49. Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
“And he speaks French, Andrea,” Elaine gushes with a hand to her chest.
“Is he your boyfriend or mine?” she asks, appearing thoughtful. “I keep forgetting.”
“Oh, hush,” she dismisses and looks at me. “Where did you learn the language?”
“I spent some time in Europe studying the culture and happened to pick up on the language as I went,” I answer.
“A rare man, indeed,” Beatrice states, sneaking a few cookies into her purse.
I don’t entirely agree with that, but the genuine smile Andrea gives me keeps me silent and accepting the compliment.
The sound of the front door opening grabs everyone’s attention.
Willa and Mason appear, and everyone stands to hug them. I offer Mason a handshake and his welcome is curt. It tells me he remembers everything about their visit to the city, which pleases me to no end. Willa hugs me before I can even say hello.
She pats my back. “So glad you’re here.”
“Happy Christmas!” a small voice cheers and I look over to see Andrea lifting a little girl into her arms.
She laughs, tickling her. “It’s Merry Christmas, you little bug.”
With the way Mason is looking at the two of them, it’s pretty damn easy to put two and two together. The girl looks about five or six years old; matching up with the same time as Andrea’s accident. It’s also the same time her sister and Mason found comfort in each other behind her back.
The blow is big. . .even for me so I can’t imagine how it makes her feel. I toss Andrea a look that has her sending an apologetic one back to me. She didn’t tell me, and while that hurts, I do understand. I wouldn’t know how to tell someone something like that either.
“She practiced that the entire drive here,” Willa says proudly, staring fondly at her daughter. The moment her feet touch the ground, she charges toward her dad, who swoops her into the air causing the childlike laughter to pull a smile on everyone’s faces.
When I take a seat again, Andrea stands behind me, scratching her nails soothingly on the back of my neck.
The act is done so naturally that it drives something fierce through me—something I have not allowed myself to define in a very long time.
I grab her hand to place a kiss on her palm and let her know that it’s okay that she didn’t tell me.
“Where’s Carter?” Willa asks no one in particular as she places her hands on her hips. “We’re going to be late.”
“You can’t be late to an all-day event,” Andrea mutters and I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know she added an eye roll .
“Hibernating,” Charles answers the question. “Maisie, too.”
She makes a face. “Why is Maisie here?”
“Because I want her to be,” Andrea states dryly, defending her friend against the look on her sister’s face. I don’t care much for it either.
“Are they a thing now?” Willa asks, face still twisted in a judgmental way.
Not yet . The only people they’re fooling are themselves.
Andrea shakes her head. “No, they’re—”
“Shame on that. Carter has always been an idiot.” Grams sighs. “He just needs a little push, that one.”
I chuckle in agreement at the same time Elaine scolds, “Don’t you dare involve yourself. Leave them alone.”
She huffs out a breath, shooting her daughter-in-law an agitated look.
“So dramatic. Isn’t she, Charlie?” We all look to where he was sitting but find the seat now unoccupied.
“Oh look, you’re perfect for each other.
” She rolls her eyes. “Now everyone go grab your coats before I change my mind to take a nap instead. Charles Sommers, go warm up the car!”
“On it!” he yells from somewhere in the house and not long after, the sound of the door that leads to the garage opens and shuts.
Everyone departs to do as the woman says while Mason heads outside to find Charles and Willa takes her daughter to the bathroom.
I remain seated, already dressed for the festival.
I stare out beyond the windows, watching the waves crash along the shoreline.
It’s such a peaceful life here—aside from the bickering, which I happen to enjoy.
It’s not the kind of arguing that ends in bloodshed; it’s the kind that’s resolved at the last word.
The day always carries on as it was before like it never happened.
I’m glad that this is where Andrea grew up; that these are her people .
“You look at my granddaughter with love in your eyes,” Grams says gently now that there are no listening ears.
I glance over at her; unaware she was watching me so closely. “She means a great deal to me,” I admit openly, unashamed with how I feel about Andrea.
My words make her smile. “And then some.”
I nod, chuckling softly. “And then some.”
“You mean a great deal to her as well.”
I shift a little in the chair, the wood creaking.
“I hope so,” is my response, but don’t I know that I do?
No one has ever made me feel as cared for as Andrea does.
There’s love in her touch and in her words.
She tells me exactly what I need to hear and makes me feel like a man possessed.
I’ve never imagined being so in sync with another person.
I want nothing more than to handle her with the care she deserves. I hope I’m always worthy of her.
“For a man who seems confident in all areas of life. Why not this one?”
I half grin, half wince. “If you knew my track record, you’d understand.”
She hums, growing thoughtful. “May I see your hands, dear?” she requests.
Hesitating for a moment, I place my hands on the table. She turns them over, revealing my palms. She hums again, brows furrowing. “What is it?”
She looks up at me, her eyes softening. “Your poor soul.” My instinct is to pull my hands away, but I refrain from doing so. I watch as she goes back to study the lines on my palm. With a shake of her head, she says, “Your life has not always been this, has it?”
“No,” I force out .
“You’ve experienced more pain in your childhood than most do in a lifetime. . .or ever.” Her voice carries a soothing tone as she continues, “The wounds are deep like the undiscovered depths of the sea. You know it is there even when you dare not look.”
My heart is a steady beat, which conflicts with the racing of my mind.
“You are no stranger to heartbreak. It follows you,” she states. “But here. . .shows that destiny will meet you halfway when you are ready.”
“When I’m ready?” I question, drawn into her assessment.
She nods. “Though the past is behind you, you will still face many circumstances that will define your future. You must not let what has happened to you be the reason something doesn’t happen to you.
” I listen to her words in earnest, holding them closely to my chest. “It only ends when you make it.”
“What ends?”
“The war inside of you,” she answers. “There is much love within you to give, but when will you accept it in return?”