Chapter 8 Roan
ROAN
Maybe it says bad things about my social life, but eating pizza on a picnic blanket on the floor of the bookshop with Taylor is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
I love watching her pull a slice out of the box, her eyes lighting up as the cheese stretches. She plucks a fallen piece of pepperoni off the cardboard and pops it in her mouth too, moaning in approval, utterly unembarrassed to absolutely revel in her meal.
“What?” she asks, hand covering her full mouth.
“I just like seeing a woman who doesn’t mind a good piece of pizza,” I hear myself admit out loud.
“So, you normally go out with I’ll-have-a-side-salad types?” she teases.
“There’s nothing wrong with a good side salad,” I protest and she groans at me, rolling her eyes. “As long as it’s beside a steak and a loaded baked potato.”
That earns me a laugh and a high five, and I feel like a smitten teen all over again.
“I like this side of you,” she tells me, taking a big sip of her Coke. “Why isn’t he around more?”
“He’s around,” I joke. “I just keep him locked up.”
“Let him out more,” she suggests and then takes another enormous bite of pizza.
I can’t help smiling as I watch her. Everything is a celebration with this girl, whether it’s ripping up carpet, hanging up lights, or simply eating a slice of pizza. It’s like she’s from a different planet than I am, like she doesn’t belong in my life at all.
“What are you doing here?” I wonder out loud.
“Destroying a pizza with my landlord,” she says, and winks.
But she doesn’t keep eye contact, and I’m left wondering all over again what brought her here. There’s not much for her to run to in Angel Mountain, just this shabby bookshop. Which means she was probably running from something.
But from what I can tell so far, she just doesn’t seem like the type of person to back down from a challenge. I can’t picture her shuffling away from anything with her tail between her legs.
Proof is in the pudding though, because she’s here. Maybe we’re two peas in a pod after all.
“Okay, I have to stop,” she says, placing down a half-eaten piece. “Or I won’t be able to get anything done.”
“Right in the middle of a slice?” I ask.
“Sorry,” she says.
“No problem,” I tell her. “I’ll take care of it.”
She pushes her plate toward me and I knock out the rest of her slice in two bites.
“So, are we organizing books today?” I ask her as she gathers up our plates and napkins.
“I think Meg was really looking forward to helping with that,” she tells me, stopping in the midst of her cleanup. “Would it be okay with you if we did some decorating tonight instead?”
Her caring about what might be important to my daughter hits me right in the heart, and for a second I forget to breathe.
“Yeah,” I say as I recover. “Of course. Actually, I know just what you need in here.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“A Christmas tree,” I tell her.
Her eyes light up and then she gets this look on her face. I think I know what it means.
She’s on a budget. The whole world is these days, but we’re talking about something I have plenty of, more than enough to share.
“It’s on the house, of course,” I tell her right away.
“Oh, no,” she says quickly. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I tell her. “And besides, when your customers love it, you can always point them next door.”
“Really?” she asks, looking excited again.
“Absolutely,” I tell her. “Want to pick one out now?”
“Yes,” she says, hopping up and depositing our plates and leftovers on the bookshop counter.
We pull our coats back on and head out into the night.
Buck is talking with a man and woman who are looking at the biggest trees we have, and I’m surprised and happy to see another customer looking around.
“Hey,” the familiar older lady says. “You have such a nice selection this year.”
I’m technically not on duty, but I don’t want to be rude. I glance at Taylor, and she gestures for me to help the customer.
“Thank you for stopping by,” I say. “Aren’t you Tim Chetfield’s mom?”
“Yes,” she says, looking super pleased. “Tim just told me he’s coming back with the wife and kids for the holidays, and I don’t want him to catch me without a real Christmas tree.”
“That’s great,” I tell her, meaning it. “Tim’s a great guy. What’s he up to these days?”
She tells me all about his success in some kind of tech sales that neither one of us really understands while we choose a noble fir for her that should last easily through Tim’s visit.
“Oh, it’s just beautiful,” she sighs as I ring her up. “I should treat myself every year.”
“Why don’t you?” I ask her.
“Oh, it seems like a lot of trouble just for me,” she says. “And then I have to get one of the neighbor kids to help me get it home.”
“Don’t you live in town?” I ask her, frowning.
“We sold the house to pay for Tim’s college,” she says. “I’m in the sweetest little apartment over the clothing store now.”
She points to the fancy menswear place just halfway down the block.
“I’ll bring it over for you,” I tell her.
I turn to Taylor again. I know that I’m supposed to be here with her, and I don’t want to leave her hanging, but she just smiles and nods to me.
“You don’t have to do that,” Mrs. Chetfield says, but I can see that she wants me to.
“It’s no trouble at all,” I assure her.
“Thank you for sharing him with me,” she says, turning to Taylor.
It’s pretty clear that she thinks Taylor is my girlfriend. My stomach twists as I wait for Taylor to set the record straight.
“I think there’s enough of him to go around,” she says instead.
Mrs. Chetfield chuckles and Taylor smiles at her before heading back to check out the trees in the back of the lot.
I hoist the tree over my shoulder and accompany Mrs. Chetfield to her place. It’s not far, and she talks up a storm on the way, telling me about Tim’s kids.
“That girl back there is a keeper,” Mrs. Chetfield tells me quietly as I set the tree down in her tidy living room. “She really puts a smile on your face.”
“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” I say right away.
“Well, you’d better do something about that,” she says, fishing around in her purse and pulling out a dollar to offer as a tip.
“No, no,” I tell her, pushing her hand away and heading for the door. “It’s my pleasure. Thank you for buying from me. Means the world to the family.”
“Take care of yourself, Roan Connelly,” she calls after me. “And think about what I said.”
I don’t want to, but I do think about what she said. I think about it all the way down the narrow staircase. I think about it as I walk down the street.
