Willow grinned, her first genuine smile in what felt like a very long time. "I am thrilled to stay here, actually. I think it will be perfect." She beamed at him, and then stepped across the threshold into the entry.
Her smile faded almost immediately when she saw what she had walked into.
The Ocean Heights Inn was magnificent from the outside, a classic New England charmer perched on a bluff that overlooked the ocean. A wide clearing stretched behind it, and she could imagine lawn chairs lined up while guests enjoyed a gorgeous summer day playing croquet or badminton before heading down toward the beach. She loved the isolation of it, away from the bustle of the crowds. There was something so magical about it...until she walked inside.
It was covered in dust, furniture was shrouded in sheets, and it looked like no one had lived there in years. It smelled musty and old. In contrast to Rosie's Christmas coziness, this was just...depressing. "Wow."
He shut the door behind her. "It used to look great," he said. "When my dad was alive, this inn was the preeminent holiday lodging on the island. My mom kept it going pretty well until she died earlier this year."
"Oh..." Immediately, she felt guilty about noticing the lack of holiday decoration. She remembered when his father had died so long ago. That had been what had drawn them together that night. She'd forgotten about it. She'd forgotten so much about that night, but it was coming back to her slowly. "I'm sorry."
He glanced over at her as he strode down the hall, flicking on overhead lights as he went. He gave her a small smile. "Thanks."
Just one word. No explanation. No emotion...and yet, there was so much weight in his voice and in that brief flicker of a smile. She hurried to catch up as he vaulted up the stairs, still turning on lights as he went. "I haven't been upstairs yet," he said. "I don't know what shape it's in."
"It's no problem. I'm sure it's fine. Do you have any Christmas decorations in boxes? I could help set up." She strode after him, pausing halfway up the stairs to look at a photograph on the wall that caught her eye. She caught her breath, staring at the image of the boy she'd kissed so long ago. "That's you," she whispered, brushing her finger over the dusty glass to clear it. There he was, the exact image of the boy she'd held in her memories all these years. She even remembered the bright yellow swim trunks, and the white beaded necklace he'd been wearing. His dark brown hair was tousled, too long for fashion, but perfect for a boy who lived on an island. He was laughing, his eyes crinkled up with such amusement that she smiled, her heart warming. "This picture was from that summer, wasn't it? I remember that swimsuit—" She caught herself, biting her lip before she could say anymore.
When Cole didn't say anything, she looked up. He was on the top of the landing, staring down at her with a shocked look on his face. Electricity seemed to leap through the air, and she froze.
He remembered.
Chapter 5
IT WAS HER.
Cole's gut thudded in disbelief as he stared down at her. How could he not have recognized her? He could see the girl from the beach in every line of her face. He recognized the vibrancy of her brown eyes, the tilt of her nose, the way the left side of her mouth tilted up a tiny bit higher than the right when she smiled. Her voice brushed over his skin the way it had before, a little throaty, and decadently sensual. It was her, but he was sure her name hadn't been Kate back then.
Her cheeks turned pink. "You remember me."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement, and he knew then that she remembered him. Her luggage slipped from his hand, landing with a dusty thud on the landing. "Willow."
She smiled then, a smile that seemed to light up her face. "Hi."
"Shit." He vaulted down the stairs and landed beside her, searching her face. A thousand questions raced through his mind. Where had she gone? What was her last name? What life did she lead? But he didn't ask them. He simply touched her cheek, just as he had that day so long ago when they'd run into each other on the beach. She'd been in tears from something her mother had done, and he'd been agonized by the death of his father. Two teenagers, hopelessly out-matched by life, had found hope and solace in each other on a sandy beach in the moonlight. "You look the same," he said softly.
Her smiled widened. "Which is why you didn't remember me until now?"
"I didn't know. I wasn't looking for you." He picked up a lock of her hair. So soft. It was darker now. Back then it had been a lighter brown, streaked with blond, but it was a deep chestnut now, rich and sexy as hell. "Did you come here for me?"
She shook her head. "I didn't know it was you until after the kiss. I just never forgot how this island made me feel, and I wanted to come back. I didn't come for you, just for how you made me feel." Her cheeks turned even pinker. "I wanted to spend Christmas here. That was all. Once I realized it was you, I wasn't going to say anything. But then I didn't have a room, and I didn't know this was your place. I wasn't stalking you, I promise—"
He smiled then, a goofy grin that made him feel like an awkward teenager all over again. "If I'd known it was you on the ferry, I would have made you stay here with me." His fingers slipped through her hair. He still couldn't believe she was there, standing in front of him. He'd almost believed she'd been a figment of his imagination. "I looked for you the next day, but you were gone."
She nodded. "Summer ferries run every day. We were gone on the eight o'clock boat."
"I would have gotten your number." He searched her face, drinking in all that he hadn't had the chance to so long ago. "I would have called you. Tracked you down. But I didn't know how to find you, and your family had left no contact info at the inn. Just gone. No one at the inn had ever heard of a girl named Willow staying there, though you fit a description of someone named...Jane? Is that what it was?"
