Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lily was already waiting out front of her studio, nearly skipping in her excitement.
She spotted him and waved, a smile that stopped him in his tracks spreading across her face.
The front windows were fogged from the crush of people inside for her holiday open house, and music drifted out every time the door opened and closed.
Like the rest of Main Street, the studio was part of the Candlelight Night celebration. She had canceled evening classes, and she and Evie were splitting hostess duties, giving the visitors who stopped by a sneak peek of the pageant performance.
He walked through the streams of people on the sidewalk, meaning to give her a quick hug, but instead he found himself stopping dead in front of her.
“Sheriff Callahan,” someone called, and half a dozen heads turned his way.
Rush lifted a hand, forcing a nod as kids darted past and someone clapped him on the shoulder.
One elderly man in a beaver hat stopped long enough to thank him for checking on his wife after her fall last week.
A boy in a red puffer coat asked him where Riggs was.
Down the street, a group of teenage girls yelled something that sounded suspiciously like “Sheriff Sexy,” as they ran off, giggling maniacally.
Rush never took his eyes off Lily.
Her cheeks were rosy pink, first from the cold, no doubt, but the longer he stared at her, the deeper the flush grew.
Her curls escaped from under her hat, and a scarf looped around her neck, hiding where else the blush covered.
She looked like every one of his fantasies, and she was waiting for him.
He reached out and took her mittened hands and pulled her into his chest just to breathe her in for a moment. She smelled like lavender, and she was warm against his chest. He meant to let go, but she tilted her head back to look at him, and he couldn’t move.
“Hi,” she said. There was glitter on her cheek, probably from the halos, and the sight did something to him.
He wanted to devour her right here, drag her back home, strip her clothes off, and bury himself in all that sweetness.
When he’d turned into a caveman, he didn’t know, but Lily had always brought out his basest instincts.
See her. Want her. Keep her.
He shook his head at his ridiculous thoughts.
“Hey,” he replied. It came out rougher than he had intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You look beautiful.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks. “So do you. I mean—you look handsome.” She laughed self-consciously, and he forgot to breathe.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Ben, in full uniform and on patrol. He gave Rush a quick two-finger salute, smirking when he caught sight of where his attention was focused.
A painfully sharp note from a caroler inside sliced through his haze, and he eased back another inch, pulse still hammering away, to find her green eyes dancing.
“Those are my students,” she said, nodding toward the studio’s door. “I’d know Bash’s pitch anywhere.”
Right on cue, another off-key blast from “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” made them both wince.
“Aren’t you their director?”
“Evie’s in charge of the vocals and acting.
I can only take credit for the choreography.
I did my part earlier, so I could walk with you now.
Let’s go,” she said, tugging his hand. “You can see the whole thing come together next week, if you want,” she added almost shyly.
“I know you might have plans with your family, but…”
Rush shook his head. “Only plans I have are with Riggs.”
The sidewalks were jammed full of people bundled up to visit Northfield for the annual Candlelight Night.
The village went all out with decorations, and all the shops and businesses on Main Street handed out hot chocolate and cookies.
Horse-drawn carriage rides, a visit from Santa, and ice-skating on the canal, which had been drained to create a skating rink surrounded by string lights.
It wasn’t really his thing to wander in crowds, but Lily stopped by each shop, waving and hugging everyone, and he was content to simply be in her orbit.
She was clearly known and loved by many.
It wasn’t hard to see why. With Lily, her sweetness wasn’t an act.
It was bone-deep, and she poured it out on everyone she touched.
He couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if she ever gave it all to him.
They wove their way toward the gazebo, where more carolers, older and more talented, from the sound of it, sang.
“Hmm,” Lily said, sipping her cider. “They’re pretty good. We should try recruiting them.”
“Not a terrible idea,” he said dryly.
She tipped her head up to look at him, her eyes sparkling with humor.
He couldn’t wait a second longer. He bent and kissed her, right there on Main Street.
Warm, sweet cinnamon and cider lingered on her pretty lips. When she parted for him, he caught her bottom lip gently between his teeth, savoring the little gasp of surprise she gave him.
