The Giving Heart

by Toni Blake

  He tried to smile—at her concern, at how damn cute she was—but he felt too tense.

  Finally, with her dainty fingers still wrapped around his, she lifted her gaze back to his face. “Thank you for telling me all that. It does help me understand better and see where you’re coming from.

  “But...how could I ever truly be happy with you knowing that each time I’m here, I’d look out that window and see what’s not there and know how it hurt my sister and my family and that it was your doing? Maybe some women could. Maybe I should be able to overlook this. Maybe right now I’m just sensitive to...” She stopped, shook her head. “To not wanting to let any man take something from me I don’t choose to give. But regardless of all that, as soon as the ice clears, I have to figure out how to tell my sister and my parents what’s happening to the land, and that I wasn’t able to stop it—and it’s going to kill me.

  “And I’ve accepted that nothing will stop it—but I don’t think my heart could ever be completely at peace, completely fulfilled, knowing it was you who changed this place forever and that I just...chose to forget about it, chose to do the easy thing instead of the difficult one. I respect the position you’re in, but I just don’t think this can be fixed. Because...because...” She sighed, let her gaze drop. “I just want to believe that if something is really right—it won’t be this hard, it won’t make me feel like I’m doing the wrong thing, it won’t make me feel like I’m selfishly betraying my sister, it won’t feel like I’m making a concession in my heart.” She looked back at him then. “And that’s not fair to you—I know it’s not. I know it’s this...unrealistic, fairy-tale expectation. But regardless of what’s fair or even reasonable, it’s where my heart is. And that means, for us, everything will never be right.”

  Beck had listened patiently, every muscle in his body going weaker with each word she spoke, until it grew challenging to remain on his feet. When she finished, he could think of only one simple thing to say. “I just thought telling you I love you might change things.”

  “It does,” she told him sadly. “It makes them worse.”

  * * *

  A FULL DAY after Beck professed his love, Lila still felt numb. The man of her dreams loved her, but she didn’t know how to be happy with him under the circumstances. And Christmas Eve was two days away, and at a time when she longed for her family more than ever, she would spend the holiday without them.

  Funny thing—only when she’d found out she’d be stranded here alone did she realize how much she needed to talk to Meg, face-to-face, how much she had to say to her now. About way more than just the trees. And that made it all the harder to know it would have to wait.

  “Pull yourself together,” she muttered to herself as she trudged up Harbor Street in a bitter wind that made her wonder if she was on the North Pole instead of Summer Island. Dahlia had invited her to Christmas dinner with Mr. Desjardins, Suzanne, and Zack—Meg’s ex. It sounded like an awkward group at best—at least two of which had the potential to be unhappy to see her, even if, in Zack’s case, only by virtue of family ties. Even so, she’d accepted, and she’d offered to bring cookies. Now she only hoped Koester’s had the ingredients she’d need for Gran’s butter cookie recipe that she’d found in Meg’s well-organized vintage recipe card file.

  She was surprised to find Koester’s so lively when she walked in—several people bustled about, and Dahlia stood behind a long table heaped with toys, wrapping paper, and a ridiculous amount of Christmas lights. “I don’t know if all of them work,” she heard Dahlia saying into her cell phone, “but pretty much anyone who had a strand to spare donated a set, and Koester’s is donating all the new ones still on their shelves, too.”

  Next to Dahlia stood a cashier Lila recognized from the market, but instead of manning one of the few registers, she was speaking with Trent Fordham, who Lila knew ran the bike livery and was engaged to Allie from the Knitting Nook. “I’ll see if I can come up with some training wheels,” he was saying. “Either way, I’ll have the bike ready in an hour.”

  Lila tossed a wave in Dahlia’s direction, wondering what the heck was going on, but then went about her business, picking up a shopping basket and making her way to the baking aisle. Fortunately, Meg had flour, sugar, and butter—leaving Lila on the hunt for vanilla, fresh eggs, and cream of tartar. A few minutes later—pay dirt—she had located what she needed, along with a few other groceries to sustain her since she had no idea when she’d get to leave the island.

