Chapter 2
two
. . .
Jemma
I shivered again for a reason that had nothing to do with the change in weather, rubbing my arm where Charlie had touched me on his way out, and then made myself stop.
It had been nothing. A passing gesture. Routine for us.
The same way he always did when we parted ways. My skin didn’t seem to care.
“Dinner?” Eli asked, clomping down the stairs and heading toward the kitchen.
“Ready in five minutes,” I told him, heading through the house toward the kitchen.
When we were both seated with our plates of food in front of us, Eli raised his glass of water in a toast. “To Mrs. Claus.”
“To your big mouth.” I clinked my glass against his.
“All in the name of community service,” he said with a straight face before breaking out in an impish-looking grin.
We ate in relative silence for the next few minutes, the sound of our forks scraping over ceramic as we demolished a roast chicken between us.
“So,” Eli said, pushing his rice around his plate. “What’s the plan for tomorrow? Since I know you don’t actually have a Mrs. Claus costume lying around, we’re gonna have to improvise.”
“I have that wig from the year I went as Betty White for Halloween,” I said, trying to remember if I’d seen it recently, and if so, where that might have been. I drew a blank.
“And the actual costume?” Eli asked, shoving a bite of chicken into his mouth.
I hummed as I considered my options, wincing when the “perfect” one hit me. “There’s that red velvet dress from the family portrait we had taken at your dad’s church that one time.”
When Todd Beauchamp and I first met, he wasn’t by any means a religious man, and we’d only gotten married in a church because his mom had insisted.
But over the years, he became increasingly conservative, spouting lines about “traditional family values” and citing passages from the bible that were meant to encourage me to be subservient to him.
The photo in question—and the horrible outfit Todd insisted I wear for it—had been taken around that time.
“You kept that thing?” Eli’s brows shot up, disbelief written all over his face.
“What? It was expensive.”
“And hideous, Mom. It literally covered everything but the tips of your fingers and your face. The neck was ruffled.” He shuddered dramatically, his whole body vibrating with distaste. “Gross.”
“I thought you liked ruffles?” I teased, lifting a bite of food to my mouth.
He shook his head, scrunching up his nose like he’d tasted something sour. “Not like that.”
“Well, it’s either that dress, or we pretend Mrs. Claus finally got a much-needed makeover and suddenly wears jeans and boots.” Honestly, that wouldn’t be the worst idea. If the current state of the weather was any indication, it was going to be damn cold out on Cade Murphy’s boat.
“Why’d you tell Maggie I have a costume anyway?” I asked, though a part of me already suspected I knew the answer.
My son’s grin turned sly as he speared the last piece of chicken on his plate. “You like helping people, and Mr. Emerson needed help. The town needed help. I just, you know, sped things along.”
I lifted a brow over the rim of my wineglass. “By lying.”
“By manifesting,” he said, his tone utterly smug.
I tried to glare at him, but the corners of my mouth gave me away. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head, the very picture of teenage self-satisfaction. “I’m perfect, and you adore me.”
“Lucky for you.”
He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Speaking of getting lucky … ”
I froze mid-sip. “Eli.”
He pushed his empty plate away, setting his fork neatly on top of it. “There’s this boy.”
“No.” I tossed my napkin at him. “We are not talking about your sex life.”
He caught the napkin midair and grinned—wide, wicked, and delighted that he’d gotten exactly the rise out of me he wanted. “Gross, Mom. Get your mind out of the gutter. I just meant that I’m lucky to have met him.”
I pursed my lips in an expression meant to convey my dubiousness. “Sure you did.”
He laughed, low and pleased with himself, before ducking his head and tracing the edge of the table with the pad of his finger.
“His name’s Gavin,” he said, his voice pitched lower than it was a second ago.
“We met through the robotics thing.” A faint flush crept up his neck, turning the tips of his ears pink. “He’s nice.”
He looked so bashful, so utterly smitten, that for a moment I saw the little boy who used to climb into my lap to ask a dozen questions about how the world worked.
But since he’d nearly stopped my heart a second ago with that “getting lucky” comment, I couldn’t resist asking, “Does he laugh at all your terrible jokes?”
