by Devney Perry
Logan held my hand as we strolled down the street. I occasionally pointed out different stores that I liked, but instead of finding anything positive about them, he made a few comments about the plethora of Western apparel and the abundance of horseshoes.
I brushed off his remarks and kept walking, hoping he wasn’t going to be so judgmental during his entire visit.
As we passed the sporting goods store, I caught a glimpse of our reflection in the glass door and laughed.
“What?” Logan asked.
“We look out of place. I’m still dressed up from school. You’re perfectly styled as always. The only thing about us that goes with Prescott is your jeans.”
“That’s because we are out of place, Emmeline.”
My laughter stopped immediately at the sight of his serious face. “It was a joke, Logan. Why are you acting like this?”
“Your joke wasn’t funny and I’m acting like I always do. I apologize for not being overjoyed to spend Thanksgiving in Montana, walking around a little town with my girlfriend, who has somehow convinced herself that she fits in here.”
“Then why did you come?” I asked, stopping on the sidewalk.
“Because we need to have a conversation about your marriage. I’ve got a conference call scheduled with Andrews on Friday morning before I leave. I need to be better informed about what he’s doing but he won’t discuss the divorce proceedings with me unless you are present.”
“Logan, tell me you didn’t go around me to Fred Andrews. Not after I told you I was getting it taken care of.”
“You had nine years to get it taken care of and you didn’t. So yes, I went around you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Why? Maybe because I had hoped someday you would be my wife. That the ring I’ve tried to give you twice now might actually go on your finger.”
My anger was immediately replaced with guilt.
Shit.
I had been so consumed with getting an explanation from Nick, I hadn’t taken enough action for Logan. When I found myself living in the same town as my lost husband, I should have immediately gotten my ass back to New York, explained everything to Logan and then personally picked up my divorce papers. Instead, I had spent a week going out on dates with Nick and then made out with him, plastered against a wall in his house.
I was not a good girlfriend.
Just as I was opening my mouth to apologize, a familiar voice rumbled from behind me.
“Not happening, pal. She’s mine.”
“This is not happening,” I muttered and turned around to face Nick. “Stay out of this, Nick.”
“No,” he said.
“The husband, I presume?” Logan stepped into the space beside me and threw his arm around my shoulders, his whole frame rigid.
“Yeah. And since I’m her husband, how about you get your fucking hands off her?”
“I’ll touch her whenever I please. I have for the last five years.”
“Enough!” I said, ending this ridiculous macho man show before it got carried away. “The only person that gets to decide who touches me and when, is me. Stop acting like Neanderthals.”
“Time to go, Emmeline,” Logan declared and grabbed my hand, pulling me behind him as we marched back to the Jeep.
The sound of boots thudded on the pavement behind us. I slipped my hand free from Logan and spun around, again facing Nick.
I was desperate for him to leave me be. The last thing I wanted was for Nick to mention that we had kissed. That was my story to tell Logan, on my terms, but Nick’s eyes were determined. He was going to do whatever it took to keep me apart from Logan.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Let me go.”
“Never.” His face gentled and he looked down at me with his own desperation. “Emmy, don’t do this. Don’t stay with him just because you’re still holding onto the idea that life will go back to how it was. Everything has changed. Be honest with yourself, and with him. We’re it for each other. You walked back into my life and I won’t leave you again. And deep down, you don’t want me to let you go.”
“Emmeline,” Logan called.
I choked down the lump in my throat and blinked away my tears. “Coming.”
The drive home was silent, but the moment I parked in the driveway, Logan reached for my hand.
“You love him.” He wasn’t angry and yelling. He sounded defeated and sad.
I shook my head. “No. But I did once.”
“It’s still there, sweetheart,” Logan said, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.
I wanted to protest but I couldn’t. I was too confused about my feelings for Nick. In one night, I had fallen in love with him. I thought that years of anger and hatred had erased all of that love. But spending time with him, kissing him, had brought it all back. Only, the hatred was still there too. How could I get rid of one without the other?
“When you walked away from him, I’ve never seen pain like that on your face before. Not even when your father was at his worst. I want to be the man to take it from you, Emmeline, to carry that pain so you can live a life of happiness. But it’s never going to be me.”
“What? What are you saying, Logan?” I asked.
“I never even stood a chance. Nothing I can ever do will be enough. He’ll always have that piece of you.”
I shook my head. “You’re reading too much into this. He just upset me. And you and I had been arguing. There was a lot of emotion flying around. Let’s just forget it and have a nice Thanksgiving together. Please?”
“He calls you Emmy.”
“He always has. What does that matter?”
“When we first met, I called you Emmy once. You corrected me and said you hated that nickname. But that wasn’t true. You didn’t want me to call you Emmy because it was already his.”
He was right. There were things I wouldn’t give him because Nick had been there first. I’d convinced myself I hated nicknames and kisses on the tip of my nose. I didn’t, really, but I’d told myself I did. Because it hurt too much to be reminded of Nick.
