by Melissa Tagg
Colin chuckled as he hit the lock and closed the car door.
“My childhood fear is a source of delight to you?”
“Everything about you is a source of delight to me.”
If he didn’t sound so entirely earnest, she might whack him with her scarf. Instead, she let him take her hand and lead her toward the covered bridge that glowed against the starry night thanks to the paper lanterns, hundreds of them, adorning both sides of the winding river. Little blurs of light mingled with the near-dark, their glimmer reflecting over the ice-covered water. Tall reeds of stubborn prairie grass pushed through the snow along the riverbank.
This had to be the same river that ran through Maple Valley. And probably some of the people, couples mostly, who stood in clusters along the riverside were from Colin’s town.
“It’s beautiful.” Her voice came out breathy and awed.
“I couldn’t decide whether to come here before dinner or after. Before, we would’ve had the extra bonus of sunset. Later, however, means fewer people and more lanterns.”
“After worked out just fine.” They found a spot just outside the bridge’s opening and stood with arms dangling over a knotty wood railing—just like they had that day at the Archway Bridge last week or the week before or . . . she didn’t know when. At some point, time had come to a stop in Maple Valley.
It was as if she’d slipped into a beguiling little Christmas display inside a storefront window—one that came alive in captivating detail while the rest of the world simply walked by and went about business.
And she was beginning to wonder how she would ever make herself leave.
“Not at all like Ichabod Crane’s Sleepy Hollow,” she murmured. Oh yes, Colin Renwycke knew how to plan a date. Which probably made his expulsion from culinary school the most rewarding in the history of educational institutions, culinary or otherwise. “So is there a story to the lanterns?”
“Indeed.”
She turned to look at him. Moonlight traced his handsome profile and turned his blue eyes luminous. One day earlier this week when they were baking, he’d confessed that a couple years back, to make ends meet, he’d taken a few modeling gigs. One of his photos had even ended up on a book cover—Maren’s, in fact. She had a feeling there was more to that tale than he’d let on.
But it wasn’t that story she awaited now as Colin paused, his attention spanning the riverside. “Well? Are you going to tell it? Before frostbite sets in?”
“You’re cold?” His gaze darted immediately to her. “You promised me you’d be warm enough.”
She was plenty warm. She wore two layers of leggings under her skirt and fur-trimmed boots. Not the most practical attire for an outdoor date in December, but this was a date. And for once, she’d cared more about what she looked like than some edible creation. She had a new sweater, too, and all the wintry accessories—mittens, knit hat, matching scarf.
“It’s either tell me the Sleepy Hollow story or reveal what you put in this hot chocolate.” She’d nearly drained her mug already and she’d been heckling him all the way out here for the recipe. She could taste the nutmeg, but there was something else.
“You can be quite petulant and demanding, Maryland Jefferson.”
“And you can try a person’s patience.”
The splendor of his smile could give the riverbank beauty a run for its money. “All right. Once upon a time, just down the river from a quirky little town called Maple Valley, there lived a man and a woman and their young daughter, Sarah.”
A gusty breeze set the hundreds of lanterns flickering. “Once upon a time when?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when? Are we talking a few decades ago, pioneer days, pre-Plymouth Rock? When?”
“I have no idea, Rylan. Just sometime in the past.”
“But—”
He reached over to lift her scarf over her mouth. “Just listen.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Have I mentioned how much I like your eyebrows? They’re thicker than most people’s, but in a good way. They’re expressive. Especially when you’re annoyed. They slant into a perfect V.”
“Tell the story, Colin.” Her voice was muffled by the scarf.
He set his travel mug on the wooden railing in front of them, then reached for her hand. He spoke as if reciting a story he’d heard a hundred times. “Sarah, at the young age of sixteen, fell in love with a boy several farms over named Peter. Love at first sight, if there ever was such a thing. She’d sneak off every night to meet him at the covered bridge not far from her home. But one night, the young couple accidentally fell asleep at the bridge. Sarah’s father was livid when he found her and said she could never see the neighbor boy again.”
Colin leaned against the railing at an angle, facing her as he spoke, his voice soft as a lullaby.
“Peter, seeing Sarah in a fit of tears as her father dragged her away, called after her. He promised to remember her no matter what. And to come for her on her eighteenth birthday. Shortly after this, war broke out and Peter went away to become a soldier.”
“So this either took place in the early 1900s or in the 1940s.”
Colin sighed. “What?”
She pulled down the scarf. “World War I or II. Unless this story dates back a lot further. I meant, I guess we could be talking Civil War or even Revolutionary, but—”
He stopped her with one finger to her lips. “Are you going to let me tell this story or what?”
The humming breeze shaved curling snow from the bridge’s rooftop, sent it dusting over them. She barely resisted the urge to forget Colin’s story, close the last inches of space between them, find out if a second kiss from Colin Renwycke could possibly rival the first. “Go on.”
“Sarah never heard from Peter while he was away. She was positively miserable, but even so, she never stopped believing he’d come back for her, just as he’d promised. When his name was placed on a missing in action list, she refused to pay it any mind. As her eighteenth birthday approached, her one worry was that Peter might not be able to find her. Her family, you see, had moved into town.”
