Her sister drew back, sucking in a breath. “And you said…”
“Yes, but?—”
“Yes, but nothing! You two belong together!”
Did they belong together? Then why did “maybe in spring” feel like such an empty promise? Cindy ran her palm along the table, feeling the familiar nicks in the pine. “It was…nice. It’s just?—”
“Not quite enough,” MJ finished for her.
“Not tonight, anyway.” Cindy took a deep drink of wine, which was sharp and earthy in her mouth. “I wanted…I don’t know. A thing you can’t realistically ask for. Not at our age. Not with our history.”
“You wanted him to plant a flag.” MJ leaned back, studying her with nothing but wisdom in her crystal blue eyes. “I get it.”
Cindy exhaled and managed a small laugh. “He didn’t even kiss me.”
“Fool,” MJ said, but without heat. “Maybe that’s wise. Maybe it means he’s serious. Waiting for the right…” She tipped her head, listening. “Did you hear that? Did a car just pull up?”
Cindy heard the sharpthunkof a car door shutting out front, unable to stop her gasp of hope.
“He’s back,” she whispered, reaching for MJ’s hand, hope rising up in her. “He knows that was a lackluster goodbye and he’s back. He did say he loves me and I never…” She pushed out of her chair, her heart clobbering the underside of her ribs.
MJ caught Cindy’s arm as she got up. “Wait.”
“Wait?” Cindy choked. “That’s all I’ve done for ten years.”
“Just wait,” MJ insisted. “Do not fling yourself onto him like a golden retriever who’s been left alone for five minutes. He can do the work of saying it twice.”
“He already said it once,” Cindy whispered, but she paused, her pulse pounding in her throat.
She could see the whole moment unfolding in her imagination…Jack on the porch with snow in his hair, breathlesswords about not being able to leave on Christmas again, the kiss he hadn’t given her because he was, yes, a fool.
“I’ll get the door,” MJ said, then wiped her hands, smoothed her hair, and headed down the hall.
Cindy followed, but hovered in the archway, closing her eyes to listen to the greeting. What would MJ say? What would?—
“Hello.” Her sister sounded pleasant and puzzled. “I’m sorry, I know you…give me a second…your name is?—?”
“Henry Lassiter.”
Cindy slapped her hand against her chest, shocked.
“Ms. Kess—Cindy—invited me. I apologize for the late hour, but I thought I might catch her. It’s not too late, is it?”
At eight o’clock on Christmas Eve? Cindy frowned, trying to handle the physical ache of disappointment in her gut.
It didn’t matter. Jack hadn’t returned, and she had to handle this.
Taking a breath, she breezed down the hall to the entryway, catching MJ’s expression as she turned. To her surprise, her sister’s features had gone still, her color shifting from creamy pink to…blanched gray.
Cindy stepped into the foyer. “Henry. I didn’t expect you…tonight.”
“You did invite me.” His smile was fast and bright, the kind that had probably opened a thousand doors. “I’m sorry for the holiday timing, but it’s critical that we get the paperwork into process this week. There are some very advantageous considerations if we formally file before the new year, but we need a certain number of business days. Time is tight. May I come in?”
He didn’t quite wait for the response, stepping inside with his overcoat open as he wiped his feet on the mat.
“Five minutes, max,” he added with a smile as he made his way into the great room.
Cindy started to follow, but turned to her silent and shocked sister to make the appropriate introduction—these two hadn’t even met yet—but MJ was shaking her head, her eyes wide.
