Oh man, he was in trouble.
“Maggie…you made it.” He stepped to the side and motioned her in. “Any problem with the directions?”
“No. They were great but—” Two steps into the hall, she stopped and peered up at him with a look he’d bet good money didn’t bode well for their evening. “I wanted to bring something—a pie or a cake. But the bakery closed at five. I’m sorry.”
He felt the sudden tension in his shoulders ease. “That’s okay. It would have only delayed your arrival, and I already made dessert.”
Following her gaze down to her gloved hands, he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Being here was tough on her. He could see it in the way she slid the tiny diamond pendant back and forth along the gold chain she wore, could sense it in the way she looked at her feet again and again.
“That’s a beautiful necklace, Maggie.”
Startled, she looked up, a flash of pain crackling across her face.
Uh-oh.
“Can I take your coat?” he asked quickly as he met her wary eyes with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I made a fire and things are getting mighty toasty around here.”
“I’m not sure if I should really—”
“Ohhh, I almost forgot. C’mon with me for a second. I want you to see how it looks on my tree.” Tucking her arm in his, he set off in the direction of the hearth room. If he didn’t act fast, she was going to leave. That much he could figure out.
He also knew he didn’t want her to leave. Not yet, anyway. Not until they had a chance to spend some more time together. The key, though, was finding something that would make her relax, make her want to stay.
“How what looks?” she asked, her words morphing into a whisper as he pulled her through the archway and stopped in front of the tree. “Oh, Rory, it’s lovely—the tree, the ornaments, all of it.”
He beamed. “I think so, too.”
And suddenly the ice was broken. Whatever reluctance or hesitation or second-guessing he’d sensed upon her arrival was gone.
Slowly, she made her way around the tree, reaching out from time to time to examine a particular ornament, each move she made captivating him more.
Maggie looked different somehow. Her face seemed softer, more relaxed. And her eyes—those large brown, doelike eyes that had drifted in and out of his thoughts all day—actually held a hint of a sparkle.
“What’s this one?” she asked, brushing a gentle finger across a homemade snowflake that resembled a star. “Did you make it?”
“I sure did. In Mrs. Trantini’s kindergarten classroom. It was a present for my mom.”
Maggie looked from the ornament to him, his body tightening in response. “Why do you have it then?”
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he shrugged. “It was one of the ones I claimed after she passed away.”
Maggie looked back at the tree. “Doesn’t that make it hard? Seeing it hanging on your tree…reminding you of a time that’s forever gone?”
“But it’s not gone,” he insisted. “Seeing it there, hanging on my tree, helps me remember. And I do. I remember how long it took to cut all the holes just right. I remember how I searched all over the house for the perfect gift box so it wouldn’t accidentally rip when my mom unwrapped it on Christmas morning. I remember the way her eyes glistened when she opened it. And I remember how she insisted on hanging it at the front of the tree each year from then on…like it was some sort of priceless keepsake.”
“But hanging it now on your own tree, when you’re by yourself… That doesn’t cloud out the memories?”
“Nope. It just helps me remember even more.”
Maggie released the snowflake and backed away from the tree. “I see.”
“Can I take your coat now? Dinner should be ready shortly.”
In a flash he saw her shoulders stiffen as the internal war from earlier intensified. Only this time he suspected any gray areas had dissipated in favor of two distinct sides. Should she stay? Should she go? He prayed she’d opt for the former.
Her eyes closed for just a moment, only to reopen with what sounded like a sigh of determination. “It smells good. Have you been cooking long?”
He sent up a mental prayer of thanks as he watched her wiggle out of her coat. “A couple of years, I guess. I got tired of eating standard bachelor fare.”
“TV dinners and soup?” she teased, the sudden lilt to her voice bringing a smile to his lips.
“On good days, yeah.” He draped her coat over the back of a corner chair, then turned to face her once again, the sight of her long legs and feminine features doing their best to distract him from the subject at hand. “You…you look great, Maggie.”
She glanced down at her body, the surprise on her face captivating him all the more. “You really think so?”
“How could I not?” he asked honestly.
“Well, for starters, I’m too thin. A by-product of not eating, no doubt.”
“Which you took steps to change yesterday at breakfast.”
Nodding, she continued. “And my inability to sleep has earned circles under my eyes the likes of which most raccoons would be embarrassed by.”
The circles. That was what was different. “I don’t see any circles.”
A small laugh escaped her lips. “Makeup can hide almost anything. The fact that I just slept for seven hours certainly helped, too.”
“All I know is that you’re beautiful. I’d be blind not to see that.” And he meant it.
Crimson rose in her cheeks, prompting him to redirect the conversation into safer waters. “Do you like lasagna?”
Her face lit up. “I love it!”
“Then we’re in luck.” Slipping a hand against the small of her back, he guided her toward the kitchen, the crackling of the fire in the hearth doing little to drown out the pounding in his chest. “I set the table just before you got here, but wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink. I’ve got red wine, diet soda and bottled water.”
