Chapter 16
sixteen
THE WAITING WAS HARDER than Daniel had expected. Perhaps it was harder even than putting the truth out there. He couldn’t see Whitney, could only feel her burrowed into his back. Her hands had been swallowed by the sleeves of his jacket, but her hold was tight enough to give him hope.
Her silence was loud enough to give him pause.
The cold air sliced through him, and a shiver racked his whole body. Still, he waited.
Finally, she sucked in a quiet breath. “I’m sorry.”
That did not answer his question. Unless... “Sorry about what happened with Lauren? Sorry that you didn’t like the kiss? Sorry that you got caught under the mistletoe with me at all?”
Instead of speaking, she rubbed her cheek against his back. It felt a little like a big cat pressing into him, and he wanted to turn around to see her face. But first he needed an answer. A real one.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her repeated words emptying whatever hope he’d let himself find. “I’m sorry that Lauren couldn’t see you for who you really are.”
He jerked with the force of her resolve, everything inside him going rigid.
“I’m sorry that she treated you so badly. If you ever kissed her like you kissed me today, she was the fool. Not you. And I’m sorry that I lied to Aretha.”
He spun in her arms and she let out a peep of surprise, but he wrapped himself around her, barring any chance of her escape until she said more. He wanted all of those words, all of that sentiment. They made his blood pound in his veins and his heart feel too big for his ribs.
Whitney kept her gaze down, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips, so he dipped down until he could look into her eyes. “You lied to my aunt?”
“Um ... well, I may not have been fully honest with her.”
“How ‘not fully’ are we talking here? Was it a little white lie? Or a full-blown deception?”
Her neck turned red, and she pressed her face into his shoulder so he couldn’t see her. Her whole body trembled, and he slipped one hand up her back, beneath his jacket and over her sweater. She was warm and inviting. With his other hand, he cupped the back of her head, combing his fingers into those beautiful curls.
He held her until she was ready to speak, until he’d proven that he was safe.
“It was definitely the latter,” she said, her breath warming his collarbone.
“But why?”
She paused again, burrowing deeper. A low hum from the back of her throat preceded her next confession. “Because I was surprised by how much I felt. Because I didn’t want to admit it to Aretha.” She swallowed audibly. “Or myself.”
He wanted to pump his fist in the air and crow like a rooster. Not an urge he’d had before. Then again, Whitney had never admitted that she’d thoroughly enjoyed their kiss before either.
But she had.
He hadn’t imagined it or misread the situation. He hadn’t fabricated her response in the depths of his mind.
And if she’d enjoyed it as he had, she probably wanted more too.
Crooking a knuckle beneath her chin, he tilted her face toward him. Her eyes glowed as she seemed to fight a smile. That was all the encouragement he needed.
Leaning in, he kissed her softly.
“Eep.” Her giggle overflowed with nerves. “Sorry.”
“Do you not want to?”
“No, it’s just that your aunt . . .”
He didn’t need to hear another word about Aretha. He only needed to hear that Whitney was right where she wanted to be.
He kissed her again. No hesitation or worry or second-guessing. No audience or interruptions. Only the two of them. And her lips.
They were soft and yielding and tasted like the coffee she made most mornings. He’d expected a hint of her boysenberry pie there, but apparently she hadn’t eaten any either. Which was fine with him. She was plenty sweet without it.
She fisted her fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until there was nothing between them but the breaths they stole in order to keep going.
His heart thudded almost from outside him. It was so loud that she had to be able to hear it too. Or maybe that was hers thundering against him. He couldn’t tell where he stopped and she started, so he wound his arms tighter. She melted into him, all softness and light, heat and joy.
This was what it felt like to hold the morning sun.
Go ahead and try to tell him he didn’t have feelings.
He knew it was a lie now because Whitney made him feel things that he’d never even thought possible. Her small hands wound into his sweater told him he belonged. The soft sigh that escaped her lips promised that he could bring joy. And with the giving came a healthy dose of receiving.
They said it was better to give than to receive, and he was sure that applied to this situation. Because the more he gave, the more his own heart swelled. Never had he understood the Grinch’s plight so well as he did in that moment. His heart had absolutely grown three sizes.
He was full, brimming with a happiness that he’d never dared to hope for, waiting for it to spill over. But it never did. He just kept growing fuller and fuller until he thought he’d burst. Then somehow he found more room for it—his heart found a new capacity for joy.
