Love Finds You Under the Mistletoe

by Irene Brand

  “Of course I forgive you.” She looked at him. “But remember all of this is so sudden. I need some time.” Holly gently eased out of his embrace. “I should have told you. Van asked me to marry him.”

  “I know.”

  “How could you possibly know about that?”

  “Van dropped by my house before he left for Houston. He asked me to put in a good word for him. I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t tell him how I felt.”

  “He really did come by—to ask you to do that?”

  “He did.” Owen crossed his arms. “Look, Holly, I’m not going to convince you to marry that pipsqueak, no matter how clever or witty or literary he is. Sorry, I take back the pipsqueak part.”

  Holly chuckled. “So, are we arguing?”

  “If we are, it’d probably be the first time.”

  “Funny to argue—over love.”

  “I think Keaton would call it irony.”

  Holly shook her head at him.

  “I have an idea.” He took a step closer to her.

  “You do?”

  “Why don’t we dance?”

  She put up her hands. “But don’t we need music?”

  “Maybe.” After Owen led Holly back to the gazebo, he reached over to a metal box and flipped a switch. Soft jazz poured over them like rainwater flowing down from the hills. “Let’s get you toasty again.” He threw several more logs on the grate and poked at them until the fire was blazing.

  “You’ve thought of everything this evening.” She joined him in front of the fireplace.

  Owen lifted Holly’s hand up to his shoulder and then placed his hand on her waist. “Shall we?” Leading the way, Owen got them swaying together to the music.

  “I never knew you could dance.”

  “I can’t.” Owen spun her around and then whirled her back to him again. This time he held onto her more closely.

  She tilted her head, looking him over. “You’ve got that look in your eye again, Mr. Quigly.”

  “I need you to do something for me, Holly. It’s just this one little thing I need from you.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I need you to marry me. You’re the one. You always have been. I adore you, Holly Goodnight. I did the moment I set eyes on you.”

  “But I was wearing a diaper.”

  “I was too.” Owen shrugged. “But I could tell we were meant for each other even then.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “The way we smacked each other with our toys.”

  “Ahh, the stuff of true romance.” She snuggled against his shoulder.

  Owen guessed Holly had no idea how much he cared for her. He would even give up a free lunch with Warren Buffett just to hang out with her. “I finally told my parents how I felt. I called them up in Montana.”

  Holly looked up at him. “What did they say?”

  “They said, ‘What took you so long’?”

  She smiled.

  “Look, I know I’m confusing you, Holly, and I know my timing is messed up. Especially now, with everything that happened yesterday. But I couldn’t hide what I felt any longer. To not speak up while Van—well, I know I’ll regret that silence for as long as I live.” A breeze rustled Holly’s hair, and he brushed the strands aside. Then he lifted the quilt off the chair, wrapped it around her, and pulled her to him. “You know, numbers have been my thing all my life—not words. But this one is easy. You are a wonder to me, and I can’t imagine my life without that wonder.”

  “Owen—”

  He leaned down to kiss her again, but Holly pressed her fingers over his lips.

  “Forgive me. But as long as Van still thinks I’m considering his proposal, I can’t do this.” She looked away. “In fact, I shouldn’t have allowed you to kiss me at all. It was wrong of me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Owen released her. “It does feel a little like trickery on my part. You thought your best friend was going to feed you some dinner, and a guy doing a really bad impersonation of Casanova showed up instead.”

  Holly grinned. “I knew something had changed between us—and I chose to come anyway.”

  “I have to know. This kind of affection between us—had it ever crossed your mind all those years?”

  Holly sat down and clasped her hands together. “Once in a while I had wondered what it would be like.”

  “You did?” Owen softened the music and sat down next to her. “There is one more thing I need to say. If you did marry Van, I have this distinct feeling he wouldn’t want me to spend time with you. Especially if he knew how I felt. And I couldn’t blame him.”

  “Yes, I had wondered about the changes we’d have to make.” Holly pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “I don’t know what to say. You deserve an answer, but I feel so lost right now.”

  Owen had never been an overly emotional man, but at that moment he knew what a broken heart would feel like. More than anything, though, he wanted to do the right thing. He would let her go for now. “I’ll take you home.”

  “I guess that would be best.” Holly shivered.

  Owen took off his jacket and slipped it around her shoulders.

  “Thanks.” She kissed his cheek.

  Owen would drive Holly back to her house, and all would appear to be just as it was. And yet nothing would ever be the same again. One word, though, one word from her, and everything could change. When the time is right, God, please let that word be yes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Holly climbed into bed, her emotions a mess of panic, confusion, and euphoria. Life had become all things complicated. Sleep was unlikely. If she were to drift off, she doubted there would be any more nightmares about her mother. Her dream world would be riddled with a different kind of torment—decision. Strange to go her whole life without any marriage proposals and then receive two in one day! The earth felt tilted on its axis. One wrong move and she felt as though she would fall off the planet.

