“You missed me?”
“I did. But my pride wouldn’t let me admit it to anybody.”
She stared at him, mouth open.
He kept talking, ushering her forward. “I give this place a lot of business during the year, so the owners won’t mind if we take some time inside. It’s warm and sunny and there are benches to sit on.”
He took a breath. “You accused me of keeping myself separate from you, and you were right. Today I want to change that. I should have done it long ago, but I avoided the pain of my past and even hid it from you. I was afraid it would make me look bad to you. But I’ve been too much about pride. I need to show you why so you’ll understand.”
“Understand what?” she asked.
“Understand me. Understand that I love you. I’ve always really loved you.” He swallowed, wanting so badly to touch her, to convince her. She was biting her lip, gazing at her hands, frozen before the heater.
“Emilie, please come inside.”
He didn’t want to lose her.
He couldn’t lose her.
“What could you possibly want or see in me?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? You’re the sunshine that everyone wants to bask in. I would love to have your ability to connect with people,” he told her. “You help people. I know you don’t believe it now, but it’s true.”
Something in her eyes seemed to spark, and she finally straightened her back, opening the Jeep door.
He got out, too, hopeful.
Inside the greenhouse, the owner nodded to Nathan, and Nathan returned his greeting. “Hello,” Nathan said. “We’re going to sit inside your greenhouse for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, Nathan. Let me know if I can help with anything.”
“Will do.”
The owner nodded and went back to stocking plant food on the shelf. The store was empty of people other than them. He and Emilie had privacy.
He directed her toward the back, to the entrance of the greenhouse.
“You really come here often?”
“I honestly do.”
Inside the glass structure, the atmosphere immediately changed. Warm, humid air enveloped them. Sunshine streamed in from the glass ceiling and walls. Emilie’s eyes widened. Then she sighed and leaned her head back, arms open to the heat. “I feel like I’m home.”
Watching her, Nathan derived more pleasure from her enjoyment than he felt from the warmth itself.
He led her to a group of orange trees planted in ten-gallon pots and forming a mini orange grove in the corner. She gravitated toward it, inhaling the aroma. The citrus air smelled delicious to him.
Just like Florida. Just like Emilie. As always, his memories transported him to their past, to simpler and happier times. He hoped it did the same for her.
They could have that same happiness again. He believed it. That was the point he wanted to make to her. The reason for her to have hope.
Emilie sat on a nearby love seat–size bench and squeezed into one corner, giving him room. He sat beside her, his thigh just touching hers. He was gratified that she didn’t flinch from him. And it did feel heartening to be close to her again.
He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “I know you don’t think so right now, but I was gutted when we broke up. It took me a long time to get over you. Maybe I never did.”
From the corner of his eyes, he watched her. She gazed down at her hands, saying nothing. She was listening to him and concentrating.
“I know we’re very different people, Em,” he said softly. “You’re bubbly and outgoing and expressive. I’m quiet and I tend to keep things bottled up. You’re optimistic, and I’m...well, pessimistic.”
Here, she smiled. He smiled back at her. But he had a lot more to say. He didn’t want her to misunderstand him, not anymore. The last thing he’d wanted to do was to hurt her with the phone conversation he’d had with her boss.
“I don’t talk about it much, and I know you’ve been frustrated with me because I never spoke to you about it, but I had a pretty lonely childhood, sort of like Jason’s in a lot of ways.” He took a breath. “Some of that might come out in how I treat him, and maybe some of it slipped out during the television interview you saw with Janet. And I realize I should have talked with you about it when you asked me. Maybe...maybe if I could’ve been more open two years ago, it even could’ve helped prevent our breakup down in Florida. I can’t say.”
It was his turn to stare at his hands. This was excruciating for him. What he had to say was intensely personal—too personal—and this was why business was so much easier for him to focus on than private feelings.
“Em, my parents pretty much dumped my sister and me with my father’s parents. We were abandoned as kids—there was no doubt about that. My sister—Nell’s mother—is older than me, and she had a tough time of it emotionally, too. Our grandparents were...well, I think you have an idea by now that we considered them the best people we knew. They were saviors to us, and to many people in the community. They loomed large in our little town, and people respected them.”
He gazed at Emilie. She was nodding. Emboldened, he continued. “You asked me once about my grandfather—Philip Prescott. He was this tough old Yankee gentleman.” Nathan smiled at the memory. “I wish you’d met him. He taught me and my sister that the way to survive hard times was with stoicism and practicality. Always practicality. We had chores. We were expected to work. We didn’t talk about our feelings—we just moved forward. Whatever issues we had, we kept them private, and we were expected to carry ourselves with dignity. His philosophy was that busy hands quieted the mind. In time, he believed, issues resolved themselves. In any event, it was more important that we think about how we could help everybody together, as a community, rather than focusing on our own individual problems.”
He paused. She was intensely interested in what he was saying. It was the most he’d ever revealed about himself to anyone, by far. But now that he’d started talking, he couldn’t seem to keep it bottled up inside any longer. The words just seemed to flow.
