Page 25 of Mistletoe Misses
“She’s an amazing kid. You’ve done a great job raising her.”
She grins, pride in her daughter shining through the awkwardness between us. “It was a team effort. My parents, this crazy town, Nana. Everyone here played a part and deserves credit.” Her tentative gaze lifts to mine. “She adores you.”
“Didn’t start out that way.”
“Sometimes she’s too smart for her own good. It’s why she struggles to make friends with kids her age.”
A breeze tosses a tuft of snow in our direction, and I notice her shivering. I’d prefer not to care, but I can’t help myself.
“You should go back. It’s only going to get colder out here with the sun going down,” I urge, wondering if she’ll take advantage of the escape route or stay.
“After all this time, Maddox, we’re finally talking. I’m not going anywhere until you make me.”
Her eyes hold my gaze with determination, and I let myself get lost in them. Every adult version of her I tried desperately not to create in my mind through the years, pales in comparison to the real one.
The thick, golden waves of her hair I used to thread my fingers through seem more inviting covered fresh snowflakes. She’d gained a few new freckles over the years, and a subtle line bracketing her mouth. I used to spend hours staring at thoselips, and they’re the same gentle shade of pink. While she sang or told me about her day, my teenage hormones would draw my attention there and conjure up all kinds of ways I could kiss her. A problem resurfacing now despite all the negativity and despair swirling inside me.
A snowflake lands on her lashes, but she doesn’t break eye contact. My fingers itch for the chance to brush it away. To cup her face and see if her skin feels as velvety soft as I remember, but I don’t dare move. It’s too risky. I don’t trust either of us with my heart.
“We should go in,” I say to keep from doing something I’ll regret. Standing, I wait for her to do the same.
Unmoving, she stares up at me. “I know I have no right to ask this, but can we do this again? Will you allow another opportunity for us to talk?”
“Carmen …” The eyes that used to have the power to make me do anything she commanded are boring straight through to my tattered soul.
“You don’t have to make any promises. I’m just asking for more time to do this again while you’re here.”
“We’ll see.” It isn’t what she wants to hear, but it’s all I can give. “Come on. I need a drink.”
Chapter 6
Carmen
Kaitlyn, my best friend and go-to for all things Maddox, sits across from me in a window booth at our favorite restaurant. She scheduled this lunch date while we talked yesterday. Sadie had gone ahead with my parents to the Henderson’s while I closed the store, giving me private time for a desperate call to her before seeing Maddox again.
“How’d it go?” she asks, leaning over her menu with wide eyes.
“Worse and better than I expected.”
The menu flops to the table, a physical representation of how disappointing she found my answer. “That makes zero sense.”
“I know, but it’s the truth. When he first saw me, it broke him all over again.”
I’ll never forget seeing him like that—consuming heartbreak in his eyes and weakening his body. All because of me. How can he hold on to so much destructive emotion? I never wanted that for him, and it seems the universe turned a blind eye to my pleas. For too long, I let my conscience and regret believe my wish for him to find happiness had been granted. That delusion and theflimsy foundation it had been built on shattered the second I saw him.
It took everything in me to go after him when he walked out at the party, knowing I was the last person he wanted to see. But no matter how much time has passed or what happened while we were apart, I don’t want to hurt him. He’s too tenderhearted, too special, too Maddox.
I summarize the result of our conversation for Kaitlyn, omitting the details—those are meant only for Maddox and me—and brace for the questions I can’t answer.
“Once he learned Sadie wasn’t mine in the way he thought, he could look at me again. He hasn’t gotten past what I did, and I’m not sure he ever will.”
“Really? After all this time?”
I nod, unable to form words through the guilt battering me.
“What about you? Were there any lingering butterflies?”
“Kait.” My elbow plops onto the table, and I swoon worse than Chrissy and Sandra had the other day at the store. I’m not proud of it, but there’s no mistaking my attraction to the broody, hunk of a man who has already fallen in love with my daughter. “I never could have imagined the sweet boy I loved to turn into that. Butterflies weren’t the only thing he set into motion with those muscles and beautiful, sad eyes.”
