Chapter 27
SADIE
My head’s been on a constant swivel ever since we got into town. It’s not like I expect to see Stetson at A Dickens Christmas. Locals don’t hang out here, but you never know, and it’s the unknown that has me tied into knots.
“Man, they can sing,” Nash says over the song.
I lift my lips, trying to fake as much interest in this event as him.
The performers hit the last note of “Deck the Halls,” and the crowd claps and cheers.
“These actors are amazing!” Nash gawks. “I really feel like I’m in the Victorian Era.”
Instead of searching for Stetson, I should be soaking up my stranger-husband’s pure enjoyment. It is cute watching him. There’s a simple happiness about Nash that I admire, especially right now when dark clouds seem to constantly hover over me, choking out the sunlight.
“There’s Scrooge.” He points to the other side of the gazebo. “Come on, let’s go talk to him.”
He grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd of people. I glance down at our joined fingers. Shouldn’t there be a spark of something? A flicker of butterflies? A feeling that tells me this is right? Because I just don’t feel it.
“Scrooge!” Nash drops his hand from mine, extending it to the actor. “Merry Christmas.”
“Bah humbug!” Scrooge huffs, pushing Nash’s hand away as he rushes past us.
“Where are you going?” he asks the old miser.
“Bob Cratchit! I’ll skin him and turn him into a jacket when I find him. A Cratchit jacket!”
Another happy smile from Nash as he points to the actor. “I love this guy!” His eyes go wide, and he abandons Scrooge, distracted by something else more exciting. “Is that a horse-drawn carriage ride?”
I follow his gaze. “Yeah, you have to pay for it, though.”
“We were going to do that in Switzerland.”
“We were?”
If I hadn’t gotten in the accident, I’d be celebrating Christmas in Switzerland right now. That information slipped my mind this past week with everything else going on.
“We were going to do everything in Switzerland. It was the trip of a lifetime.”
“I’m sorry you had to cancel it because of me.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
He steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The tips of his fingers graze the side of my face and ear, sending a shudder of anxiety down my spine. My muscles tense at his touch, and I hold my breath, waiting for the sensation to end.
“I know we’ll go again.”
Nash’s optimism fills my chest with more anxiety. My memory may never come back, and if it doesn’t, I can’t see myself traveling the world with him.
“But until we get to Switzerland, we have the horse-drawn carriage in Skaneateles.” His arm swings out to me in a dramatic gesture. “Come for a ride with me.”
It’s not really a question.
And I don’t want to seem like I’m not trying to be happy or that I’m not grateful I’m alive and walking around, because I am. But no amount of gratitude can fill the void inside me. It’s not just my mind that’s hollow. It’s my heart too—clinging onto a life from three and a half years ago that doesn’t exist anymore.
“Okay,” I give in, lightly placing my hand in his.
Nash leads me to the horses and makes all the arrangements with the driver.
“He offered me a blanket to keep you warm, but I told him it wasn’t necessary.” He winks. “I’ll keep you warm with my body heat.”
I don’t know if it’s panic or disgust on my face, but whatever it is, it makes Nash laugh.
“Relax! I’m kidding. There are blankets under the bench seat.”
I climb into the carriage, scooting over to the side as much as possible without making it look like I’m trying to avoid sitting by him. He spreads one of the blankets over me and then sits down. I try not to be annoyed by how close he is to me compared to the rest of the open bench seat.
The horses begin their steps, jolting the carriage forward. The clap of hooves on the pavement has a calming rhythm. I shift in my seat, trying to relax and lean into the beats.
On the sidewalk, the Ghost of Christmas Past says a famous line from A Christmas Carol to a watching crowd. “I told you these were shadows of the things that have been, that they are what they are, do not blame me!”
The words strike deep into my soul as my eyes drift to Nash. He’s what remains from the choices I made years ago. I can’t go back and change marrying him or avoid the path I put myself on. The thought weighs like a brick in my heart, tanking it down into my ribcage.
“I’m glad you came out today.” He smiles back at me. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m worried about myself,” I mutter.
“Did you watch Tate’s funeral?”
“I did. It was helpful. Thanks for finding it for me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I saw in the video that you were there. Gutsy to come all that way when you knew I had a boyfriend.”
“You didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“What do you call Stetson, then?” I scoff.
“An ex -boyfriend. Stetson broke up with you the week before you moved to Chicago because he was upset you accepted the internship and were moving away.”
My brows lower in absolute shock.
I can’t believe Stetson would do something like that.
I’ll have to ask Autumn about it later. My current husband isn’t likely to give me the details I’m seeking. But I had to have been heartbroken or just really mad.
“Besides,” Nash continues, “I didn’t come to Tate’s funeral to steal your heart away from Stetson. I came because I knew firsthand how difficult losing a brother is.”
“Oh, right.” A dawn of recognition hits, and guilt wraps around my stomach. “I forgot your brother died too.”
“It’s okay.”
“You probably think I'm so selfish that I didn’t remember, that I only think about myself.”
“You've been through a lot in the last month and a half. You should be thinking about yourself. And a lot of information is being thrown at you right now.”
“I know, but I'm sure this is hard for you too, and I’m not giving a lot in return.”
His green eyes soften. “My love for you isn’t a transactional thing. It’s constant. No matter what.”
I glance down, blinking the sting of tears away. It’s overwhelming to be loved that much and not feel the same. I don’t know how to reconcile that in my mind.
“But I will say,” Nash’s tone lightens, “you’re different.”
“How so?”
A playful smile smears across his lips. “For starters, the old you was obsessed with me, and this version…not so much.”
“Obsessed with you?”
“That’s right.” He leans back, resting his foot over his knee with all the confidence in the world.
In the hospital, Nash’s cockiness rubbed me the wrong way, but now I think it’s more about him being comfortable with who he is.
I envy that so much.
I’ve never felt more un comfortable with my own identity.
I shake my head. “I’m not the type of woman who’d be obsessed with a man. In this thing, I think your memory is failing you .”
“I would believe you or maybe question myself, except I have three years’ worth of data to pull from that proves otherwise.”
“Like what? I mean, besides the obvious that I married you.”
“You kissed me first.”
My mouth drops open. “I did not!”
“You did.” He smirks. “I was kind of bummed about it—not bummed. I’d been dying to kiss you for months, but I just wanted that masculine moment where I dip you and kiss the crap out of you. You took that moment from me because you were so obsessed.”
I roll my eyes, unsure if I believe a word coming out of his mouth.
“I’d give you a few more examples of your obsession, but I don’t want to embarrass you.”
“That’s just your excuse since you have nothing else to say.”
“Trust me.” He gazes at me with glimmering green eyes. “A highlight reel plays in my mind every night.”
I push his arm. “Oh my gosh!”
He leans away, laughing, and I feel like if we can’t be lovers, maybe we could at least be friends.
But in my heart, I know Nash would never be satisfied with just friends.
And I might not ever want more.