Chapter 23
Gran always said, “Be careful when you issue promises because the delivery costs are high.”
So yeah, I’m paying for my past words. I really don’t feel like stirring up those emotions. But I owe Leo an explanation. “I told you that it wasn’t your fault, right?” I shift in my seat. “That the reason I left in a hurry had nothing to do with … the kiss.”
He nods, though remains quiet, letting me talk.
“It’s kind of a long story.” Just then, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Mom. As if she knows I’m about ready to uncork this pressurized bottle of memories, spilling my feelings all over the place.
Mom
Sorry about the Windex. Sorry about everything.
I slide my eyes shut with a weighted exhale. The chatter of the room, the blaring of some Spice Girls’ song, the clinking of utensils off plates. The surrounding noises seem to intensify and bounce around in my head. I count to three, then slowly lift my lashes.
Leo’s watching me.
“Sorry. It’s my mom.” I lift my phone with a little shake. “She’s apologizing for this morning. And every morning for the past, oh, twenty-some years.”
“That’s a lot to be sorry for.”
It really is. “This is why— she is why—I ran out on you last night.” I press a fingertip to my temple, my thoughts piling in my head like today’s snowfall, threatening a whiteout of complete blankness.
“I know that doesn’t make sense, but hear me out.
” I force myself to sit straighter, like I’m about to plead my case.
“You know how I mentioned the rescue mission at Pap’s this morning? ”
“The antiques?”
“Yeah. My mom was using Windex on some Christmas bulbs. Ammonia on antique glass works like paint stripper.”
He cringes.
“Exactly. But I reacted with big emotions. Because, yeah, the antiques were ruined, but it went beyond that.”
He puts his fork down, giving me his full attention. I never realized what it’s like to be someone’s sole focal point, but I can easily get addicted to those dark eyes steadied on me.
“Remember when you asked why I keep strength training, even though I’d rather shave off my eyebrows than lift weights?”
He smiles at my exaggeration. Well, it’s mostly an exaggeration. “Yeah, I remember.”
“It’s because I’m waiting for my mom to leave.”
He’s quiet for a second. “You want her to leave?”
“No, but that’s just it. Growing up, I never wanted her to leave, but she always did. When I became an adult, I had this hope that maybe she’d come around more. But no. It messed with me, you know? Like what’s wrong with me that my own mother doesn’t want a relationship?”
Leo reaches across the table, taking my shaking hand in his calm, strong one.
“Then out of nowhere, she comes back after Gran passes and expects me to be okay with everything. Problem is, I don’t know how to be okay.
I don’t know how to ignore all those years of her not being here, of coming in and going out of my life.
So now, I expect her to go. It’s a reflex, I think.
Then, eventually, I’ll be left caring for Pap.
Which is fine. I’d do anything for him.” I give a small shrug like it’s no big deal when it’s anything but.
“So I keep weightlifting in case I have to resume my role?—”
“As a caregiver.”
“Yeah. It’s like, I know it’s coming, but don’t know when.”
He gently squeezes my hand and lets go, as if he can tell when I need space. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“Ask her when she’s leaving?”
A server comes by to pick up our plates, and Leo waits until she walks away. “More like, ask your mom if she plans on staying for the long haul. Then maybe you can ask her why she left in the first place.”
I want those answers but … “I think I’m afraid of her response. Which is probably why I hold her at arm’s length. Why I hold everyone at arm’s length.” Even Leo.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I understand that. You know that I grew up in boarding schools. I hardly saw my parents. I didn’t even have a relationship with them until just a few years ago.”
“What changed?”
“I did. I made more of an effort to understand them. I still don’t agree with their choices. I would’ve rather had a steady upbringing with present parents, but I can’t change the past. Our relationship still has hiccups, but it’s getting smoother as we keep trying.”
His words give me hope. “Where are they now?”
“They spend most of their time at their villa near Lake Como.”
My mouth parts. “Italy?”
He nods. “They’re supposed to come to the States in January.”
If they plan on visiting after the new year, that means Leo might be alone for the holidays. “You’re welcome to spend Christmas with me. I always go to Pap’s. The Mavericks will be there, of course.”