He had been right.
Everything had changed.
Living in Montana had shed light on the problems Logan and I’d had before Nick had ever gotten thrown into the mix. Logan and I wanted different lifestyles. I had found a home in Montana and he loved New York. I was happier living a quieter life while he thrived on busy workdays and a hectic social calendar.
“It’s not just Nick, is it?” I whispered. “It’s me here. You there. I’m not coming back. And you’ll never leave.”
“No. It’s not just him.”
We sat in silence for a few moments until Logan spoke. “I think I had better change my answer to your previous question. I believe I am here to break up with you.”
I knew it was coming but that didn’t make it any less painful to hear. My breath hitched and I struggled to get it back.
When I twisted my neck to look into his eyes, the ache in my chest grew so fierce I feared my heart would stop beating. “I’m so sorry, Logan.”
“Me too.” Reaching across the console, he cupped the back of my head and pulled me in for a kiss.
I let our good-bye kiss convey all of the things I didn’t say. That I was grateful for every moment we’d had together. That I would never be able to thank him enough for all the wonderful things he had done for me these past five years. That I would always remember him and care for him deeply.
“Be happy,” he said, then climbed out of my Jeep and got in his SUV, backing out of my driveway and out of my life.
When he was no longer in my rearview mirror, I collapsed into the steering wheel with body-wrenching sobs.
“You know I love seeing you, dear. Especially around the holidays. But I think you’d better tell me why you called to say ‘Merry Christmas’ and fourteen hours later you’re here in Italy.”
My mother and I were sitting side by side in the spa at the CastaDiva Resort on Lake Como. My body was wrapped
in a white plush robe and my feet were getting an elaborate pedicure.
Yesterday morning I had been home in Montana. Today I was in Italy for an unplanned but necessary vacation.
“It’s a long story, Mom,” I said.
“Then we’d best get a bottle of wine while you tell me what is going on.”
“You’d better make it two.”
An hour later, she was caught up on my complicated love life and we were both tipsy.
“What happened after Logan left?” she asked.
“I drove to the grocery store and loaded up on junk food. Then I camped out on the couch for the rest of the weekend, binge-watching old episodes of Friends for four days.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Logan? No. I sent him a text saying Merry Christmas but that was it.” I left out the part where he had responded by asking me not to text him again because he needed to put some distance between us. Apparently, two thousand miles weren’t enough.
“And Nick?” she asked.
“He came to my school the Monday after Thanksgiving. I said I wasn’t ready to see him yet and asked him to stop pushing. He agreed, but I think it was only because I told him Logan and I had broken up.”
The look of relief on Nick’s face was burned into my brain. I’d wanted to slap him for being so glad that I had been heartbroken. But at the same time, that look had been honest and pure. Everything that he had been telling me had been true.
He wasn’t playing a game. He wanted another chance and he had been genuinely scared that I would choose Logan.
“I haven’t seen him, but he sends me text messages every day,” I said. “Usually just says hello. Tells me what he’s up to. They’re thoughtful.”
“Hmm. And why did you come here?” she asked.
“I was lonely,” I confessed. “I poured myself into work after Thanksgiving. There is this boy in my class that I’ve been trying to get to open up to me, so I spent a lot of extra time creating special activities he would like. But school is on break right now and I was sitting at home, alone, and needed to get out of there. The whole town of Prescott was decked out in Christmas. I didn’t even have a tree. It was depressing.”
“Sounds like you are running away to pout.”
“I am n—” I started but clamped my mouth shut. “I know,” I sighed.
“What do you want to do about Nick?”
“I don’t know. What would you do?”
“It’s not my decision, Emmeline. But in my opinion, there’s a reason why you didn’t get divorced. And it has nothing to do with your father’s absurd logic or pride. It’s the same reason why you turned Logan down when he asked you to marry him. The fact that you moved to the same town where Nick lived is . . . unbelievable. It’s fate. If it were me? I would see where it goes. You two might not make it. But at least you finally have that chance to try.”
“What if I can’t ever get over it, forgive him for leaving me?” I asked.
“Darling, your heart already has,” she said. “You just need to give your brain a chance to catch up.”
The society rags loved to portray my mother as snobbish and shallow. In many ways, she was. Her affairs had always made Page Six and she had never tried to hide her wealth.
But she had a softer side, one she mostly reserved for her children and loved ones. One she kept hidden from the public eye as a means to keep the vultures at bay.
Collette Austin was incredibly smart and kind. And when it came to me, she had the uncanny ability to read my suppressed emotions. Mom often knew how I was feeling even before I did. For a New York socialite turned permanent Italian tourist, she was incredibly wise.
“Thanks, Mom. And thanks for letting me barge in on your holiday plans. Is Alesso going to be put out?” I asked.
“I love to have you here any time. Pouting or not.” She smiled. “And Alesso’s fine. He loves you. I think he was relieved, actually, when I told him we were going to spend the whole day at the spa. His family is visiting, and whenever they’re around, he has to interpret for me. They talk too fast for me to keep up.”
