Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Tabitha
I’m standing in the children’s corner, staring at the reading chair. The same chair where Rory sat, dressed as Santa, just yesterday. Where I watched him transform into someone patient and gentle and perfect. Where we had sex that made me forget every rule I’d set for myself.
I can’t keep the chair. Every time I see it, every time I sit on it, I’ll remember. The way his voice dropped when he read to those kids. How his hands gripped the armrests as I—
I squeeze my eyes shut. No. Not going there.
The chair has to go.
I turn back to my open laptop, the browser tab open to a furniture website. I’ve already found three potential replacements. Chairs without memories.
The bell above the door chimes, and I scramble to my feet, eager for distraction, for normalcy. For last-minute Christmas shoppers and recommendation requests and the unmistakable Starlight Bay holiday spirit I need right now.
But when I round the corner of the display case, it’s not a customer who’s just come in.
It’s Rory. With his duffel bag.
My heart does something painful and complicated in my chest before I can shut it down. He’s standing just inside the door, snow dusting his shoulders, that thin jacket still not warm enough, and he’s looking at me as if he’s trying to memorize the sight.
“Did you forget something?” I stammer, because that’s the first thought that pops into my head. The only rational reason I can think of to explain why he’s back when he should be on his way to the airport right now. On his way to catch a plane destined for Texas for Christmas.
“I didn’t forget anything.” He drops his duffel bag to the floor and takes a step toward me. “Except to tell you the truth.”
My stomach drops. “The truth about what?”
“I’m not going to the airport.” Another step. “I have a job interview at the Starlight Bay Country Club this afternoon.”
I blink. Process. “An interview?”
“Head golf pro position. Teaching, course management, some tournament prep.” He’s watching me carefully.
“At the Starlight Bay Country Club?”
“Yeah.”
“Since when?”
“Two days ago.”
The admission hits like a physical blow. He’s known for two days he had an interview here in Starlight Bay and said nothing? He waved goodbye less than an hour ago as if it were forever. Walked away, letting me think he was leaving. For good.
Heat floods my face. Anger and hurt surging up my throat. My hands curl into fists, and my voice rises. “Why didn’t you say anything? You left knowing I believed—”
“Because I was scared.” The admission is raw, honest. “Scared you don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you.”
I grip the edge of a bookshelf, my brows furrowing. “What?”
He steps closer still but doesn’t touch me. Which is smart because, if he were to try, I’d pull away.
“I didn’t want to tell you about the interview in case you didn’t want me to stay.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Didn’t want to put myself out there just to watch you shut down, put those walls back up.”
“So you just—what? Decided to leave without giving me the chance to—” I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t admit what I wanted.
“I’m an idiot.” He’s closer now, close enough I see the fear in his eyes mixed with something that looks like hope. “Hays made me see I should have told you. That I was protecting myself by not being honest. Leaving myself an out.”
“An out from what?”
“From this. From you. From the scariest thing I’ve ever done.” His jaw clenches. “But then I realized I don’t want an out. I want you to know the truth, even if it means risking everything.”
My breath catches. “And what’s the truth?”
“That I’m staying,” he says, the words tumbling out as if he can’t stop them. “If you’ll have me. Not because of the job, but because I want quiet mornings and movie nights with you. I want Sunday dinners with Aunt Mae.”
He pauses, and he holds my gaze, reaching for my hand. I don’t pull away. “But mostly?” he continues, his voice full of conviction, “I’m staying because I’m in love with you.”
My world tilts. Rory, the world traveler who never does seconds, who lives out of suitcases, who spent years avoiding settling down—that same man is in love with me?
“I should have led with that,” he says, squeezing my fingers. “Before I said anything else.”
My walls crumble, defenses scattering. “I thought you couldn’t wait to leave. That I was just…a nor’easter distraction.”
“That would’ve been easier,” he scoffs. Then his voice drops as his gaze falls to the floor.
“This? You? The way you care for everyone around you. How you build community and create magic out of nothing? How you make me crave things I never thought I’d want.
” He looks up, his eyes finding mine. “Tabitha, I don’t deserve you, but hell, you’re the one thing right now I’m sure about. ”
Something breaks open in my chest, but reality crashes in. “What about Hays?” The words tumble out. “You’ve been his caddy for years. You can’t just—”
“Hays supports this.” Rory’s thumb traces circles on my hand. “Hell, he’s the one who suggested the job in the first place. Mentioned it our first night here, actually.”
“But the tour—”
“I’ll still caddy at the majors.” He pulls me closer. “We’ve already talked about it. He’ll hire someone for regular events, but the big ones? Those are mine. If I want them.”
