“Let’s do it.”
We call Belle together, put the phone on video so she can see my dress and my hair, so we can give her kisses and she can show us Sasha’s dog, Sprinkles. Thankfully, it’s not a corgi, but it’s still enough to renew all of Belle’s pleadings for a dog of her very own.
“Thanks for that,” he says when we get off the phone.
“For what?”
“For always thinking of Belle. For being here for her.”
My heart turns over, but I don’t say what I’m thinking. That I’m only able to be here for Belle, only here for Ronan, for such a short time.
And then, they’ll be gone, and I won’t be much good for anyone, not until I can stitch my shattered heart back together.
I don’t say it because the shortness of our time together makes me not want to waste a single minute being sad.
It makes tonight that much more precious.
“Let’s go,” I say, smiling up at him.
And we head off into the night.
I feel a little like Cinderella, only in red. And instead of a prince, I have an action star.
* * *
Ronan
When Poppy walkeddown the stairs looking like an angel ready to sin in that red dress, she stole my breath. And if I were any other man with a heart to lose, she would have stolen that as well.
I took a chance selecting a red dress.
But I knew it would suit her. I knew my Christmas-loving girl would want to wear red to the Christmas ball. But, mostly, I wanted her to be the Lady in Red for her special night, when she was showing her paintings. Poppy, who constantly supports everyone else, who plays backup to her bolder twin sister, needs to know that she doesn’t always have to stay backstage, that she could be the starring act.
It’s not really the dress that shines tonight. It’s her in it. It’s in her red curls that are caught in a loose bun with tendrils tumbling freely down her back. It’s in her freckles dusting the purity of her cheeks, chest, and arms. It’s the swirls of green and gold in her eyes. It’s her dimpled smile that lights up any room. But mostly, it’s the sweetness of her soul, how she cares so much for the people in her life, for her town and her community, for doing what’s right.
I know all the reasons we shouldn’t be starting this. She’s Belle’s nanny. We’re only here for a short time. We’re from different worlds. I’m a grumpy loner who is rarely home. And I’m now a package deal, with a daughter who could be yanked away at any second. Even if I could give a relationship a shot, Poppy deserves more than the half-life and toxic fame I can offer. There is no chance that this will be anything more than a short-lived thing, so we probably should avoid the mess before we get any further into this.
But I spent my career relying on my sense of intuition to keep me safe. I learned long ago that when I follow it, things unfold far better than when I don’t. Ignoring my gut feeling has caused me more broken bones than I can count. And right now, my gut is saying that, though this is short-term, I want her with everything in me.
It’s also saying that I can trust her.
I can trust this. Despite my fear from the past.
That bone-deep knowing was cemented when she suggested we call Belle before we left tonight. Poppy cares about my daughter and will do everything she can to ensure she won’t be hurt, no matter what happens between the two of us.
My goal is to give Belle the best Christmas of her life. And I know it’s what Poppy wants as well. That can be separate from exploring whatever this is between us.
I wrap my hand around her much smaller one and smile as we stand at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Holly Hill Inn. We’re back to the place where this all began.
If I thought it was ridiculous in September, the inn’s Christmas cheer is completely over-the-top now. It’s a Dickens fantasy of a Victorian Christmas come to life, with the historic mansion decked out in lights, holly, and garland. An antique gleaming red sled filled with presents sits on the lawn, as if ready to take off. And the giant pine tree in the yard is covered in ornaments. Candles line the drive. It’s the perfect setting for a Christmas ball.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“A little. What if my paintings don’t sell? I haven’t displayed any of my work since I was in college. The town thinks of me as a teacher, not an artist.”
“Stop doubting yourself. Youarean artist, and your paintings will sell.”
“I hope so. And I hope not just mine. This ball and auction are so important. The Center relies on this income every year. It’s the biggest fundraising event.”
