Angie took a long, deep breath. ‘There’s a lodge down the road, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, ma’am. But—’
‘But?’
‘Well, ma’am... I wouldn’t recommend staying there.’ The expression on the brunette’s face was tight, but she cleared her throat. ‘Mostly because they’ll likely be fully booked as well.’
But Angie knew that wasn’t the reason. She’d driven past the place on her way to the café, and it hadn’t changed in all the years since she’d last been in Caledon. It was still a little dark, a lot dingy, and the receptionist’s face told her that in this case, it would be right to judge a book by its cover.
‘Are you sure there isn’t one room?’ Angie asked, her throat thick. ‘I just need a place to sleep. Nothing fancy.’
‘I’ll check again,’ came the answer, though it was said in a tone that told Angie she shouldn’t hold her breath.
How had things gone to hell so quickly? One moment she was in the arms of a man she knew she’d fantasise about long after she left—there was no point in pretending she could forget him anymore—and the next, she was stranded at a lodge that had no space for her.
‘The irony of this moment is probably lost on you,’ Ezra said softly.
‘Enlighten me.’
‘Well,’ he replied, taking her surly tone in stride, ‘there’s no space for you at the lodge...’
‘I’m aware.’
He gave her a look, his hands in his pockets. It put him in a stance that shouldn’t have been sexy, yet somehow was, even with the faint anger radiating off him. Perhaps because of it.
‘I still have—Oh. Oh,’ she said again, when her mind finally cleared of the fog of Ezra’s sexiness. ‘I think it’s safe to say Mary and Joseph’s situation was a lot more serious than mine.’
‘Similar though.’ He paused. ‘Almost as if there were some kind of outside force at work.’
He gave her a smile that was dangerous and unsympathetic, and annoyance bristled through her. At herself, too, because she found him sexy even when he was taunting her. Damn it. Damn him.
It was fitting then when the receptionist confirmed that there was no room for her. Angie thanked the woman and walked out of the reception area. She made it a few metres before her legs told her they were tired of keeping her up and she headed for the nearest bench.
Ezra sat down next to her. She nearly threw her hands up.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Maybe it is fate that keeps doing this to me. Why else would I find you this annoying and still be attracted to you?’
He gave a bark of laughter. ‘I could say the same thing about you.’
She snorted, though strangely, it made her feel better.
‘If this was some kind of divine intervention, there should have at least been a stable that I could sleep in.’ She paused. ‘Do you think the stage is still set up from the nativity play?’
‘I’m not sure that’s your most comfortable option.’
‘You’re right. My car’s probably better.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘But I think my bed would be best.’
* * *
‘Excuse me?’
He smiled at the indignation. At the interest. He’d meant it provocatively. Hadn’t been able to resist.
‘You could share my room with me. We’ll share the bed. No, not like that.’
Unless you want to.
‘I think I’ll take my chances with the car,’ she replied dryly.
He chuckled. Couldn’t blame her for the quip. But he wanted her to know it was a real option. ‘You’ve spent most of your day in a car. I promise, I won’t do anything inappropriate.’
She hissed out a breath. It felt as if something had punctured inside him and the air was hissing out there, too. Which of course, brought back the anger.
‘I’m trying to help you, Angie.’
‘Because you’re the reason I’m in this situation in the first place,’ she replied tightly. ‘If I hadn’t stayed—’
‘I didn’t ask you to.’
‘Didn’t you?’ She turned to him. ‘How was I supposed to leave when you were going through all this?’
‘You don’t know me, Angie. You’re not responsible for me.’
‘That’s not true.’ She straightened her shoulders. Lifted her chin though he swore her lips were trembling. ‘The first part, at least.’
He nodded. Hated that he used it as a weapon when he knew it wasn’t true.
They did know each other. They’d shared their fears, their vulnerabilities with one another. Most of them, anyway. It would forever be a mystery to him that he’d been able to open up about his failures. Because that’s how he saw them. He hadn’t spoken about them for most of his life because failure meant disappointment. He was tired of being disappointed.
He was tired of being a disappointment.
But then, there was something easy about opening up to a stranger. To someone who didn’t come with the baggage or benefit of history. He’d been able to create a narrative that had put him in the best light. That ignored the darkness, the grey between the black and white.
If he’d had to describe it theoretically, that’s how he would have done it. Except in practice it was decidedly different. Because sometimes the stranger was a woman who saw right through the bull. Who put the light on the darkness, on the flaws, and somehow made it seem less terrible.
Sometimes, the stranger was a woman who had darkness of her own. Who kept swatting away the light when her companion tried to help her. He didn’t know what to do about it. He couldn’t blame her when he’d resisted in some parts himself.
Or maybe he did know; he just didn’t want to do it.
‘You’re right,’ she said into the silence. ‘You’re not my responsibility. I stayed because...because I care.’
And didn’t that strip the anger from him.
‘I know.’
‘And because I’m running from my real responsibilities.’