Whitney finally pulled back, her ragged breaths tearing between them, eyes wild, and a smile wider than the ocean splitting her face. “That was—” She paused to suck in another breath, her shoulders rising and falling dramatically.
“Yeah. I know.” He laughed.
She chuckled as she reached toward his face. Her hand was still consumed by his jacket, but she wrestled her fingers free, finally touching the corner of his mouth. “I should have known.”
“Hmm?” He couldn’t risk forming a question that would make her pull away.
“You have the best smile. That’s why you were hiding it. You were afraid all the girls would fall for you.”
He didn’t hold back his laugh then. Nor his response. “Unlikely.”
Thank goodness she didn’t pull away. Her fingers combed along the short stubble across his jawline.
“I just didn’t know I had a reason to use it.”
If it was possible, her smile gleamed even brighter, her whole face lit up like Mr. Huntington’s home. “You do now. I promise.”
All those Christmas songs and sappy holiday movies—this was what they were about. He hadn’t thought it was real, but now joy was standing in his arms.
Whitney dropped another egg and could do nothing but watch it splatter across the floor. Perfect. She’d just needed the butter from the back of the fridge, but now she had another mess to clean up. At this rate, every pie she sold at the next market would only cover the cost of wasted materials.
She could forget about making her tuition payment. Even with Aretha’s help.
Her stomach spasmed in a painful cramp at the very thought of the older woman, and she leaned against the edge of the counter as though it might offer some relief. It did not. It couldn’t. No inanimate object was going to make her feel better about ruining Aretha’s plan and not telling her the truth.
And there was no way around that. No amount of icing or crumb topping could make the reality any less than ruination.
Aretha had had a plan for her nephew’s joy and good. For a long-term relationship and a family and the whole thing.
And Whitney had stepped right into the middle of it.
She had no idea what exactly was happening between her and Daniel, but she couldn’t be counted on to stick with anything. Except maybe...
Daniel had said she stuck by people. She’d tried a hundred different activities but kept the friends she’d known since high school. Maybe it was possible her relationships could last.
Though she’d begged Daniel not to tell his aunt about their budding whatever-it-was—and he’d agreed—Aretha was eventually going to find out. Moreover, she was going to know that Daniel and Ruby hadn’t gotten together.
Whitney dumped a cup of brown sugar into the bowl on the counter. Then she looked at it closer. Was that the first cup or the second? Or an accidental third? The clumps of packed sugar broke apart, sliding down the mound and filling the bowl until she couldn’t even see the flour at the base.
And she had added the flour. She was sure. Well, pretty sure.
But what about the cinnamon and nutmeg?
There was a good chance this was going to be the worst crumb topping ever made.
She had no one to blame but herself. She’d much rather be distracted by Daniel and that kiss—both kisses, for that matter. But no...
She scowled at her mixing bowl, then at the sugar canister. She’d almost certainly added an extra cup. If she did a recipe and a half, the ratios would be right, and the pies would have some extra topping. It was everyone’s favorite part anyway.
She reached for the flour, dug her measuring cup in, and tried to focus on the recipe. Not on what she was going to say to Aretha when the truth came out.
“Hey, Whitney!”
Her whole body jumped, including the arm holding the canister. It slipped from her grasp, then in slow motion, it hit the floorboards and a cloud of white exploded to her waist, coating her apron and all the uncovered parts of her black leggings.
Laughter burst from the back hall that led to the office, and she looked up, a strange burning at the backs of her eyes.
Marie leaned against the doorframe, her hands covering her mouth and her eyes squinting in glee. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“You didn’t.” She looked down at the clear evidence to the contrary. “I mean, you did. But it’s okay.”
Only it suddenly didn’t feel okay. It all felt like too much. Instead of tiptoeing for the broom and beginning the task of cleaning up, she sagged against the counter and then slid down the lower cabinets, pressing her hands to her face as she curled over her bent knees.
“Hey. Hey. It’s okay. We’ll get it cleaned up.” An arm slipped across her shoulders, and Marie’s voice was right next to her ear.
“It was my fault. I’ll—” Her voice cracked, and she somehow felt lower. She hadn’t thought that was possible. But the knot that had been twisting tighter and tighter all morning suddenly snapped, releasing a rush of tears that leaked down her cheeks no matter how fast she blinked or how hard she sniffed.
“Whitney. Honey? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
Marie pressed into her shoulder. “Obviously not. Unless those are happy tears.”
Whitney hiccuped—quite unceremoniously—and shook her head.
“I didn’t think so. So tell me what’s going on.”
