Page 25 of Under the Mistletoe
Until you let yourself dig into those desires again, this novella and book four will never happen.
His dad was right. If he wanted to be a writer, this was what it cost. Not just time and talent. It cost bleeding on the page. Not telling the reader about the character but living life through the character. He couldn’t expect his characters to love if he had walled off his own heart.
He closed his eyes a moment and let the too familiar feelings and emotions wash over him. Heartache, longing, betrayal. Holding all of it in his core, he read the last two paragraphs of his chapter, then set his fingers on the keys and brought the real story to the surface.
* * *
“You will make a fine match for the kingdom, milady.” Enid’s words echoed what Astryn had been told her entire life, and yet, for the first time, they didn’t bring the suffocating pressure that had always followed.
He was still basically a stranger, but something in his eyes, in the way he carried himself, the way he’d talked to her…maybe this arrangement wouldn’t require her to sacrifice her heart after all. “Aye. If he doesn’t kill himself on that horse first.”
“That’s not Orin.” Enid pointed to where Astryn’s father stood talking to a dark-haired man donned in a cape made of Anathian blue velvet. He was shorter and stockier than the rider and had a simple face. Kind but serious. “Thatis Orin, milady.”
The man she’d been watching walked over and joined the conversation between her father and therealOrin. “Then who is he? The man with light hair.”
“The prince? He is the younger brother, Prince Rand of Anathia.”
Rand shot her one last glance, the teasing glint still in place, then he gave a slight bow to the two kings. Astryn stepped back out of sight.
Theyoungerbrother.
As in her future brother-in-law. She’d known her whole life that love would never be a part of her future, but she had never cared until this very moment. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that she loved him at first sight. But with the way Rand had looked at her, talked to her at the river, promised to build her a cottage just to see her smile…it wouldn’t take much.
She moved toward the window again but stayed in the shadow of the tapestry.
It wasn’t to be. No, it was worse than it wasn’t to be. He was the brother of her betrothed. There would be no getting away from him. He would always be a part of her life and yet just out of reach.
* * *
Logan lowered his hands. The blinking cursor stared back at him. It was good. Probably the best he’d written in over a year, but every word had cost him something. He’d started to bleed all right, and he was fairly confident now that he’d never get out of Heritage without losing a piece of himself.
five
It had taken five days, but they had done it. After this last stop, they would have made it to all thirty-five families on her list. If this didn’t encourage attendance, she had no idea what would. If even a fraction of those families showed up, all this car time and awkward silence with Logan might be worth it.
Driving around the county with Logan was going better than she’d expected, and by better, she meant there was no stilted conversation. Because there had been little to no conversation at all. Which suited Devin just fine. She just had to keep pretending Logan wasn’t Logan and that a piece of her didn’t thaw every time he laughed with one of the kids or squatted down to pet one of the families’ dogs. After this stop, she could bid him farewell and not think about Logan again for a long time.
“At the stop sign, turn right onto Woodlawn Road.” A male with an Australian accent filled the Bronco from her GPS.
A smile ticced at the corner of Logan’s mouth before he flipped on the blinker. Warmth filled her face. Yup, she should have changed that back to Siri’s normal voice before this drive.
Logan’s eyes stayed firmly fixed on the road all the way through the turn as if they drove in a blizzard rather than the clear evening. He wore a tan Carhartt jacket with a black beanie that somehow made him look rugged. So unfair. Every time she wore a beanie, she looked like a child.
“In four hundred feet, turn left.” The male voice spoke again.
Logan turned between the two tall pines that led to the Barlows’ house and then parked behind a gray minivan. The ranch-style house had a wide porch with flowerboxes that had probably been gorgeous last summer.
Devin grabbed three bags from the back seat before hopping out. Logan was waiting outside and took two of the bags and followed the shoveled sidewalk to the front door. The whole process had become like a well-rehearsed play. A silent play. At least until there were other people there. Logan knocked, and a moment later, Heather Barlow opened the door.
Her red hair fell around her shoulders in perfect beach waves, and with her tan cable-knit sweater over a pair of skinny jeans, she could be pulled straight from a Macy’s ad. A smile spread across her face, but there was definitely fatigue in her eyes. “I forgot you said you’d be stopping by. Come in.”
She stepped back, and Logan waited for Devin to enter before following her. The entryway opened up into the living room area, where Easton, Alani, and Tyce were all crammed on a couch meant for two as they watched the television in the corner of the room.
Everything except the kids was muted gray or tan toned, and Devin felt like she’d stepped into one of her Pinterest boards. Even the four-foot Christmas tree in the corner with white lights only contained ornaments in shades of white, silver, gold, or were made of wood. Five white stockings hung on a rough wood mantel. But there were no names or initials to indicate whose stocking was whose.
“Sorry for the mess.” Mrs. Barlow walked over to a cream wingback chair and refolded a tan afghan that had been tossed over the back.
Mess?
