Bess
One month later
It was freezing. Snow whirled everywhere, the sky an angry gray landscape as I waited for Lane to get to my place. He’d just flown in that afternoon, and I almost couldn’t breathe with want.
And worry.
And anticipation.
And lust.
Finally he’d walked through my door, bundled in his leather jacket and jeans with a wool scarf wound around his neck just so—not from the thrift shop, but Burberry. Although I loved teasing him about his expensive “country” wardrobe, I couldn’t stop staring, or wishing I could rip them off right away. But we had a plan.
Over the phone last week, he’d agreed with some convincing to go to Pittsburgh on the Friday after Thanksgiving to see Jake. We’d even made a plan to meet my dad for coffee. My dad and I talked more often now, our more regular contact a salve for ancient but still-healing wounds.
But it was Jake I was most concerned about. He’d planned to be alone for Thanksgiving, insisting he didn’t want to intrude on our first holiday together. I desperately wanted Jake to join us at May’s place for the holiday dinner, but he was licking his wounds. With his past mistakes ripped wide open and oozing into everything in his life, he probably just needed for them to scab over. I hoped for his sake it was soon.
The clincher on Lane’s giving in to seeing his brother was my agreeing to get a Christmas tree. Since we couldn’t pick it up on the day after Thanksgiving, he was adamant about going the day before.
Which was why now, instead of getting naked and warm in the sheets, we were cruising down the mountain in my Jeep on a frigid Wednesday night. The church was having a fundraiser, selling trees and wreaths, and it seemed appropriate we go there. The night sky spread out above us as Lane navigated the winding mountain road, the moon low and full with a halo glowing around it. More snow was on the way.
A meeting was letting out as we parked the car. Stepping out into the night air, Lane squeezed my hand and then went rigid. I looked up to see what was wrong, and saw a small figure with a mass of red hair underneath a hat leaving the building.
“Come on, we’ll come back,” I said into Lane’s shoulder.
“No, it’s fine. I’m not letting her take away any more of my life,” he said, pulling me toward the trees on display.
Scolding myself for wanting to turn around and see if she saw us, I kept walking. Sadly, I couldn’t find compassion in my heart for Shirley, and neither could Lane. Maybe one day.
Life was better. I’d been going to morning meetings and only working the lunch shift—another change at Lane’s insistence. He’d made sure I was enjoying myself, finding hobbies, volunteering at the rehab center.
But I loved this church; it would always have a special place in my heart for giving me sanctuary when I needed it most. And Shirley was part of that for a while, so it hurt when I thought about not being able to forgive her.
Lane stopped me and pulled me in for a hug. “Let it go. This is our time, and I’m not having her ruin it.”
He truly was a mind reader.
I kissed him and whispered, “Love you,” into his shoulder. Then spent the next half hour debating with him over which was the perfect tree.
Getting the tree home was a pain in the ass, but Lane insisted on tying it to the top of the car and lugging it in on his own. I helped drag it to the corner I’d cleared for it, and set about hanging all kinds of ornaments that had arrived via courier a few days before.
There were so many of them—shiny metallic lemons, fake dog bones with ribbons twisted around them, Labradors wearing Santa hats, plastic palm trees, and a billion sparkly balls of all shapes and sizes and colors.