“If you want them?” I search his face. “Of course, you want them.”
“I want you more.” Simple. Direct. Devastating.
But the rational side of my brain still has objections.
“What if you hate it here? What if six months from now when you’re at the same course doing the same thing and coming home to the same apartment and watching Hays on TV and—” My voice breaks.
“What if you wake up and realize this was a mistake? That Starlight Bay isn’t enough. That I’m not—”
His hands frame my face, gentle and sure. “I’ll still travel sometimes, and Hays will always be my best friend. I’ll still be part of the tour, but the difference is, when the tournaments are over, I’ll come home. To you.”
He pauses, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “And you’re not just ‘enough,’ Tabitha. You’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for but now can’t imagine my life without.”
Tears sting my eyes. I blink them back hard.
“I know it’s crazy,” he continues, voice rough. “Three days snowed in together and I’m standing here telling you I’m in love with you, but—”
“It’s not crazy.” The words are out before I can second-guess them.
He goes still. “What?”
“I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.”
The words hang between us.
“Not Dave. Not anyone I dated before.” My voice cracks. “I thought maybe I was broken. That I didn’t need anyone else. That I didn’t feel things the way other people do. But then you—”
I can’t finish, but I need to. Have to tell him my truth. How I feel.
“I thought it was just me,” I continue, more vulnerable than I’ve ever been. “I thought I was reading too much into the cabinet repairs and everything you were doing—”
“It wasn’t just you.” His forehead drops to mine. “God, Tabitha. It was never just you. From that night at the wedding—”
“I wanted you to stay after that night.” The confession tears out of me. “But I knew you didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to risk asking, risk rejection. So I slipped away.”
“I should have tracked you down.” His voice is thick. “Should have asked for your number. Should have come back sooner.”
“You’re here now.”
“I’m here now,” he agrees. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”
I pull back enough to look at him fully. “I still don’t know how to do this. How to need someone.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.” Simple. Certain. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Before I can overthink it, I fist my hands in his jacket and pull.
He comes willingly, mouth finding mine, and it’s desperate and perfect and tastes like a promise.
His hands slide into my hair, scattering the messy knot I twisted it into this morning when I thought he was leaving and I wanted nothing more than to come down here and distract myself with work.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“You’re really staying?” I whisper against his mouth. “Job or not?”
“I’m really staying. Job or not.” He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “If you’ll have me.”
Relief and joy stir together in my chest, and I smile. “I guess I could make room.”
His laugh rumbles through both of us. “Deal.”
I glance at the reading chair behind us, at my laptop still displaying replacement options. “I was going to get rid of it. The chair.” I gesture to my laptop. “Already found a replacement.”
He’s quiet for a beat, then says, “Don’t.”
“I can’t sit there without thinking—”
“Good.” He turns me to face it, arms wrapping around me from behind, chin resting on the top of my head. “Every time you sit there—hell, every time you see it—I want you to think about this. About us.”
I lean back against his chest, a sliver of doubt still creeping in despite everything. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“So what happens now?” I ask.
“Now?” His breath is warm against my ear. “Now, I ace that interview and celebrate Christmas here with you.”
“You’re not going to Texas? Sophie will be so disappointed. She’ll—”
He spins me around, cutting me off with a kiss that steals my breath. “She’ll understand, believe me.”
“You think?”
His grin is pure joy. “I’ll just tell her Santa brought me exactly what I wanted…a happy ending.”
Heat floods through me at the mention of Santa. “Speaking of Santa…” I let my hands slide down his chest, “and happy endings…”
His eyes darken, understanding exactly where I’m going with this. “I could put the costume back on if you want.”
“Maybe, just the hat,” I murmur, my low belly tightening.
His laugh is wicked. “I’ve got two hours until my interview. And I'll need a ride, if you don't mind.”
“It's always a ride with you, isn't it?" I tease, before heading to the door, flipping the sign from Open to Closed and turning the lock. Then I grab his hand, tugging him toward the stairs. "We’d better not waste a minute.”
He follows willingly but pauses at the bottom step. “You’re sure about this? About me?”
I turn back, eye to eye with him from the second step, and cup his face, wanting to erase his hesitation. “I’m sure.”
His response is to grab my waist, and I wrap my legs around him. He carries me upstairs as I hold on tight, watching the bookstore behind him disappear from sight.
Seven years of routine. Of handling everything alone. Of not needing anyone. And in three days, he finished the story, provided the ending, with us together.