Chapter 15
fifteen
“WHAT HAPPENED?”
Whitney grabbed the top pie, removed it from the pink box, and studied it as though it might rescue her from Aretha’s interrogation.
“You were supposed to get Ruby and Daniel to kiss—not, you know, kiss him yourself.”
“But I didn’t kiss him,” she argued. Technically correct. Perhaps splitting hairs, but she hadn’t done the doing. He had started it.
Aretha’s tilted head and fierce eyes said otherwise.
Turning to fully face her, Whitney took a deep breath. “I swear, I didn’t mean for it to happen. And it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t even a good kiss.”
Aretha frowned, her hands finding her hips and her eyes narrowing as though she could detect a lie if she looked hard enough. “It didn’t look like a bad kiss.”
“We were just acting. Putting on a show.”
Lord, forgive me for that lie. She had not been acting. She’d been consumed by him, whisked away into a holiday daydream better than she could have imagined. She’d fallen under a spell that made them the only two people on the planet.
The way he’d held her made her feel cherished.
Which was stupid. She’d known him for all of three weeks. And yet she’d also told him things she’d never told another soul. Things she wouldn’t dare tell even her mom. They’d talked of dreams and futures, and she’d come close to telling him about that voice in her head. The one that shouted down every glimmer of direction, every hint of hope. The one that said she wasn’t good enough and would never be.
She knew that voice too well. It had been on repeat for so many years.
Even now it told her that she’d messed up her only chance to go to culinary school. She’d ruined her only shot to make her dad proud. She couldn’t make it through culinary school. She wouldn’t ever be worthy.
But today there was a competing voice, a whisper, strong and bold. It sounded a lot like Daniel telling her that she was a stable friend. That she was doing her best. That there was a reason Marie and Seth trusted her and Caden had let her help in the inn’s kitchen.
That maybe she hadn’t ruined everything .
Blinking hard, she tried to focus on Aretha and what was coming out of her mouth.
“Acting?”
“We were just playing the part for the kids—just for a laugh. For tradition. But I didn’t feel anything. And I’m absolutely certain he didn’t either.”
Except he might have. The way his whole body had trembled when she held on to his side...
Oh, she wanted to feel that again. She wanted to be the reason for that again.
“You’re sure?”
She bit her tongue. “Mm-hmm.”
A small shuffle on the other side of the swinging door made Aretha glance over her shoulder. Whitney followed the motion, but the door didn’t move. She watched for shadows in the space at the bottom but didn’t see any. Probably the kids eager for their pie.
When Aretha turned around, her voice dropped to little more than a breath. “But Ruby saw you.”
“Maybe it made her a little jealous.” At Aretha’s worried expression, Whitney quickly added, “Though she has no reason to be.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Aretha finally looked appeased, and with a firm nod, she got out the plates and forks and helped Whitney dish up the dessert. When they carried it into the dining room, the excitement from the kids couldn’t distract her from the conspicuously absent member of their party.
“Where’s Daniel?” Aretha asked.
Marie looked up from her seat at one of the four-tops, her fork already halfway to her mouth. “I thought he went into the kitchen.”
Jack shook his head, his mouth already full. “Wen’ to the por’.” Pointing toward the front door, he shoveled in another bite.
“I’ll take this to him.” Whitney held up the plate and refused to make eye contact with Aretha. Or Ruby.
Daniel marched from one end of the porch to the other. Then he did it again. His feet refused to remain rooted. Not after what he’d overheard.
He shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. He hadn’t meant to. And he’d only heard a few words.
Just enough to ruin what he’d thought was turning into the perfect day.
He’d remembered to grab his jacket from the coat-tree before stepping outside, but the wind still whipped around him, chafing his ears and cheeks. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly before shoving them into his pockets.
He should go back inside. And what? Face a woman who had thought their kiss was flat and meaningless?
Yeah, that sounded fun.
Blood roared through his ears, blocking out the splashing sounds of the bay, and heat rose from his forehead. He could have sworn... He’d been so sure that she felt...
He stomped a few more steps. Stopped and spun again. Then he kicked one of the Adirondack chairs, stubbing the same toe he’d nearly taken off a few days before. Pain throbbed all the way to his knee, and he wanted to scream.
Stupid. He was so stupid.
Lauren had always said he couldn’t read people. His mom had said he had to try extra hard. Lauren said he could never try hard enough. It just wasn’t in him. He was wired differently.
He’d basically laid his whole heart out for Whitney under that mistletoe, and she couldn’t care less. Nothing. She’d said it meant nothing . That they’d been acting. That it wasn’t even a good kiss.
Good? That kiss had been better than good. It wasn’t great either. It blew all of those normal words out of the water. It was joy and hope and happiness rolled into one. It was strength and courage and the perfect pairing. She fit in his arms like she’d been born for that spot alone.
And he was happy to reserve it for her.
She’d smelled of cinnamon and sugar and the berries in her pies. She’d been warmer than a blanket on a cold night. And he’d held her so tight. Because she was where she belonged. And he belonged wherever she was.
True, he hadn’t known her for very long, and he hadn’t thought it possible to fall in love in such a short amount of time.
Until he met Whitney Garrett.
Or so he’d thought.
He stabbed his fingers through his hair, tugging on the top until it probably stood halfway to the roof. So what. He had no one to impress.