“I know I never told you too much about my background, or what I was brought up to believe in. Maybe I just expected that things would work out between us—a kind of warped version of my grandfather’s philosophy.” He smiled at her, hoping she understood.
“Emilie, when I first met you, I thought you were so different, so exotic, and I was drawn to you. You fascinated me. You were so enthusiastic—you performed and made everybody smile, and you always saw the potential in life if we just believed hard enough.” He watched her as she bit her lip, frowning a bit at him.
“Em, don’t misunderstand, please. In time, I realized that you and I both actually share a lot of values in common—the best values, to me. We both care about helping other people, maybe too much. We both want to save our teams, our communities. The people who are important to us—and right now, I’m thinking especially of little Jason, who lives across the hall from you.”
She nodded at that.
“Maybe I don’t always seem caring to you. Maybe I seem cautious. I don’t see the hope of Christmas spirit that you do, maybe because I’ve been too often disappointed in life, and you haven’t.”
“You think I haven’t been disappointed?” She stared at him.
He shook his head. “Not really. Not in a major way. Or else how could you be so positive? And I’m glad for it. You should keep your upbeat personality. Your love for Christmas spirit. The kids need it.” He stared at his hands again. “Jason needs it, for one. I don’t know how I’m ever going to let that little kid and his mother go the day after Christmas...”
He let his voice trail off. He wished he could have showed Emilie these things when they’d been on the ship together, but their relationship seemed very different now. Even though they weren’t together, the feeling
s were deeper and more honest, at least on his part.
“When I first met Jason, seeing him so frightened and sad in the corner, wondering whether Santa Claus was going to find him—it reminded me of my first days at the inn, too. I wanted to be a rescuer to him, like my grandfather was to me. I wanted that pride of helping him. I wanted to be worth something, especially in comparison with my father, who’d just abandoned me and the community.” He made Nathan feel shame.
“Nathan, I asked you to tell me about him, but you refused. You said your parents were show people. Tell me now.”
Nathan was well aware that he had deflected Emilie before when she’d asked about his parents. He swallowed. He’d gone down this path of opening himself up to her. He had to keep going.
“They...left us here because they were on the road together. They were in a band.” He swallowed again. “It’s not...a bad thing they were musicians away from home, but they just...weren’t interested in us. At all. I know that’s not usual for parents, and it made me feel...” Like something had been wrong with him. But he didn’t say that aloud. He just shrugged. “They didn’t come back until I was fifteen, when my grandfather died. To my father, the inn was a windfall.”
Nathan paused, still feeling the old bitterness. “My parents squandered it all. My father took every nickel out of the inn that he could, and he spent it on himself. He didn’t care what was happening around him—the fact that people were being laid off, that hardship was coming to the townspeople who depended on Prescott Inn. It was as if he wanted to destroy everything about my grandfather’s legacy. Or maybe he only cared about his own pleasure. I don’t know. Emilie, it’s not a happy subject with me. It’s probably why I’ve been trying extra hard to bring back Prescott Inn to what it once was.”
“Why were you ever in Florida if your heart is here?” she asked him. “Did you want to get away from what you considered his failure?”
“Yeah. I think you’re right about that.” Part of it, anyway. “My sister went away to college in California. I went down to Florida.” The best thing that he’d ever done. “I learned accounting—I thought it would be useful—and I took practical jobs, saving up my money. Working for the cruise line seemed ideal because of the room-and-board situation. It saved even more money.”
“And you met me,” she said flatly.
“To my great happiness,” he answered honestly.
She stood. “Maybe if you’d included me emotionally in your decisions, then things would have worked out differently between us.”
He winced. “I know. You’re right.”
She stared at him for a long time and then shook her head. “That’s not fair of me to say, Nathan. I didn’t show you my true self, either.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’m not truly hopeful about Christmas or any of it. I fake it.”
He blinked at her. He’d never seen her like this, agitated and angry. It wasn’t in character for her. “You’re just upset right now about the contract ending. What you’re saying is not true.”
“It is.” She began to pace, eyes on the floor. “It’s more than that. I didn’t piece it all together until I was sitting here just now, listening to you.”
“What do you mean?”
She stared at him. “Nathan, you weren’t the only one with a difficult childhood.”
Was she talking about her father? “I’d like to hear about it.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m the youngest in my family, too. My sister is older. You’ve met her.”
He had. Twice, he and Emilie had journeyed up to Fort Myers to her mom’s condo for a home-cooked Sunday dinner. Her sister had been there with her then-infant daughter. The visits had been pleasant and upbeat.
“I liked her very much,” he said. “Your mom, too. They were always kind to me.”