Eli rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his grin. “Unfortunately, yes. Which means either I’m charming or he’s got a terrible sense of humor.”
“Why not both?” I teased, pushing my own plate away. “Are you seeing him after the tree lighting?”
“Maybe,” he said, standing and gathering our plates. “Assuming I don’t have to drive you back afterward.”
“Charlie and I have to meet out at Cade Murphy’s place, so I’ll need to head back out there to pick up my car.”
I watched Eli rinse the dishes, his frame backlit by the warm glow over the sink. His shoulders had broadened lately, his movements less clumsy—the lankiness of boyhood giving way to the first outlines of the man he’d become.
And suddenly it hit me: Eli was the same age Charlie had been when we dated. Given what that had been like, it was probably time for another talk with my son about hormones and responsibility.
Eli glanced back over his shoulder, giving me an imploring look.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Who am I to resist the allure of young love? You’re off the hook. I’ll figure something out.”
He grinned as he shut off the faucet, flicking water droplets from his hands before he dried them on a nearby towel. “You’re such a sap.”
Before I could defend myself, he opened the freezer door and pulled out a quart of ice cream, setting it in the middle of the table with a thud. He spun back around, fished two clean spoons out of the drawer, and passed me one.
“Speaking of young love,” he began, his eyes bright with mischief. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
I blinked. “That was not the subtle pivot you think it was.”
“I’m seventeen,” he said, talking around his bite of ice cream. “We’re not generally known for our subtlety.”
“There’s no one I’m interested in.” I stabbed my spoon into the container, poking around for a piece of peppermint bark. “And besides, I like my life the way it is.”
He nodded slowly, his expression softening before it turned thoughtful. “So you don’t ever think about Mr. Emerson that way?”
The ice cream I’d just put in my mouth chose that exact moment to slide down the wrong pipe. I coughed until my eyes watered.
Eli, trying and failing not to laugh, slid a glass of water my way.
When I could speak again, I croaked, “You’re a terrible child.”
“And you’re deflecting.”
“He’s my friend.”
“Not just that,” he said, his tone turning gentle. “He’s also your high school boyfriend. The one who got away.”
I dropped my gaze, focusing on the napkin in my lap. I folded it in half, then in half again. It was pointless busywork, but it gave my hands something to do. “Where’d you hear that?”
When I looked up, Eli was shrugging.
“Grandma, before she died. Mrs. Sinclair. A few others.”
“Well, your grandma didn’t know what she was talking about,” I said tightly, reaching for my Chardonnay and emptying the glass in two deep glugs. “And your guidance counselor shouldn’t be gossiping about me like that.”
“So there’s nothing to it then?” he pressed. “Just people talking nonsense?”
I opened my mouth to say, “Yes, exactly,” but the look of hope I saw in his eyes stopped my words cold.
Eli’s expression was earnest, lit with the look of a boy who—despite what history had shown him—still saw the world as a place where good people who cared about each other always ended up together. Exactly as it was meant to be.
I glanced away before he could interpret my expression. Because the truth was, the idea of Charlie and me together wasn’t nonsense.
It just wasn’t simple.
Eli leaned in, bracing his forearms on the table.
“Mom, all evidence to the contrary, I’m not dumb.
I know what you’ve been through. I know Dad made you feel small sometimes.
Most times.” He said this carefully, like he was weighing his words as he spoke and trying to choose only the least hurtful ones.
“But Mr. Emerson isn’t like that. He values you. He sees you.”
“He does,” I admitted, my voice coming out as a whisper.
Charlie had always seen me. That’s what made our friendship so beautiful.
“And when you’re with him, you look happy,” Eli continued. “You both do.”
I wanted to disagree, but I also didn’t want to lie to my son, so I did what he’d accused me of doing before. “We’ve known each other a long time,” I deflected.
“Exactly.” He sat back with a nod, giving me the impression he’d misinterpreted my words—whether on purpose or not wasn’t clear. “Outside of me and Uncle Jeremy, he probably knows you better than anyone.” He picked at a loose thread on his placemat, then looked up at me. “And he likes you.”
