Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series

by Pogue, Lindsey

  I pick at a loose thread on my comforter, trying and failing to imagine it. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Is everything okay?” she asks. Her voice is tentative, and I can’t help but think that even though she barely knows me, she’s still my mom and has a mothering instinct in her somewhere. “You sound a little down.”

  I feel my lip quiver as the weight of every emotion I’d tucked into a box, wrapped, and stowed away until after Christmas pours out. And I wonder why now, because of a stupid guy, I can’t keep myself together. And why, of all people, I’m confiding in my mom. “I—” I swipe at the dampness under my lashes, trying and probably failing not to smear my mascara. “I’m sort of a mess right now, actually.” I force out and exhale a long breath.

  She’s silent, waiting. My hand is clammy and I switch the phone into my other hand. “There’s this guy,” I manage to say and I feel like a fourteen-year-old girl with high school problems, but I don’t care and I couldn’t help it even if I tried. “I’m pretty sure I love him and I scared him away completely.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true, sweetheart.”

  I’m nodding as I squeeze my eyes shut. “It is. I was scared and I rushed him, and I’ve successfully made him hate me for it.” I suck in a breath and try to control my breathing. “I miss him. I miss his daughter, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “He has a daughter?” she asks.

  I nod. “Her name is Casey, she’s five and adorable. And I work with him at the shop, so it’s going to be really . . . hard.” Taking this week off has been quasi-helpful, but soon I’ll have to face reality.

  “Have you tried to talk to him again since your argument?”

  Tearing open a new tissue box from my bin of vanity stuff, I pull one out and wipe my nose. “Not really. It’s been a week and when I saw him the other day—” I shake my head and take in a steadying breath. “He was so angry.” Hotter tears sting my eyes, but I keep them at bay this time. I can’t lose it right now. “I’m not sure it will do any good, only upset me more.”

  “Maybe he just needs a little time.”

  With a caustic laugh, I let out a ragged breath and dab the tissue beneath my eyes. “That’s what he said.”

  “Well, I wish there was something I could do. And this isn’t going to make you feel any better, but the truth is, this probably isn’t the last time you’ll feel this way about a man. Love is tricky like that. But, if he’s smart, he’ll come around, and if he doesn’t, then it’s his loss. I know parents are supposed to say those things, but it’s true. You are beautiful and intelligent and from what I’ve heard you have the biggest, most loyal heart. The loss is truly his.”

  I hear a knock on the front door, which means it’s exactly time for dinner because Nick always makes it just in time. I blow my nose one more time and wipe the smeared makeup from under my eyes as best I can before I take in a deep breath and clear my throat. “I need to get it together. People are waiting for me to eat.”

  “Alright, well, I’m sure they’ll understand if you need a minute or two to yourself.”

  “I know, thanks. And—” I lick my lips. “Thank you for letting me blubber in your ear.” I sniff.

  “Thank you,” she says softly, “for calling me. If you need anything, I’m happy to talk, or I can drive up there to meet you.”

  I smile at that, deciding it’s actually nice to have someone other than my dad to talk to about this sort of stuff, even if I’m not sure what my relationship with my mom really looks like yet. She’s here now, and that’s a gift in and of itself. “Thank you.”

  Just as we say our last goodbyes and I hang up, there’s another knock on the door. “Someone let Nick in, please!” I shout down the hall. “Jesus, a house filled with people . . .” I grumble and try to fix my face in the mirror. Everyone’s going to know I’ve been crying, there’s no escaping it, but with any luck we’ll all pretend I wasn’t.

  I open my bedroom door and hear a small chirp of a voice. I pause in the doorway, listening.

  “. . . and it’s nice to finally meet you, Casey. I’ve heard a ton about you,” Alison says.

  I stop breathing, my heart racing in my ears, so loud I almost don’t hear what is said next.

  “Colton.” It’s my dad’s voice. “Good to see you, son.”

