Chapter 5
M y lips still tingle. I touch them for the hundredth time since last night, remembering the way Trace pressed me against the wooden column, the way his body felt against mine, solid and real after so many years of dreams. The morning sun filters through my bedroom window, but I haven't slept. How could I? Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Feel him. God, I am such a fool. All these years of anger, hurt, and blaming him—when he'd been protecting his family from my father. The thought makes my stomach turn. How many times have I cursed Trace's name? How many nights have I spent wondering what I'd done wrong when, all along, he'd been forced to choose between me and his family's safety?
My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. My heart skips when I see his name.
Missed you last night. Kept thinking about that kiss.
I smile, warmth spreading through my chest. Before I can respond, another message comes through.
Taking someone Christmas tree shopping today. Could use your expertise. If you’re free?
My fingers hover over the keyboard. Am I ready for this? Ready to let him back in? But didn't I already make that decision last night under the mistletoe?
Yes. When and where?
Your farm. 11 a.m. There’s someone I want you to meet.
Someone he wants me to meet? Curiosity piqued, I agree. An hour later, I pull in, waving at the workers carrying trees back and forth to the other cars in the lot. Scanning for Trace’s face or vehicle. I spot him near the entrance, but he isn't alone. A little girl, no more than four or five, dances around him, her dark curls bouncing with each step.
My heart stops.
"Noel," Trace calls out, waving me over. The little girl grabs his hand, suddenly shy. "I want you to meet someone special." He kneels beside her. "Jelena, this is my friend Noel. Noel, this is my daughter."
The world tilts.
His daughter.
His daughter.
I force a smile, but my face feels wooden and frozen. "Hi, Jelena." My voice sounds strange and distant, like it belongs to someone else.
She peers up at me with big brown eyes—his eyes—before hiding behind his leg. "Hi," she whispers.
The next hour passes in a blur. I walk beside them, watching as Jelena runs from tree to tree, her excitement is genuine and infectious. But all I can think about is him. With someone else. Having a child with someone else. I've been with two men since Trace, but this... this is different. This is permanent. This is a family.
"What do you think about this one?" Trace asks, gesturing to a full spruce. His voice is careful, like he can sense my withdrawal.
"It's nice," I say, wrapping my arms around myself. The December air is colder than ever.
"We're going to get hot chocolate after this," he says, searching my face. "Want to join us?"
I shake my head, taking a step back. "I can't. I just remembered I have some work to do at The Old Barn."
"Noel—"
"You were right," I cut him off. "What you said about getting to know each other again? It was good advice. Maybe we should take it."
I glance up, noticing the mistletoe hanging from the farm's entrance arch. Trace follows my gaze, his jaw tightening. When he reaches for me, I step back, crossing my arms tighter. His eyes narrow, but he doesn't push. Instead, he nods once, sharp and quick. "If that's what you want."
It isn't what I want. I want to go back to last night, to that moment under the mistletoe when everything seemed possible. Before I knew about the life he'd built without me. Before I realized just how much had changed. "Goodbye, Trace," I whisper, turning away before he can see the tears threatening to fall. "Goodbye, Jelena." I walk to my car, each step heavier than the one before it. I am leaving him behind. Them .
My phone vibrates—probably Trace—but I don't look at it. Can't look at it. Not now. Not when my heart is breaking all over again for something I have no right to be heartbroken about.
After all, we aren't those people anymore. Trace said as much last night. Now, his hesitancy makes more sense. I should thank him for not taking me while I was completely clueless, but I can't. I wished he'd made love to me right there in The Old Barn—like old times. Like he hadn't moved on. Built a life. Started a family. I drove down to the Christmas tree farm when I couldn't have hiked from my place. Now I wish I hadn't. Not because I want to walk back but because I want to run.
***
"He cried," I say, swirling the wine in my glass. We've gathered at Alix's house, our usual safe space, when one of us needs to fall apart. "My father. The great stone face broke down."
Danielle snorts. "Crocodile tears."
"No," I shake my head, remembering his face when he confessed everything. "He said he felt bad as soon as Trace left town. That he knew he'd crossed a line. But he was too proud to fix it. Too scared I'd hate him if I knew the truth."
"Well, he was right about that last part," Danielle mutters.
"I know. He begged me not to leave him," I continue, my voice catching. "Can you believe that? After rejecting me my whole life, after making me feel worthless, after driving away the one person who made me feel seen—now he's afraid of losing me?"
Alix reaches over, taking my hand. Her mixed heritage shows in her features—her mother's deep brown skin and her father's fairness turns heads wherever she goes. "You know what this reminds me of? My grandfather—my dad's dad. When my parents got together, he couldn't handle it. He said his son was making the biggest mistake of his life."
"What happened?" I ask though I know the story. Yet, still needing to hear it again.
"Time," she says. "And persistence. And my parents refusing to let him push them away even when he tried. It took years, but people can change, Noel. Hearts can soften. Sometimes, they need to be worn down, like water on stone. My grandfather eventually apologized to my mother. He said that watching their love and seeing how happy they made each other changed everything he thought he knew about love."
"Or," Danielle cuts in, refilling all our glasses, "sometimes people show you exactly who they are, and you believe them the first time. Your father showed you who he was that summer. Hell, he showed you your whole life. If he's sorry now, well, too little, too late."
"Dani—" Alix starts.