Eli reached for the ice cream. “Look, all I’m saying is, if you want more, stop pretending you don’t. Honestly, you’re both too old to be playing games.” He smirked to lessen the sting of his words.
I already had more than most people. A good kid.
Work I loved. A house that held so many fond memories that I couldn’t even catalog them all.
But Eli’s challenge worked its way under my skin like a tiny sliver of wood.
I looked at him—this boy who used to stand on a stool to reach the counter, who now had to duck through the attic doorway—and I thought, “When did you grow up? When did you get so wise?”
“Eat your dessert,” I said, because I needed a minute to process.
He grinned and took another bite.
When the quart was empty and I was washing our spoons, he hooked an arm around my neck and kissed my temple.
“I’m heading to my room,” he said. “Robotics call. Caleb’s freaking out about torque.”
“The great torque crisis,” I said with mock solemnity.
“It’s always something.” He started toward the stairs, then paused, his hand braced on the door jam. “For what it’s worth, I think you should go to the New Year’s Eve gala.”
“I always go to the gala.”
“Yeah, but this year you should go to dance, not just stand around watching others celebrate.”
I rolled my eyes. He smiled like he’d won the argument and disappeared upstairs.
I took my time closing up the house—banking the fire, switching off all the lights, checking the back door.
Up in my bedroom, I pulled that hideous red dress out of the back of my closet and stared at it with revulsion.
Mrs. Claus was definitely getting a makeover.
Then I showered and put on my pajamas, the flannel ones with candy canes on the butt because no one would see me in them.
In the mirror, I rubbed lotion onto my face and neck and tried to make peace with the person who looked back at me.
She knew which wholesalers could ship floral wire by the case on two days’ notice.
She knew how to start a tractor that had seen better days and would probably need to be replaced soon.
She’d gotten a lovely, quirky kid through school with his head on straight and his heart intact despite the world trying to make it otherwise.
A woman who never asked for anything for herself.
“I’m past all that,” I’d told Charlie.
I recalled the way his face changed when I said it, like he was surprised … and then disappointed. But why?
As I climbed under the covers, I couldn’t get that question out of my head.
I reached for my phone, staring at the screen and wondering if I should ask, or if that would be opening up a can of worms I wasn’t ready to deal with.
Instead, I simply typed out, “See you at Cade’s dock an hour before sunset.”
Then I locked the screen and set the phone face down on my nightstand, telling myself there was nothing wrong with wanting. There was also nothing wrong with not acting on that want.
Not until I was well and truly ready … if I’d ever be ready like that.
The thing about Charlie and me was that we didn’t end because we burned out—we just got pulled in different directions.
When we were married to other people, trying again was never an option.
But we’d both been single for a long time now, and I sometimes wondered if we’d stayed apart because what we had was too good back then—too perfect to risk spoiling.
What if we tried and we ruined the memory of what we once were?
Down the hall, the sound of Eli’s laugh carried through the walls, and I smiled into the dark.
I rolled to my side and pictured Charlie dressed as Santa.
Tomorrow I’d put on a costume and be his Mrs. Claus while the town cheered.
Then, I’d go back to being Jemma Price, a woman who—once upon a time—fell hard for a boy and never regretted it for a moment.
The only relationship I’d ever had like that, if I was being honest with myself.
As I began to drift off to sleep, a thought took shape: maybe I wasn’t past all this. Maybe I had just been careful with my heart. After all, you couldn’t be disappointed if you never asked for more. You also couldn’t be surprised.
I rolled back over and reached for my phone again without stopping to talk myself out of what I was about to do, typing out, “About the gala …” My thumb hovered over the send button, but at the last second, I backspaced until the screen was blank. Tomorrow, I told myself. We’ll talk tomorrow.
A second later, the screen lit up the dark room.
Charlie: See you then, Jem. Make sure you dress warm. Can’t have one of my best girls getting frostbite.
“Charlie,” I whispered into the dark as the house creaked around me.
I slid my hands beneath the pillow, feeling the old ache in my chest soften. I let myself imagine dancing with him at the gala. Just one song, assuming he asked.
And if he did, I was ready to say yes. To that dance, and—despite my earlier protests to the contrary—to so much more.