Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
cheyenne
Christmas Eve, I was getting ready to head over to the Mitchells’ house when my mother popped her head into my room. “Got a minute?”
“Sure,” I said, holding up two different earrings and checking the mirror to see which one I liked better with the high-necked black lace top I had on. “Which one do you think?”
My mother sat on the bed behind me and looked at my reflection. “Hmmm, I like the smaller ones.”
“Okay.” I set the dangly one down and put on the little hoops. “What’s up?”
“I just wondered if you’d noticed anything unusual about Cole last night.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he just seemed off to me. Not his usual self.”
“How so?” I asked, even though I knew.
“Quiet. Distracted. Even anxious.”
“He said he was tired. And he had a really eventful week.” I felt the need to defend him, even though I was worried too. “I get the feeling he hasn’t been sleeping well lately.”
“That could be it.” She hesitated. “So he’s mentioned the nightmares to you?”
“Nightmares?” I finished fastening the second hoop and turned to face her. “No. What nightmares?”
“Oh, dear. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but his mother mentioned to me that he’s been having nightmares so bad he wakes up yelling in the middle of the night.”
A chill swept up my spine. “What? Since when?”
“She didn’t say exactly when it started, but I had lunch with her yesterday and she seemed so tense about something—it took me a while to get it out of her, but then she confessed. She said it happened at least twice this week.”
“Wow.” My heart ached that Cole hadn’t felt he could confide in me about it. “That’s . . . that’s awful.”
“I knew he used to have them when he was younger,” my mother went on, “and for the longest time he couldn’t sleep over with Griffin. But he grew out of them. Odd that they’re back all of a sudden.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, a strange mix of dread and sadness in my belly. “Maybe it was the episode with the baby?”
“Maybe.” My mother sighed. “But it makes sense now why he’s seeing a therapist.”
“A therapist?”
“Yes. Deb Culpepper saw him in the waiting room of her son’s therapist a couple weeks ago, and said he was acting very strange.”
“Is she sure it was him?”
“He was wearing his uniform,” my mother said with a shrug.
“Oh.” My brow furrowed and then relaxed. “Oh! I bet it was Mariah’s therapist whose office he was at. He spoke with her recently about us, in fact.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good. Anyway, I’m sure it’s all fine, but I just wondered if things were okay with the two of you.”
“Yes,” I said, turning back to the mirror and picking up a lipstick. “They are.”
“Any news on the move?”
“He’s moving after the first, I told you.” I carefully applied the poppy-red color to my lips.
“I meant your move—when do you move in?”
“Trying to get rid of me?” I rubbed my lips together and puckered up before capping the tube.
“Of course not, dear. You know I love having you here. I was only curious.” Suddenly she rose to her feet. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear things are going so well. Are you ready to go?”
“One minute,” I said. “I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”
“Sure.”
As soon as she was out the door, I grabbed my phone and called Blair.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” I said quietly. “I’m so sorry to bug you on Christmas Eve, but I have to ask your advice about something.”
“Of course. Go ahead. We’re not at the table yet. It’s still cocktail hour down here.” She laughed. “The Beauforts do not skimp on their cocktail hour.”
“How’s it going down there?” I asked, feeling guilty I hadn’t led with that.
“Great! My folks adore Griffin, my grandmother is completely smitten, and he’s been talking classic cars with my uncle all night.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Okay, I’m hiding in the bathroom now. Tell me what’s up.”
Quickly, I ran through the conversation I’d just had with my mom. “So now I don’t know what to do! Do I ask him about the nightmares? Wait for him to tell me? I don’t want to make things weird for him and his mom. But why hasn’t he told me?”
“Hmm, this is a tough one.” Blair was silent for a moment.
From downstairs, I heard my mother calling me. “Shit,” I whispered. “I have to go. Tell me what to do, fast.”
“I’d ask him,” she said. “If it were me, I’d ask him.”
“What if he denies it?”
“Then I’d come clean about the conversation with your mom.” She paused. “But maybe not on Christmas Eve. I’d wait.”
“Okay.” I felt slightly better. “Thanks. I know you think I’m nuts for worrying all the time, but this isn’t just me being paranoid.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said. “I think you have to ask. If you guys can’t be honest with each other about these kinds of deeply personal things, it’s not going to work.”
