I avoid one temptation for another and turn onto Chestnut Lane. It’s a short side street off Main, and the second I see the tiny little bookstore tucked into the corner of the street, my chest tightens.
The last time I was here was the last time I saw Marley.
It was Christmas eight years ago. She was wearing a red bow in her hair and a velvet dress that cut at her knees. Her grandpa had passed a few months before, and she’d just taken over the shop. Truth is, I had no business talking to her. She was young. Twenty-two at the time. I’d just turned forty. We were from two different worlds, but somehow when we were together, life made sense, which might’ve been part of the problem. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking straight. I hear that happens to men around forty.
One of my buddies divorced his wife and ran off with a mail-order bride the year before he turned forty-two, and they were divorced two years later. I’m pretty sure he went back to the wife begging for forgiveness… which she didn’t give. There’s something about this age and men that makes them do crazy things.
I’ve tried to convince myself plenty of times that loving Marley was just that… a crazy, midlife breakdown. In reality, though, I know the true breakdown happened after she left.
I park against the curb, feed the meter, and step out into the slushy street. I can see part of the problem already. Back in the day, parking was a lot more prevalent in this area. Now, there are only a few spots out front. If you don’t get one of those, you’d have to park behind the diner and walk over to thebookstore. It’s not a huge walk, but it takes time, and it’s a step a lot of people won’t bother with, even if they love the place.
I jot the obvious down in my cell phone and step over a snowbank toward the little bookstore with the big front windows and old pine floors. She’s done well at keeping up with the maintenance of the building, and the theming in the windows is on point. There’s even some advertising for a book club and a book signing. These are all good changes.
Trouble is, I’m suddenly not as objective as I know I can be. I don’t know why. I thrive in environments where I can point out the faults in everything. Hell, I can walk into a business, and I can find the thing that’s holding the place down in thirty seconds. It’s a skill that many have hired me for. Right now, though, I’m having a hard time thinking straight.
In fact, the only thing I’m thinking about is how twenty feet from me, the woman I’ve tried to close the book on is waiting for my arrival. I’m thinking about the way it felt to leave her the day she insisted I wasn’t the one. I’m thinking about the empire I built with all the time I had when we broke up, yet how nothing ever really filled the hole she left.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have come here.
A truck passes behind me, kicking up sludge, and a cool breeze whips across the street, carrying with it the scent of those bear claws again. Maybe I should’ve stopped by the bakery and grabbed a few. They used to be Marley’s favorite too. I bet she’d appreciate the sentiment, and it would give us something to talk about. Then again, that would make this visit personal. It’s not personal. It’s business.
I need to get focused. I need to give her the same treatment I’d give any other client. I need to save this shop for her, because she’ll be devastated if she has to let this place go.
I square my shoulders and force all the invasive thoughts into the background. Two steps up and a push through a dark green painted door with a wreath hanging over it.
The bell above rings, and suddenly, I’m standing in Christmas past. The scent of the books, Bookmark lumbering across the top shelf of the fiction section, the old pine floors and matching bookcases, the bakery cart in the back with the banana bread and coffee, andher.
She steps out from the back, her hair tied into a messy bun with strands flying free haphazardly. She wears black jeans and a Christmas sweater she’s been wearing for as long as I’ve known her. It’s red with gold beads sewn into the shape of a Christmas tree. She always said she wanted to be known for her Christmas sweaters.
I try not to stare too hard, but it’s hard not to. The photos online were just photos. This moment, this view… is real. She’s older now, but it only gives her face more definition. Her eyes are the same golden brown, her cheeks the same shade of pink, her hair the same silky texture it had the nights it was brushing against my chest.
God, I’ve missed her. The feeling hits me like a dream I thought I’d lost.
Fuck.
My palms itch to pull her into my orbit and hold her close, but that would be inappropriate. Again, I’m not here for pleasure. We’re not catching up over coffee. We’re here to work. I have to remember that. I have to keep objective focused or I’m going to lose it quickly.
She steps toward me, her gaze drifting down before meeting mine. “Tex.” There’s a noticeable pause before she says, “Wow. It’s been so long.” Thankfully, there’s a smile on her face. A contagious one. One I’ve thought about for years.
She steps toward me, reaches out, tips up onto her toes, and wraps her arms around my shoulders in the warmest, most welcoming hug I’ve had since the last time I saw her.
Damn, she smells good, like the sweetest sugar. I need to let go, or I’m going to lose it.
“Sure has,” I say, my hand lingering on her hip a moment too long. “You look… you look great. How, ugh, how is everything?” I don’t usually have a hard time talking, but right now I sound like a fucking fool.
“Oh, good. I mean, the bookstore could be better, but I have faith that we’ll figure it out together. What about you? How do you like it in Whiskey Falls?”
“It’s different.” I laugh under my breath and roll the sleeve of my flannel to my elbow.Is it hot in here?“I miss the woods and my privacy, but I guess the offset is a thriving business and a load of things to do. You still love it out here? Been hiking lately?”
She grins as she walks toward the back of the shop, inviting me to follow. “Still love it here, but no, I haven’t been hiking,” she tilts her head to the side as though she’s thinking, “probably since you left.”
“Really? You loved going up to the river on the west side of the mountain. You used to say it was the place where all the demons died. Do they die somewhere else now?”
“No.” She laughs again, twisting a strand of hair behind her ear. “I forgot I’d even said that. I just don’t have time for hiking anymore. You still go?”
“It’s been years for me too. It’s crazy being back in Rugged Mountain at Christmas. I thought about coming back for the tree lighting a few times, though. They do it up so well here, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
She opens a pink pastry box as she hands me a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Well, I remember you liked Josie’s bear claws. Hopefully, they taste the same.”