  My feet are carrying me down the hallway, my knees nearly knocking together I’m so nervous and hopeful and surprised. The moment I step into the mouth of the hallway, everyone looks at me and silence fills the room . . . but I can only stare at Colton. When he realizes I’m standing there, he turns to me. His eyes scour my face. His brow twitches. His eyes narrow infinitesimally.

  “Hi, Mac!” Casey chirps and I exhale as steadily as I can and peer down at her, trying to be as natural and normal in front of everyone as possible. “Merry Christmas!”

  Crouching down, I pull her in for a hug. “Merry Christmas, Case. I’m happy to see you.” My legs tremble beneath me.

  Casey pulls away and grabs something behind her. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Look what we got you for Christmas . . .” She hands me a sparkly Christmas bag. “Look inside!”

  I can’t help my tiny laugh as her excitement loosens the knot that’s been solidified inside me this past week. I push through an excessive amount of tissue paper to find nearly a dozen nail polishes. All different brands in a variety of purples.

  “Do you like them?” she asks, barely able to contain herself.

  “She picked them out and wrapped them herself,” Colton says quietly.

  I peer up at him, at the shadows beneath his eyes and the hard set of his jaw. “I wasn’t sure,” I joke easily, surprising myself. Pulling one of the nail polishes out of the bag and unable to resist a truly joyful smile, I look back at Casey. “I love them. Thank you so much. This is the best Christmas gift ever.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widen and she looks up at her dad, then starts jumping and clapping in place.

  “I could’ve sworn,” my dad says from his leaning stance against the wall, “that I saw something for you underneath this tiny little Christmas tree.” He nods to the two-foot-tall tree I bought last night that’s sparsely decorated and sitting on a bookcase in front of the living room window.

  Nearly trembling with excitement, Casey looks from my dad to hers, and as soon as he nods, giving her the “okay,” she trots over to the Christmas tree and everyone is chatting and fawning over her.

  “Take off your coat, pumpkin.”

  “What a pretty dress you have on, Casey.”

  “Were you a good girl this year? Was Santa good to you?”

  “Can we talk?” Colton’s voice sobers me and I turn around to face him.

  “Um . . .” I glance over my shoulder, knowing they’re waiting for me to eat, when Sam’s gaze meets mine. She nods. “Yeah, sure,” I say and walk down the hall toward my room. My balance wavers and my mind spins. There’s so much to say, but I can’t seem to formulate a single, cohesive thought. I can only grasp onto the hope that blooms so big and encompassing my body won’t stop shaking.

  Glancing around at my untidy room, Colton steps inside. If I’m not mistaken, he looks nervous, too. But his being here could be just a friendly gesture or peace offering since we’re coworkers, so I try not to get my hopes too high as I hold my breath. I close the door, slowly turning around to face him.

  “You never called me back,” he says absently.

  “I what?”

  He scans my face, searches my eyes. “He answered your phone—”

  “He who?”

  “—and then I couldn’t get ahold of you . . . you never called me back.”

  Although I’m shaking my head in confusion, Colton’s features are smooth, and the anger that darkened his eyes the last time I saw him is gone. It takes a moment for me to catch up, and the fog that has filled my head for days finally begins to lift.

  My new phone.

  My drunken night.

  The way
he’d looked at David.

  And then I suddenly and very vaguely remember David telling me that my boyfriend had called the night I passed out over the toilet—that I’d told him I didn’t have a boyfriend. Finally, I gasp in understanding and my hands fly to my mouth. “Oh my God.” I shake my head. “I didn’t even think—” I cover my face and want to run and hide for being so stupid. “You thought . . . wait”—I hold my hand up—“I don’t even want to know what you thought.” Colton is silent for too long, so I finally force myself to drop my hands and look at him.

  There’s a pained expression on his face, and I wonder if there’s been too much damage done to fix things now. “I didn’t know you called—I mean, I knew, but I didn’t remember. So much has happened—I’m so stupid, this is all my fault.” I turn away and walk to my vanity, unable to look at him as heat and regret flood through me. “No wonder you hate me.”

