Out of nowhere, a toddler runs past us, bumping into Claire and nearly causing her to lose her balance.
I steady her, the feel of her body against mine just as intoxicating as it was the last time I touched her. But she quickly scrambles out of my hold.
“You should get this one.” She nods toward the tree in front of us. “It has a bit of a lean, but they can level it out for you.”
“Right,” I respond, pushing down any hint of disappointment. “Thanks for your help.”
“Of course.” She grits a smile, then turns away, hurrying down the row of trees.
“Claire,” I call out before she disappears from view.
She pauses, meeting my eyes from over her shoulder.
“I shouldn’t say this either, but I’ve missed your company, too.”
Her lips curve in that same teasing smile that undid me in Boston.
Then she walks away.
And I’m pretty sure she sways her hips a little more than usual.
Just for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DECLAN
I drive slowlythrough Sycamore Falls, letting the glow of Christmas lights on all the houses fill the spaces I used to keep empty. Happy hour with Joshua went later than I expected. We talked more than we ever have. Laughed. Argued about football. He told me about his latest work project.
And I listened.Reallylistened. Like a father should.
Like I wantedmyfather to listen to me all those years ago, instead of constantly looking at me like I was a waste of space.
As ifIshould have been in that casket instead of my mother.
I push the thought aside, refusing to let my father get under my skin. Instead, I focus on my time with Joshua. On the relationship I’m building with him, despite my absence in his life until now.
I make the turn onto my street, and my gaze snags on Claire’s townhouse like it always does. Warm white lights drip along the eaves, and a glowing wreath hangs on her door. Even the little potted evergreen beside the steps is wrapped in gold ribbon.
A laugh slips out at the memory of her face when I told her I hadn’t put up a tree in years.
I was so close to telling her why. How Christmas trees always remind me of my mom. How the idea of having a tree in my house has always been unbearable.
A symbol of my guilt.
My blame.
But now, as I pull into the driveway of my temporary home and glance toward the window where a modest tree glows through the glass, it doesn’t hurt the way I thought it would. I expected a stab to the chest, an ache I’d carry all season.
Instead, warmth fills me.
This tree isn’t a reminder of my past or the blame I’ve shouldered for years.
It’s a reminder of Joshua. Of making new memories with him last weekend as we strung lights and hung ornaments.
And if I’m being honest, it’s a reminder of Claire, too. The way she put her apprehension aside and helped me pick out a tree when she saw how out of my element I was. The comfort I felt in a place that made me anxious seconds beforehand.
Killing the engine, I step into the chilly evening air, inhaling the aroma of pine that seems to permeate this town.