She shrugged. "I could have been registered under Jane. We used a lot of different names over the years."
He tugged lightly at her hair, still shocked by the fact she was standing in front of him. "What's your real name? Willow or Kate? Or Jane? Or something else?"
She hesitated then. He felt it in the sharp intake of her breath, and he saw it in the way her gaze flicked away from his for a split second. His fingers tightened in her hair, as if he were a teenage boy again, desperate to hold onto the one thing that seemed to make sense. "I need your real name," he said, his voice hoarser than he'd intended. "Tell me who you really are."
Her gaze flicked back to his. "Willow," she said softly. "I gave you my real name the first time. You're the only one I told the truth to when we were here before. I wanted you to know the real me."
His grip softened in her hair, and a sense of rightness flooded him. She looked so vulnerable staring up at him, her face cast in a golden glow from the dusty sconces on the wall. She was no longer a teenager, hiding from her parents in the darkness. She was a woman, but her eyes were the same, full of the same vulnerability as before, still hiding behind a façade, just as she'd done so long ago.
But, he was no longer who he had once been, a teenage boy overwhelmed by his terror about death and loss. He was a man now, a man with money and power, a man who was in a position to help and protect...and this woman, this magical moonlight goddess from his past, mattered to him, because she'd saved him from such darkness so long ago. "What are you hiding from?" he asked softly. "What's chasing you? How can I help you?"
Longing flashed across her face, but she shook her head. "I'm here to leave it behind," she said. "Can you let me do that?"
It. She'd said it. Not him. Not another man who had a claim on her. Relief rushed through him, and he nodded, willing to give her time...because they had a week. A week until the ferry could spring either of them. A week with the woman who'd changed his life so long ago.
She smiled, a smile that made his heart glow with a light that hadn't burned in a very long time. "Thanks."
He grinned back. "The beach is kind of cold and snowy right now. How about I get a fire started and figure out some food and drink, and we pre
tend we're fifteen again?"
Her smile widened. "I'd like that."
"All right, then." He searched her face. "When we were fifteen, I kissed you."
Her smile faded. "You also kissed me twelve years later."
"You think I should wait another twelve years for the third kiss?" He knew he was pushing her comfort zone, but he didn't care. The need to taste her again was almost insurmountable. She wasn't simply the woman on the ferry who had called to him. She was Willow, the woman who had been a part of his soul for more than a decade. She was unfinished business, a story whose ending had never been written, and he'd waited too long for the chance to finish his dance with her. He wanted that moment to start right now.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and then back to his eyes. He saw the yearning in them, and he knew she felt the same connection between them he did. She was drawn to him, but she was always wary, fearful, and protective of herself, because he'd pushed her too far.
Shit. He wasn't going to be that guy, the one who made her uncomfortable. He dropped his hand from her hair and forced himself to step back before she could answer. He'd seen her cry before, and there was no way in hell he was going do anything that could bring her more pain, no matter how much he wanted to kiss her. "Sorry. Too much. I'm the innkeeper, and you need to feel safe here." He didn't miss the relief in her eyes...or the regret. "I'll show you to your room, and then meet you downstairs when you're ready. It'll take me a little bit to locate the firewood and get things going, so take your time. Sound good?"
She nodded. "Yes, sounds great."
"Okay." He started to turn away, then froze when she put her hand on his arm.
"Cole?"
He turned back toward her, his entire soul burning from the feel of her hand on his arm. "Yes?"
"Thank you." She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth, the same tender, sweet kiss of so long ago. Her lips tasted of sea salt and wind, just as they had on the ferry. He cupped her face lightly, and kissed her back, resisting the urge to turn the kiss into the heated fire that was pouring through him.
The kiss was too short, barely started when she pulled back, her gaze searching his. "You don't know who I am, do you? My last name?"
He frowned. "Should I? Did you tell me?"
"No. I just..." She smiled again. "I'm glad to be here."
He brushed his finger along her cheek. "Yeah, me too." And as he said it, he realized it was true. He'd avoided the island for over a decade, and he'd done his best to delay this visit for as long as possible, but now that he was here, with Willow, he couldn't think of any place he'd rather be.
Yes, she was hiding secrets.
Yes, it was only a week, and then they both had to go back to their lives.
And yes, neither of them were innocent teenagers anymore, and there was no way to ignore the heat smoldering between them, heat that was too dangerous to play with...but he didn't really care.
Sitting in front of a fireplace with Willow was going to lead to things. He knew it. Getting entangled with her wasn't what he'd come here for. It wasn't something he had space for in his life, not for a day, or a week, or longer.
But he didn't care.
He was going to build that fire, and when she came downstairs...yeah, well...he wasn't going to let her get away so easily this time.
He wanted at least one last dance before their story ended.
* * *
An hour later, Willow paused in the doorway to the living room, her breath catching when she saw Cole standing in front of the hearth, watching the flames blazing in the fireplace. The flames cast flickering light and shadows across his face, accentuating the strong line of his jaw, and the bronze highlights in his dark hair. His arms were folded across his chest, and his expression was moody and troubled, utterly exposed and vulnerable. She had a feeling she was seeing a side of Cole that not many people got to see, because he kept it hidden so carefully.