He was about to throw himself into one of the chairs—snow-covered though it was—when the red door swung open. Whitney peeked around the edge, a white plate outstretched.
He shoved his hands back into his hair and turned his back on the pie and the woman.
The door clicked closed, and he could feel her drawing closer, her warmth dividing the cold air.
“Are you angry with me?” Her voice was small, hesitant. “Did I do something wrong?”
Still with his back to her, he shook his head. “No. Go inside.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her set the pie on the table between the chairs, but she didn’t walk away. Her breaths came out in a labored rhythm that was far too much like his own.
“Daniel. Talk to me. What did I ... Should I not have kissed you?”
“Kiss me?” He spun around, a fire deep in his belly. “I’m the one who kissed you, and apparently you didn’t like it.” He scrubbed his hand down his face, but he couldn’t miss the wide-eyed shock on hers.
“What are you—What do you mean?”
“I heard you.” He jabbed a finger in the general direction of the kitchen.
Her bottom lip disappeared beneath her front teeth. “What did you hear? Exactly.”
“I heard you tell her it was just an act.” He swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat. “I heard you tell her it wasn’t even a good kiss.”
“I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks, the pink there probably from her embarrassment rather than the wind.
“You didn’t mean for me to hear it, or you didn’t mean it?”
She shook her head, her features melting into what could only be called misery.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know. I’m just so ... I’m so sorry. Your aunt wants ... that is, she wasn’t very pleased...” Whitney huffed out a frustrated sigh when her tongue tripped over itself.
Only then did Daniel realize she wasn’t wearing a coat over her blue and white knit sweater, and her shoulders twitched and shivered as she hugged herself.
His mother would never let him live it down if he didn’t do something. He shrugged out of his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and pulled it closed beneath her chin. And for a second, he thought she pressed the fabric to her nose and inhaled.
Ridiculous.
All of this was so implausible. But the only words he knew to explain it were already tumbling out of his mouth.
“The thing is, I’m not always great at understanding what people aren’t saying. I can’t always read between the lines. Shoot, sometimes I don’t even know where the lines are. But I could have sworn that you liked that kiss as much as I did.”
Her bottom lip trembled, and he reached for it, his thumb almost pressing to the plump center before he dropped his hand and turned his back to her again. It was easier to have a barrier between them. At least, it was easier not to have to look at her.
“My fiancée—I mean my ex-fiancée—she . . . she . . .” He sighed harshly.
“Lauren?”
He nodded, his chin falling to his chest as he dug a toe into a little mound of snow. “She was fond of reminding me that I didn’t understand her. She accused me of not even trying most of the time. But I tried. I really did. I paid attention to all the little things, all the things she said I didn’t care about. And maybe I didn’t care about them as much as she did, but I cared about her. So I listened when she told me about her new throw pillows and the movies she wanted to see. Then I took her to see them. They were terrible—pretentious and pompous—but I sat through them. Paid for popcorn and soda and dinner after.”
Memories of those dates with Lauren flashed through his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the view of the street and the white slope down to the bay below. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could make his ex disappear too.
No such luck.
Lauren had left her mark. Her words still haunted him, made him doubt his emotions.
“Then she started pulling back. It was little things at first. Forgetting our anniversary or missing an appointment with the wedding cake woman. But I was paying attention. So I asked her what was going on. She promised me she was just distracted by so many moving parts of the wedding. She swore that she loved me and wanted to be my wife.”
A small hand pressed to the center of his back. “What happened?”
“Exactly what you think.”
“I couldn’t guess.”
His shoulders sagged as he looked up. “She felt so distant. Even when we were together, she was somewhere else. It was like she stopped focusing on me. Like she couldn’t see me anymore. We were having dinner one night, and she looked right through me. So I asked her what was going on, point-blank. She told me I was imagining it all. She said I would have been just as distracted if I was juggling all the wedding details. Everything would be fine once we were married.
“I felt like I was losing my mind, like I couldn’t trust what my eyes were telling me. My ears heard what she said, but my eyes saw something else. And I couldn’t figure out which of my senses to trust.”
He choked back something that sounded suspiciously like a sob—though it couldn’t be. He hadn’t cried over Lauren. Maybe ever. But admitting the pain and confusion of those months to Whitney brought back every stab of regret straight to the center of his chest.
“Lauren had spent years telling me that I couldn’t trust myself. So when she kissed me that night, I thought I had to be wrong. Obviously, she loved me. She was planning our wedding.”
“But there was no wedding.”
“No.”
Suddenly her hand disappeared from his back, replaced by her forehead at his shoulder and her arms slipping around his waist. She held him, firm and reassuring, as though she could make him forget all the pain that Lauren had caused. Her embrace gave him the confidence to tell her the rest.
“I found out a week before we were supposed to be married.”
“Found out?”
“Lauren had been seeing her poetry professor. Rumor had it, it was nothing serious. Well, not to anybody but me.” He cleared his throat. “She told me she wanted someone who could feel something, and she didn’t think I could.”
“Oh, Daniel.” Her words sounded kind, but he worried they were really patronizing instead.
“I don’t want your pity. I just need your honesty.” He held his breath as he tried to form the truth on his tongue. “I need to know that I am not imagining things. That you felt something when we kissed. Like I did.”