His head tips slightly back, as if the invitation surprised him. He smiles at me. “Thank you.”
My conscience nudges me to finish what I started.
Here goes. “Circling back to what we were talking about. Now that you know a little more about my background, I hope this makes more sense.” I force myself to breathe, so my words don’t all run into each other.
“I rushed out last night because of something Fletcher said. He warned me that you never stay in the same place for long.”
“Ah.” His eyes light with understanding. “And given what you just told me about your mom always leaving?—”
“It shook me. That same twist in my gut—the one that always hit me when she left—came back full force last night. So I ignored confrontation and ran. That’s kind of my defense mechanism.
” That and self-deprecation. But I can only deal with one personality defect at a time.
“It was less about you and more about me getting my head on straight about my mom. In a way, it was good for me.”
His grin sparks. “Which is basically saying kissing me was good for you.” He leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “Say the word, and we can work on this self-awareness thing whenever you want.”
I laugh, needing a break from the heaviness. But also, having the freedom to kiss Leo any time I’d like makes me heady. It’s best not to think about that too much to avoid spontaneous combustion.
As if realizing the conversation hasn’t yet reached full closure, he says, “Fletcher probably said that about me because of how I grew up. I was always moving around, shuffled here and there. Then as an adult, I drifted because I never had a permanent home.” He shrugs.
“Or maybe he said it because I’m only a volunteer at the fire department.
Who knows. But just because I’m not tied to the job doesn’t mean I’m going to leave.
” His eyes take on an intensity that makes my breath turn shallow.
“I have the strongest reason to stay. I’m not going anywhere, Greta. ”
My heart leaps in response.
Some slow song—that I can’t remember the name of—filters through the speakers, and Leo extends his hand. “Dance with me?”
I shoot off a quick text to Mom, explaining we’ll talk soon, and I answer Leo’s question by slipping my fingers into his waiting ones.
He leads me to the dance floor and, keeping our hands intertwined, he wraps his right arm around my back.
Our rhythm syncs, and I note how this dance is far different from our first, when I was furious with him for thinking he deceived me.
But the one thing that hasn’t changed is the spark between us, which seems to burn fiercer with every touch.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and he presses me close.
“Greta?”
I feel rather than hear the rumble of my name. “Hmm?”
“A week from Monday …”
I know exactly what that day is. “The fifteenth?”
He dips his head lower, his late-day stubble skimming my temple. “I know it’s the anniversary of your Gran’s passing. What can I do?”
I slide my hand from his shoulder to his neck, feeling the strength there. “Be with me.” I intend to spend the day with Pap, but he always turns in early. I tell Leo this.
“What if—and this is only if you want—we meet again at the park? By the street clock, just like last December? Only this time I’ll be there.” His voice is so full of promise I can hardly breathe.
I smile up at him. “I’d like that.”
“I’m not sure if you realize this.” He grips me tighter. “But I’m struggling to get you out of my head.”
“Do you want me out of your head?”
“No,” he says, and I feel his smile on my skin. “I don’t want you out of my arms either.”
I press against him. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to tell you how much I like you.”
“That’s a good start.”
“Then …” He eases back, and his hooded gaze is filled with the hunger that I feel. “I’m going to point your attention to what’s hanging over our heads.”
I glance up and laugh. A fake, candied-looking mistletoe is above us. “Did you pick this spot on purpose?”
“Would I do that?” He gives me a look that says he totally did. “You know how I’ve been hunting for mistletoe these past few weeks.”
I lean in, my mouth hovering close to his. “We don’t need it.” And I kiss him.
After our mistletoe moment, we are in constant contact, either by dancing, holding hands, or trading heated kisses that start with the brush of lips across my bare shoulder and end with me being pressed against a side-hall wall for a dizzying stretch of time.
Just when I start thinking I’ve stumbled into some kind of Candy Land fever dream, my bladder reminds me—nope, still real life.
So while Leo’s picking at the dessert table, which I plan to attack later, I head to the nearest ladies’ room that is blessedly without a line.