‘Ange—’
‘I always run when I’m afraid,’ she continued as if he hadn’t said anything. ‘I’m running now, too. Because I care.’
It took him a moment to reply. The reply came in the form of a chuckle.
She was unimpressed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that was funny.’
‘It’s not. It’s just—’ The chuckle died swiftly. ‘It’s just that I’m doing the exact same thing.’
‘Running?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You invited me to spend the night in your bed.’
‘I was teasing.’
‘Were you?’
‘Angie—’
‘There’s no part of you that wants to spend the night with me?’
How had he got himself into this? Oh, right. Teasing. His own fault then. ‘I’ll sleep in the car and you can take the room.
‘That’s not what I meant.’ She sighed. ‘You might think you’re running, Ez, but you’re not.’
‘Of course I am.’ He paused. ‘Why am I trying to convince you of this?’
‘Because you know I’m right, and you don’t like admitting it. Just let me explain,’ she said, when he opened his mouth to protest. ‘You care about me, too.’ It wasn’t a question, but he gave a curt nod. ‘And after what happened with your ex, you should be running from someone you care about. Especially when that someone’s me.’
They hadn’t been talking about the same thing, he realised. But then he thought that it didn’t matter since what she’d said had taken over all the thoughts in his head anyway.
‘Why you?’
She tilted her head. Angled her body toward him. ‘Nothing can happen when we leave here, Ezra.’
/>
‘It could.’ Taken aback by his answer, he frowned. But he...he kept talking. ‘We’re both going back home to Cape Town.’
‘Ezra,’ she said it quietly. Something akin to shame flushed his body. ‘This makes no sense. You’ve come out of a seven-year relationship months ago. You proposed to her. How are you entertaining the possibility of something between us?’
‘You think I don’t know this doesn’t make sense?’ he asked tightly, the shame—the more, because damn it, there was more between them—spurring his words. ‘Do you think I want to entertain an “us”? My track record with women is terrible. Which is what I was talking about, by the way, when I said I was running.’ His breath pushed harshly between his lips. ‘I’ve been consistent in my poor decisions when it comes to relationships. I want to run from you, Angie. I want to run so bad, but I can’t. Every time I convince myself to—’
He shook his head then, hoping to regain his control. His dignity. Because he was acting like a fool and it was time he stopped. Before he could say anything more, she spoke.
‘I’m leaving again. Cape Town,’ she clarified. ‘I’m going to get my family settled, clean up the mess I made there. Then I’m going to leave.’
‘Where to?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Right.’ He sat back. ‘Of course.’
‘Don’t say it that way.’
He didn’t reply.
‘You don’t know what it’s going to be like, Ezra.’
‘Neither do you. Not really.’
‘I know my family.’
‘Not after your father...’ he trailed off when the words sounded harsh even to his own ears. ‘Things have changed,’ he said slowly. ‘You don’t know how because you left before you could find out.’
‘Because I ran, you mean.’ Her tone was flat.
‘You’re the best person to make that call, Ange. I’m only saying that maybe you should wait until you know what you’ll be leaving behind this time.’ And then, because he felt compelled to do so, he added, ‘This has nothing to do with me. You’ll never have to see me again if you don’t want to.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She faced forward again. Threaded her fingers together. ‘You know it’s not about that.’ He didn’t. ‘And for the record, I’m not just running away from them. I’m running toward something, too. Toward a life I get to live for myself.’
‘That’s what your life in Korea was?’ he asked. She nodded. ‘That life wasn’t in any way tainted by the memories of what you left behind? What you weren’t facing?’
She didn’t answer. Seconds later, a coarse laugh left her lips. ‘You bastard.’ She laughed again, except this time, she rested her head in her hands, and the sound ended on a sob.
He was a bastard.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ The words were stifled. She brought her head up and looked at him. Her eyes were dry. ‘You’re right.’
‘Being right is overrated.’
‘A social sciences lecturer would think that. No right and wrong, only shades of it.’
‘No, that’s not it. Being right just isn’t worth you being hurt.’
She blinked, then reached out and took his hand. He shifted it so that their fingers tangled. They sat like that for a while, neither of them speaking.
‘I’m sorry I broke it,’ she said into the silence.
‘What?’
‘This.’ She lifted their hands. Dropped it on his knee. ‘Us.’
‘How can you break something that wasn’t whole in the first place?’
‘Ooh.’ She laughed. ‘We’re a mess.’
He smiled. ‘Unfortunately.’
‘So,’ she said after a few seconds. ‘Does this mean I don’t get your bed tonight?’
Now he laughed, too. ‘The offer still stands.’
‘Thank goodness,’ she answered sincerely. ‘And I’m... I’m sorry about how I treated you earlier.’ He squeezed her hand, she squeezed his, and then quickly cleared her throat. ‘How about we take a walk down to the pier? Shake off some of the melancholy.’
‘Sure.’