“You probably have to get to the church. Don’t you have some pageant things to work on?”
“Yes. But they’ll wait. What has you so torn up?” Marie squeezed her arm. “I thought—well, I thought that you had a bit of mistletoe magic after you and Daniel ... you know.”
“Kissed in front of everyone?” She hadn’t expected her voice to sound so frosty, but there it was. When Marie didn’t say anything, she peeked out between her fingers. “I’m sorry.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed, the weight of her gaze heavy. “I thought you liked Daniel. I thought you were maybe falling a little bit for him.”
Oh dear. If she’d been so transparent that even Marie, with everything on her plate, had noticed, Aretha was sure to see it too.
“I do like him,” she whispered.
“So, what’s the problem? It’s clear to anyone with eyes that he adores you.”
Whitney nibbled on her lip. He did like her. He’d told her as much. But the secrets and lies were eating her up.
“It’s just . . . Aretha.”
The tip of Marie’s nose wrinkled in concern. “I don’t understand. Aretha loves you too. Do you think she wouldn’t approve?”
Pressing her hands to the tumbling in her stomach, Whitney hung her head. “Aretha has ... other plans for Daniel.”
“You mean with Ruby?”
Whitney managed a quick nod.
“I thought she’d given up on that idea. I figured she’d seen the truth.” With a laugh, Marie leaned her head back against a white cabinet drawer. “Ruby is way too serious for him. He needs someone to bring some balance to his life, not someone who adds more pressure. He needs someone like you.”
Warmth seeped through her chest, spreading wider with every beat of her heart. She wanted to hug Marie for saying such a lovely thing.
“But that’s not all.”
“Tell me.”
“Promise you won’t tell a soul? Not even Seth.”
Marie pressed her lips into a tight line but gave a decisive nod.
“You know how Aretha asked me to help her set them up?”
“Go on.”
She didn’t want to admit that she’d been so easily convinced to help with the promise of a little bit of money, but there wasn’t a way around that truth. “It’s just that my dad thinks I can’t follow through on anything.”
“Well, that’s not true. But what does your dad have to do with Aretha’s plan?”
She peeked at Marie out of the corner of her eye before brushing flour from her leggings. It only seemed to spread the white wider. “I’ve tried a hundred things, and every time it gets a little hard, I find a reason to give up. My dad said he wasn’t going to bail me out again. And I’m so close to the culinary school, but I’m not going to make enough to pay my tuition and hold my spot.”
Marie leaned closer. “I still don’t understand what that has to do with Aretha and Daniel.”
Pinching her eyes closed and sucking in a steadying breath, Whitney released it all. “Aretha said she’d make up the difference to cover my tuition if I made sure Daniel and Ruby got together.”
“She. Did. Not.” Marie swung away, then back, her eyes wild with fire. “That meddling old biddy. I love that woman like family, but how dare she?”
“No, it’s my fault.”
“You didn’t have another choice.”
“Yes, I did. And I should have turned her down.”
Marie jumped to her feet and brushed her white hands across her pants, leaving a trail of flour in her wake. Whitney scrambled to join her, much less graceful but still managing to get in Marie’s way before she could march to the shop.
“I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.”
“You can’t!” Whitney tugged on her arm. “Please don’t. You promised.”
Marie paused mid-stride. Her eyes still flashed with determination, but a bit of steel leaked from her tiny shoulders. “You’re clearly upset about this, and Aretha is holding you hostage with the promise of what? A few thousand dollars?”
She shrugged a general agreement.
“It’s not right. You’re the one who made Daniel smile. That man’s facial muscles had atrophied until you reached him.”
But for good reason. Anyone who knew what Lauren had done wouldn’t have begrudged him his grumpy ways. Though admittedly she much preferred his smile to his scowl. And since their second kiss, those full grins were more common.
“It’s not Ruby who makes his eyes shine. Or bakes him pies.”
Well, technically Whitney hadn’t baked a pie specifically for him either. But he sure had enjoyed sampling the ones she wasn’t sure if she’d destroyed.
“Aretha is a fool if she thinks Ruby is the right fit for him. And I don’t mind telling her as much. Family tells each other the truth.”
“Please don’t,” Whitney begged. “I’ll talk with her. I’ll tell her I can’t go through with it.”
Marie looked unconvinced but finally said, “All right. But hear this, Whitney. Daniel would be lucky to have you.”
That would have been a lot easier to believe if she hadn’t been part of Aretha’s plan from the beginning.