“It is,” Jessica confirms, “and why did you just turn ghostly on us? Is that a problem for you?”
Yes, I think. Yes, it’s a problem. It’s the place that used to be home. It’s the home that doesn’t exist anymore. It’s good memories. It’s bad memories. It’s everything I ever was and wasn’t with Roarke, but if I let him or the past drive me away, he wins, and I lose the opportunity to restart my career. That can’t happen. “No problem,” I reply, lifting my glass and finishing off most of my wine before adding, “planning a festival in Sweetwater is a dream come true.”
Chapter Eight
Hannah…
My statement hangs in the air, and to Roarke’s good credit, he bites back a reply, or maybe Jason just beats him to it. The two men share a look and Jason snorts. “A dream come true,” he replies dryly. “Come on, Hannah, this is Roarke and me you’re talking to. We’ve had our share of crap at the ranch. No one dreams of a festival in Sweetwater, especially when they grew up in Sweetwater. I call foul.”
I ignore Roarke’s burning stare to my right and scowl at Jason. “They do when that festival is high-profile and can launch their new business,” I say. “So you strikeout on that call of foul.”
He laughs. “You can’t strikeout on a foul.”
“I didn’t say you were striking out on a foul,” I counter. “I said your call of foul was a strikeout. Or perhaps you’d rather me just say wrong. It was wrong.”
He laughs all over again. “You still got that quick mouth, don’t you?”
“I was thinking the same of you,” I retort, without missing a breath.
Two waiters appear with the bread to be dispersed, saving me from further battle but not from the man sitting next to me, not from Roarke. The truth is, over the past few years, it’s become pretty clear that where Roarke is concerned, I can’t be saved. Every man is compared to him, and considering what he did to me, they should win, but they never do. Maybe it’s time that I stop trying to be saved. Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I need to just accept the past as exactly that: the past, and then leave it there instead of using it to define the future.
As if he’s just heard that thought, Roarke leans in close, his voice low, for my ears only. “Sweetwater misses you.”
Sweetwater misses me. I hate that I want that to mean that he misses me, and even if it does, I remind myself that it doesn’t mean much. We all feel nostalgia at times, and as for Roarke and me, we’re a part of that town, a piece of each other’s history. We were all friends, a part of a small community, an extended family, that in the case of Roarke and me, became so much more, too much more. “It’s been a long time,” I say softly, daring to look at him. “It’s exciting to see the town come to life in new and exciting ways.”
“It needs new life,” he says. “After an extended drought, the locals are hurting. We need to help them, and we need you to help us do that. We have good ideas about the camp and the festival, but we’re stretched too thin to realize our potential. And that doesn’t just mean the town’s potential. It means the potential of the kids attending the camp. We’re going to help those kids face their fears.”
My brow furrows. “I thought you were helping them chase their dreams?”
“Fear is the primary reason that people don’t chase their dreams. You were meant for this project. Not only are you from Sweetwater, trusted by all of us, but fear didn’t hold you back. You got on a plane and went to L.A. You were brave. You chased your dreams.”
He thinks I was brave? Is he really that clueless, that checked out of how badly we ended? I got on a plane because I was running from heartache he created, and even now, just thinking about the moment I stepped on the plane guts me. “It wasn’t easy to leave,” I whisper, reaching for my wine, but my hand doesn’t make it to the glass. Roarke catches it, and I might as well have fire searing my skin. Shock and heat rush through me, and I jerk my stare to his. “Roarke,” I whisper, tugging at my hand.
He holds it easily. “This town and every kid in it, they’re us, Han,” he says softly, using his old nickname for me. “They have the world at their fingertips, and we can show it to them. Sweetwater turned out pretty well for all of us. It can for them, too. Don’t let what happened between you and me stop you from being a part of this.”
