Page 11 of Catching the Mistletoe

“Oh no, don’t stress. I’ve got this.”

Jenna shot me a look. Maybe I hadn’t managed to disguise the wobble in my voice as much as I would have liked. “You sure?”

“One hundred percent.” I wanted to get it done quickly and get out of there. Away from Mack and all these twisted feelings. I wanted to be alone.

“Hey, Mack, you want me to take your kids across for snack time as well?”

“Sure.”

It took less than a minute for her to hustle the kids out to where Mom and Genevieve had a little picnic arranged on the edge of the obstacle course. I heard Mack moving around, but I stayed where I was, my back to him, pretending to be engrossed in the mess on the table in front of me. My hands trembled as I heard him gathering his carving tools, his stool scraping across the floor when he stood. Then he was walking across the room. But not out the door. No. Instead, “Arabella…”

I flinched. God, why did he have to say my name like that? All soft and deep. There was no way I could turn around and face him, even though every nerve ending screamed at me to do just that. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. So I stood there, eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding in my chest. Until I heard him huff out a breath, then the sharp click of his boots walking away. Only when I was sure he was gone did I force the tension from my shoulders and turn around.

Straight away, my eyes landed on the table near where Mack had just been standing. I gasped, my hand going straight to my chest, where my heart squeezed painfully. A whittled dove, its form simple but beautiful, as if it was about to take flight, sat in the center of the table.

I picked it up, feeling the smooth, carved wood under my fingertips. My eyes stung, my throat tightened, but I wouldn’t let myself cry. I was stronger than this, stronger than the sadness and the complicated, tangled mess of feelings I had for Mack. But oh Jesus fucking Christ, it was hard. So damn hard.

CHAPTER6

Mack

Isat there, staring into the crackling fire, my thoughts drifting to Arabella. Like they always did. It had been four days since I’d given Noah my final answer and things just hadn’t been the same since. It was stupid, really, because it wasn’t like Arabella and I had a lot to do with each other, but this felt different. She barely acknowledged my existence. I felt that, like a giant, gaping hole in my life.

I couldn’t even explain to her that this was for the best. That it would be much better for her that I said no. Okay, so I was a fucking coward. It was better for me. All because I couldn’t bear the torture of being around her, so close to her, for that long. Like I said, I was a coward.

A knock on the door jolted me out of my brooding. Pushing up from the worn leather couch, I opened the door to find Sylvie standing on the porch. She looked... different. Her eyes didn’t have their usual sparkle, and her smile was more like a tight line.

“Hey, can I come in?” Tension rolled off her in waves. What the fuck was this about?

“Yeah, of course.” I stepped aside to let her in.

She walked by me, holding a box of what looked like homemade cupcakes. That was more like her, but even the colorful frosting couldn’t hide the fact that something was off.

“You want some coffee?” I offered, trying to break the tension that had suddenly settled in the room.

“That’d be nice, thanks.” She set the box on the kitchen counter, not quite meeting my eye. So unlike her.

I flipped the switch on the coffeemaker, listening to the machine gurgle to life. It took me a second to realize that Sylvie was just standing there, her arms crossed, not saying anything. Also, so unlike her.

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I leaned back against the counter, digging my hands into my pockets. Waiting.

“I need to talk to you about Arabella.”

Fuck. “Okay.”

Rubbing her lips together, her eyes locked on mine, wide and anxious. I’d never seen her like this before. “I want to tell you what it was like when she got sick.”

I wasn’t sure if I could handle hearing about it, but I didn’t know how to stop her, so I just said, “Okay,” again.

“She was still in middle school, so little but full of so much energy. Then, out of nowhere, she started fading away. Right before our eyes. I can’t tell you the number of tests she had to go through before we finally found out what was wrong. She never complained, though. Not once. And everyone loved her. And why wouldn’t they? She was a darling child.” She paused, toying with the cake box, then tapping a finger to the lid. “You want one?”

Seeing that she needed something to do, I said, “Sure.” Grabbing some plates, I gave her time to sit in her thoughts while she unboxed the cakes and laid them carefully on the plates. Turning the plates around and pushing one across the counter to me. Stalling.

“Where was I?”

“Arabella was a darling child.” I could just imagine it.

Sylvie smiled. “She really was. She had such a spark. Still does, of course.” She stopped, staring down at the cupcake. “They told us she wouldn’t make it to her twenty-fifth birthday.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do is watch that spark almost go out.”

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