  She punched her pillow and then hurled it across the room. It smacked into a lamp, nearly knocking it to the floor.

  Either way she went, someone was going to get hurt. To break Van’s heart would be painful. To break Owen’s heart seemed inconceivable. How could love cause such chaos? For Van she felt fondness, attraction, and great admiration for his accomplishments as a writer. But were those emotions really connected to love? Owen represented friendship, loyalty, and a newfound appeal. More honestly, it was a sincere passion.

  How would she ever survive the decision-making process? She had a ferocious urge to try her father’s habit of binge eating. She could drown herself in ice cream topped with hot fudge, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries. But as rhapsodic as the prospect might be, the bottom line meant her bottom line would no longer fit into her jeans, and she certainly wouldn’t respect herself in the morning.

  It was one of those moments when she longed to have a mother to talk to. Someone who knew about love, someone who could give her advice from a woman’s point of view. But she loved her father dearly, and since he was always so full of common sense, she picked up the phone. Pacing the floor, she recounted every detail of the story to her dad, and afterward he offered her what she’d expected: understanding and love. But he didn’t tell her what she should do.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Anytime, Cricket.” He cleared his throat. “You know, either way you decide to go, you have my blessing. But just so you won’t wonder about it later—I’m rooting for Owen.”

  That made Holly smile. After she hung up the phone she dropped back into bed, feeling loved but still without any absolute answer. She picked up Van’s new novel off the bed table, Land of Dreams and Drawbridges, and turned it over to read what some big-shot author had written about it: “A deeply moving portrayal of sacrificial love within the confines of war, poverty, and human frailty.” Wow, what an endorsement. Holly felt honored to be loved by a man who could write so beautifully and receive such praise for his work, and yet she knew
that even the finest seal of approval on his art had nothing to do with love.

  She set the book aside and reached for Emma, a Jane Austen novel Owen had picked up for her at the library. It was the only Austen novel she hadn’t read, but she had seen the movie some years earlier. Then it hit her—Emma was the story of two friends falling in love. Wasn’t it Emma and Mr. Knightley? How could she have missed Owen’s hint? Very sneaky of him.

  That’s it. Mistake or not, I’m calling my best friend. Holly slipped on her super-ratty but super-comfy bunny slippers and padded into the kitchen to make herself some jasmine tea. She picked up her hot brew, sat on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, and called Owen on her cell phone. He answered right away.

  “Owen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry to call so late.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

  “Having trouble sleeping?” Owen asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you tried your jasmine tea?”

  Holly took a sip from her mug. “I’m drinking it now.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you having trouble sleeping too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I guess why?”

  “Well, there’s this girl, you see. I’m in love with her. And I found out I won’t be able to live without her. But let’s not talk about me. What about you? Why can’t you sleep?”

  Holly pushed her mug aside. “‘Cause I’m scared.”

  “You have good reason to be. People make wrong decisions all the time. It’s one reason the divorce rate is so high. That and the fact that people don’t know how to stay married. Commitment sounds good on paper until people have to actually do it.”

  “So, what does my best friend say I should do?”

  Owen paused. “What does your heart tell you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you think God would have to say?”

  Holly shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well then, you’re in a real pickle, my friend.”

  She rested her head in her hand. “Do you remember the time I ate a gigantic pickle on an empty stomach, went for a ride on your tire swing, and then spent the rest of that day throwing up?”

  “Oh yeah, I remember it. You got sick all over my new high-top sneakers.”

  “Oh dear, I did, didn’t I?” Holly chuckled. “And then Owen Quigly stayed right by my side the rest of that Saturday.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  “It’s always been that way.” Holly sighed. “If you were no longer a part of my life, something inside of me would die.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  “Pray for me, Owen.”

  “I have been—for your whole life.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, do you think you can sleep now?” Owen asked.

  “No.”

  “Me either.”

  “But it was nice to hear your voice.”

  Owen took in a deep breath. “One word from you and you’ll be able to hear that voice the rest of your life. Even when you go to bed at night.”

  “Now I’ll never be able to go to sleep.”

  “Maybe that wasn’t fair.”

  “‘All’s fair in love and war,’” Holly said.

  “Who said that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Owen chuckled.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Holly Goodnight.”

  She smiled and folded up her cell phone. The tea had gone cool, so she set her mug in the sink and went back to bed. Before pulling up the covers she glanced down at her old bunny slippers. They were worn threadbare, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away. Hmm. Was she guilty of doing the same thing with her love life, wanting only what felt old and comfy? Was she leaning away from Van’s love simply because it felt new and risky while Owen was all things familiar? Someone who could never abandon her?

