Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Three
I thought Sara and I would pick up the conversation Sheriff Bender interrupted once we were finally alone again. But since we left school, she’s been acting a little … skittish. Hands fidgety, gaze darting around, barely making eye contact.
After a pit stop in the shop classroom to borrow the tools I’ll need for the storage room, we lugged the equipment to the car, drove back to the lake house, and transferred everything inside. Meanwhile, whispers of my unspoken truths charged the air like electric currents.
As for Sara, she’s probably just excited over the house getting approved, and I’m determined to see the rest of the process through. But that just brings us one step closer to separating again. So we’ve got to talk about what happened ten years ago.
To be honest, I’m nervous. Telling Sara everything could be painful, even after all this time. She might not be able to forgive me. Or her parents. Still, I’m not nineteen anymore. I’ve gotten better at communicating. I owe her the truth. I owe the truth to both of us .
So I follow her across the house and into the kitchen. My throat’s tight, but I’m ready to go. She checks inside the oven then punches some numbers, setting the temperature to preheat.
“So about what I was starting to tell you before the whole Sully thing …” I begin.
“Food first,” Sara says, moving to the sink to wash and dry her hands.
“But—”
“Luckily a five-pound turkey only takes a couple hours, because I’m already getting hungry.” She turns to face me, eyes not quite meeting mine. “I’ll make dinner while you get that work done in the storage room, okay?”
“Okay.” I duck my head. Sara’s not ready to talk yet, which is fine. She’s earned my patience. And anyway, my appetite’s returned in full force. I’m hungry too.
“Will two hours be enough time for you?” She selects a large roasting pan from the cabinet, and sets it on the stovetop. “Sorry if that’s a really stupid question.”
“It’s not.” I glance at the wall clock. “I should be able to finish by then. Or at least I’ll have made good progress.”
“Great,” she chirps, throwing open the fridge door. She pulls the turkey out and lays it in the roasting pan.
“You know, I’d be just as happy with something simple,” I say. “Like spaghetti.”
“We already skipped the turkey last night.” She’s rummaging around in the fridge again, fishing out ingredients to set on the counter. “And we have all the fixings. I’d hate to let good food go to waste. As it is, we only have tonight and tomorrow to finish the leftovers before I go home.”
Home .
I bob my head. “I’ll just get to work then.” As I back away, a painful buzz thrums in my chest. Of course Sara is leaving Christmas Eve. It’s not only her birthday, it’s also the night of the Hathaway Gala. This isn’t a surprise. It’s something I support. What hurts is the reminder that she’ll never see this place as her home.
Sara’s got a new job waiting for her in the city. A career. One she’s worked for her entire life. I’m probably crazy to think there might be room for me on that path. So I head to the storage room to work out my emotions with a hammer and wrench.
All the odd jobs I’ve done over the years have taught me more practical skills than I could’ve learned in a classroom. Carpentry. Electrical. Roof repairs. Even plumbing. If only this could impress Sara’s parents. But the Hathaways hire people like me, they don’t marry them. They may never think I’m worthy of their daughter. And I might not think they’re wrong.
Still, I won’t make the same mistake I did a decade ago. The choice has to be hers this time, no matter the fallout. And she can only make the right decision if she has all the facts.
Yeah. Good luck with that, Three .
By the time Sara calls me to dinner, I’ve gotten the door handle upgraded and repaired the light fixture. I didn’t even electrocute myself, which—the way this week’s been going—would’ve been par for the course.
“I just need to clean up first,” I call back. After testing the handle and light one last time, I quickly wash up and change into a fresh long-sleeved shirt, gray pants, and a black jacket. I’m just giving myself a pep talk, preparing to spill my guts to Sara, when I find her in the dining room.
Whoa. I’m so not worthy.
Her hair is loose, falling in glossy waves along her shoulders, and she’s wearing a green dress. But not just an average green. Green like the Emerald City on The Wizard of Oz . The top half is fitted to her while the bottom flares out, dotted with something delicate and white, like tiny snowflakes.
“You look incredible,” I blurt.
She dips into a small curtsy, peering at me from under a fringe of lashes. “You don’t look so bad yourself. But the turkey’s the real star of the show tonight.” Her gaze flits to the table, and only then do I notice the presentation for dinner.