“Water would be fine, thank you.”
He followed her gaze around the table, watched as it lingered on the place settings for two before moving on to the candle he’d lit in the middle. Worried he’d overdone things, he searched for something to say to lighten the moment. Something that would undo the sudden tension he felt. “The first cake I made this evening actually burned. I lit that candle in the hopes it would mask any lingering smell from my faux pas.”
Her body sagged ever so slightly as she tilted her nose up and sniffed. “It certainly seems to be working.”
“I’m glad.” He pointed to a chair. “Why don’t you take a seat? Everything should be ready. I just need to grab the salad from the refrigerator and the lasagna from the oven.”
And so it went—dinner, drinks, conversation, laughter, and occasional awkward moments that had nearly disappeared by the time they were done.
“Why don’t we bring our drinks into the hearth room,” he suggested, the hopeful note in his voice one he simply couldn’t hide. He enjoyed Maggie’s company, plain and simple. She was sweet, honest, serious, funny and utterly endearing—all things that guaranteed she’d remain in his thoughts, as she had since they’d met. Only now they’d be mixed with a longing he could no longer rationalize away. Not if the way his body reacted to her was any indication. Especially when he felt her skin beneath his palm, as he did while guiding her to the sofa.
What was it about her that made him feel like an awkward teenager? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been in the company of women in some crazy length of time. Because he had. And he’d been confident with every single one of them.
Yet somehow Maggie was different. Sure, he imagined what it would be like to pull her close, to feel her body against his. He’d be a fool if he didn’t. But there was more, too.
Like a desire to see her smile. And a need to keep her safe.
He pointed toward the tree, his body keenly aware of her proximity on the sofa. “I filled out one of the slips.”
She stilled her glass midway to her lips. “What slips?”
“You know, for the wishing ball. The little slips of paper that you’re supposed to write your wishes on. I even put it inside.”
“Do you think it’ll come true?” she whispered as she set her water on the coffee table.
“I guess we’ll find out next year when I open it again.” He studied her for a moment, enchanted by the way the colorful lights of the tree reflected in Maggie’s eyes. “Would you like to write one?”
She held up her palms. “No. I don’t really have any wishes left.”
“That’s not true.”
He reached for her hand as she turned to him with a frown. “Excuse me?”
“Well, there was the one about knitting, right?”
“Which you granted, remember?”
Nodding, he continued. “And then there was the one from earlier today.”
“I don’t remember making a wish.”
“You did. In fact, we both did.”
A smile played across her kissable mouth and he felt his chest tighten in response. “That’s right. You wished to fix things. Like tonight’s dinner.”
“How’d I do?”
“Amazing. It was absolutely delicious.”
He puffed out his chest with a playful air. “Just call me Chef Extraordinaire.”
“But that was your wish, Mr. Chef. I don’t remember having one for me.”
“I do.” Reluctantly, he released her hand long enough to open the drawer of the coffee table and extract a gift-wrapped box. “Which is why you should open this,” he said as he placed the square object in her lap.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
“Just open it.”
For a moment, as she stared down at the gift, he thought she was going to decline. But eventually she turned it over, her fingers finding the taped seams.
He heard her startled gasp as the paper fell to the side. “What’s this?”
Scooting closer on the sofa, he ran his hand along the cover of the leather-bound book he’d purchased after work. “It’s a journaling album—a place to keep your memories close and your fear of forgetting at bay.”
Chapter Seven
She stared at the book in her lap, the fine golden trim sparkling in the glow from the firelight. For more moments than were polite she said nothing, the thudding of her heart drowning out all thoughts except one.
Glancing up, she met Rory’s eyes, her trembling mouth making it difficult to form the words she wanted to speak.
Slowly, his finger touched her lips. “You don’t have to say a word, Maggie. The look in your eyes says it all.” He let his hand fall to his lap, his gaze never leaving hers. “And you are so very, very welcome. I hope you like it.”
“Like it?” she whispered as she looked from him to the book and back again. “Like it? I—I love it.”
The smile that swept across his face was impossible to miss. So, too, was the naked relief there. “How did you know?” she asked.
“It was the wish you shared this morning—about not wanting to forget.” He slung his arm over the back of the sofa, its proximity to her neck making her swallow. Hard.
She searched for something to say to distract herself from the sensations running along the tops of her shoulders. She was so very aware of Rory’s nearness. And warmth. And confidence. And sweetness…
“I guess I’m hoping that by writing down some of your special memories, you’ll have an additional way to visit them when you need to.”
“Additional?”
“The first place they are is in your heart and your mind. Writing them in this book just gives you one more place to go and remember.” He nodded while opening the book to the first page. “But what’s neat about this journal is that there’s a spot on each page where you can add a picture or a ticket stub or some other tangible item that goes along with your memory.”
