Chapter 23 Amber
amber
Thankful that I had left clothes at Tate’s house, I escaped when he was leaving to take care of something with the village. I made it back to the house before James woke up.
Guilt followed me across the path. I darted across the yard, the snow crunching under my feet. Snowfall this early in the season wasn’t a good sign. I climbed the steps to the back door I’d added to the music room. I’d needed a larger door to get some of the instruments and equipment in.
I winced at the chaos from the previous night’s write-a-thon. We’d started with Diet Coke and ended with tequila shots. Which is what had given me the nerve to show up at Tate’s place in the wee hours of the morning. Pathetic as it was, I’d missed him.
I’d gotten used to sleeping with him a little too easily.
Two years with Julian and I’d never longed for him in my bed as I did with Tate—and not just the sex. Though that had shot past incomparable after the second time we’d been together. The warmth of him at my back was what I craved. Feeling safe. Wanting to share everything with him.
That was the scary part.
I’d molded myself to fit Julian.
With Tate, I was just Amber. He hadn’t run away when the paparazzi had chased us out of the salon and into the bookstore. He hadn’t run when we’d been surrounded at the orchard.
I wanted to believe he wasn’t going to run—period.
But we were in a bubble here in Haven. Would he still want me when I was gone for weeks on end? My fingers shook as I picked up the wrappers from our leftover Halloween candy. I curled them into my palms and fell onto my knees.
And because the only place I really processed my feelings was music, I dumped the mess in the waste bin then sat at my piano.
I let my fingers pick out notes at random until the melody locked in my chest flowed out of my fingers.
It was always the music first for me. The words grew out of the notes and chords whether it was my guitar or my piano.
He was lightning
I was the bottle
I sealed him tight inside, afraid he would fade
Instead, the flickers became a glow
And the glow became a warmth
That flowed into my hand
Liquid gold, honeyed and thick
He reminded me that he would stick
The proof of it grew from the unfathomable lightning
In a bottle
that had been hiding high on my shelf
tucked away
where I never thought he’d find me
“Girl, if you don’t record that I’m tossing you into the Hudson on my way back to Winchester Falls.”
I jumped and turned to find James in the doorway. Her inky flame hair was a mess around her shoulders. She wore an oversized black and red plaid shirt with running shorts in a ridiculous ultraviolet purple that made me laugh. “Sneaking around?”
She waggled the big glass of water in her hand. “I need to flush out the tequila. That was potent stuff. I’ll have to thank Nash for his donation.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Pretty sure I’m going to sweat it out all day myself. You’re a bad influence.”
“If that came out of you, seems like I’m a good one.” She sat near me on a club chair and picked up her blue Breedlove acoustic. Her long fingers picked out the notes that wrapped around mine in a layer that lifted the lyrics into a whispery lilt.
I opened my notes app and hit record as I sang it again, the emotion gathering and knotting in my throat with tears that wouldn’t be denied.
We changed the arrangement a little, and my voice went from clear as a bell to ethereal and full of longing.
Both of us sitting in silence for a moment at the end of the song.
I reached out to hit stop, then closed the cover over my keys.
“I think I love him, James.”
“You don’t say.”
I laughed at her wry voice. “He’s almost too good to be true.”
“You’ve had more than enough dipshits.”
“That is the truth.” I tucked my legs under the hoodie and looped my arms around my knees. “I’m just not sure love is enough.”
“You know, there are plenty of couples that are making this work. I mean, I don’t want that bullshit forever stuff, but Lindz is living the dream. She and Nash couldn’t be any more different.”
“Not really, he’s in the business. He gets it.”
“And your guy is Mister Let Me Take Care of Everyone. He’s just like you, only he has a dick.”
“I do not.”
“Oh, really? Who else would run your crazy business? Who would worry about the dancers, along with the stage crew and drivers? Who would make sure the people who made it to the end of your very successful tour—a very long tour, I might add—and made sure they had a one-of-a-kind bonus for each one?”
“That’s just good business.”
“Most artists do the bare minimum, and you know that.”
“So, two people-pleasers are going to make it in this world?”
