a test in self-control.
But it’s one I refuse to fail.
Not when I live with a constant reminder of what happened the last time I did.