  Holly wrestled with these latest accusations against herself until her thoughts fell again to the loss of her mother. She recalled Van’s idea about writing a letter. It had been a good idea, one that might help with closure as well as give her insight into her dilemma. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Holly got out of bed, pulled out some paper from her writing desk, and began a letter to her mother.

  Dear Mom,

  I’m so sorry I never got to meet you. I want you to know that for whatever reason you left me all those years ago on the steps of The Little Bethlehem Shoppe, I forgive you.

  The gentleman you left me with adopted me, and he turned out to be the very best of fathers. I hope that brings you comfort.

  To be honest, there were lots of times I was confused and heavyhearted when I thought about my past. And then when I heard you died before I could ever meet you—well, it is a sadness that will take a long time to heal. I missed the mother-daughter times we could have shared. There were so many. My first baby tooth hidden under a pillow, the moment I learned to ride a bike, my first softball game, and the day I came to know the real meaning of Christmas in my heart.

  I would have told you about my very first crush, my first kiss, my best friend, and finally, the two marriage proposals that came on the very same day. You could have gasped with me, and then you could have given me a mother’s wisdom. I’m not sure what you would have said. Maybe you would have told me that my love was like a bright star and that it had always been anchored in the sky for all to see. I had just never bothered to look up.

  Your daughter, who will always love you,

  Holly Rose Goodnight

  “Good-bye, Mom.” Holly folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, hoping God would help her let go of her mother without ever forgetting her. At that thought, tears threatened, and she reached up to pinch her nose as she always did. But how foolish was it to always keep the tears from flowing? Perhaps the ability to cry was a gift—to be able to release the pain when words weren’t enough. So all the emotion she’d held inside, the tears she’d been afraid to release, came out in profusion.

  In the middle of her emancipation, a thought came to her—if people needed her, really needed her constant help, then no one would ever abandon her again. Was that afflicted notion at the root of all her good deeds? If so, she really had come undone. God, may all my small acts of kindness be without strings. Let them fly free as well.

  Some time later, after she’d dried her tears, Holly climbed back into bed, reached into her night table, and pulled out the compass Owen had given her. She turned it over in her hand, studying it. Lord, just as I leave one maze I feel as though I’ve entered another, and this one is even trickier. I know You want me to choose well in marriage, so I am really open to some divine navigation.

  Holly snuggled under the covers, thinking of Owen and praying about Owen. And then, much later in the night, choosing Owen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The bedside alarm went off, and Holly slammed her hand on the buzzer. Morning already?

  The phone rang. Just before she slammed that too, Holly glanced at the caller. It was Van. The choice she’d made the night before came back to her, and even though she had great peace about it, she had no idea how to tell Van about her decision. She sat up in bed, patted her face, and then picked up. “Hi.”

  “How is my love?”

  “Just waking up.” Holly wiped the sweaty hair out of her face.

  “Someday soon I’ll be the one waking up next to you.”

  Holly felt speechless. His statement was full of presumption, and yet he said the words with such devotion it was hard to be angry.

  “Holly, are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sound so far away.”

  “I’m right here. How was your trip? Did you make it home okay?”

  “I didn’t make it very far.”

  Holly gave her face another pat or two. “Where are you?”

  �
��I’m at a hotel in Bentonville. I drove a couple of hours toward Houston, and then I suddenly remembered that my publicist had set up a book signing for me at the Hometown Bookshop here.”

  “Really?”

  “After church this morning, do you mind meeting me there at noon? Please tell me you can.”

  Holly took in a deep breath. “I can. I’ll see you at the bookshop in Bentonville.”

  “’Bye, my darling.”

  “Good-bye.” Holly hung up the phone. She would have given him the news then, but she felt he deserved an explanation in person. And since he was writing her story, she would have to get used to talking to him despite their broken relationship. How hard was that going to be? He would still need to interview her and give her updates concerning the progress of the book. And if the book sold well, what if there were a movie? She doubted such a thing could happen, and yet there was no way to know how far the story would go. What if their lives were linked for years to come?

  Holly sank back under the covers, wondering how her simple, small-town life had gotten so complicated. After a long groan and an even longer prayer, she followed her usual routine of showering and eating breakfast. Then she slipped into a navy dress and matching coat.

  Holly was on the road soon after Sunday morning services, making her way toward the Arkansas border. When she arrived in Bentonville she pulled into the parking lot of the Hometown Bookshop and then promptly froze solid. Why hadn’t she practiced what to say? She got out of her car, thinking she had a few seconds to spare to gather her wits, but Van quickly met her outside and swept her into his world as if it were her world as well.

  “We’re running a little late,” he whispered into her ear and then turned to an older woman who stood near him. “Pauline, this is Holly Goodnight.”

  Pauline, a woman who obviously worked for the bookstore, gave Holly’s hand a vigorous shake. “It’s so nice to meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you, Ms. Goodnight.”

  “You have?” The woman’s tone was full of nuance. What had Van told her?