  By the time she’d paid and picked her bags up in mittened hands, ready to face the cold walk home, Dahlia was off the phone. “Lila,” she called.

  Lila made her way over. “What’s all this?” she asked, looking to the table that contained everything from coloring books to toy dump trucks to Lego sets.

  “It’s for little Cade Walton.”

  Beck’s little friend who she’d met at the tree-lighting. Lila blinked, concerned. “Why? Is something wrong with him?”

  Dahlia shook her head. “Oh—no, not at all. He just can’t go home for Christmas—like you and a few other folks—so Beck is collecting gifts for Cade to wake up to on Christmas morning. From Santa, you know.” She winked behind tiny rectangular, purple-lensed glasses. “The whole island is pulling together, making sure the little boy has a nice holiday. But it’s all Beck’s doing.”

  Lila released a wistful sigh. Of course it was Beck’s doing. Because he was a wonderful man. Who would make an amazing dad. Not that she even knew for sure if she wanted kids or—God forbid—what kind of mother she’d make. But a man like Beck could inspire a maternal instinct in a woman.

  “You seem strangely unhappy to hear this,” Dahlia observed.

  Lila met her gaze. “No, I’m just strangely unhappy, period. About Beck.”

  Dahlia tilted her head. “And why is that, my dear?”

  Lila saw no reason to mince words. “Because he loves me. And I love him. But...well, you know why we can’t be together.”

  “Because of a few sticks of wood behind the inn?” Dahlia raked a hand down through the air, implying the trees were nothing.

  But Lila argued the point. “You know how important they are, for so many reasons. And how much I feel I’ve let Meg down and put my own selfish wants ahead of her.”

  “Don’t get me wrong—I understand about the trees. It’s a situation where no one is at fault and yet no one can see their way clear to give in. But... I’m not sure I understand how falling in love hurts Meg. And he’s a good man, Lila. Most would say you’re a lucky woman to have his affection. You might want to think long and hard before throwing it away.”

  Lila drew in a deep breath. Dahlia was preaching to the choir—but both she and Beck made it all sound simpler than it was. “Believe me, I’m aware of all that,” she told her new friend. “And...the old me probably would have forgotten all about the trees by this point. But to do that now would feel like...like a betrayal to Meg and my family. And a betrayal to...to the woman inside me who wants to be strong, and loyal, and doesn’t think love should be this challenging. Shouldn’t it be...perfect? At least closer to perfect?”

  “Pretty thoughts,” Dahlia said almost dismissively, surprising her. “But sometimes life isn’t as picture-perfect as we want it to be. I suspect that making a compromise, for the right man, under certain circumstances, might well be worth it. And I suspect these might be just such circumstances.”

  Was this Dahlia? It didn’t sound like the woman Lila had started getting to know. She’d thought self-sufficient, independent Dahlia would back her up in standing strong, righting wrongs, and not settling for something so much less than perfect. “Who are you and what have you done with Dahlia, the woman who seems not to need a man at all?”

  Dahlia stayed quiet for a moment, looking contemplative, like she’d gone somewhere else in her mind. Then she met Lila’s gaze and lowered her voice. “I’m going to mak
e a confession to you, but you can never tell another soul.”

  Lila let her eyes go wide. “I’ll take it to the grave,” she promised, instantly intrigued.

  “In my own perhaps elevated opinion of myself, I don’t have a great many large flaws—but I do sometimes wonder if perhaps I hold men to too high a standard. I can be stubborn about it. Independence, on the surface, appears to be a fine trait, but I believe it can, too often, go hand in hand with stubbornness. I have no regrets, but I...sometimes wonder if I should. I sometimes wonder if I’ve made the right choices with the men in my life.”

  Lila didn’t know what to say. To her, Dahlia was the picture of confidence, of having made a wonderful life for herself that she wouldn’t change in any way. Was there more there? Would Dahlia truly be happier with one of her exes? Or... “Is Mr. Desjardins still in the picture?” Lila asked softly.

