Silver Bells

by Ev Bishop

  “No one wants to be micromanaged, Bryn, so get it through your head and stop mothering everyone. I’m not one of your retards, and you don’t have kids, remember? You can’t.”

  Old words—Brad’s—slammed into her head. She winced and closed her eyes for a moment. His ignorant use of the R-word had sent fury rippling through her at the time and still created waves of anger in her now.

  He could be so intentionally cruel, so quick to devalue any person who wasn’t his version of “normal.” She recognized his shallowness for what it was now—and knew that most of the accusations and insults he’d lobbed came from his issues, not hers. All the same, she’d be lying if she said he hadn’t deeply affected her. When would she be free of his nasty voice? When?

  There is nothing weird or “motherly” about putting food out—or if there is, it’s in a nice, good way, she assured herself. People who care about each other do nice things for each other—not that she cared about Sean, of course. That would be psycho.

  She opened her eyes, thought of the wine, and made an executive decision. She poured two glasses, placed one by the dinner plate she’d intended for Sean, and took hers to the living room.

  Take that, Brad, she thought. If I’m going to make some huge faux pas, I’ll err on the side of looking like I’m shamelessly pursuing the poor accident victim, not trying to mother him.

  Bryn flicked on a standing floor lamp behind the couch and located Steve. Wiped out by their adventures, he had claimed the only chair in the living room—a low slung recliner filled with cushions. His audible snoring made her smile as she sat down on the couch and curled her legs beneath her. Jo had been right about the couch. It was a tiny curved affair that even two people sitting together would find very cozy. It would be terrible for sleeping on.

  A plush mink blanket lay across one of the couch arms. She ran her hand over its silky softness, but resisted wrapping herself in it. She wasn’t cold and Sean might still be chilled and need it when he was finished in the bath. A well-stocked bookshelf filled one wall and caught her eye. She considered perusing the titles and reading for a bit, but decided she was too comfortable to move and just enjoyed her wine instead. It was velvety on her tongue and tasted of blackberries and plums, with something darker and richer underneath. Yum.

  She was about to cave to the increasingly loud nagging of her stomach—and planned to top up her wine glass—when Sean emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a thick white towel. “Holy cow, it smells amazing out here.”

  He was barefoot and wearing gray sweatpants and a navy and white baseball shirt. Bryn found him—and the outfit—so ridiculously appealing that she was momentarily speechless.

  Sean glanced toward the kitchen, then did a double take when he saw the arranged plates.

  Bryn’s cheeks flamed immediately. She shook her head. “Uh, I hope you don’t mind or think I’m being some weird mother hen or something…” Shut up, Bryn, shut up, shut up, she told herself and managed to say something more normal. “It just all looked so good that I thought we should do it justice.”

  Sean looked back at her and his voice was soft, “Are you kidding me? It looks fantastic. I can’t wait to dig in.” He registered the glass in her hand. “There’s wine?”

  “I know. Crazy, right?”

  He grinned.

  Bryn’s insides flip-flopped. She bit her lip and stood. “Well, shall we?”

  “We shall.” Sean ducked back into the bathroom and reappeared without the towel, but carrying his backpack. He unzipped it as he neared the table, then paused.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He laughed, pulled a bottle of spiced rum from his pack, set it near the wine, and pushed the backpack against the wall. “It’s probably redundant with the wine, but you never know. I’d thought we might want to warm our bones.”

  “And speaking of that, how are your bones?” Bryn asked, then almost choked on the mouthful of wine she’d just taken.

  “My bones… are good. Great, actually. That tub—you’ll have to check it out. It’s amazing. No jets, but so deep. Great for soaking in.”

  Bryn grabbed the food from the oven and filled their plates, then settled herself on one of the high-backed stools, hyper conscious of how close Sean was to her as he did the same.

  He raised his wineglass. “To not freezing our asses off in cold vehicles in the middle of the night. This is much better, hey?”

  She smiled and lifted her glass to his. “Hear, hear.”

  “And to new friends.” His eyes burned into hers. “Who I assure you I don’t see as ‘mother hen-like’ at all.”