In other words, he does know how broken I was when I left. I pull my hand from his, and this time, he lets me. “Some might say that leaving Sweetwater is what made it all turn out for us. I left. You left. You traveled the world. You still do.” It’s out before I can stop it, an accusation in those words, my knowledge of his history that didn’t include me. He left all right, and that path never led him to me. He never came for me. He didn’t fight for me.
He leans closer. “It’s not that simple. You know it. I know it.”
“They both travel too much,” Jessica agrees, “but no worries there, Hannah.”
With my name, I lean back in my seat and as far away from Roarke as possible. “We do need them for the festival,” I say, following where she’s leading, eager to redirect the conversation to work.
“They both cleared their schedules until the camp sessions are done for the year,” she assures me. “Of course, Roarke does have emergency medical care he provides, but we’ll work around that. The animals come first.”
“It’s off-season for me,” Jason brags. “The team is backing the program, and with the recent good fortune of all involved, all of the proceeds are now going to the children’s hospital.”
This perks me up and excites me. Not only is it a great way to market the festival, it’s an amazing project to take part in. I reach for my wine again and begin eagerly asking questions.
“When does camp start?” I ask as we pin down details on who I should speak with for support at the charity itself.
“We have several camps planned,” Jason says. “The first is three weeks in November. The second is two weeks in December.”
“And two weekend camps in between the other two,” Roarke adds.
“We can’t really launch the camp with a festival in two weeks,” I worry, setting my fork that I barely remember picking up back down.
“We had the idea of the festival come about a bit late,” Jessica concedes. “We’re aware of the timeline challenges.”
“It’s a challenge,” Jason says, “but I heard Roarke explain the economic situation in the town. We need to make this happen now and in the future. Our hope is that the festival can become more of an annual event than just a camp launch.”
No one understands the struggle to survive in a small town more than my family who didn’t, in fact, survive. I already wanted to help, but my eagerness just notched up higher. “If we do this November first,” I say, “we won’t be able to do it right.”
“Which is why, as I mentioned at the field, we’re thinking about a Christmas festival on December first with the launch of the second camp,” Jessica replies. “Unfortunately, this is an idea we came up with so late in the game that we couldn’t announce it at today’s event.”
“Two days ago,” Roarke says dryly. “And the only thing we know for sure is there will be cookies.” He lifts his wineglass. “To the new cookie empire that’s already creating jobs in Sweetwater even before the camp and festival. We have Jessica to thank for that.”
Jason and I follow suit and lift our glasses. “Ironically,” Jessica says, lifting her own glass, “we have my jerk of an ex to thank for that,” she says. “Had he not cheated with his secretary, I wouldn’t have left my law career behind and taken a sabbatical in Sweetwater.” She laughs, and one by one, she clinks her glass to ours. “To lousy exes who lead us to bigger, better, and sweeter places.” She turns her gaze to Jason. “Like you.”
The two of them huddle up, and I just sit there watching them, refusing to look at my ex. My ex who isn’t lousy. He’s a good guy. He saves animals. Animals love hi
m. He just didn’t love me. I down my wine and set down my glass.
“Hannah,” he says, easing closer. “Let’s go take a walk.”
Thankfully, the doors to our private dining area open and the first of our food arrives. My hero this night isn’t a man saving me from heartache. It’s a side salad, but even it wants more. It’s begging for dressing, which is set beside me before the waiter, strategically it seems, steps between me and Roarke to fill my now-empty wineglass. He’s given me space to breathe, and I change my mind in that moment. A man is my hero tonight, and per the tag on his shirt, that hero’s name is Ralph. I think I love Ralph right up until the moment he leaves, but I’m strategic as well.
I pick up my fork and shove a big bite of salad in my mouth, only to realize that Ralph’s hero skills do not include replacing glasses in proper places. My glass is right at my elbow, and it’s too late to stop what comes next. It tumbles in Roarke’s direction. I drop my fork and reach for it, but I end up catching it too late. Roarke turned to grab it as well and, in doing so, made the glass in my hand a target. I try to pull it upright, but the wine splashes forward and all over him, almost as if I’d intended to throw it at him.
