Page 12 of Mistletoe Misses
“Oh.” My trembling hands lift another shirt out of the box, and I hope I look more put together than I feel. “Did he say how long he’d be staying?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“How’d he seem?”
My pulse revs as he pauses to consider the question, then again with his answer. “Haunted.”
“That’s the opposite of what I’d hoped you’d say. Do you think he’s with someone?”
“Honey, you’re asking the wrong person. Maybe you two can talk while he’s here. Get some closure.”
“It’s been nine years, Dad.”
“Exactly.”
Tossing the shirt I attempted to fold three times back into the box, I stalk to the door.
“Where are you going?” he calls as I reach for the old iron handle.
“Out.”
“But the store opens in half an—”
The door slams shut behind me, and I close my eyes, letting the winter air wash over me. The scent of pine needles mingles with the crispness of a new snowfall while the faint aroma of gingerbread drifts by from a nearby kitchen. A classic Christmassong plays from somewhere down the street, the familiar melody reminding me there’s magic in the holidays.
Sadly, there doesn’t seem to be enough of it to erase the thoughts I came out here to escape. The confusing concoction of emotions bubbling to the surface simply because Maddox’s name came up in conversation can only mean one thing. Everything I’ve been telling myself for the past decade—I don’t need him, he's better off if I stay away, it’s okay that he’s built a life for himself far from mine—has been nothing but lies.
My cool skin prickles on a breeze, and I feel the ripple through to my core. I’m sick with nerves thinking about Maddox—the man, not the idea of him I dream about—being so close our paths might cross at any moment. Simply accepting this fortifies his place as the center of my world. He doesn’t know and certainly hasn’t asked for that spot, but it’s always been his whether he wants it or not.
Treasured memories, unfulfilled wishes, heartache, and my deepest fears swirl together, making the earth feel unsteady beneath my feet. Maybe it’s not the ground but my twisting stomach. I pitch forward to breathe through the nausea when the old metal lock on the bookshop door unlatches from inside. I straighten, suddenly afraid it might be Maddox.
I don’t want him to see me like this. When our paths cross, I’d prefer to be dressed in my bestbeg for forgivenessoutfit and prepared to stand before him with confidence and say my peace. But can I ever fully prepare to face the only man I’ve ever loved after breaking his heart and walking away as if it had been easy?
What do I say in that situation?I’m sorrywill never be enough. I’ve spent countless nights imagining what I would say if I ever got the chance, but now, those rehearsed words elude me. It’s easy to dream when the odds of following through seem slim to none. With his history, that may still be the case, and I’m terrified he might leave before I can get to him.
Though I consider myself a strong woman, I have plenty of paralyzing doubt. It’s what kept me from chasing after him when I realized I’d made a mistake, and again when I returned nearly four years ago. Like a fool, I prayed he’d moved back after his time in the Army and let Ember Falls support and heal him. A small part of me hoped he’d come back for me. But Maddox is a man of his word, and he warned me he wouldn’t.
I should have tried to find him when I learned he’d chosen Boston after discharge, but I couldn’t bear to risk seeing the pain I caused reflected in his beautiful hazel eyes. Worst of all, I couldn’t chance discovering he’d moved on and forgotten about me. That last one hits me harder than it should, considering I’m the one who ended things, and I reach for the brick wall to steady myself.
I wonder if that’s why he’s showing up now. What will I do if he’s here to introduce his girlfriend or fiancée to his family? The bitter taste of irony rises into my throat. It’s what I deserve. After all, I ended our relationship and prayed for him to find happiness, even if it meant loving someone else. I was stupid to think I could live with that.
Needing support for my wobbly legs, I shift to lean against the wall and shake out my hands in a nervous fidget. The cold air has seeped into my bones while I stood out here without a coat, and I shove my hands inside my back jean pockets to warm them. Punishing myself isn’t helping me think, but there’s no way I’m going back inside to finish the conversation my dad wants to have. Not yet, anyway.
My eyes scan the street, searching for a reason to move or a safe place to warm up. I land on Latte Da Café across the street. Coffee. Yes, getting coffee is a perfectly normal thing to do in the morning. I push off the brick with newfound determination. Maybe a heavy dose of caffeine will help get me through the rest of this day with a semblance of my sanity intact.
“Hi, Willa,” I greet the owner with a little too much enthusiasm on my way into the café. I’m overcompensating to hide the insecurities eating me alive on the inside. It’s contained chaos in there, like the store the week before Christmas. Why does everyone do all their shopping last minute these days?
“What are you doing here?” she asks. “Isn’t the store about to open?”
“Not you, too. Can’t a girl take a break to get a dose of lucidity once in a while?” I chuckle, hoping the casual joke hides the new fractures in my world.
“Girl, you came to the right place.” She holds up a finger, telling me to wait, then pushes through the swinging kitchen door. A few seconds later, she makes a grand re-entrance, holding a layered tray with one hand as if it were full of feathers instead of at least three dozen massive muffins. “You want the usual?”
“Not today. Caramel macchiato, two extra pumps of caramel. Please.”
She nods to the young barista behind her, who gets to work on my brew. I’m considering adding more carbs to my foolishness antidote in the form of a steaming chocolate muffin when Willa leans a hip against the counter and smiles at me. This can’t be good.
“We’ve known each other a long time,” she says, like she plans to say more and wants to ease me into it.