People streamed past them on the sidewalk, but he didn’t care. Not when she was pressed against him, her mittened hands fisting his coat to pull him closer. He kissed her deeper, angling his mouth over hers, taking every bit she gave and giving it back.
He dimly registered the buzz of voices and boots crunching on the snowy sidewalks around them. Someone cleared their throat pointedly. It probably wasn’t a good look for the sheriff to maul the pretty ballerina in the middle of a winter festival, but he didn’t give a fuck. Caveman.
She made a tiny sound in the back of her throat—half sigh, half whimper—that nearly undid him.
It was too much, too public, too close to the edge. He dragged his mouth away from hers, breathing hard. Her eyes fluttered open, lips swollen and parted like she wanted more. She flicked her tongue across them as if she could still taste him.
A sharp shriek pulled his gaze toward the canal.
The makeshift rink stretched wide under the lights, full of skaters looping the ice while little kids weaved around them, holding plastic chairs to keep them upright.
His stomach turned over. He’d been avoiding looking that way since he’d arrived there.
“Look,” Lily said, pointing at a bobbing pink cap moving across the rink. Mrs. Whitmore held onto one side of the plastic chair, and Chloe held onto the other. Chloe was smiling, and then she laughed, high and bright.
“She’s started talking again,” Lily murmured, watching along with him. “Just a few words but more each time I see her.”
He couldn’t answer. His throat was closing. The lights, the shrieks, the scrape of skates—they all pressed in until he wasn’t sure where he was anymore. He knew logically, but his heart hammered in that wild, punishing way that told him he was losing the fight.
Breathe. Goddammit, breathe.
“Rush,” Lily said, but he could barely hear her over the whooshing in his ears. “Let’s sit down. Come on.”
He grabbed her wrist and let her pull him into the empty gazebo, sitting where she guided him until they were side by side.
“Hey,” she was saying. “You’re okay. Breathe with me. In…” She did it with him, long steady breaths. “… and out.”
He concentrated on her voice and her touch, the way she rubbed his hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss the back. He clung to that and breathed through the chaos until the noise dulled and air finally eased into his lungs again.
He yanked his hat off and shoved his hand through his hair as shame crawled hot under his skin. Fuck. He was supposed to be protecting her. Not falling apart like a train wreck.
Her green eyes, wide and worried now, searched his face. “How long have you had panic attacks?”
He jerked his hand back from hers and shoved it into his coat pocket to hide the shaking. “I’m fine.”
“What just happened is normal after what you’ve been through, Rush,” she said, too gentle. “It’s your body remembering. Have you ever thought about therapy—”
“Don’t,” he said brusquely. “I’ve been. Sat in the chair, said the words, checked the boxes. It didn’t fix a damn thing.” Then, because he wanted to change the pity in her eyes to something—anything else—he lashed out. “No amount of chanting or mantras will bring back Caroline Whitmore, Lily.”
Her lips parted, and hurt flashed across her face, but she didn’t lash back. That gutted him worse than the panic had. He fucking loved Lily’s approach to the world. What was wrong with him?
She blinked at him, still calm, which only made the shame burn hotter. Christ. He was the sheriff. People were supposed to look to him in a crisis, not watch him fall apart on a damn park bench while the whole town skated circles around him.
“I know it won’t, but—” she started.
He pushed to his feet and grabbed his hat. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the studio.”
She didn’t say anything on the walk back up Main Street. When they reached her door, the studio windows glowed, full of parents and kids laughing and dancing to music. It was her world—warm, bright, alive. Everything he wasn’t.
“Want to come inside?” she asked quietly, still looking at him with those soft green eyes that saw too much.
He looked away. “Not tonight. Good night, Lily,” he said instead, stepping back off the curb.
She hesitated at the bottom of the steps while he waited, in pure agony, for the words he deserved.
You’re a mess.
A failure.
Not enough.
But she said nothing. She slipped inside, and he was left in the cold with the burn of self-disgust tightening his throat.
Lily closed the studio door behind her and sagged against it, surveying the carnage of open house. The studio looked like a glitter bomb had gone off—streamers tangled in the barre, sequins ground into the floor, and half the pageant costumes stuffed haphazardly into their plastic tubs.
“Looks like the open house was a hit,” she said brightly, though her voice wobbled on the last word.