Part 9 (1/2)
Oh, but he was right. One more night would have only left her wanting another, and another, and more after that. It was probably better he left when he did.
She lingered in the bathroom, dried her hair, put on makeup and high heels. It was Christmas, after all. She donned the long red dress. It was pretty, slinky and clingy.
And then she opened the bathroom door and heard music. She blinked, wondering if she'd left the radio on, or if her mother was getting even more talented in cross-plane communications. ”I'll Be Home for Christmas” was playing on the radio. It brought a teary smile to her face.
She walked slowly down the stairs, humming along, and stepped into the living room. All of her food was on the makes.h.i.+ft table. Her candles were lit, and the other lights were turned off.
Matthew was standing by the fire, staring at the flames, sipping a gla.s.s of wine. The hat was perched on his head. She froze, just stood there, staring at him, wondering if he was some kind of an illusion. When he looked up and saw her, he set the winegla.s.s on the mantle.
”I'd have been back sooner, but I had a stop to make.”
She wanted to rush into his arms. She wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to kiss his face off. But she forced herself to wait, to walk slowly to him, and not touch him. Not yet.
He took the hat off and said, ”Where did you get this, Holly?”
”From my Aunt Sheila. She got it from a homeless man who used to frequent the diner. He found it rolling down the street, he said. I've always liked quirky things like that, so she gave it to me.” She shrugged. ”When you told me about your dad's hat, I thought this might be like it, so-”
”It's not just like my dad's hat. Holly, this is my dad's hat.”
She blinked. ”I don't-”
”He put his initials inside. They're there. This is the same hat.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips.
”I think it's a sign. I mean, how could my dad's hat make its way from Flint, Michigan, to here? Why would it end up with you? Unless...somehow, we were...meant to...”
”Meant to...what?” she asked.
”I don't know. But I know I want to find out.” He handed her a card, in a large envelope, and she opened it. A couple of kids, a boy and a girl, building a snowman was on the front. She opened it and read the inside. ”You're why I love Christmas,” it read.
Her tears spilled over, and she flung herself into his arms.
”I want to buy this house,” he told her, holding her close. ”But not to flip it. I want us to fix it up together, and spend time here together, and just...just see where things lead.”
”You mean you don't know where they're going to lead?”
He stared into her eyes, searching them. ”Do you?”
She smiled. ”Yeah. We're going to live happily ever after.”
He smiled slowly as he lowered his mouth to hers. ”Okay.”
CHARLOTTE'S WEB.
Erin McCarthy.
One.
”I JUST HAVE ONE QUESTION,” WILL THORNTON SAID CASUALLY as he stood on a ladder and nailed fresh evergreen swags above Charlotte Murphy's front door.
”What?” Charlotte dragged her gaze off the seat of Will's jeans with a significant amount of effort, refusing to feel guilty. Lord, Will was slow sometimes. Her arms were straining under the weight of the boughs she was holding for him and her feet were getting cold in a hurry. Checking out the view he provided at eye level from his position on the ladder was fair compensation for the discomfort she was enduring.
”Who just grabbed my a.s.s?”
Charlotte almost fell off the front step. ”What? What are you talking about?” Okay, so maybe she had entertained the idea once-or nine hundred times-of cupping his backside and giving a nice, hard little squeeze, but she would never act on it. Probably. She was pretty sure. But definitely if she did, she would know it. Savor it. Make it count.
”Someone just copped a feel, and since I can see you out of the corner of my eye, and your hands are full, I was just wondering if you could tell whoever did it that it's not wise to grope a man on a ladder, unless she wants me to break my neck.”
Glancing around to confirm what she knew, Charlotte frowned. ”I don't know what you're talking about. There's n.o.body here but us.” And her libido.
”Your sister did it, didn't she? That sounds like Bree.” Will reached for another swag and Charlotte pa.s.sed it up to him.
”Bree went shopping an hour ago.” Which was cla.s.sic Bree. Ditch out doing the Christmas decorating for their house with an excuse about getting pomegranates for a centerpiece. Like there were any pomegranates in the tiny grocery in Cuttersville, Ohio. Bree just wanted to peruse the bookstore, gossip at the hair salon, and stay out long enough to avoid having to drag all the boxes of ornaments out of the bas.e.m.e.nt.
”Abby?” Will asked doubtfully.
”Abby! My baby sister, who is only seventeen, need I remind you, did not touch your b.u.t.t, Will. No one did.” For crying out loud, did he want someone to touch it? If she were a little bolder, she'd just reach out and smack it right now to really give him something to think about. But she wasn't bold. She was the opposite of bold-she was pastel pink on the color wheel.
”Someone did. I know what I felt.” Now his voice sounded stubborn, his hammer pounding harder.
”Well, I didn't.”
”Course not.”
That was irritating. He didn't think she could, or would, or didn't think she should? How was it that he could suspect her little sister, a junior in high school, of grabbing him, but she was a no way, never happen? Was she so staid and boring and vanilla that it would never occur to him that she did actually have a s.e.x drive, though it was well hidden and brought out only on special occasions like full moons and when the annual firefighters' hottie calendar hit the bookstore in town?
”Then I guess it was just wishful thinking, Will, because we're the only two people standing here.”
”Huh,” he said, leaning against the ladder for support and glancing left and right. ”That's really weird.”
What was weird was that never once in the last eight years had Will so much as suspected she liked him more than was appropriate for good friends. Yet she did. She loved him with a pa.s.sion and urgency that was just downright embarra.s.sing when she allowed herself to ponder it-or wallow, which was probably more frequently.
But he didn't seem to be on to her. To Will, she was just Charlotte, his best pal. d.a.m.n it.
Irritating as h.e.l.l, but there it was. And she'd never had the guts to do anything but wait for him miraculously to come to his senses and figure out what was standing right in front of him. Which was a really sucky strategy, because so far Will hadn't been stricken with any epiphanies that they should really be Cuttersville's number one couple.
”Maybe it was the wind.”
He scoffed and yanked another bough out of her arms. ”Wind doesn't squeeze like that.”
”Then it must have been a ghost,” she said in exasperation.
She expected him to reject that ridiculous suggestion as well, but instead his brown eyes went wide. ”That's a disturbing thought.”