“I don’t profess to know how to make anything work. All I can tell you is your instincts are screaming to be with this dude. Even I can see that. If you want to waste it, that’s your decision.” When I didn’t say anything, she set her guitar in the stand. “I need coffee.”
“Agreed.”
We went into the kitchen to find my mother was already up. She was prepping for Thanksgiving already and roped us into helping. My mother didn’t believe in post-Thanksgiving for holiday music. Thankfully, James was a good sport.
Even I sang along to a few of the songs.
High on cookies, mini pecan pies made from the leftover pie crust, and espresso-infused coffee, we ended up back in the music room.
We banged out two other songs that had been heavy on my heart and one that James had written during the studio sessions for Brooklyn Dawn’s last album.
It hadn’t fit the theme of that album. While it was a little rockier than my usual songs, it had a defiant edge that appealed to me.
We took a late day nap and when I woke up, darkness had fallen, and flashing lights lured me out of my bed to the window. I pulled my sheer curtains out of the way to get a better look. An arrow arched into the sky and headed for my house before disappearing into the night.
I went over to my phone on my charger to find a text from Tate.
Tate:
Come play for a minute.
How was I supposed to resist that?
I grabbed my Irish fisherman’s sweater and a pair of wool leggings to combat the cold night.
I snuck down the stairs to my music room and out the door.
I ran across the yard to the pass-through path to his property.
I hadn’t been over to the Wonderland in the last few days because he wanted me to see it all done.
It was the night before Thanksgiving and a few more inches of snow had fallen. It was just enough to coat the rooflines of the retail spaces and make the Christmas lights glow. I stepped on the path and laughed when it lit up. Candy canes lined the path until I reached the first shop.
Knitwear hats, gloves, and scarves in all sorts of colors and sizes were displayed in the frosted window.
Twinkle lights framed the window as well as each little pane of the closed doors.
I peered inside to find it softly lit with a skinny Christmas tree decorated with ornaments of every size—all knit.
Tiny sweaters, wrapped balls, intricate characters, and felted Santas were nestled in the branches.
The walls alternated between clothing and more felted woodland creatures that lured me closer.
There was a counter with a space for an iPad checkout station as well as a fleet of gift bags and ribbon.
The next shed was a chocolate paradise from fudge to delicate lace cookies drizzled in perfectly shiny tempered chocolate. I could practically smell the coco powder of the hot chocolate bar gift sets.
I trailed my fingers over the barrels of silk flowers dotted with frost. Sturdy wrought iron benches to rest and show off purchases were plentiful. A greedier man would have jammed every available inch with retail space, but not Nate.
He realized people needed space to talk and breathe in between the consumerism. I climbed the path, charmed when randomly every few stones lit up as if to lead you farther into the holiday haven.
More sheds exploded with Christmas, one with fancy premade wreaths as well as an ornate table between buildings where you could design your own wreath with racks of colorful combinations to make it sparkle or embrace the rustic nature elements.
Another space was created with handmade headbands that jingled with bells, brought you into Whoville, or simply gave you a few horns.
Elf hats in dozens of colors and combinations sat atop sparkly heads that lined the little storefront with shelves below overflowing with stacks of the display styles.
One wall was all Santa hats from a glitter explosion right down to the traditional red and white.
At the top of the first hill, it became an artists’ paradise with a combination of smaller and larger sheds to show off paintings, ceramics and pottery, blown glass, and at the center of it all was a large shed filled with stained glass wares with a star dangling from the gabled tip of its roofline.
It was framed out with lighted garland and shiny stars that made me want to press my nose to all the windows.
The artist had artfully backlit everything to show off the colored glass and leaded frames.
Sun catchers, windowpanes, and even delicately built lamp shades created a kaleidoscope of color and light.
Had he lit all these shops just for me?
I imagined it would normally be dark at this time of day.
Or perhaps it had been for the videos that he’d been filming for their social media.
But for now, I liked to believe it was for me. Showing off his dream for me.
At the top level he was sitting on one of the benches and my heart literally skittered to a halt.
I could see the tired around his eyes, but there was a simple joy there too.
Behind him was a gift wrap station with a trio of Christmas trees in full treatment with candy canes, lights, garland, and wooden ornaments that were probably hand carved.