Somewhere in the distance, a car’s engine rumbled to life, the sound of footsteps in the snow carried on the wind.
“So to make sure Peter would find her, on the eve of her birthday, she came to this bridge and lit hundreds and hundreds of lanterns. Though it was the middle of winter, December 18 to be exact, she spent the whole night at the bridge, wrapped in blankets and awaiting her love. She fell asleep with a peaceful smile on her face.
Colin took a breath and stepped back. “She was still wearing that smile when her family found her the next day, as if within her eternal sleep, she’d finally been reunited with her true love.”
Rylan instantly dropped Colin’s hand. “Wait…what? You’re saying she died?”
“Well, yeah. The soldier died in the war. She died here. The story says they met up in heaven. The bridge got a name and we got nice little lantern tradition that’s been carried on every December 18 since.”
She was aghast. “That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s romantic. It’s tragic. Lots of romances are tragic.”
“Now I don’t know which story to dislike more—The Legend of Sleepy Hollow or this one. Is it even a true story?”
“I really don’t know.” With the resonant laugh she’d come to know so well, Colin kissed the top of her head and then turned back to the river. “So you only like stories with obvious happy endings. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
She settled beside him, taking in the lanterns lighting up the riverfront all over again. Fine, maybe the story was a little romantic.
In any case, this was romantic. This whole night.
“Hey, Rylan?”
“Are you going to tell me another horrible story?”
“Worse.” Uncertainty hovered in his pause. “I’m going to ask you about Brent.”
She inhaled
a sharp breath. “Why ruin such a perfect night?”
“You don’t have to tell me. I just wondered, is all. The truth is, I’ve dated a lot of girls.” He didn’t sound proud of it. Not at all. “When I look back, I realize how selfish I was in most of those short-lived relationships. I hate to think there’s a girl out there somewhere feeling about me the way you feel about Brent. Not that I assume I know how you feel. But from the one time you’ve mentioned him . . . ”
“Brent led me on for almost two years, hot and cold like clockwork. Unless you did that to a girl, made her believe you envisioned a future with her one day only to bring another girl home the next, it’s not the same.” She couldn’t look at Colin, didn’t want to see any of the pity she might find in his eyes. “He looked a little like you, actually.”
“Astoundingly handsome, you mean?” he teased.
She’d argue if it wasn’t entirely true. “Might be why I was a little hard on you in class right from the start.”
“A little hard? Ry, you called my chiffon cake the worst thing you’d ever tasted.”
“Because you used baking soda instead of baking powder!”
“Because I was distracted by my pretty teacher!”
He’d thought her pretty? Even back then? She laughed, before sobering. “Anyway, Brent lived in the apartment above my bakery. I cringe when I think about how much of myself I gave him, how long I let it go on. I was constantly emotionally confused. Finally, one day I’d had enough and I asked him straight up if this was going anywhere.”
She could feel Colin tense beside her. “I have a feeling I’m very much going to want to hunt the man down when you tell me how he responded.”
“He said, ‘What do you mean, this?’ And I said, ‘I mean, us.’ And he proceeded to tell me there was no us. There was only today and maybe a few tomorrows, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t the kind of guy to plan ahead or force his heart a certain direction.”
Colin scooted closer to her, slipping his arm around her waist. “Tell me his address. I’ll take my mini-torch.”
Despite herself, she laughed. Had she ever laughed when talking about Brent? Forget laughing—had she ever even talked about him? To anyone? Two years of carrying around the hurt, refusing to let it out. No wonder it’d taken so long to subside.
She leaned into Colin. “I told him far be it from me to ‘force his heart a certain direction’ but that I couldn’t handle being jerked around anymore. I needed him to be in or out. He chose out.”
“I stand by my earlier assessment. He’s an idiot.”
Not even two weeks later, the bakery had closed. Her whole life turned on a dime. A bit like these past two weeks when so much had changed.
Except not at all like these weeks. Back then, she’d felt stripped of purpose and rejected down to her very core. Too, she’d been angry at herself for getting so distracted by Brent that she hadn’t realized how precarious the bakery’s financial situation really was until it was too late.
But these past two weeks, what had started out solely as a dogged pursuit to revive her bakery dream had turned out to offer so much more. Being here in Iowa with Colin had opened up windows of possibility she hadn’t even known to hope for—new friends in Maren and Leigh and even Drew, new places, new feelings.
She’d never felt this way with Brent.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really told anyone how things ended with Brent.”
“Not even your family?”
“Especially not. I was too embarrassed. I’m not even sure how you managed to get it out of me.”
Colin’s hands moved to her arms and he gave her a gentle turn until she faced him. “You shouldn’t hide so much of yourself all the time, Rylan. You’re depriving the people around you of the gift of actually knowing you. Your hurts, your emotion—it’s part of what makes you who you are.” He cupped her cheeks. “And who you are is worth knowing.”
He kissed her then. As feather-light as the snowfall. As gentle as the night air. And the tender voice she’d first heard sitting in the attic window that first night in Iowa and then again the next morning standing on the farmhouse porch, the one that’d wrapped itself around her soul ever since, slipped into a contented sigh. Yes, there is a reason you’re here.