“You know, you could learn his language.”
“Ridiculous.” She waved her hand in the air to dismiss the idea. “How long are you staying?”
“Through New Year’s. I need to get back a few days before school starts again to prepare.”
“Excellent! I want to go on a lake tour to see all of the Christmas lights but Alesso is scared of boats. You can go with me.”
“Sounds wonderful,” I said.
Cruising around the Lake Como coast would be frigid but taking in the gorgeous, snow-covered Italian buildings trimmed with sparkling Christmas lights was worth braving the cold.
“I’ve missed you, dear,” she said. “We’re going to plan a trip to Montana. I need to see what the fuss is all about.”
“I’ve missed you too. Visit anytime before summer.”
I didn’t expand on my timing request. Instead, I relaxed into my seat and closed my eyes. While one technician manicured my fingernails, another started a facial.
If I decided to move away from Prescott this summer, Lake Como, Italy, was quickly climbing up my list for potential new hometowns.
Nick
Fuck space.
I’d tried to respect Emmy’s wishes and give her time to herself, but that shit wasn’t working for me anymore. Now that she was back from wherever she’d gone for the holidays, her space was as good as gone.
It had been over a month since I’d seen her, and though I’d kept in touch, sending a text message every day wasn’t the same as looking at her beautiful face.
I needed to touch her. To smell the coconut in her hair. To look into her eyes.
So, fuck space. I was switching tactics.
I had pushed her hard in Vegas with my dares and challenges. And since I’d had much better results then, I would try that again now.
Raising my fist, I pounded on her front door.
I watched her march my way through one of the five rectangular windows that filled the front door, rolling her eyes when she realized I was at her house.
Christ, I loved that eye roll.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I just bent down to pick up the bags resting at my feet and pushed past her into the house, walking straight to the kitchen.
“Nick!” she called but I ignored her again. I deposited the groceries on the island while she scowled at me from the kitchen doorway. My teeth clenched together and I fought back a curse. She’d lost weight and there were dark purple rings under her eyes.
“Come on, Emmy. We’re making dinner. From the looks of it, you could use a decent meal.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you look like shit. When’s the last time you ate? Those clothes are hanging off of you.” The black dress she wore looked more like a rectangular bag than a fitted dress. Though, her legs still looked smoking hot in those tall-ass shoes.
Her eyes got wide and her mouth fell open an inch. “Excuse me? Insulting me is not doing you any favors.”
“Emmy, even exhausted and miserable, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world so don’t get too bent out of shape. Now get in here so we can start cooking.”
Her face flushed and I turned away to start un-bagging groceries, smiling to myself.
I gave her a few moments and then ordered, “Emmy. Get in here. Find a cutting board and a knife.”
“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
I spun around to look her directly in the eyes. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
“Oh for the love . . .” she muttered and stomped into the kitchen.
“Get out a frying pan too. And a big wooden spoon.”
She opened cupboard after cupboard to get my tools. Coffee mugs were in every one. She must have a hundred of them tucked away.
“What are you making?” she asked.
“Fajitas,” I said. “And you’re making them.”
“I assume you’ll be helping me?”
I smiled.
Her eyes moved to my mouth and her breath hitched. She was just as affected by me as I was by her. I just needed to get her to admit it so we could move forward.
Five minutes later, she was at the island attempting to chop a green bell pepper.
Holy fuck, she was bad at this. “You’re doing great.”
Her slices were six times too wide, nothing like the example I’d shown her. Not only were her cuts uneven, making them took forever. If I didn’t step in to help, we wouldn’t eat until midnight.
“I’ll just do a few of these too,” I said, reaching for an onion. I wanted to tease her but decided to save it for a different day when we were on better terms.
When she’d finally finished with one pepper, I’d sliced the other three, the onion and the chicken.
“Spices next. Sprinkle a teaspoon of all three over the meat and vegetables,” I said, handing her three small jars.
After finishing her task, she hopped up on the counter to drink the glass of wine I had handed her.
I took a deep breath and summoned all of my willpower to keep from walking into the space between her legs and taking her mouth. Someday soon I was going to have her again. She would be right here in the kitchen, in that exact position, moaning my name.
“Where did you learn to cook?” she asked.
“Mostly from experimenting on my own. After Mom died, Dad tried to cook for my brother and me but his food was shit. He gave up and would just take us to McDonald’s or Taco Bell. I got sick of eating fast food so I started to mess around in the kitchen. I wasn’t good at it at first but then I started to get the hang of it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Other than Mom not being there, I enjoyed it.” I went to the fridge and grabbed one of the beers I’d brought over. “Where’d you run off to?”
“I decided to go see my mom last minute,” she said. “Wait. How did you know I was gone?”
“I came by to give you your Christmas present and saw you’d left. I checked on the house a couple of times while you were gone.”