  Dahlia nodded, but looked non-committal. “He is.”

  “Is this about him?” she went so far as to ask.

  “No—this is about you. And Beck. And simply wanting to ensure you make the decision that will bring you the most happiness. What if...what if you just forgave him?” she suggested as merrily and simply as if encouraging Lila to make a healthy choice from a restaurant menu.

  Lila blinked. “Forgave him?”

  “You could just forgive him. For the situation with the woods. Forgive and forget. Forgiving is a powerful act, Lila.”

  Lila sighed, thought it through, tried to dissect her emotions. “Maybe I...already have forgiven him,” she realized aloud, tilting her head slightly. “But it’s the forgetting I’m not sure I can do.”

  When the bell on the market’s front door jingled, Lila turned to see Suzanne come in from the cold, toting a cardboard box and announcing to no one in particular, “I gathered up some lights I was using on trees at the shop before they sold.” Only as she plopped the box on the floor alongside others also containing strands of mini-bulbs did she notice Dahlia wasn’t alone. “Lila,” she said then, the greeting decidedly pensive.

  “Hi, Suzanne,” she replied. And suddenly feeling awkward, she shifted her focus to the piles of lights. “I know what the toys are for, but what about the lights?”

  “That we don’t know,” Dahlia told her. “But Beck said he needed them to pull this off, lots of them, so we’re collecting those, as well.”

  “It’s so nice of everyone to contribute,” Lila said. “I’ll have to see what I can find in the attic.”

  “Anson is picking up everything here with his sleigh tomorrow morning and hauling it up to West Bluff. Going to be a highly sensitive operation—Anson will call George Walton when he’s leaving, and George and Marie will do something to occupy Cade and keep him from looking out the window while Beck and Anson unload the goods at Beck’s place. So you have until then if you want to drop something off.”

  Lila nodded and thanked her for the information, then turned to Suzanne, a little more grounded now and hoping to get past the weirdness. “I’ll look forward to seeing you at Dahlia’s on Christmas.”

  Her sister’s best friend smiled—and Lila could see in her face that she appreciated the gesture. “Likewise—and I’m glad you’re coming. I’m... I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch much.”

  Lila shook her head. “I understand—no biggie. I’m just...glad we’re still friends.”

  “Of course we are,” Suzanne assured her.

  * * *

  LILA DIDN’T REMEMBER ever having visited the inn’s attic as many times in her life as she had in the past few weeks. But she knew there were lights up there that hadn’t been used on the Christmas tree, and maybe she could find something else a little boy would enjoy.

  Of course, as she climbed the drop-down ladder one more time, she wanted to kill Beck for being so kind to Cade. She wanted to kill him for being so adorable and cute with Cade in front of her at the tree-lighting ceremony. And while she was at it, she wanted to kill him for being patient and persistent and witty and handsome and sexy and good in bed.

  She located the spare lights easily, but finding a worthy Christmas gift for a five-year-old took a little more looking. Finally, she spotted a stack of old board games. Most were well used, and God only knew if all the pieces were in the boxes, but two of them appeared to be almost like new: Candy Land and KerPlunk.

  She recalled playing both with Gran and Meg when she was small. And part of her wanted to keep them, cherish them. But a bigger part of her remembered Beck learning how one simple gift could change the world, and while she doubted a round of KerPlunk would dramatically alter Cade Walton’s life, she still wanted to join in on the project in some way.

  So after opening each to confirm the games were in excellent condition on the inside of the box as well as the outside, she carried them downstairs and further tidied them up by putting game pieces in plastic bags that a small child would hopefully never suspect hadn’t come from the manufacturer. It felt good to think of Cade opening them on Christmas morning. Once she was satisfied that they looked new other than the lack of being sealed in cellophane, she went so far as to wrap them and plop sticky bows on top, figuring it would save Beck the trouble on at least these two gifts.