He stood, offered her his hand. Held his breath. He wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t want to get a waft of her perfume—some powerful mixture of lilies and late spring—or because he didn’t know if she’d take it.
But she did.
And damn if that didn’t mess him up even more.
They walked down to the pier in silence. When they got there, they settled on one side of it, some distance from the edge, their feet dangling over the water. The pier was still warm though the sun had gone down ages ago. The trees on the embankment hung over the river as if designed to offer shade to those who preferred to cool off in its shadows rather than the water.
‘I always thought my parents were strange for living here,’ she said. ‘In this small town almost in the middle of nowhere. But this—’ she gestured around them with a hand ‘—makes me understand it. Today makes me understand it.’ She paused. ‘Helps me understand why Jenny and Dave wanted their wedding here, too.’
‘I can’t speak to your parents’ motivations, but you know Jenny and Dave grew up here, right?’
She laughed. ‘Yeah, but growing up somewhere doesn’t mean you have to get married there.’
‘So the autumn tree and petals didn’t come from growing up in Kuils River? Your wedding fantasy,’ he added when she frowned up at him. It made him feel foolish he remember the details of it.
‘Oh, no. No, that came from a movie, like I said earlier.’ Her lips curved. ‘I couldn’t have been older than seven. I don’t remember much of the rest of the movie, only that I saw this woman walking down the aisle in exactly the way I described, and I just...’ She lifted a hand, let it drop. ‘I knew that that was what I wanted someday. It took getting a little older to realise fantasies don’t come true because you want them to.’
‘Sometimes they do.’
‘Do they?’ Her expression turned pensive. ‘I haven’t ever had a dream come true.’
‘That doesn’t mean it won’t in the future.’
‘Of course not,’ she said dutifully. ‘I’m obviously going to become a bestselling author before the age of thirty.’
‘That’s your dream?’ he asked. ‘A bit ambitious, I’ll admit, but it could certainly come true.’ There was a pause. ‘Have you written anything that could be a bestseller though?’
She chuckled softly. ‘Finding your motivational talk a little challenging now that you have the facts, Mr. Inspiration?’
‘Inspiring people is not quite the same with facts,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Have you?’
‘I’ve...written some stuff.’
‘A book?’
‘Short stories.’
‘Which could be compiled into a book?’
‘Which could be excellent kindling for a fire.’
‘You’re deflecting.’
‘I prefer the term “running,”’ she said cheekily, then sighed. ‘I am.’
He didn’t say anything when silence followed her words. He knew she’d talk when she was ready. The certainty of that knowledge should have bothered him. Instead, he patiently waited for her explanation, looking up at the night sky and quietly marvelling at its inky darkness. It was brightened by the stars and moon, which, in turn, brightened the water with their reflection.
‘I’ve written one book.’ She kicked her legs out. Drew them in again. Repeated the action. ‘One full romance, from start to finish.’
‘I take it it’s not the one you’d like to become successful with.’
‘It wouldn’t be successful. It would be—’ She broke off with another kick. ‘The book is terrible,’ she admitted. She turned to him, laughed. ‘I haven’t read it since I wrote it, but I have it on good authority.’
‘Whose?’
‘My dad’s.’ The smile lingered on her lips faded. ‘I wrote it while he was sick. He found the pages I printed somehow before I got the chance to edit them. I got home from work that night and he was in my room and with this really serious expression he said, “Ange, girl—I think you need to do some work on your writing before you’re published.”’
Her expression was nostalgic. ‘I was furious, of course. But he just waited while I told him he had no right to invade my privacy and how dare he read my book and—’ she glanced over at him ‘—well, you get the picture. Anyway, he waited for me to finish and then he told me I needed work, yes, but I had promise. Which, for my dad, was a major compliment.’
‘Not that you needed it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He told you your writing needed work before it was published. Which, if we look at it linguistically, implies that he believed someday, you would be published.’
She didn’t reply for a while. Because of it, he could hear the rustle of the trees as a light breeze spun around them.
‘I didn’t ever think about it like that,’ she said.
‘Too busy looking at the negative, right?’
‘Right,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘Kind of makes me regret not writing another book.’
‘Why haven’t you?’
‘I... I couldn’t.’ The kicking started up again. ‘It seemed like too big a task. Too big a commitment when I could only focus on smaller things.’
‘Ah.’
‘My shorter stories came with happily-ever-afters though.’
‘I’m sure your father would have been proud.’
‘Yeah,’ she agreed after a moment. ‘I’ve definitely got better.’
‘Remember to send me a copy when your book’s published.’
She smiled at him. ‘I’ll even put you in the acknowledgements.’ She bumped her shoulder against his.
He had no doubts that she would put him in the acknowledgements. He also had no doubts she’d write another book. She’d put her life on pause the last three years, but he knew she’d pressed play by coming back home. And moving forward for Angie would mean pursuing her dreams. He knew it.
A Wedding One Christmas Page 16