His jeans and heavy winter boots were covered in snow, giving him the look of a true Mainer. He'd changed his shirt, and he was now wearing a cashmere crewneck sweater that looked incredibly soft and expensive, but the collar of his shirt was peeking out, revealing an old tee shirt beneath his expensive sweater. He was a mix 'n' match, fitting in wherever he went...or maybe nowhere at all.
He looked over suddenly, and smiled, the moodiness chased away by a warm smile that made her heart skip. "Hey."
She smiled, feeling a little shy. "Hi."
He picked up two glasses of wine from the mantle, one red and one white. "I didn't know which you wanted, seeing as how you weren't a big drinker last time we met."
"Red would be great." She took a deep breath and walked into the living room. The sheet had been tossed off the couch, but the room was still dusty and kind of dreary. She could smell something cooking that made her stomach rumble. "You're cooking?"
"It's an inn. It's what we do. Not a lot of menu choices tonight, though." His fingers brushed hers as she took the glass, and her heart skipped. "It's been a while since I've been in that kitchen, so it's possible I might have made some egregious substitution, like salt instead of sugar or something like that."
"That's fine. I'm sure it's delicious." She stood awkwardly in front of the fire, facing him, not sure what to say. Now that their past had been identified, where did they go? It wasn't as if they'd had an extensive relationship back then. Just a day, one amazing day. "So, um...what do you do for work?"
His eyes narrowed. "Really? That's your question?"
She blinked. "What?"
"That's not how it was before."
She stiffened. "Cole, we were fifteen, and it was one day. There isn't really a before—"
"Before, we didn't talk about trite, meaningless things. You told me how you felt like your heart was shriveling inside your body because you belonged nowhere in this world, and you felt like you would never be good enough. I told you how my father had just died, and my mom was already dating someone. I told you how I hated having to be at this inn every night when my friends were out playing. I told you that I didn't want to be in the inn anymore, because it just reminded me of my dad and how my life would never be again. That's what we talked about, not what schools we went to or what music we liked."
She stared at him in shock. "You remember all that?" The moment he'd said it, the memories had come tumbling back. She knew he was right. The connection between them had been instant and profound, not littered with the superficial interactions of awkward teenagers.
He reached out, sliding his hand through her hair. "What are you running from, Willow? What made you decide to celebrate Christmas by yourself on an island in Maine? What's trying to break you this time?"
His voice was so gentle, and so familiar that tears suddenly filled her eyes. Maybe he was why she'd come. Maybe she needed him the way she'd needed him before—a stranger who cared, but was so distant from her real life that it was safe to let her guard down and be honest with him, and with herself. "I just wanted to know what it would be like for Christmas to matter."
He searched her face, his fingers still tangled in her hair. "What do you mean?"
"For my whole life, we've been on the move. Christmas was just like any other day. My parents were always working on different projects, so we were never together. Christmas was about parties and being seen by the right people. I've never had a Christmas tree. I've never woken up to stockings hanging from a mantle or had Christmas dinner with people who cared. I just...I just wanted that, and I remembered you telling me that Mystic Island had the most special Christmases in the world...so I wanted to come. I wanted to feel what Christmas is really like." It sounded so lame she was embarrassed, but it was the truth.
He put his hand over her heart, his palm warm. "You think Christmas will fix what's broken in here?"
She bit her lip and shrugged, somehow not surprised that he'd realized that her yearning for a real Christmas was driven by a deeper hole in her heart, one she didn't kn
ow how to fix. "Maybe it will start a chain reaction of some sort."
He laughed then, a deep, masculine laugh that made her smile. "A Christmas chain reaction. That's something my dad would have said." His smile faded as he spoke, and his gaze drifted to the wall behind her.
She turned and saw he was looking at an old oil painting of an attractive young couple. The man looked a lot like Cole, maybe a little younger than he was now. "Your parents?"
"Yes. They had it painted the year they bought the inn. I thought the red and green Christmas sweaters looked ridiculous, but they loved Christmas and wanted the holiday spirit to last all year long in this place." His voice was softer than it had been on the ferry, as if some of his hard edges were slipping away.
"Why did you come back here?" she asked. "After so many years away?"
He glanced at her. "My mom died over the summer. This was the first chance I've had to get the place cleaned up and ready to put on the market. Once I sell it, my ties to the island will be cut completely."
Her heart sank at his words. "You really don't want to be a part of this place?" The magical place that was supposed to save her was his hell?
He said nothing for a long moment, just staring at the painting. Finally, without looking at her, he said, "The good that was once a part of this island is long gone for me now. There's nothing here for me except..." He paused, his gaze flickering to hers. "Except pain."
"Your father dying?"
"And more. Other stuff. His death was only the beginning."
"Of what?"
Wrapped Up In You (A Mystic Island Christmas) Page 4