  I stand there, lost in a monsoon of reproachful thoughts and regrets when I feel the air shift and Colton steps up behind me. With a steadying breath, I meet his gaze in the mirror. “I don’t hate you, Mac. Trust me, I’ve tried.” His hand trails down my arm and he gently turns me around to face him. “It just took me a while to figure it all out.” His mouth curves in a small smile.

  “How did you—figure it out, I mean.”

  Colton runs his fingers through his hair, a single strand falling out of place, and lets out a deep breath. “Christmas elves, I guess you could say.” Amusement flits across his face at my confusion. “It was a mixture of Kylie, your dad, and David, actually. It seems we were both being dense.”

  His gaze is soft and searching and his hand comes up and brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I’m sorry,” he says, his words a salve to my aching, broken heart.

  I refuse to cry as I take a step closer. “I’m sorry too.”

  When Colton leans in and presses a soft, asking kiss against my mouth, relief banishes the anxiety and tension from my body. For the first time in days I feel like I’m floating again. I wrap my arms around him, and he squeezes me closer. “I missed you so much,” he breathes, then pulls in a deep breath.

  I hiccup-laugh. “I missed you, too.” His coat is cold against my cheek as I nestle into the crook of his neck, done being worried about my damn makeup. “I really thought you hated me.”

  He shakes his head. “The last week would’ve been a helluva lot easier if I had.”

  I pull away, wiping the dampness from my cheeks. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about what we are or—”

  His thumb brushes my lips to silence me and he searches my face. “I should’ve told you how I feel, that I care about you and I want to be with you. Not being able to talk to you or see you this last week has taught me how much I mean that.” Colton’s not smiling or flippant. He’s focused on me, lost in some tumultuous thought. “Mac,” he whispers, “I love you.” I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to say anything else, that I don’t care what we are as long as we’re together, but he presses his finger against my lips again. “You asked me what we are the other night, so just listen, okay?”

  Blinking, I nod.

  “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” He brushes the pad of his thumb over my cheek and my eyes flit closed. I nearly melt in the warmth of his palm. “I don’t want to be the reason you cry.” Those words alone unleash a few hot, happy tears that trickle down my face. “I want to see you smile and be playful, and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

  Slowly, with the intention of savoring every single second, I pull him in for a kiss. “Let’s never fight again,” I breathe against his mouth. Our lips linger. The air around us buzzes. I feel as if I could stand in this moment forever with him and never grow tired of it.

  He chuckles softly. “That’s a tall order,” he rasps and takes my chin between his fingers, looking at me. “I knew the moment I first saw you—flustered and glaring at me—you’d be nothing but trouble. And I was right, but you’re worth every aggravating moment.”

  I smile against his kiss. “I better be.”

  We get lost in one another for a few more moments until my dad’s laughter rumbles down the hallway, bringing with it the reality that everyone is waiting for us.

  “We should get back out there,” I say, and I help Colton out of his coat.

  “No kidding. I should save the guys before Casey starts guilting them into letting her paint their fingernails.”

  “Ha!” I open the door. “Let me guess, she’s already practiced on you?”

  “Twice,” he confesses, and he takes my hand as we walk down the hall, greeted by laughing, smiling faces. My heart warms and fills with happiness as I realize just how perfect Christmas Day turned out to be.

  Epilogue

  MAC

  New Year’s Eve

  “Mom,” Colton says, pointing to the spot on the couch beside his dad, Henry. “Come sit down, we have something for you and Dad.” Casey’s handmade banner is pinned on the wall above. It reads “Happy New Year,” only the R is backward and the Y looks more like a V, but it’s perfect all the same. Pulling my legs up to my chest, I settle into my seat in front of the fire.

  “They put this stuff on network television now?” Henry balks at the TV screen as Beyoncé shakes her thing on stage in the center of Times Square. He leans in a little closer.

  More than somewhat amused, I try to suppress a laugh. “So, you don’t watch much television?” The longer I’m around Colton’s parents, the more I realize how similar Colton and his father actually are.