She leaned her head back against the sofa, his strong arm offering a sense of safety she hadn’t realized she needed until she felt it. “I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I actually took a picture of the pink line.”
“The pink line?”
Turning her head, she gazed up at him. “I took one of those home pregnancy tests. No line, not pregnant. Pink line, pregnant.”
“Ahh. See, I’ve never had a child, so this is new to me.” He scooted a hairbreadth closer. “But that sure sounds like a great picture to include on the page where you recall that moment in your life.”
She closed her eyes, letting the past wash over her.
“Tell me more.”
Her eyes flew open. “You really want to hear that kind of stuff?”
“I’d love to.”
For the briefest of moments she hesitated, unsure whether his request was genuine or simply the words of a man who epitomized kindness. But in the end, she spoke.
“There was the first time I took her to the zoo. I knew it was silly to go. She was too little to have a clue about what I was showing her, but…well, I loved it. The weather was perfect—a gorgeous autumn day. And the animals were in their glory, running here and there in their habitats. I told her about every animal we saw and she cooed along as if she actually understood. Even though I know she didn’t.”
Maggie’s breath caught when she felt his hand on the side of her face. “Okay, so maybe she didn’t understand the difference between an alligator and a crocodile…or even whether you were talking about the tree in front of her or the strange colored thing on the ground,” Rory replied. “But I bet she understood one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That she was with the one person who made her feel loved and safe and wanted. I’d coo about that, too.”
A lump formed in her throat. When Maggie said nothing, he continued, his hand dropping from her face to the book. “Do you have any keepsakes from that day? Like a ticket stub or a zoo map or something?”
She swallowed back the lump, tried to focus on something other than the void left by the movement of his hand. “I have a leaf.”
“A leaf?”
“A leaf,” she repeated. “It floated down from a tree near the prairie-dog exhibit. She watched it drift down until it landed on her coat. And when it did, she broke out into her very first smile.”
The corners of Maggie’s mouth lifted upward as she returned to that day, the thought of her baby’s first smile misting her eyes.
“If her smile was anything like yours, I’d want to remember it, too.”
The raspy quality of his voice made her look up, their gazes meeting in the firelight. “That first smile was like nothing I’d ever seen. It was the epitome of joy…and she spread it to me. Every single day of her much too short life.”
Rory’s palm returned to her face, this time lingering on her cheek. “I can’t imagine a better gift.”
She covered his hand with her own, blinking at the tears that burned her eyes. “There isn’t.”
“Then savor it, Maggie. Don’t let it slip away.”
Savor it….
Was Rory right? Was all her moping akin to letting Natalie’s precious gift slip through her fingers?
“I know you’re right, Rory. I do. I really, truly do. But there are times…times like yesterday at the diner…when I’m afraid that by moving forward I’m leaving them behind. And I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”
“Then don’t. Keep them here—” his hand, still holding hers, lifted upward to her temple and then dropped to the center of her chest “—and here and—” he continued down to the book in her lap “—here.”
Her memory journal.
Aware of his hand in hers, she offered the words she’d been wanting to say since the beginning. Words that went far beyond a standard thank-you, just as his gift went far beyond a simple gesture.
“I don’t know what it is about you that makes you so thoughtful and so giving. But it’s special and it’s unique and it’s a blessing I d
idn’t see coming. I slept today because I spent last night knitting. And that sleep was the best rest I’ve had in over ten months.”
“You’re losing me,” he said, not unkindly.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I made an offhand comment about wanting to learn to knit, and poof! You made it happen. Then today…I share a new wish with you, and once again, poof! You find a way to make that wish come true, too. I almost don’t know what to say—”
“Then don’t,” he mumbled as he closed the gap between them, his lips finding hers and igniting a fire in her heart every bit as bright as the one crackling in the hearth.
FOR SOMEONE WHO’D VOWED not to do anything to scare her, he was sure doing a lousy job. Then again, based on the way her lips stayed on his, maybe he wasn’t scaring her, after all.
But all he really knew was how good she tasted, how sweet she felt. Moving his hand to cup the back of her head, he kissed her with greater intensity, felt the way his body responded to the parting of her lips and the mingling of their tongues.
Her arms looped around his neck as the kiss deepened, filling his body with warmth. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before and everything he wanted to feel again.
Breathing in the scent of lilacs and soap that seemed to cling to her hair, he became aware of a new taste…salt.
And as the taste finally registered, so, too, did the fact that her hands had left his neck and were now bracing against his chest, pushing him away.
He pulled back. “Maggie, what’s wrong?”
“I—I can’t do this. I can’t. It’s—” She stopped, her words morphing into a strangled cry that tore at his very soul.
“It’s okay,” he whispered as he reached for her hands, only to have her pull them out of his reach. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did everything wrong.”
“Tell me. Tell me what you did wrong, Maggie.” He watched helplessly as the tears streamed down her face until he thought he’d explode with the urge to kiss them away.
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