  Maybe this was how Beck’s dad had felt giving things to people. Even if she still thought it wrong to do so much more for strangers than his own children. But maybe Beck would forgive him someday. The way Dahlia was telling her she should forgive Beck. And as she’d told Dahlia, she truly thought she already had. She didn’t feel angry anymore. She just didn’t know how to be with him under such regretful circumstances.

  Yet was Dahlia right? Was she holding him to too high a standard?

  Was Simon Alexis part of that, too—was it his fault she wanted to make zero concessions?

  Was everyone who’d said she needed to forget about failing Meg right? Was feeling she didn’t deserve Beck if it came at her sister’s expense holding herself to too high a standard?

  Was wanting love to be simpler, less fraught with drama, just one more form of selfish immaturity?

  She didn’t know—she simply didn’t know.

  But maybe none of that mattered anyway, because even if the answer to all of those questions was yes—she still had no clue how to get her heart on board.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  BECK LABORED IN the Walton’s wide front yard, hammering stakes he’d found at Fulton’s Hardware, which had opened for him upon special request, down through the snow and ice. Even in frigid temperatures, he was working up a sweat.

  But it was worth it when Cade came running out, all wide-eyed under his big winter hat, to ask, “What are you doing, Becker?”

  “Making it so Santa can find you tomorrow night,” he replied.

  The little boy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What? What do you mean? How are you doing that? How will Santa find me?”

  “You just leave that to me,” Beck told him on a laugh. He’d known he wouldn’t be able to keep his project out here a secret from Cade, but he still wanted the end product to be a surprise.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Cade questioned him, turning skeptical.

  Beck just shook his head in slow, gentle scolding. “Cade, Cade, Cade. After all we’ve been through together, don’t you trust your good buddy, Becker, to look out for you?”

  Cade appeared to think the question over very seriously, finally replying, “I guess so.”

  “Have no fear, my friend—Santa’s going to find you without any problem. Tomorrow night, when it gets dark, I’ll come over and show you how it’s gonna work. But until then, you have to be patient, and maybe, uh, not look out the window too much. And as long as you can do that—Santa. Deal?” Anson had already delivered all the gifts, but Beck still didn’t need Cade being too observant.

  The little boy nodded. “Deal.” Then informed him, “I have to g
o back inside. Grammy says it’s too cold to stay out. But you’re supposed to come knock on the door when you want hot chocolate.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Now get back in there where it’s nice and cozy.”

  An hour later, Beck took Marie up on the offer of hot chocolate and warmed himself by their fire for a few minutes. An hour after that, he had all the stakes in place and began to string the lights around them. Hopefully this part would go faster. And hopefully the lights would stretch as far as he’d calculated.

  After he finished outside, he’d work on wrapping gifts. Some had come in gift bags and wrapping paper, and some were already wrapped by virtue of having been purchased for his sister’s kids—stuff he could replace for them once the ice cleared. He was grateful to Trent Fordham for donating a bright red child’s bike, complete with training wheels, and someone had come up with Pokémon cards, a stuffed Pikachu, and some Pokémon-themed books. According to Anson, Allie Hobbs’ mother had kindly donated a stuffed puppy intended for her own grandchild—which he almost hated to take. But thinking of his father, and the joy people experienced in giving, he accepted it in the spirit intended and resolved to thank her personally after Christmas.

  All things considered, he thought Cade was going to come out pretty well here. And maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad Christmas, after all. He glanced over at the snowman he and Cade had built—still standing, even if lopsided and a little worse for wear after the recent snowstorm. His old hat remained, as well, just buried beneath fresh snowfall now. The sight, and the memory of Lila telling him it was awful, made him grin.

  Lila. If things were different with her, this Christmas would be amazing, ice or no ice. As it was, trying to make it amazing for someone else was a welcome distraction from the constant gnawing pain in his gut at remembering her declaration that there was no hope for them. He wanted people to make themselves clear—well, she’d made herself clear. The wind whipping around him suddenly grew a little more bitter at the memory.