Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
“Ms. Lily,” Bash said, tugging on her arm at the end of the pageant rehearsal, the red-and-blue-Spider-Man mask he refused to take off, sliding down to cover one eye. “Watch this!” He twisted his wrists and crouched, pretending to shoot webs across the studio floor.
“Nice, Bash,” Lily said, suitably impressed. “Although the three wise men traditionally bring gold, frankincense, and myrrh, not Spider-Man webs.”
Bash puffed up proudly. “Yeah, but if Baby Jesus needed saving from bad guys, I’d totally handle it.”
“I’d smash a bad guy with my Hulk fists—” another boy started, pounding his fist into his palm for good measure.
“Hold on,” Lily cut in quickly, well aware of how fast her trio of wise men could descend into imaginary bloodshed.
She crouched to their level and smiled. “This is a Christmas pageant, not a superhero smackdown. How about this—if anyone needs saving on stage, we call in the angels to carry them off. Much less mess to clean up. Agreed?”
The boys looked at the little angels in the corner, who were taking off their wings. Bash frowned. “But they don’t even have swords.”
“Maybe they can use their halos as a secret weapon?” Zeke offered.
“Okay, superheroes,” Lily said, laughing, “Off you go. Don’t forget to practice your lines.”
The boys scattered toward their waiting parents, still arguing about which Avenger would win in Bethlehem.
Savvie and Tessa were fighting about who got to hold baby Jesus, but Allie had just arrived to pick them up.
Lily waved as they left, still bickering, then caught sight of one little angel struggling with her wings in the corner.
“Need some help, Chloe?” she asked, kneeling down. Chloe nodded, and Lily began untangling the straps, chatting quietly with her. “You were amazing today, sweetheart. You knew all your cues, and did I hear you humming?”
Chloe looked up, her eyes sparkling, and nodded shyly.
Lily’s heart nearly burst. “I’m so proud of you.”
Chloe raised two fingers to mimic counting steps. Lily mirrored her slowly and clearly. “Exactly. Just like that. Show me the spin you did when we practiced.”
Chloe twirled, a small, tentative spin. At Lily’s encouraging nod, she spun again—this time smiling from ear to ear.
“Beautiful!” Lily clapped, delighted by her progress. This wasn’t the same silent, somber little girl from months ago. Chloe was starting to bloom, and Lily felt her own heart swell with every step.
Her skirt settled around her knees as she stopped spinning, breathless with the effort. She looked up at Lily for approval, cheeks pink and curls damp with sweat.
Lily smoothed a flyaway strand back gently. “You’ve worked so hard, sweetheart. You know what I see when you dance now?”
Chloe blinked at her.
“Confidence.” Lily nodded. “You’re a very brave girl, Chloe Whitmore.”
Chloe’s lips parted like she might say something, but only a tiny, soundless breath came out. Then she ducked her head, smiling.
Lily swallowed around the lump in her throat.
Some days her job wasn’t just about teaching steps and keeping the pageant on track—it was about this.
Watching students bloom. Chloe was proof that healing was possible, that even from the most painful experiences, light could find its way into the smallest cracks of darkness.
Of course, Lily’s thoughts turned to the one person she’d been trying not to think about all week.
Rush.
The last time she’d seen him—on his couch a week ago when they played the dirtiest game of show-and-tell of her life—she’d felt him teeter on the edge of opening up, his tension vibrating palpably from his body, and then, like always, she’d watched him slam that door closed.
What came after had been sex, raw and consuming, the kind that left her reeling with satisfaction, yet somehow emptier as the week went on too.
Since that night, he’d texted her a few times. Brief check-ins in his signature blunt style that kept him in her orbit without letting her closer.
Not that she was chasing more. At least, she reassured herself, she wasn’t. Although if she was honest, Rush was the kind of man a woman could lose her heart to without meaning to. He was honorable and good, whether he saw it in himself or not.
Still, she couldn’t ignore the pattern. He kept her at arm’s length with his body, using pleasure like a wall between them. Only when that wall cracked did she glimpse the pain he carried. And oh, how it ached—knowing he was punishing himself for something out of his control.
But standing there with Chloe, Lily knew the truth: Connection didn’t break you. It saved you.
“Ready for the big night?” she asked, helping Chloe into her coat and hat.
Chloe nodded, giving Lily’s hand a squeeze.
This was what she wanted: family, belonging, love.
The ache of it hadn’t left after Tucker, although it had subsided for now.
What she was doing with Rush wasn’t that, but it was a chance to experience something new.
Maybe learn something about herself she’d missed out on all the years she’d been stalled with Tucker.
A movement near the door caught her eye. It was Rush, fresh from the cold. He was in street clothes today—worn jeans and a gray Henley peeking from the collar of his sheepskin coat. Instead of his Stetson, he wore a ball cap pulled low over his eyes.
