Chapter 15
Ellyn
“Okay,” I breathe out as I twist and turn while looking at myself in my full-length mirror.
The dress is perfect on me and swishes and moves just the way I like.
I spritz a few sprays of my favorite perfume into the air and then walk into it, allowing the floral-scented droplets to land on my skin.
Just as I spray a second application of the perfume my doorbell rings. The butterflies in my stomach start fluttering in anticipation.
Giddy doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling. Odd, because this isn’t the first time I’m seeing Joel since we kissed that night on my porch.
He’s come over almost every day this week, sometimes for only a few minutes to check on me … even when I reassure him that my hip and wrist are pretty much healed, since it’s been over two weeks since my fall.
I have to admit, it is nice having someone check on me. I mean, Meghan calls almost daily and Shanice texts, but it’s different with Joel.
“Coming,” I call out as I grab my gold clutch off of the couch and then heel-toe on my strappy, three-inch sandals at the door.
“Hi,” I say as I open the door.
Joel’s eyes widen and the look in his gaze sends a chill down my spine.
“You look …” his voice is gruffer than usual, “amazing.”
“Thank you,” I reply instinctively as my eyes dip. A giddiness I didn’t even have when Tommy Clarkson picked me up for my very first date at sixteen, with a handful of flowers he’d picked from his mother’s garden, overcomes me.
“These are for you,” he says, his voice still sounding hoarse, as he hands me the most exquisite bouquet of red and white roses. The flowers have been arranged into individual white and red rows, held together by a green glass vase.
“Johnson called this bouquet a Candy Cane Swirl,” Joel says.
The bouquet is very beautiful and holiday themed.
“Roses are my favorite,” I say, smiling down at the flowers before bringing them to my nose.
“I know,” he replies.
I tilt my head to the side as I lower the bouquet. “I told you that?”
Joel’s eyebrows raise like a deer in headlights. “You must’ve,” he answers, then taps his temple with the tip of his forefinger. “I’ve gotta mind like a steel trap. Nothing escapes my memory.”
For a second, I run through our previous conversations, trying to recall when exactly I told him about my love of roses. Then I decide it doesn’t matter, since these are gorgeous and I’m excited for our date to get started.
“These are already in water so I can just set them here and will find a place for them in my office tomorrow.” I stick the bouquet on the side table by the door before wrapping my arm around Joel’s.
The smile he gives me as I step out onto the porch with him is close to devastating. He’s so handsome. The laugh lines around his eyes and the grey hairs add to his sex appeal. Few men can pull off the mix of rugged rancher, silver fox, and hardworking family man all in one.
Joel does it with ease.
“When I called for a reservation, Darlene asked if I preferred a table outside to look out on the Riverwalk or indoors. I booked one of each,” he tells me about ten minutes into our drive.
“Why both?”
“Wasn’t sure which one you wanted. Thought it’d be wise to give you the option to choose.”
My heart, which had already begun to cave underneath the weight of this man’s presence, just cracked even more.
“That’s extremely considerate of you,” I say, honestly.
Instead of accepting the compliment in stride, as I expected, Joel looks over at me like I have two heads.
“What?”
“Considerate? That’s baseline,” he says. “Taking into consideration where you would prefer to sit is the bare minimum.”
I cock my head to the side, examining him. Does he really believe that? After a few moments of contemplation, I conclude that yes, he does believe in what he just said.
It doesn’t escape me that somehow, it’s me who’s still learning to not accept the bare minimum from the man I’m with. Even five years after leaving my husband for this same reason, I find there are pockets of this that I need to unlearn.
“Outside,” I finally say. “I hear the Riverwalk is beautiful at night during this time of year.”
Joel nods. “The Riverwalk then.”
The choice to eat outside was a good one. Laughter of couples walking hand in hand as they stroll along the riverside, or children playing and giggling over the Christmas lights that decorate the trees and lanterns, float to my ears.
“This is probably only the second or third time I’ve been out here since I moved to Texas,” I tell Joel who sits across the circular, red-linen covered table from me.
“Is that so?” he questions, sounding almost conspiratory. “What do you think?”
“I love it.” I inhale deeply as I gaze around, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It’s not until my gaze lands on the man sitting opposite me that it becomes a full-on grin.
“I’ve always loved this time of year,” I confess.
He raises an eyebrow before setting down his glass of wine. “How is that so?”
“What do you mean?”
“Two months ago, you were adamant about not lifting a finger to decorate your house for the season at all, let alone for the neighborhood competition.”
I drop my attention to the white wine that halfway fills my glass.
“About six years ago I got really sick with the flu two weeks before Christmas,” I tell Joel, my eyes still on the wine. “A week before Christmas, my husband sends me a text from work to tell me his parents decided to spend the holidays with us.”
I shrug.
“That was it. Just a text telling me his mom and dad were coming into town. But it’s never that simple, is it?” I look up, meeting Joel’s eyes. “My ex’s mother has diabetes and was often ill. His father didn’t cook.
“Which meant it fell on me to buy, prepare, and cook meals for his parents, making sure to prepare everything his mother could, while also making sure his father had all of the desserts he liked, because why should he stop eating what he loved because his wife couldn’t?”
My tone drips with sarcasm.
“Meanwhile, our oldest daughter was pregnant with her first child, and it wasn’t an easy pregnancy.