“Cheyenne Dempsey!” my mother howled. “Do not make me climb these stairs again! I’m leaving without you!”
“Coming!” I yelled. To Blair I said, “Okay, gotta go. Thanks again. Merry Christmas. Give my brother a hug for me.”
“I will. Merry Christmas,” she said. “Love you, let me know how it goes.”
With one more glance in the mirror—I tried to replace my tense expression with a more party-appropriate one—I grabbed my purse and hurried out of my room.
The Mitchells’ Christmas Eve Open House was a tradition in our neighborhood. It started early, and almost every family stopped in before heading to their family dinners and parties. The house was already full of revelers when my mother and I arrived.
After placing the gifts I’d brought beneath the tree, I found Cole pouring drinks at the makeshift bar in the dining room.
The moment I saw him, my stomach flipped like a pancake.
He was so handsome in his French blue shirt with the sleeves cuffed up, his charcoal gray dress pants, and shiny dress shoes.
His scruff was trimmed back, his hair was neatly combed, and he smelled like he had our first night together.
“Hey there,” I said, approaching the bar with a grin. “Don’t tell my boyfriend, but you’re the cutest bartender I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you see what’s right above our heads?”
I looked up. “Mistletoe. How convenient.”
“I know. Come here.” He leaned forward over the bar and I did too, our lips meeting in the middle.
“Eww,” said a high-pitched voice. “That’s gross.”
We looked to see Mariah standing to one side of the bar with a few neighborhood friends. “I know, and they do it all the time,” Mariah said, rolling her eyes.
“Beat it,” Cole said, jerking his thumb. “No kids allowed in my bar.”
The kids scampered off, and I turned back to Cole, studying him more closely. “How are you?”
“Good.” He smiled, but I could see the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor beneath his normally golden complexion. “How are you?”
“Good. Want to pour me some wine?”
“Of course. Red or white?”
“Red, please.”
He opened a bottle and poured me a glass, handing it over the bar. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” I took a sip as a few dads from the neighborhood approached the bar, wanting to clap Cole on the back for the rescue earlier in the week and open a bottle of good whiskey one of them had brought.
A discussion ensued about the merits of Irish versus Japanese versus Tennessee whiskey, and I excused myself, saying I was going to offer my help to his mom in the kitchen. He gave me a look that said he was sorry, and I reassured him with a smile.
In the kitchen, I found a harried Mrs. Mitchell trying to keep the trays of appetizers full, make room on the table for dishes neighbors had brought, and keep up with the empty plate and glass collection.
When I offered to help, she called me an angel and asked me if I’d stir the meatballs, then dump them into the serving bowl on the counter.
I stayed busy in the kitchen for the next hour, during which Cole brought me a second glass of wine and kissed my cheek before disappearing again.
When the second glass was gone, I had to use the bathroom, and since someone was in the one on the first floor, I went upstairs to the second.
The door was closed, but I decided to wait rather than go back downstairs.
I couldn’t resist peeking into Cole’s room, pushing the door all the way open and snapping on the light. I hadn’t been in here since the night I’d helped choose his outfit for Griffin’s party over a month ago. It made me smile, thinking how much things had changed.
But one thing hadn’t—the wedding photo was still on his dresser.
Unable to help myself, I picked it up and looked closer.
Surprisingly, I didn’t feel a punch of jealousy because he’d loved her.
I understood she was part of his story the way Mariah was too.
And even though I knew he’d always have a place in his heart for her, it didn’t bother me. I knew there was room for me too.
I just wanted to be part of his story—even if I hadn’t been the beginning, I could be the happily ever after.
If he’d let me.
“Cheyenne?”
I turned and discovered Mariah in the doorway. “Oh! Hey, honey. I was just . . .” I set the photo down and decided to change the subject. “Are you having a good time?”
“I was, but my friends had to leave.” She shrugged. “Now I’ll be bored the rest of the night. What are you doing up here?”
“Um, I came up to use the bathroom, but someone was in there.”
“I was. Sorry.” She looked guilty.
“That’s okay.” I smiled at her. “Then I just wandered in here. Your dad is a very neat person, isn’t he?”
“We have to be. Grandma gets mad if we don’t make our beds first thing when we get up.”
“Well, it’s not a bad habit to form.” I turned and looked at Cole’s bed, surprised to see a stuffed animal there. Laughing, I pointed at it. “What is that?”