Chapter Nine
Hannah…
The wine splatters onto Roarke’s face and pretty much plops onto his lap. “Oh god,” I say, setting the stupid glass down and grabbing a napkin. “That was an accident.” I don’t think. I react. I wipe his face. “I would never do that on purpose. You know that. You know me. I wouldn’t do this.”
“I know,” he says, my hand and that napkin landing on his leg. The muscle beneath my palm—his muscle—flexes, and suddenly, I’m aware of my legs pressed to his legs, my hand on his powerful thigh. Our faces close. His brown eyes staring into my eyes.
“I don’t—”
“I do,” he says softly.
I want to ask what that means. I need to know what that means, but I don’t get the chance to find out.
“How bad is it?” Jessica asks. “Do you need to go to the hotel and change?”
Roarke takes the napkin from me and glances at his pants, while I quickly scoot back, placing distance between him and me. “I’m wearing black jeans,” Roarke replies. “No harm, no foul.” He glances at me. “Let’s drink the next round.” The waiter reappears, quickly attending to the mess, and a few minutes later, it’s as if nothing happened.
“Back to our salads,” Jessica says. “And not to tease you, Hannah, but considering all my mishaps since leaving the city for the country, it’s nice to know a born country girl can have a few mishaps herself. You have no idea how many I’ve had.”
She goes on to tell me about how she came to Sweetwater, fell in the mud, fought with Jason, and generally became a perfect mess of the perfect woman for him. We are all laughing when the waiter delivers more bread to the table, and I’ve decided I adore Jessica. Her story was to make me feel better about the wine because she doesn’t know how many mishaps I’ve had around these two men, and they me. We grew up together, and I settle into those memories with comfort instead of pain. I want to be a part of this festival. I’m the right person to make this special.
“We can make December first work for the festival,” I say, bringing us back to that topic. “It’s going to be tight, but that would make for a fun holiday event, too. I’ll need to work around the clock and hire some help, but we can do it.”
“This is great news,” Jessica says, motioning to the table. “Everyone eat. The main course will be here, and our salads will be untouched.”
Obediently, we all grab our forks, and somehow, my leg collides with Roarke’s again, the force of that connection jolting me. I suck in a breath, and while I don’t look at Roarke, he’s looking at me. I can feel his stare, but fortunately, Jessica saves me. “Bread, Hannah?”
Setting my fork down, I reach for the bread. “Yes, please.” Unfortunately, the table is wide, and I can’t quite reach the basket.
Roarke solves that problem by snagging it for me, setting it between us. My eyes meet Jessica’s, and there’s awareness in the depths of her stare. She knows about Roarke and me, or at the very least, she feels the push and pull between us. “Thank you,” I say, glancing at Roarke.
His lips hint at a smile, and I can’t help but remember how they feel on my mouth, on my body. I’ve never been kissed the way this man has kissed me, and if I were asked to explain what that meant to someone else, I think I’d decline. It’s simply too personal. “I remember how much you love your bread,” he says softly, and while this comment, about bread of all things, shouldn’t feel sexual, apparently his knowledge of my love of bread feels that way to my body because I’m warm all over.
“Let’s talk about the parade,” Jessica says.
That kills the mood. My gaze whips around and lands on Jessica. “Parade?”
Roarke chimes in with, “Wait. A parade?”
“That’s right,” Jessica says. “A parade could allow each town store to have people camped out at their location.” She perks up. “What if we had an elf at every store?”
I need to reel her back, make this more doable. With that in mind, I say, “We have a short window. What if we hold the festival at the campgrounds with vendor booths? Then there’s some sort of prize for going to each participating store’s booth. We could launch a parade next year if that feels important after this year. Maybe have the old camp members be a part of the parade.”
“Okay, that’s brilliant,” Jessica says. “Really brilliant. When can you come to the ranch?”