I was often stopping by her home to check on her because she was on bedrest for a little while.
It was a few days before his parents arrived that my husband asked why I hadn’t decorated the house yet.
“He asked as if I should know that it was my sole responsibility, alone, to not only buy the food and cook it to everyone’s specifications, but to also drag out the boxes of ornaments and decorations to deck out our five thousand square foot home by myself.
“He said that his parents were expecting everything to be prepared for them. Which he obviously meant full-on decorations to ring in the Christmas spirit.”
I don’t even try to hide the bitterness that seeps into my tone. Though I was still tired from recovering from the flu, I did it. All of it.
I kept a watchful eye over Shanice because her husband often traveled for work.
I bought the groceries and items Rick’s mother would need and made the dishes she enjoyed that were suitable for her health. And did the same for Rick’s father.
“Do you know what my husband got me for Christmas that year?"
Joel’s eyes narrow. “What?”
“A gift certificate to the local hardware store.”
I snort my disgust.
“The hell?”
Though humor wasn’t at the forefront of my mind, Joel’s outburst makes me laugh. I cover my mouth before dabbing the corners of my eyes.
I pause when our waitress brings us our dishes. My eyes light up in excitement as I look at the turkey slices covered in gravy, stuffing drizzled with cranberry sauce, and steamed garlic-lemon string beans.
“Why in the Hill Country would he buy you a gift certificate to a hardware store?”
His question brings me back to the conversation at hand. The outrage in his voice provides me with justification for what I felt at the time but couldn’t put into words.
“Apparently, at some point I made mention of wanting new kitchen cabinets,” I answer.
“And, to be fair, that might be true. But I know as I sat there and stared at the certificate and his justification for why he bought it—so I could be the one to choose what I liked, he’d told me, by the way—all I could do was paste a phony grateful smile on my face. ”
I turn my attention toward the Riverwalk again, watching the happy, smiling families while they climb onto one of the boats that plays Christmas music to travel down the length of the river.
“All I wanted to do for the rest of the day was sleep. A bone-weary tiredness overcame me. Back then I thought it was the lingering effects of the flu.”
I let out a humorless chuff.
“From that morning on, it was as if something opened up inside of me. Or I became aware of a hole that had lingered inside of me for years. But I couldn’t place my finger on it or put it into words.”
“That was when you asked for the divorce,” Joel concludes.
“It took months to realize what it was, but yes. That Christmas morning was the beginning of the end. In reality, the beginning of the end was probably years before that.”
“Anway …” I push out a heavy breath and pick up my fork to eat.
“When I finally bought my own place, I resolved not to do anything that I didn’t want.
My children are adults and living their own lives.
And while I’ve always loved the holidays, the thought of decorating again brought back unpleasant feelings of overwhelm. ”
It’s a reality I never expressed out loud until now.
“I’m sorry,” Joel says, surprising me. He shakes his head, eyes on his plate, but I don’t miss the frown on his lips.
“I never thought about why you wouldn’t want to decorate for the holidays. It’s your home, you should be able to do whatever it is you want with your home.”
I consider his words as I bite a forkful of stuffing. After a moment to chew and swallow, I respond.
“I don’t feel as strongly about it anymore.”
His gaze meets mine, spark renewing in them.
From then on, we eat and talk about our respective days. I find out that the horses from Joel’s ranch have participated in the Harlington’s Christmas Fair for over a decade now.
“The kids love it,” he says, the warm expression on his face warming my own heart.
I wonder if he realizes how child-like his features become when he talks about the holidays, his ranch, or his family.
Especially his family.
Before I know it one of the restaurant’s waiters passes us with a dessert cart. There’s an assortment of desserts including chocolate cake, pumpkin and sweet potato pie. My heart instantly lights up when I see a slice of coconut cake on the serving tray.
Yet, it plummets back to Earth when Joel reaches for the cake I had my eye on. I stifle the disappointment on my face and decide to reach for the slice of sweet potato pie. But then, Joel places the plate with the coconut cake on it down in front of me.
I go to look at him, but he’s looking over at the cart again, reaching for a dessert fork to hand to me.
I take the fork with a wobbly smile before sticking it into the slice of cake and tasting it. I blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. It’s completely ridiculous, all of this emotion bubbling up over a damn piece of cake.
“How is it?” he asks after a minute.
“Delicious. You have to try.” Before I can make heads or tails of my actions, I hold out a forkful of cake for him to try.
Joel doesn’t hesitate to lean in, his hand wrapping around my wrist, keeping my hand in place. My heart begins to beat rapidly.
He keeps his gaze locked on mine while his lips wrap around the tines of the fork. Slowly, he pulls back, tasting the cake. All the while, he keeps me trapped in his gaze.
“You’re right,” he says after swallowing. “That is delicious.”
His voice is rougher and deeper than usual.
My nipples harden against the padding of my bra.
A sense of loss washes over me when he loosens his hold on my wrist, removing his hand altogether.
I’m grateful for the reprieve of his touch for a moment while I gather myself. We finish our dessert in silence, but sneak looks at one another across the table.
“Ms. Ellyn Chamberland, would you have a dance with me?” Joel stands at the side of my chair, hand extended with a gleaming grin on his handsome face.
I place my hand into his. “I would love to.”
Dinner might be over, but the night’s just getting started.