The second Colin broke away, she buried herself against him.
“Rylan, I know technically this is just a first date,” he said into her hair.
“Unless you count the past fourteen days of being in each other’s company.”
“Right. And I know you have to head back to Denver in a couple days and you’ve got classes starting up again soon—”
“Not just me. You, too. I have every intention of un-expelling you eventually.” She tipped her head, looking for the laughter she expected in his eyes.
Instead, only uncertainty waited for her there. “Actually, that’s what we need to talk about—”
His phone cut in, blaring, unwelcome, almost as jarring as the sudden change in his tone. “Sorry, it’s Drew. He knows this is a date, wouldn’t call unless . . . ”
He lifted his phone, frosty air filling the sudden void between them.
And then, Colin’s panic-laced grimace. “Leigh’s in the ER?”
Colin’s heart hammered as he burst into the ER waiting room. The drive to the hospital had felt like an eternity, worry pulsing with every bump in the road. Nothing, not even Rylan’s palm on his shoulder, enough to quell his dread nor the chafing voice drowning all else.
We should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve seen this coming.
He, who knew what it was to hit rock bottom. Who knew what it was like to break down. Why hadn’t he been paying more attention to Leigh these past couple weeks?
“Colin, over here.”
Drew’s voice beckoned from over in the corner. He rose from a burgundy-cushioned chair, Maren on one side, Winnie on the other. Winnie. His distress was nothing compared to the fear etched into every line on her too-experienced face.
“How is she?” He was breathless as he stopped in front of Drew, vaguely aware of Rylan behind him.
“We don’t know. We stopped to pick Win up first. Just got here five minutes ago.”
“You said she collapsed at work? That’s all we know?”
Drew heard the question he wasn’t asking, gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, clearly trying to spare Winnie’s feelings.
But it was futile effort. “If it’s pills again, I’m done. I’ll call DHS myself.”
“Win—” Colin began.
“Or I’ll come live with you, Uncle Drew.” She thrust herself at Drew, the anger in her muffled voice giving way to tears. “I’m just done.”
Drew’s arms immediately encircled her. Colin could only watch as his brother rubbed their niece’s back and spoke calming words in a soothing tone, as if he’d done this a dozen times before. Probably had.
All those years when Leigh was in and out of rehab and treatment centers. When Winnie’s life had once again turned inside out. Drew had always been there.
Rylan’s hand slipped into his. Had he spoken a single word to her on the way to the hospital? He’d been so close to telling her the thoughts that had been swirling in his head lately. The desire to truly be the brother and son and man he hadn’t been for so long. To . . . stay.
Up until this very moment, it had been a longing, just a fleeting idea. Now, as he watched Drew be the comfort Winnie needed, it became a decision.
The idea of letting go of culinary school had sprouted that day he talked to Drew in the basement—or maybe even before, though he hadn’t had the clarity to recognize it. It’d only grown stronger with every day that passed. He belonged with his family. If not here, then down in Arizona with Mom and Dad, doing whatever he could to lighten Mom’s burden as she cared for Dad. He’d spent too many years being the burden. No more.
But how could he tell Rylan? The fact that she’d reeled the depths of her own vulnerability, told him about Br
ent, only made it harder. He looked down at their joined hands now. He’d started something he couldn’t finish. Again.
Unless I can make her understand. Unless there was a way to hold on to what might be the best thing that’d ever happened to him even while doing what he knew he needed to do.
“Drew Renwycke?”
They all turned as one as an ER nurse approached. Drew stepped forward. “Is she okay? Can we see her?”
The nurse offered a placid smile. “She’s fine. Your sister’s dehydrated. Cut and dried case of exhaustion. Anemic, too. She needs rest, liquids, and to stop working double-shifts seven days a week.”
Colin’s jaw dropped as he released Rylan’s hand. “She’s been working that much? I had no idea.”
Winnie shrank into Drew’s side. “It’s my fault. I need money for a band trip and I told her I want a laptop for Christmas and—”
Drew quieted her with his hand on her back. “It’s not your fault, Win.” He took a shuddered breath and turned to the nurse. “But that’s it? Nothing else?”
The nurse must’ve been up on Leigh’s medical history, because the subtle shake of her head answered the question Drew didn’t ask. “She’s been fighting headaches with Tylenol. Nothing more.”
Taut air broke free of Colin’s lungs. Thank God. No overdose. No relapse.
“Now, usually we just take one or two people back at a time, but since this isn’t a critical situation—”
“Actually, I’ll wait.” He blurted it out, awkward with relief. “I just need a sec.” He looked away from Drew’s questioning glance.
“I’ll wait, too.”
Rylan.
He had to tell her. Maybe it was the prickling feeling of urgency that crowded the air of the ER. Or the image in his head of Leigh crumpling to the floor. Maybe it was the sight of Drew with his arm around Winnie as they followed the nurse, Maren at his side. The aching, insistent thought that he’d never fully belong until his presence in his family’s lives became more than a holiday passing.
“You all right, Col?”