“Brought this for you.” He held out the to-go cup steaming in his hand.
The sound of his voice—that deep, rich baritone—reminded her far too vividly of the last time they were together.
The last of her pageant parents were bundling their kids into coats and sneaking curious looks at the sheriff of Northfield, so out of place in her dainty studio filled with tutus and halos. Rush gave them his polite nod, but his attention stayed pinned on her.
Which was unfair because she was still in her leotard—black again, this time with pale-pink tights—and her curls had escaped her bun.
She felt rumpled and tired after their late night together.
Hardly glamorous. Meanwhile, he strode in looking like sin, the kind of hot that made women trip over themselves in the grocery aisle when they saw him—and he was staring at her.
She resisted the urge to fan herself as he made his way over, her pulse at hot-yoga level, dragging her right back to their slow, wicked strip-show game on his couch last week.
“Thank you,” she murmured quickly, taking the cup he offered to cover the flutter in her chest. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Figured you’d need it after pageant rehearsal,” he said, his gaze taking in the leftover tinsel and crooked angel wings still scattered across the room. “I heard your wise men are bloodthirsty.”
“You figured right.” The warmth seeped into her palm and, traitorously, deeper than that.
A tug at her skirt pulled her back to earth. Lily glanced down. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Chloe stood there, curls neatly tucked under her hat, staring up with solemn blue eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Lily scanned the nearly empty room for the Whitmores. “Your grandma should be here any minute. Want to wait with me?”
Chloe shook her head, tugging again.
Lily bent to eye level. “Bathroom? Snack?”
Another shake. Chloe darted to the cubbies and returned clutching a folded sheet of paper to her chest.
“Oh, you made something.” Lily reached for it, but Chloe shook her head firmly. Then she turned, those big blue eyes locking straight onto Rush.
Lily’s breath caught. “It’s… for the sheriff?”
Beside her, Rush went rigid, his shoulders locking tight as if bracing for a fight.
His face, partially hidden beneath the brim of his hat, gave nothing away.
But Lily felt the tension radiating off him, raw and jagged, like he was holding back a tide that threatened to break loose.
It was the same look he’d worn that day outside her studio when he’d seen Chloe for the first time—frozen. Stricken.
For a long moment, he didn’t move.
Chloe nodded and held the paper out toward him with both hands.
Please, Lily begged silently. Please don’t shut her down.
At last, he reached for the picture as if Chloe had handed him a live grenade. His big hand dwarfed the rumpled paper as he unfolded it as carefully as if it were made of glass.
A crooked sun smiled from the corner. Two stick figures stood beneath—one tall with a wide circle of a hat, the other small with a halo of squiggle curls.
Tears threatened to choke Lily. Chloe had drawn them together.
Rush’s face turned to stone. Lily could almost feel the storm gathering inside him, chaos roiling just beneath his skin, threatening to tear through the seams of his composure. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t push. This was between Rush and Chloe.
He cleared his throat; the muscles working were visible to everyone. “Thank you.”
Chloe’s face lit up. She rocked back on her heels and let out a huff of delight, and Lily’s chest nearly exploded with emotion.
“She worked on that all week, hoping to see you,” Margaret Whitmore said quietly from the doorway. Her eyes glistened, and Lily knew she saw what Chloe and the entire town did: a man who carried the weight of the life he couldn’t save instead of the one he did.
Mrs. Whitmore guided Chloe to the door. The little girl looked back once, her eyes solemn, and she lifted her hand in a shy wave.
Rush lifted his hand—too late. He didn’t move until the door clicked shut.
Then he turned away sharply. He tore off his hat and shoved a hand through his hair.
She didn’t press. She didn’t even move, sensing he needed a moment to wrestle his emotions back under lock and key.
He put his hands on his hips, tipping his head back with a heavy sigh. “Christ. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“What were you expecting?” Lily asked softly.
“That she’d be scared of me,” he admitted with a humorless laugh.
“She’s not,” Lily said. “She remembers you helping.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the drawing. “I didn’t know what to say to her.”
“You said exactly the right thing.”
For a beat, she thought he might say more, but then his gaze caught hers, and the air between them shifted again.
She went to him, rising on her toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw, right where the muscles still clenched beneath the stubble. He didn’t move, so she tried again, brushing her parted lips along the strong column of his throat.
Gentle. Healing.
He exhaled raggedly. Then his hand came up, sliding to the nape of her neck, tilting her face to his. His thumb swept across her cheek, and only then did she realize there were tears.
“You are so goddamn good, Lily,” he said roughly.
She curled her fingers around his wrists, holding on. “So are you,” she whispered, wishing he believed it.
But instead of kissing her, he let her go and stepped back, breaking their connection. “I should go. Rachel and Sarah are meeting me at the nursing home to see Pop.”
She nodded, forcing a smile as he tugged up the collar of his coat and left, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.
When are you going to stop running, Rush?