I’m thankful Leo didn’t pick the Jellybean Jumpsuit I spotted earlier at the hotel shop, or else I’d be in trouble.
I’m washing my hands beside a frazzled woman dressed like a cream puff, currently assaulting the paper towel dispenser.
“It’s jammed,” she says as if I were some sort of bathroom monitor.
It’s the same model as the one at Brewtiful Grounds.
“There’s a trick to it.” I dig in my purse and slide out a business card.
“The roll backs up, but there’s a spot …
right here.” I slide my card in the narrow opening and work free the paper.
“Voila.” I smile at her, but she still seems slightly hostile, so I step back and let her reach for a towel.
“Thank you, young lady.” She gives me a cursory glance, then doubles back. “I saw you on the dance floor.” She rips off a paper towel with a swift swoop. “You and your husband look very much in love.”
I don’t correct her. “Thank you.” I’m about to ask her if she works for Mrs. Langston Pies and if she knows how I can score free samples, but she’s not finished gushing about my fake marriage.
“Hold onto that.” She wipes her hands as if she wants to sweep away not only the moisture but also several layers of skin.
“Because all too soon, you’re married twenty-four years, and your husband decides to spend several thousand dollars on something he has no right buying. At least without consulting you first.”
This got weird fast. I gently tug my business card from the dispenser, but it slips through my fingers, kind of like this conversation.
The lady picks it up, and her hazel gaze catches. “Is this you? You own an antique shop?”
“Yeah, in Silver Creek?” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question, but her tone’s slightly intimidating. I blink and regroup. “My shop’s about two hours from here.”
She studies the card like I’m going to pop-quiz her on my contact info. “Can I keep this?”
“Of course. Are you interested in antiques?” I ask to create small talk and keep her from giving unsolicited marital advice.
“Not really. I don’t know much about them. But I do know more than my husband.”
And we’re back to that again.
“Do you know what he did? We’ve been looking for a certain thing for our daughter.
She’s had some serious health issues, and she recently got the all clear from the doctors.
” She explains how her daughter had been born with a heart defect and details all the hurdles her daughter had to overcome.
By the time she finishes her story, I’ve got unexpected tears in my eyes.
“I’m very happy for her.” There’s something inspiring about those who defy the odds and persevere. “And you.”
She accepts my well-wishes with a small nod.
“We wanted to get her a gift, something nostalgic. She wants one specific item, but we couldn’t find it anywhere.
” She exhales a weary sigh. “Sal, that’s my husband, and I’m Candace, by the way.
Candace Whitman. Anyways, Sal thought he found it this afternoon, but he bought the wrong thing.
Did he call me? No, because I would have told him that set wasn’t a Garrick.
Now we can’t return it. I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder all night.
Not that he noticed. He’s been trying to schmooze Mrs. Langston, but she hasn’t given him the time of day to hear his proposal.
Did you know her real name’s Chloe Ferndash? ”
“A Garrick?” Oh. It was all clicking into place. “Did your husband happen to buy a Vallerton set at Midge’s Antiques today?”
Her eyes widen. “Yes … well, I’m not sure if it’s a Vallerton, as you call it. But he was at Midge’s Antiques. He told the lady he needed a nativity set from the early 1900s that was pretty rare. But like I said, he bought the wrong one. How’d you know?”
In her husband’s defense, the sets debuted around the same time and are both rare and valuable.
I can see how he made the mistake, especially if he didn’t know what he was looking for.
“I’ve been searching for a Vallerton set.
They’re hard to come by.” And just like that, every whimsical feeling that’s been swirling through me over the past hour shrivels dead.
The sole reason we’re stuck here in Sugarvale is because I had one goal—get the Vallerton.
“Ah, I see. They must be just as rare as Garricks. But that’s all she wants. We once had a set when she was younger and lost it in a move.”
“That’s disappointing,” I hear myself say, as if my voice is outside my body.
“Yeah, I didn’t know it was worth that much.” She glances at my card again. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do. The woman at the store won’t take back the set, and so I guess we’ll have to give it to our daughter. Though her heart was entirely fixed on the other.”
“I have a Garrick.”