A rich red cloth covers the wood, with a runner down the middle. Bookending the turkey and side dishes are two complete place settings: china plates, crystal stemware, silver flatware, cloth napkins. In the center of the table, four taper candles cast a warm glow across the room
“Wow.” I blow out a long breath. “You did all this in two hours?”
“It took a little longer, actually.” She wrinkles her nose. “You probably just lost track of time. Speaking of which, how are the repairs going?”
“Not as impressive as all this.” I nod at the table. “But the door handle works. The light works. Anyone who ends up in that storage room can see and also get out.”
The edges of Sara’s mouth tug up. “Mission accomplished, then.”
“You should send a pic of this spread to Ryan Detweiler. Might seal the deal with Platinum Stays.”
“I didn’t do this for Ryan. Or for Platinum Stays.” Sara smooths her hands down the front of her dress. “This is your Christmas celebration. A real one. Not a silly luau.”
“I didn’t think the luau was a silly idea. But this looks amazing.”
She shifts her weight. Glances at the food. “Should we sit?”
I walk over to one side of the table, and pull out her chair. “After you.”
“Thanks.” She takes a seat, spreads the napkin in her lap, and inclines her head toward the turkey. A large knife glimmers beside the platter. “Unfortunately, I’ve never carved anything myself before, so …”
“My favorite job.” I smile at her. “I’d be happy to do the honors.”
I carve the turkey while Sara spoons servings of potatoes and stuffing onto our plates. The scene is so domestic, my chest goes tight with longing. If this is what a future with Sara would feel like, I’d want nothing more.
“What was I thinking suggesting spaghetti?” I say. “That was a terrible idea.”
Sara lets out a small laugh. “I’m glad I could convince you.”
“By the way, you cooked, so I’m washing the dishes tonight.” I say. “I’ve been told those are the rules.”
“I won’t argue with you. But let’s actually eat before we worry about dishes.”
We tuck into our meal, which is as delicious as it looks. Every few bites, I steal a glimpse at Sara. Every ten glimpses, I catch her looking at me.
After a while, she peeks through the archway that leads to kitchen. “And be sure to save room for our pie versus cake competition.”
“I don’t have to save room.” My smile splits wider. “I’ve got a whole second stomach for dessert.”
“Same.” Another soft laugh from her. “And whatever we don’t finish can be leftovers on our last night.”
My smile falters and my gut constricts. Leftovers and going-away pie. Fantastic.
Sara meets my gaze across the table. “I’m just sorry you didn’t get to enjoy your luau.”
I gulp water from a goblet that probably costs more than my coaching stipend. “Last night didn’t turn out all bad though, right?”
“No. Not all bad.” Something flickers behind her eyes, but from my end of the table, I can’t figure out the emotion behind it.
“You’re so far away.”
She dips her chin. “You can move closer. If you want.”
“I do.” As I take my plate and slide onto the seat beside her, a stew of emotions simmers inside me. Sara drops her focus to her plate.
“Thanks again for all you did today,” she says softly. “With Ryan. And the storage room. We’re only getting approved because of you.”
“Happy to help.” This is what I say, but I don’t want to talk about Platinum Stays or their approval. Not when Sara and I are already on borrowed time.
“I’m sure the doctor will clear you tomorrow too,” she adds.
“You’re probably right.” The words come out gruff. “But I want to appreciate this moment first.”
Sara looks over at me, the candlelight spilling across her skin. The sky in the window behind her has darkened to an inky black. She draws in a breath then exhales, studying my face for a long stretch of seconds.
“Uh-oh.” I pull down my brow. “Do I have food in my teeth or something?”
She shakes her head. “No. I was just thinking.”
My insides tighten. Maybe Sara’s finally ready to talk. “About what?”
She glances at the table. “About the fact that I spent four summers in Abieville, and we never shared a meal like this.”
“Ah. That.” I half grunt, half guffaw. “The thing is, I didn’t exactly have any crystal or silver or china to offer you back then. Come to think of it, I still don’t.”
Her gaze falls on me again, eyes softening. “For the record, I loved surviving on hot dogs, ice cream, and paper plates. All that mattered to me was being with you.”
“And I didn’t care what we ate or how it was served as long as we were together.” I reach over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I just wanted to make you happy.”
“You did make me happy.”
“I wanted to be the one who made you smile.”
“You did that, too.”
We lock eyes. “I wanted to be worthy of you.”
“You were.”
My esophagus goes desert dry. “No. That’s where I failed.”