“My mom worked really hard when my sister and I were growing up. Maria—Jason’s mom—reminds me of her. My mom always had two or three jobs. It’s only in recent years that she’s been able to let up a bit.” Emilie’s mouth twisted. “But that wasn’t the bad thing. The bad thing... It came when I was younger than Jason... I wasn’t even school-age yet.” She rubbed her arms, as if shivering. “My mom’s mother lived with us.” Her voice cracked. “She was so depressed, all the time. I never knew why—I was too little to understand—but she didn’t leave the house. Her job was to care for me while my mom worked and my sister was in school. But really...” Emilie swallowed. Nathan waited, sensing just how much what she was about to say hurt Emilie.
Emilie took a breath. “I was the one who took care of her. It sounds weird to say, I know, but it was my job to keep her happy.” She glanced at Nathan. “I always knew this—I guess I never really thought much about the consequences of that time until...” She sighed. “Until dealing with all this hardship. It’s coming out now. It’s making sense to me suddenly. Listening to you.”
They both affected one another. He’d always known that. He reached out and touched her hand. “I see you going overboard to care for your skaters. Is that because you fear any sign of depression or unhappiness in them?”
“Probably. Yes.” She nodded. “I hadn’t realized.” She closed her eyes. “The day that my grandmother passed, I was the one who found her. She was in her bedroom, and she wouldn’t wake up. I ran next door in my bare feet and told a neighbor, who called my mom at work. I was so scared. I listened, and I heard my mom talking with the EMTs who responded to our neighbor’s call. She’d taken pills, is what I heard them saying. My mom never talks about that day.” Emilie smiled sadly at Nathan, whose heart was breaking for her. “My mom is even more of an optimist than I am. She likes to look forward.”
Emilie touched one of the ripe oranges, idly rubbing its skin. “I love my family. They’re good people. But when my grandmother died, I felt it was my fault. I was supposed to keep her happy, and I didn’t. So after she was gone, I tried doubly hard with the others around me. To perform for people, stay upbeat. Never, never show sadness, and certainly not anger.”
“So that’s why you perform. Why you make it your career. You’re comfortable pleasing an audience.”
She nodded slowly, her face flushing. Then she released the orange, looking downcast. “I was angry the evening before my grandma passed,” she murmured. “I’d sassed her, and she’d seemed even more sad than usual. And of course, I know now as an adult that that wasn’t the reason she...well, that she made the choice to take her life. I’m not going to speculate on her reasons. But maybe a part of me felt...guilt. Or blame. Or whatever.”
She turned to Nathan and took in a breath. “I’m not ashamed for being a performer, not in the least. I still think it’s my calling, but maybe for different reasons than when I originally pursued my career. Yes, my skating made my dad happy. It made everybody come together and feel proud when I made the final ten finishers at Nationals during my high school years. And when I discovered the joy of skating before a show audience on the cruise ship—well, I thought I’d found heaven.”
“And you still do believe that, that it’s your calling,” he said, realizing what this meant for the two of them, his heart sinking.
“Yes, I still do.”
Then nothing has changed for our future together, he thought bleakly.
“Nathan, you were right about one thing. This making-people-happy philosophy might be part of me, but it isn’t smart for business. I failed at keeping our troupe employed. I thought I was doing everything right, making people happy, keeping myself positive, but in the end, here we are, on the street. Putting a smile on my face isn’t going to change the mind of a suit. People are going to do what people are going to do. I have no influence over that.”
She stared at him, her eyes sad. “The troupe—everybody—can decide what they want to do tomorrow. I’ll soldier on and finish my commitment to Lynn for the dress rehear
sal, but honestly, my heart isn’t in it.”
“Emilie, you can’t mean that.”
“I do. I need to think practically and detach myself emotionally from the outcome, like you did. Let’s go back to the inn, please.”
“Emilie, no.”
But she wasn’t listening to him. She was already walking toward the car.
What had he done? He’d wanted to show her that she wasn’t wrong to believe in other people. That he believed in her. And that he recognized why it was so important to her to make tomorrow’s show a great one.
He’d never thought she’d lose her upbeat spirit completely.
It was his fault she’d lost heart and detached herself from caring.
He stared at her, realizing that Emilie without Christmas hope was the saddest, most demoralizing thing he’d ever seen.
That’s what shocked and chastened him most.
He loved this woman. And yet, it was his terrible influence that had turned her as hard and as pessimistic as he was.
But he wouldn’t give up. He would turn to Nell for help. And the kids. And her skaters.
Together, they would find a way to bring Emilie back to herself again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WHEN NATHAN DROPPED Emilie off at the inn, she knew what she had to do. Her heart wasn’t in it, but her purpose was so much clearer now.
She wasn’t responsible for everybody’s happiness. She was responsible for figuring out her own life. Whatever that would be.
She left Nathan at the Jeep and trudged down to her own room, alone. Julie and Lynette would probably be by later for the girls’ night, but she would tell them to cancel. And she would not feel badly about that.
Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door, followed by Nell’s voice. “Emilie?”
“Come in.” Really, what difference did it make?
Nell came inside and shut the door behind her. Her phone was in her hand. “Uncle Nathan just told me that the inn is being sold, and that you might be leaving after tomorrow.”
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