  She sipped again and hoped it wasn’t a gulp.

  “I was thinking while I was in the tub,” he added, “that crashing here like this, together, is kind of weird, hey? Sort of awkward.”

  She nodded. Wait for it, she thought, sure he was going to explain how he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

  “But it’s also, well… super fun, isn’t it?”

  She smiled.

  “And romantic—” Before she could respond to the word, Sean held up a hand. “Wait, sorry. Please don’t worry. I didn’t mean I think we’re going to be romantic, like physically or anything. I meant it in the other definition of the word. Idyllic, picturesque, fairy tale like… Uh…” He shook his head helplessly.

  Relief coursed through Bryn and she burst out laughing. She was weird, no doubt about it, but maybe, just maybe, he was the same kind of weird. “Don’t worry. I know exactly what you mean.”

  And just like that, the easy flow they’d enjoyed as they adventured down the unfamiliar road, looking for River’s Sigh, was back.

  “Olive?” Bryn asked.

  “You know it,” Sean replied.

  Chapter 7

  Sean stretched back in his chair, unable to eat another bite. The meal had been wonderful, the drinking companionable and cheering—but the conversation and the excellent company sitting so close to him even more so. Throughout the evening, he’d caught himself staring at Bryn a little too openly (Thanks, Captain Morgan!), but her eyes seemed to meet his just as often, so he didn’t feel too self-conscious—just happy.

  Bryn waved her hand, gesturing at the pillaged food, the empty wine bottle and her tumbler of rum. “I just want you to know, I don’t do this all the time. This is not normal for me.” Her voice was both earnest and conspiratorial.

  “Well, since we’re in confession mode. This is totally my normal.” Sean winked, enjoying the cute pink flush that spread across her fair skin. Nothing made Gemma blush, and her face never gave away her emotions, happy, sad or otherwise, unless she wanted it to. Sean imagined it would be difficult for Bryn to hide her feelings—and he hoped she’d find it impossible to lie bald-faced, then wondered why it mattered to him.

  “Yep, I do this all the time,” he continued. “Put my truck off the road, convince my rescuer to shack up with me at a B & B, ply her with food and alcohol… it’s so commonplace now, it’s gotten boring.”

  “Really?”

  Sean laughed and shook his head. “No, not really—not ever until now. I only had rum on me when I crashed because it’s Christmas. It was supposed to be a gift for my buddy, the guy I’m staying with over the holidays. I don’t normally carry bottles of booze around.”

  Bryn sipped her rum, deep enough into the bottle now that she no longer pulled a face at the hard alcohol’s taste. “Okay, the booze is unusual, but what about the other stuff?”

  “My truck? I swear that’s the first accident I’ve ever been in.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “River’s Sigh?” He shook his head. “I promise, I’ve never been here before.”

  Bryn giggled and her cheeks went rosy. “I was actually trying to find out if you, to use your own words, ‘shack up’ often?” Her face burned even brighter.

  “Ah,” Sean said. “The truth?”

  She nodded.

  “We
ll, it’s kind of a mood killer and might forever wreck your flattering vision of me as some Casanova or something, but no…”

  Bryn leaned in.

  “No women. No woman,” Sean continued. “My long-term relationship ended six months ago and my ex took my heart with her. Not in a sweet, longing to be back together way.” He took a big swig of rum. “More like in a maybe true love doesn’t even exist sort of way. I always wanted to fall in love, get married, and grow old and decrepit with someone. But maybe that’s not a thing anymore.”

  Bryn sucked in air, like she’d received a hard pinch.

