by Muldoon, Meg
I wasn’t sentimental. I wasn’t sappy or soft or gooey.
But I was human.
And I was sad. And lonely. A kind of loneliness that all the spiked eggnog in the world wouldn’t make go away.
I placed a handful of forks and knives in the dishwasher, and shut it. I took off my apron, and sighed, glancing at my reflection in the dark window pane.
Another Christmas.And soon another year.
And soon, 34.
And every year here on out, it would just get wors—
Suddenly, there was a loud noise from the back porch.
The sound of something scratching at the window pane.
My heart jumped in my throat.
I placed my face up to the window, and cupped my hands around my head to see past the reflection.
I looked down.
And that’s when I saw him.
He was healthy and happy-looking. His fur, which had once been matted and dirty, was now shiny and smooth. The tear stains from around his eyes were gone. He no longer had that look of hunger in his little brown eyes.
And he was at the door, bringing his paw up to it, and scratching to come in.
My heart suddenly broke free of the basement it’d been stored in since we had met on the bridge, and he told me goodbye.
And it soared, breaking through walls and ceilings as it ascended higher and higher.
I opened the door. Huckleberry came rushing in. I kneeled down and he started licking my face and whimpering, as if greeting an old friend.
I wrapped my arms around him, holding onto his silky fur and kissing his sweet soft head.
“I’ve missed you so much, Hucks.”
He nuzzled me behind my ear, tickling me. I started laughing.
Finally, after a few moments, I stood up and stepped outside. It was snowing hard now, big flakes coming down from the red-tinted sky, blanketing the trees with a fresh white coating.
I couldn’t see anything, but suddenly, over the breeze and the swaying of the trees, I heard something.
Music.
A soft sound at first.Quiet and distant.
The strumming of guitar strings. Then a voice. Hushed at first, but then it started rising.
Louder and louder, I squinted in the snow storm, looking at the silhouette coming toward me. The wind carrying the song to me.
I bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears as the figure stepped into the warm glow cast by the kitchen light.
It was him.
I couldn’t believe it. For a moment, I just stared at him, stunned.
He was wearing his buffalo plaid jacket, the same one he’d worn when he ended up on my back porch that night. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and flakes were gathering in his dark hair. The soft glow of the kitchen light fell on his face, illuminating it, making him look like an angel troubadour, descended from heaven to save my broken heart.
His eyes reached for mine. He smiled. A smile filled with everything I’d been missing in my life these past few years. Hell, these past 16 years. Ever since that night standing at the banks of the lake, when he made me feel like I was the most important person in the world.
A tear slid down my face, and I knew I was cooked.
I was.
I was sentimental. I was sappy. I was soft and gooey.
The walls came crashing down around me.
He turned all my hard edges into soft ones. All my cynicism into optimism. All my despair into hope.
Daniel Brightman, singing an Otis Redding song to me about how strong his love was on a snowy Christmas Eve ruined the cold, empty person that I had been.
He came to the end of the song, and my face was melted with tears.
“Cinnamon,” he said, putting down the guitar. “If I could take back these past 17 years, I would. I would go back to that lake with you and never want anything else.”
He took my hand in his, and stared down at me. I fell deeper and deeper into those green eyes.
“But I can’t do that,” he said. “All I can offer you is what I am today. My heart, damaged as it is. And a promise to never leave you ever again.”
I was speechless.
I realized these were the words I’d always wanted to hear. My entire life.
I knew I should have been mad. Mad that he’d left and abandoned me again. The old me would have been. The one who’d been beaten up and changed by the harsh realities of life.
But when I was with Daniel, I felt like that 16-year-old under the moonlight, listening to him sing. Fresh and clean and unscathed by the bitter side of love. Complete.
“Don’t do that to me again,” I said, placing a hand up to his cheek. “Ever.”
“I couldn’t,” he said, touching my hand. “I love you too much.”
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, and we kissed, the snow falling silently all around us, the wind blowing sharply into the sides of our faces.
But I wasn’t cold. In fact, I hadn’t been that warm in years.
Huckleberry circled us, wagging his little nub, barking playfully.
Daniel kissed me like he did that night in the summer of our youth. Deep and passionate and soul-shaking.
And I knew he was true. I knew he was never going to leave me. Not ever again.
Epilogue
The dog had never tasted anything as delicious as this meat pie the woman had placed for him in the corner of her kitchen.
He ate at it noisily, some of it splashing over the sides. It felt good to be inside, to be warm, to feel that he was loved and wanted again.
Soft music played from the speakers and the man held the woman, and they swayed gently from side to side to the rhythm.
And the dog had a feeling that he’d be seeing a lot more of the woman.
That the man and the woman would play a big part in his life in the upcoming years.
He would be loyal to both of them and would never leave their sides as long as he lived.
Huckleberry, as the woman called him, finally had a loving home.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49