But while I usually enjoy this event (I mean, it’s Christmas, and Christmas is my favorite, so, of course I do), tonight, I’m distracted. I haven’t even removed my jacket to hang it on the coatrack near the door. It feels like I need the extra warmth to insulate myself tonight—an extra coat of armor, so to speak. Forthe past thirty minutes, Jace and I have been stealing glances at each other. Or at least, I think he’s looking at me. I know I’ve been sneaking glances at him since he walked in, brushing snow off his jacket. His strong hands were absent of gloves when he arrived. It may have been years since I was last held by him (except in my dreams), but I know the man is a furnace.
I can’t help but wonder if I handled our last conversation well.Distancing myself from him after he’s returned to my world feels impossible, considering the disappointment I felt in thinking I’d never see him again. Now, knowing what happened the night he didn’t show up for our second date has me questioning everything I thought I knew.
Though Jace arrived sans gloves, since he stepped into Town Hall tonight, he’s kept his coat on as if he’s ready to bolt any second. I’ve been focused on him the way I focus on learning new choreography. His eyes are slightly wider than usual, his jaw is set like marble, and his hands are clenched in soft fists. For some reason, he seems uncomfortable as he glances about the room, studying the decorated trees. Yet, if I’m correct in my observations, his eyes keep seeking me out. And I notice how those amber eyes that look like rare gems keep catching and reflecting the Christmas lights hanging overhead.
Edgar lingers near him but keeps getting distracted by Gladys, who’s clearly made it her mission to introduce him to every available woman in town. I don’t know what she’s playing at, because I don’t think anyone could ever really know what motivates Gladys. Rumor has it that she wants to start a new initiative next summer, a livestream from the pavilion, during which Birch Borough’s eligible bachelors (not that there are many) will be voted on like a version of Survivor meets a reality-dating show. To the surprise of no one, her tree submission for this contest is covered in random pictures of all the men in this town, including Rafe and Graham. The pictures are labeled withmonths of the year at the bottom. Her tree is topped with a star painted with the words Admiring God’s Handiwork.
Beside me, Grey shifts and gently clears her throat. “You know, you could just go talk to him.”
“Who?” I feign innocence when we both know I’ve been attuned to Jace so much tonight it physically hurts. It’s like every time he moves or reacts in any way, I feel it too. I’m not sure what science is behind it, but I’d bet we could be analyzed by the experts.
“You know who,” she replies.
“I don’t know how to simply say ‘hi’ to him,” I mutter, feeling done with pretending to everyone else besides Grey that meeting Jace wasn’t the tectonic plate slide in my heart that it was. “Do any of your books have anything to say about this?”
She knows which books I mean, and the sincerity in my voice isn’t lost on my friend. She gives me a warm smile. “We both know that even if they did—which I’m sure they do, because I’m convinced that books have everything we need . . .” she trails off. “But the point is that this situation is beyond a book, and we know it. Because this is your life. And you feel for him—real feelings that need to be addressed.”
I nod, the anxiety of it all creeping up my spine. I do have real feelings. But I’m not sure what label to put on them or what to do about them.
Jace and I have a purely professional relationship now. We aren’t anything to each other beyond my status as Emmy’s teacher, but why does it feel like we could have been everything? He seems so unsure, so lost. He told me he’s not the same man that he was eight years ago, and while I recognize that to be true, why don’t I want to stay away? Yet, I must, mustn’t I? If my experiences with looking for love have taught me anything, it’s that I can’t convince someone to love me if they aren’t all in. I can’t control others, no matter how much I want their affection.
“You’re right,” I admit to Grey, my gaze drifting to the man in question again.
Jace is wandering about the hall, his head turning every so often to look at the door like it could hold all the answers he wrestles with if he only walks through it back into the cold, and it hits me that he hasn’t seen the tree. The tree!
“I’ll be right back. Distract Gladys,” I say in a rush, suddenly realizing that somewhere on the older woman’s tree must be a picture of Jace. And he’s going to hate it. Millions of tiny pitter-patters that mimic pointe shoes on a stage float through my stomach. Nerves escalating, I channel all my years of moving effortlessly across the floor to reach the tree. I’m a woman on a secret mission to protect Jace from any more embarrassment. He doesn’t deserve it.
When I reach the tree, I take in the absurdity of it all, my eyes trailing over all the pictures hanging from it that were clearly taken from an iPhone. There are pictures of Rafe unloading musical instruments near the theater, Graham eating chocolate cake in Sparrow’s Beret, Liam walking A-cat-pella near Aesop’s Tavern, and even some of Clark pouring drinks at the pub.
“Gladys, you cheeky mastermind,” I whisper, unsure whether to be impressed or thoroughly disturbed by her visual methods of showing support to the men in town. While we all know she’s truly harmless, her audacity is impressive. “Where are you, Jace?” I whisper.
“I think I’m right here.”
At the sound of his rich voice behind me, I jump and squeeze my eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, I turn and find that my eyes are level with his very broad chest. Warmth creeps up my neck as I let my eyes trail slowly and cautiously up to the notch between his collarbones. I take in his strong, cleanly shaven jaw, and his full mouth and finally look into his amber eyes. My face heats, my heart beating furiously against my ribs. And it’s inthis moment that I realize my body doesn’t know the difference between dancing a two-hour ballet performance and standing in front of this man.
“Hi,” Jace says with an unexpected grin that makes my bones feel weak.
“Hi,” I whisper in a little more breathless tone than I’d like.
He opens his mouth to say something else, but I’ll never know what it was going to be, because his eyes shift to the tree behind me. His jaw goes slack. “What is that?” he demands, the words spoken more to the air than to me.
“Well, you see, Gladys—”
“Enough said.” He releases a resigned sigh. “My face is somewhere on there, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I would think so. Although I haven’t confirmed it yet.”
He nods. His eyes cut to mine. “Were you looking for me?”I bite my lip, and Jace’s eyes flare as he clears his throat.
“Well, yeah, I was,” I admit. “I walked over to search for your picture because I knew it would make you uncomfortable to see it. I was trying to spare you the shock.” I force out an awkward chuckle to try to keep the exchange professional.
I should feel embarrassed; investing energy toward a man’s feelings when he doesn’t seem to care for mine feels wasteful. Still, all I want is to feel the pressure of his arms wrapped around me again. It’s challenging being near him, because I’ve found I don’t know how to move forward when our past meets the present.
“You knew it would make me uncomfortable?” he says.
The man should win an award for prolonged eye contact. Everything in me wants to burn alive from his stare, its intensity excruciating. Because he’s beautiful, and he’s dangerous for my heart. I have no doubts that, deep within his frame, he feels so much more than most men. I’ve seen his gentle demeanor with his daughter, and I’ve seen how much his family loves him.
“I mean, wouldn’t it?” I question, suddenly unsure if my assumption was right. But the way his eyes soften confirms it.