  Sean scowled as he considered his next words, then shook his head. “Gemma, my ex, never really wanted to be with me, or at least not exclusively, but I, like a total idiot, didn’t see the truth. I was always sure she’d come around or that deep down she did feel the same, just didn’t want to be vulnerable and admit it or something.” He stopped talking abruptly, feeling every bit of the wine and rum he’d imbibed. The stuff was like truth serum. Bryn was going to think he was the biggest flake—

  “Oh,” she said, “Oh.” The words were more breath than sound and seemed involuntary. They reminded Sean of sex and his gut tightened with arousal. “I know exactly how you feel,” she said. “Exactly. When someone you love doesn’t love you, never loved you… only ever loved the idea of some you that never existed, could never exist…” Her face scrunched and Sean worried she might cry, but she held onto her pain tightly, and her voice remained steady, her eyes dry. “And you’re the last one to discover it… It’s the worst. It makes you feel like the biggest fool—like you can’t trust your own instincts.”

  Bryn stopped talking and put her hand on Sean’s knee as if unable to continue, but still desperate to communicate. Almost as fast as her hand touched down, however, she yanked it back. Sean knew why. He’d felt it too—an electric jolt that passed between them. Their eyes locked, and Bryn stood quickly, her fluid movements belying the amount of alcohol in her system. “We need to move into the living room for this,” she announced.

  What did she mean by “this”? Sean’s fevered blood and alcohol fueled hormones clashed with his brain. On one hand he was hoping, so hoping, she was referring to something physical. On the other hand, he liked Bryn—liked in a way and to a degree that completely caught him by surprise. He didn’t want to screw up the chance they might keep seeing each other after this night by… Screwing. He’d learned the hard way he wasn’t a casual guy about anything really, let alone sex.

  Instead of moving to the small couch or cozy chair, however, she stared at the dirty dishes and empty food containers. “I should clean this up.”

  “No way. You’ve done enough. I’ll tackle the mess in the morning.”

  Bryn’s eyes widened and she looked stricken. “Oh no. Have I been totally overbearing? I’m sorry.”

  Sean raised his eyebrow, confused.

  “Have I done too much?”

  “Not at all. This whole night has been lovely. You are lovely.”

  Bryn flushed yet again and Sean decided he had a new favorite color. At least on her. Pink. Totally.

  She motioned toward the counter. “Are you sure? It wouldn’t take me long.”

  “I’m sure.” Sean took her hand and tugged her gently toward the couch—and tried to ignore the echoing tug of his insides at even this simple connection with her.

  She settled cross-legged on the floor by the couch, despite his repeated encouragement to take it herself, and he fiddled with the small gas fireplace. Soon a cozy glow filled the small room. He collected the rum bottle, then motioned at her empty glass in silent question.

  “Sooo much rum,” Bryn groaned—then grinned. “But yes, please, sure.”

  It was just after midnight and Sean was feeling the long day, but he didn’t want the evening to end. He topped up his drink too, then settled on one end of the couch, so he could watch Bryn’s face as they talked.

  “So now you know my life story,” he said.

  “Hardly.”

  “Okay, well, you know I’m jaded and angry. What’s your sad tale? Who’s this idiot who loved some version of you that you aren’t, instead of the great person you are?”

  Bryn focused her gaze on the fireplace’s small orange flame. “Oh yeah, I’m really great.”

  “You’re right,” Sean amended. “‘Great’ doesn’t cut it.”

  She nodded like he was being serious, not joking. Her resigned acceptance of some ridiculously low opinion of herself killed him. It was just as bizarre as her weird insecurity whenever she did something nice for him—like she expected him to bite her head off for setting out dinner or for asking if he was all right. Whoever Bryn’s ex was, he must’ve been a piece of work.

  “Yep,” he repeated with emphasis. “Great doesn’t cut it at all. Brave. Generous. Kind. Gorgeous. Any one of those is much better.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said, but her smile returned, curving her luscious mouth, a mouth that he’d like to—

  “The booze has obviously gone straight to your head,” she continued. “You’re drunk.”

  “Oh yeah, I am,” he agreed happily because what else could he say? She was right, but it wasn’t just the booze. It was her.

  “Now tell me,” he prodded gently, “who’s this guy who hurt you so badly and stole all your confidence?”

  Bryn sipped her drink, then stretched. “He is… no one. Or no one I want to talk about right now. Why ruin such a great night?”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Sean stretched his glass toward her and she clinked hers gently against his.