  Henry shakes his head, barely paying attention to anything but the screen.

  “Football on Thanksgiving,” Cindy explains as she makes her way out of the kitchen with a fresh drink in her hand. “I hope you don’t mind, I helped myself.”

  Colton disappears into the hallway and I hear him wrangling up Casey.

  “No, not at all. In fact, I think Colton bought the gin for you.”

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Henry says, and he pats the open cushion beside him.

  “I’m coming, dear. I’m an old lady, give me a minute.” She smiles to herself and wiggles into the corner of the sofa with a contented smile.

  Casey runs in from her bedroom, excited despite the late hour. She rearranges me so she can curl up in my lap, though she refuses to close her eyes with her grandparents here. Colton walks over to the bookshelf where there’s a wrapped gift for his parents.

  Colton offers the wrapped gift to Casey, but she shakes her head. “That’s okay, Daddy. You can give it to them.”

  “You sure?”

  She nods and smiles. Yep, she’s exhausted. I wink at Colton and tighten my arms around Casey as she wraps a strand of my hair around her tiny finger.

  “A late Christmas gift,” Colton says and he hands his mother the simply wrapped present in brown paper. No bows or pretenses.

  Cindy blinks at him. “You didn’t have to get us anything,” she says, her voice tight with emotion.

  “We wanted to,” he says easily.

  Cindy begins to peel the paper away, delicately, and I wonder when they last had Christmas together as a family. Or any holidays, for that matter. I’ve found myself wondering many things throughout the night. Watching the three of them navigate this new relationship—noticing them falter and grow uneasy only to fall back into a comfortable rhythm—is an unexpected, beautiful gift from Colton, and being a part of it has nearly brought me to happy tears more than once tonight.

  “Well,” Cindy says, finally peeling back a corner of the paper. “It’s a frame . . .” She smiles, like she already knows what it is. With one final tear, the paper falls to her feet on the floor and she stares at the eight-by-ten frame in silence. Henry leans in and he takes his wife’s hand, a small smile curving his usually pursed lips.

  “Do you think they like it?” Casey whispers, loudly.

  “I hope so,” I whisper back.

  Cindy looks up and locks e
yes with her son, sitting at the other end of the couch. Unshed tears make her eyes shiny and bright. “This is absolutely precious, Colton,” she says. “Thank you.”

  Colton nods over to me and Casey. “Mac took the photo. It was her idea, actually.”

  Cindy’s gaze shifts to me and she quickly wipes away a silent tear and smiles. She turns the frame to face me. A black and white photo of Colton with Casey in his arms smiles back at me. “Thank you, Mac. I have just the place for it.”

  “You’re welcome. There are others you might want copies of, too. I’d be happy to send you home with some.”

  “Would you? That would be wonderful.” Cindy fans herself and stares at the photo again. “I don’t have any photos of them. You have no idea how—”

  “Thank you, both,” Henry says, rubbing his wife’s back. He glances between us and then locks eyes with Casey. “You sure know how to take a great photo, kiddo.”

  There’s a long, heavy pause while Colton’s parents stare at the image of their son and his daughter a few moments longer. Colton looks at me and winks, and since I’ve never been all that great with pregnant silences, I lean in to whisper in Casey’s ear. “Have you shown your grandma your new dollhouse?”

  She pops up. “Grandma!”

  “Yes, sweetheart?” Cindy forces her gaze away from the picture frame.

  “Come see my dollhouse! Daddy made it for me for Christmas.”

  “He did?” Colton helps her up out of the overstuffed couch. Anxiously, Casey reaches for her hand and leads her, rather quickly, into her bedroom. “Slow down, dear, I’m an old woman.”

  “You’re not that old, Cindy, Jesus. What am I, ancient?” Henry mutters and Colton offers him another Scotch. “Well, I’m not driving anywhere tonight, so why not?”

  Just then, my cell phone rings and I grab it off the coffee table. When I see Nick’s silly grin flashing on the screen, I smile. “Hey, you, are you off early? Are you on your way?”