"No, I'm serious." Danielle sets the wine bottle down with more force than necessary. "He threatened to have people deported, Alix. People who had done nothing wrong except exist in his precious world. That's not a mistake. That's not something you do in the heat of the moment. That's calculated evil."
I stare into my wine glass, seeing Trace's face when I stepped away from him today. The hurt in his eyes. The confusion. "What do I do now?"
"About your father or about Trace?" Alix asks gently.
The wine burns a path down my throat as I take another sip. "Both? Neither?" I laugh, but it comes out brittle. "Speaking of Trace..." I touch my lips again, remembering. "He kissed me last night. Under the mistletoe at The Old Barn."
Danielle sits up straighter. "Hold up. You should have led with that. Spill. Everything. Now."
"It was..." I close my eyes, letting myself feel it again. "God, it was everything. Like no time had passed at all. Like we were still those people who couldn't get enough of each other."
"But?" Alix prompts, always sensing when there's more.
"But we're not those people anymore. And even though we both wanted each other. Last night wasn't the right time to jump back into bed. I'm not sure I'm ready for that. I mean, I'm not the same tight body in skinny jeans I was ten years ago." I raise my hand, cutting off their protests. "It's the truth. I'm not putting myself down. We get older—"
" Better ," Dani interjects, raising her glass in salute.
"Another truth," I say, toasting back. "But the point is neither of us are kids anymore. He said he wanted to get to know this version of me. His voice was so gentle when he said it. I almost caved and said, why wait?"
"Yes, why?" Dani demands. "You know some of us need to live vicariously through these stories." She nods her chin at Alix and says, "Not her. She's got Ryan. Me."
Alix tosses a pillow at Danielle, which she intercepts with one hand. "Don't listen to her. That's... actually really mature," Alix says.
"Right? I thought so, too. It was perfect. Everything was perfect." My voice cracks. "Until today."
"What happened today?" Alix leans forward, concern etching her features.
"He asked me to help him pick out a Christmas tree. Said there was someone he wanted me to meet." The wine glass trembles in my hand. "It was his daughter. He has a daughter. A beautiful little girl who looks just like him, and he didn't even warn me. Just... sprung her on me like it was nothing."
"Okay. Again, why are we not leading with these things?" Danielle reaches for the wine bottle.
"Wait," Alix holds up her hand. "What did you do?"
"What could I do? I stood there looking as blindsided as I felt. I couldn't just run away. So I stood there like a darn fool, blinking like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Luckily, the little girl was so excited that I hid my shock, burying it in her joy. I told myself just enjoy the day. It's just another parent with his daughter. I reminded myself that I deal with single-parent families all the time."
"So, he is single then?" Alix narrows her eyes and asks.
"I still don't know. Still don't know anything. I thought it sweet when he suggested we get to know each other. But now I'm wondering what other landmines he's planted."
"Let's just back up. After he dropped the baby bomb—what happened?" Danielle asks.
"Nothing. He tried to pull me under the mistletoe again, but this time... this time, I couldn't. Just couldn't."
"Totally get it. However, I would like to add, for the record, that the man is fine as hell. Gorgeous," Danielle says. "And did you see the size of his... ahem, hands?"
This time, it's my turn to toss a pillow. "Eyes off. Let me worry about the size of his... ahem, hands."
"So, then you're not releasing him from the girlfriend code so that the rest of us can—"
"Not a chance," I cut her off. "I just... I need time to process. I need to figure out if I'm ready for all of this. A relationship is one thing, but a child?" I take another sip of wine. "That's a whole other level of commitment."
"Not to mention," Alix adds carefully, "there's a story there. About the mother."
My stomach clenches. I hadn't even let myself think about that part yet. About who this woman was and what she meant to him. "Yeah."
"But here's the thing," Danielle says, refilling our glasses. "You're already thinking about commitment. About his daughter. About his past. Which means..."
"Which means what?"
"Which means you're not walking away," Alix finishes for her. "Not really. You're just trying to figure out how to move forward."
I stare into my wineglass, watching the deep red liquid swirl. My phone buzzes again—another text from Trace. That makes four, which I haven't read yet.
"Maybe," I admit. "But what if—"
"No, what ifs," Danielle interrupts. "What do you want? Right now, in this moment, what does Noel want?"
The answer comes before I can stop it. "Him. I want him." I look up at my friends, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "But I'm terrified that wanting him means signing up for heartbreak all over again."
"Or," Alix says softly, "it means signing up for everything you've ever wanted."
My phone buzzes again. Five messages now.
"Are you going to read those?" Danielle asks, nodding at my phone.
I wrap my fingers around it, feeling its weight. "I don't know."
And I don't. Because reading those messages means making a choice about whether I'm ready for this new version of Trace. About whether I can handle being not just a girlfriend but potentially something more to a little girl who's potentially already lost one mother—
I freeze. Wait. Where had that thought come from? I don't even know if Jelena's mother is in the picture. I don't know anything about the situation at all.
Because I'd run before asking any questions.
"Earth to Noel," Danielle waves her hand in front of my face. "Where'd you go?"
"I was just thinking..." I pull out my phone, staring at the notifications. "Maybe the real question isn't whether I'm ready for all this."
"Oh?" Alix raises an eyebrow.
"Maybe the real question is whether I'm ready to find out."
I look at the phone. I haven't answered but haven't put it down either. Five messages. Five chances to move forward instead of back.