  “Earlier you mentioned you’re an event planner, but then we veered away to some other topic. Tell me about your job. How’d you get into it? Do you love it? What does it entail?”

  Sean smiled at the barrage of questions. “How I got into it… I got roped into planning a birthday party for my sister Marnie’s daughter and it kind of snowballed from there. I enjoyed it so much I left a marketing job I was good at, but that didn’t bring me a lot of satisfaction.”

  Bryn nodded as if that made perfect sense, not like she thought he was nuts, which was some people’s response. Sean found himself sharing details he usually didn’t, like how the big birthday had taken place five months after Marnie’s breast cancer diagnosis and the simultaneous bailing of her husband and how desperately Sean had wanted to cheer up and encourage the whole family.

  “Fighting cancer and raising two kids alone was a struggle to say the least,” he continued, “but Marnie managed. She’s ten years’ cancer free now and unflaggingly cheerful and optimistic—but still single and adamant that she’s going to stay that way. I still try to give her a lot of support, and I’m close to my niece and nephew who are both in high school now.”

  “You’re a pretty nice brother.”

  Sean shrugged off the compliment. “I was a shit when we were kids. I’m just trying to even things up.”

  “And what do you like about it? Your job, I mean.”

  He cleared his throat. “Okay, what I love… Meeting different people and helping them celebrate their lives’ most special moments—and helping them bring their dream settings and decorations into reality. What I like least… Sometimes people forget that at the end of the day, the actual event being celebrated—the marriage, the anniversary, the birthday—is the thing to focus on and really enjoy. People can get so fixated on tiny details, wanting everything just right, or wanting something they’ve always envisioned instead of paying attention to what the person at the heart of the event might prefer—and I get stressed out if I sense people are moving beyond what they can, or should, comfortably afford.”

  Bryn leaned back against the couch, rested her cheek on the seat cushion, and looked up at him. “You’re so nice. If I ever have something big to celebrate, I want you to plan it. Promise you will.” Her voice was soft and sleepy, the long day, the filling meal, the drinks obviously doing their work.

  “You bet I will,” he repli
ed.

  Bryn’s head jerked as if she’d nodded off then re-awoke. She giggled. “Whoa, I’m sorry. You’re losing me. I don’t want to, but I’d better turn in.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Tomorrow will be another full day.”

  “Can we eat breakfast together before we say good-bye?”

  The question stabbed Sean. Before we say good-bye. Why would the words hurt when they hadn’t even known each other for twenty-four hours? “I’d love that,” Sean said. In his head he added, “for the rest of my life”—and knew he was a drunk fool. He helped Bryn up from the floor. She glided off to the bathroom, just the tiniest bit wobbly on her feet, then headed into the bedroom. A light clicked on and shone through a crack at the bottom of the door.

  Sean heard the smallest “Oh” of appreciation, then the sound of her falling into bed in the other room made him smile. The light clicked off after a minute or so and Sean pulled off his sweats so he was just in his boxers and T-shirt and stretched out on the couch. Or, rather, he tried to stretch out. After a few tosses and turns, he changed strategies and settled himself on the carpet in front of the fireplace instead, using one of the throw cushions as a pillow and the blanket from the couch as bedding. It was pretty comfortable and after a few minutes he even had company. Steve moved from the chair and curled up behind his knees.

  Sean was drowsily reliving the events of the past eight hours, marveling at how his misfortune (a.k.a. his stupidity) with the truck had turned into the best luck he’d ever enjoyed, when the bedroom door opened. Then Bryn softly called, “Sean? Are you still awake?”

  Chapter 8

  Sean stood on the other side of the bed from Bryn. He had gone as far as turning his corner of the blankets down, but then he stopped and looked at her. The light from the small bedside lamp made him look angelic—or temptingly devilish, she wasn’t sure which.

  “Are you positive?” he asked.

  She nodded, although admittedly she hadn’t realized he’d stripped down to his boxers and T-shirt when she asked. She was wearing a long tank top and panties, of course, but her legs were bare too. The idea of him almost naked in bed beside her…