And I can’t help thinking about it when I spot Taylor holding out a small but perfectly proportioned Fraser fir. The lights glimmer in her dark hair and her smile is tinged with wonder.
Where have you been all my life?
I don’t know where the thought comes from, but I’m helpless to stop it as I stand there watching her eyes caress the little tree.
Suddenly, I want to be that tree—I want her to look at me like I might just light up her life.
She spots me, and I wonder if my thoughts are written all over my face.
“I think this is it,” she calls excitedly. “What do you think?”
“You have a good eye,” I tell her as my feet start moving again, bringing my brain along for the ride. “That’s a Fraser fir and it’s a really nice one. I thought you would pick something bigger though. You can choose any tree you want.”
“This is the one for me,” she says. “I don’t need a big tree. This one is perfect.”
“Let’s get it to its new home then,” I suggest.
She steps back so I can lift it up. It’s nice to just carry the tree next door without having to wrap it up in netting or anything.
Taylor jogs ahead and opens the door for me.
Once we’re inside, she points to a spot near the counter and I see right away that this really is just the right tree for the space.
With the window behind it, the tree will be visible from almost all angles. And the shop isn’t terribly big, but the tree will pack a lot of punch since the counter is a focal point for the lights and the shelves.
“Oh, it’s perfect,” she sighs happily as I place it down.
“We just need one more thing,” I tell her. “Stay here.”
I always keep a couple of extra tree stands in my truck for the folks who don’t have one yet. I grab one and head back in to find her pulling a bag out from behind the counter.
“Lights,” she says, holding them up. “Oh, a tree stand. I didn’t even think of that. How much do I owe you?”
“No charge,” I tell her. “But you have to let me help you decorate.”
“Deal,” she says, turning those luminous brown eyes my way. “But we’re gonna need some music.”
She switches on the radio and Elvis is wailing “Santa Bring My Baby Back to Me.”
“Such a good one,” she says happily.
When she starts humming and dancing a little as she pulls strands of lights out of her shopping bag, I’m half-tempted to sing along with The King myself.
But I’ve still got a little pride, so I apply myself to expertly winding the colorful lights around the little tree instead.
“Should we do the shelves too?” she asks.
“How about I put one around the ceiling?” I offer. “We can do the shelves once you’re sure you have them where you want them.”
“Perfect,” she says.
I grab a ladder from my truck, and when I get back she offers me hot cocoa.
“That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” I say.
I start hanging lights and by the time I’m done, she’s holding out a mug of hot cocoa.
“Would you like to do the honors?” she asks, indicating the outlet where I’m about to plug in the lights.
“It would be my pleasure,” I tell her.
The night has taken on a surreal quality. I’m not a hundred percent sure it isn’t some kind of dream.
She flips out the lights in the shop and then makes a drum roll sound with her tongue as I plug the cord into the outlet.
Just like earlier in the tree lot, it’s magical. The whole shop is glowing and the little tree looks incredible with the big lights out. All she needs is some ornaments.
Before I can suggest it, there’s an electric thunk and all of a sudden all the lights are out.
“Oh no,” she murmurs.
“I should have seen that coming,” I say. “We probably overloaded a breaker. Stay here, okay.”
I slide my phone out of my pocket and touch the flashlight icon just as Taylor does the same.
“It’s kind of spooky in here with just these,” she whispers.
“You okay on your own up here for a minute?” I ask her. “You could wait over in the lot with Buck if you want.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “Just hurry back up, okay.”
“Look through the window at all your pretty lights,” I suggest.
The lights she put up earlier are glowing through the window and I watch her admire them for a moment before I head down to the basement.
I don’t think the shop is scary even in the dark, but I’m guessing she would think the basement is a little spooky no matter the time of day. I chuckle to myself as I head down the rickety wooden stairs, glad that I’m here to take care of this for her.
It’s an older panel, and I was already planning on updating some of the electrical.
Maybe I’ll replace the panel while I’m at it and see if I can get a dedicated line to the spot where she has all the lights and the tree and the cash register.
I definitely want to get more than one outlet over there. The place needs to be safe for her.
As soon I open the panel I find the thrown switch and flip it back. It stays put and I hear Taylor cheering upstairs.
Heading back upstairs, I think to myself again how great it is to spend time with someone who’s just so happy.
When I reach the top of the steps, it’s darker than I expected.
“I unplugged the ceiling lights,” she tells me. “So we don’t flip the breaker again.”
“Good thinking,” I tell her, my eyes drawn to the little tree, which is now the only source of light in the shop.
“The Christmas tree is still plugged in,” she tells me needlessly.
We move toward it at once, as if we’ve been choreographed.
Taylor’s chin tilts up to me and her beautiful brown eyes are dancing in the colorful reflected light. In them, I see all the good things I’ve been denying myself—someone to adore and take care of, someone who brings me out of myself.
I don’t think about it. One second I’m standing there, drowning in her eyes.
Then the next, I’m reaching out to cup her cheek in my hand.
She leans in slightly, her lips parting in surprise.
“Taylor,” I murmur, wondering if I’ve got this all wrong somehow.
But she’s already going up on her toes, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to lean down and just take the kiss I’ve been craving since the first time I saw her.
I surrender with a growl and I’m about to taste her pretty pink lips when the lights get brighter, specifically the red and blue ones. Only it’s not the tree. They are coming from the front window.
The woop-woop of a police siren pierces the night before I can even react to the lights, and I let my hand drop from her face as we both turn to the door.
Someone raps on it hard twice and then it flies open.
I’m instantly blinded by the strongest flashlight I’ve ever seen.
“Roan?” a familiar voice asks. “Roan Connelly?”
And if I needed anything to make me sure this wasn’t all some kind of dream, this does the trick.