I don’t believe her. I want to, but the lie sits there between us, bitter and cold.
“I’ve had a lot happening in my life over the last few months.Much of it stressful. I guess it’s taken more of a toll than I thought.” She glances up, a small frown marring her beautiful face.
While I’m grateful she’s shared more of her life with me, I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to move heaven and earth to chase her demons away. Whatever they may be.
A lock of her hair slips free from behind her ear, brushing her cheek. Without thinking, I reach up, my fingers grazing her skin as I tuck it back. Her breath hitches, just slightly, and for one suspended heartbeat, it feels like the world tilts.
That spark is still there.Isn’t it?
Her earrings catch the light. They’re small emerald teardrops, delicate and shimmering. Moving my fingertip to the shiny bauble, I lift it gently.
“Beautiful,” I murmur.
She blinks, startled by the comment. “Thank—” Again, she lets a small gasp escape as our eyes connect. It’s clear I’m not looking at the jewelry. I only have eyes for her. The slope of her neck, the sadness swimming just behind her calm façade.
I can’t figure her out. She’s right here, in my arms, and yet she feels untouchable.
None of this is Char’s fault. She made it clear she wasn’t interested in more than one night. It’s not fair to put her on the defensive. Just because the one time you’ve felt something for someone, they aren’t interested. It’s not right to make her feel bad. My spine stiffens at this unwelcome reality.
What am I even doing here?
I had one night with this glorious creature. Grow up. It’s the exact wayI’vetreated women. Keeping them at arm’s length. What did I think would happen if I came down here? Chasing after a woman that clearly wants nothing to do with me.
When the song ends, she doesn’t immediately let go. For a heartbeat too long, we just stand there, her breath shallow, my pulse racing.
Then Char whispers, “You shouldn’t have come here.”
My heart plummets. Removing my hand from her lower back, Ireach up to rub the tender hollow within my chest. Yet, before I can ask what she means, she steps away, her hand slipping from mine. And just like that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd, leaving me standing there, surrounded by the echoes of music and the ache of something I don’t understand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAR
A light oceanbreeze greets me the moment I step out of my car, carrying the scent of sugar and cinnamon from The Gingerbread Man bakery down the block. The sun’s barely up, but Candy Cane Key is already humming with activity.
“Morning, Mrs. Fletcher,” I call as she wrestles a tray of petunias into her car.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she replies, waving her gloved hand. “Don’t forget the town meeting tonight. We’re startin’ on the Christmas parade plans early this year.”
I stop in my tracks. “It’s only October.”
She shrugs, laughing. “Honey, around here, it’s always Christmas.”
What was I thinking?
Even the lampposts still wear their peppermint-striped paint from last season. The whole town’s gearing up for the holidays. The fall festival is planned for next week, and the Thanksgiving charity drive right after that. The air practically smells like pumpkin spice and nostalgia.
As I stroll down the sidewalk, I spot Salty Jo outside the diner, balancing a tray of coffee cups. He catches sight of me and hollers, “Char, you tell Norma Jean I said she owes me a haircut and a shave! And don’t let her forget that scalp massage that comes with it.” He beams. “I’ll save the mani pedi for you.”
“Oh, lord.” I bend over in a fit of giggles. “Lucky me!” I snort. “I’ll tell Norma Jean to be ready for you!” I shout back.
Sheesh.There’s Fancy. She’s leaning against the post office steps,phone in hand, eyes sharp and curious as ever. Good grief, this menace of a woman. She can sniff out a secret faster than a bloodhound on barbecue day. I contemplate ducking and running the other way until her eyes connect with mine. So, I plaster on a polite smile and wave. “Morning, Fancy.”
“Char! You’ll never believe what I just heard?—”
But I don’t slow down. “Sorry, running late!” I call, picking up my pace until I’m nearly power-walking past her. “Gotta get to work. Busy day.”
A few steps ahead, I catch sight of Liz across the street. Her silver hair in its usual messy bun, to-go coffee in one hand, tote bag in the other. Relief floods through me. “Mom!” I wave, darting across just in time for a big, warm hug that smells like cinnamon and safety.