When can I come to the ranch? Of course I knew that had to happen, but nevertheless, butterflies explode in my stomach with the promise of memories, so many memories, both good and bad. “When do you want me?”
“Tomorrow!” Jessica laughs. “But that’s not realistic for any of us. How about the day after tomorrow?”
“I can do that,” I say as more food arrives.
The four of us chat about what the festival might look like, and the conversation and laughter flow as easily as the wine. I don’t mean to drink as much as I do, but every time Roarke and I share a laugh and a smile, the pinch in my heart has me lifting my glass. It’s not something I do often, drinking liberally, and at some point, I resolve to just enjoy the wine and Uber to my apartment, but that’s okay. It’s the responsible thing to do, and I pride myself on being responsible.
When it comes time for dessert and coffee, I happily order a brownie ice cream sundae, eager to soak up the wine with the starch in the brownie while restoring my wits with caffeine. It’s also a treat a dinner in the fashion world would shun, but screw them. I’m not in L.A. anymore. I’m sitting next to my ex, who cheated on me, and I’m going to eat the sunday. I dig in and enjoy every bite. I eat it all, and I don’t care who might judge me, but that’s the thing about these people, about being home; no one even thinks about judging me.
We’ve all finished up our desserts when I feel the calling of wine and coffee driving me to the bathroom. “I better find the ladies’ room,” I say, pushing to my feet and sliding my purse over my shoulder.
“I’ll join you,” Jessica chimes in, standing as well.
“Good thing,” Roarke teases. “I was about to offer to escort her to the proper door.”
The wine gets the best of me, and I sit back down and turn to face him. “That was your fault.”
He leans in closer. “I made you go into the men’s bathroom not once but twice?”
“Yes,” I say. “You did.”
“You didn’t even know I was around the first time at the airport.”
“Obviously I sensed you were near because I only do stupid things when you’re around.”
“It’s all my fault?”
“We both know it’s your fault, Roarke.”
His expression tightens. “Hannah—”
“Don’t say wha
tever you’re about to say.” I stand up, and that’s when I realize that Jason and Jessica are staring at us. I try to think of something brilliant to say, but I have booze and Roarke on the brain. “I walked into the men’s room not once but twice in a couple of weeks and not by intent, which might or might not make that sound more reasonable. Of course, Roarke was present to witness both occasions.” I look at Jessica. “In light of this information, considering I’m well wined and in Roarke’s presence, I’ll accept an escort to the ladies’ restroom, if you’re offering.”
Jessica glances between us and smiles before stepping to the end of the table and offering me her arm. “Girl trip.”
I accept her arm, and together, we head for the door. I don’t look back at Roarke, but damn him, I hear and feel the deep rumble of his laughter. I scowl but head out into the main restaurant with Jessica. “Would you like to talk about you and Roarke?” Jessica asks as we walk toward the bathroom sign.
“Not unless you’re worried about our past affecting the festival.”
“I’m not,” she says, and once we round a corner and then cut down another hallway to wait for the sealed bathroom door to open, she halts and turns to face me. “I know you’re a professional. I know you care about the town, and I don’t know what happened between the two of you. I promise. I know nothing, but matters of the heart I do know. I just—I know. If you need me, I will be there for you, and if I need to kick Roarke’s pretty little ass, I’ll do that, too.”
I laugh. “Oh no. You don’t get to take that fun from me. If he needs it, I’ll do the kicking.”
She smiles. “Or we can do it together.”
The bathroom opens, and a woman exits. I motion Jessica forward, eager to gain a few minutes to myself. “I’ll be fast,” she promises, hurrying into the one-person room. My head spins from the wine that just won’t be defeated by chocolate and coffee or sheer will. I plot my escape, eyeing the exit sign. I’ll go to the bathroom again as we all part ways and have an Uber wait for me.
Tangled Up in Christmas Page 5