by Thea Dawson
She smiled gently up at him. “Richard, it’s been a really emotional day. Maybe we should talk more after Peyton’s back home—”
He stroked her soft hair. “We’ll talk whenever you want. But I’m not going to say anything different. You and your family are the best thing that’s happened to Peyton and me, and I want you to be part of our lives for as long as you’re willing. If there’s a risk, then there’s a risk.” He swallowed. “Let’s tell them as soon as we get home.”
In his arms, Celia laughed quietly. “I think it’s too late for that.” She nodded toward the bed. Richard turned.
Peyton was watching them, her large brown eyes wide open, a satisfied smile on her face. “I can’t wait to tell Lily,” she said.
26
Epilogue
It was Saturday, two weeks before Christmas, and Celia lay in her warm bed, wishing she could sleep in just a little longer. But the kids would be up soon, and she needed to get some work done before they met Richard and Peyton at the skating rink in the afternoon. There were only five more school days left before the holiday, and they would be busy ones for Celia.
As Susan’s company had grown, so had her demands for both Richard’s and Celia’s time. Celia created brochures, slide presentations, and marketing kits, while Richard was called to the Bay Area and elsewhere on an almost monthly basis for trade shows, presentations, and meetings with the rest of Susan’s team. Unwilling to rely solely on a single source of income, Celia had made a point of diversifying to other clients, including several other local businesses, and a couple of mid-sized companies based in Portland.
Now she was anxious to get as much of her work out of the way before the end of the week so that she could focus on the holidays. She was excited—and nervous—to be going down to Bend with her kids to meet Richard’s extended family.
There was a quiet knock at her door and Rosie launched herself into Celia’s bed, followed by Rowan who pulled himself up beside her.
“Did you climb out of your crib again?” she groaned. Rowan was practically unstoppable, and now in need of either a big-kid bed or a cage.
“Lily got him out,” Rosie assured her. “He was getting fussy. You’re not allowed to go downstairs yet.”
Celia yawned. “Why not?”
“Because of the surprise.”
“What surprise?”
Rosie graced her with a condescending expression that reminded Celia of Lily. “If I tell you, it’s not a surprise,” she explained with exaggerated patience.
“Could I at least get some coffee?” she pleaded.
Rosie shook her wavy brown hair. “You have to stay in your room until the surprise is ready.”
Outside, Celia heard a crunch of gravel. “Is someone here?” she said, starting to sit up. Rosie jumped off the bed and ran to shut the door, then returned and sat on Celia’s legs. For good measure, Rowan crawled on top of her chest, pinning her to the bed. Celia laughed. “C’mon, you guys! Fine, I won’t go downstairs, but can I at least sit up?”
After some coaxing, she was allowed to sit up, Rowan and Rosie snuggled on either side of her. She became aware of scuffling noises downstairs and became even more curious. What was Lily doing?
Finally, there was a knock on the door followed by a girl’s voice, “She can come down now!”
“Was that Peyton?” Celia asked. “What’s she doing here? Is Richard here? I thought he had to work this morning.” Pushing a giggling Rosie aside, she got out of bed and donned her bathrobe and slippers. She brushed her teeth quickly—in case Richard was there—and followed Rosie downstairs, holding onto Rowan’s hand as he took the steps one at a time.
In the middle of the living room stood Lily, wearing a long white dress with a red sash, a crown of twelve realistically flickering electric candles on her head. She held a tray full of pastries. Behind her, Richard sat on the couch holding two paper coffee cups, Peyton and Rosie on either side of him.
“Happy St. Lucia Day!” shouted Lily.
Celia laughed. “You look wonderful! Where did you get this outfit?”
“Tracie found the dress in a thrift store and lent me her scarf for the sash, and Richard helped me make the crown.”
“You made it?” Celia stepped closer to examine the crown. “Lily, that’s amazing.”
“Well, I wanted to use real candles, but Richard didn’t think that would be safe—”
Celia made eye contact with Richard. “Good call.” He lifted a coffee cup in acknowledgment.
“—So we used LED candles, and Richard showed me how to make a wire frame for them, and then I used thinner wire to tie on the branches. There’s even a remote control, but it’s in my pocket. I’ll show you after I put the tray down.”
“Great job.”
“So anyway, as the oldest daughter, with the help of my siblings—ahem!” Peyton and Rosie jumped up from the couch and came and stood next to her, “It’s our job to give you and Richard coffee and buns for breakfast today. Go sit down,” she ordered.
Thinking how sweet it was that Lily had included Peyton as a sibling, Celia went and sat down next to Richard, who put an arm around her and pulled her in close, planting a quick kiss on her temple.
Rowan climbed onto Richard’s lap. “Cake!” he declared, eyeing the tray.
“You’re so sweet to set this up,” she whispered. “Lily’s wanted to do this all year.”
Peyton produced paper plates and napkins from a shopping bag on the floor and quickly set the coffee table. Lily put the tray down in the middle, and Rosie carefully took one cup of coffee from Richard’s hand and placed it in front of Celia. Lily continued with her lecture about St. Lucia’s Day.
“I’m supposed to serve you special saffron buns called lussekatter that represent the food that St. Lucia brought the early Christians while they were hiding in the catacombs,” she explained. “I wanted to bake some, but Richard thought it would be too hard to do that in secret—” she gave Richard a disapproving glare, “--so these are bagels and cinnamon buns.”
“But they’re fresh,” Richard broke in. “Just got ’em from Merilee’s. She and Adam say hi, by the way.”
“And coffee, thank you.” Celia picked her cup up gratefully, sparing a glance for the logo. She still got a kick out of seeing her work on the paper take-out cups.
“So do you know what’s special about today?” asked Richard after she’d had a sip.
“It’s St. Lucia’s day, obviously.”
“And …?”
Celia became aware that the three little girls were all staring expectantly at her. “And …?” She had a sudden flashback to the night of last year’s Academy holiday party, shaking hands and looking into Richard’s eyes for the first time. “Oh my God, it’s the anniversary of the day we met!”
Richard nodded, and Lily clapped her hands.
“When I made such an incredible first impression on you,” Richard reminded her.
“You certainly did. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”
“Which is why we thought a little celebration was in order,” Richard explained. “Have a pretend lussekatter.” He gestured magnanimously at the tray.
Celia looked it over but before she could pick one, Peyton jumped in. “That one! Take that one!” she pointed at the one in the center.
Humoring her, Celia picked up the bagel in the center of the tray only to find a small gift box under it.
“What’s this?”
“Open it!” squealed Rosie.
Celia glanced around. “I feel like everyone here knows something I don’t know.”
“Rowan doesn’t know,” Peyton assured her.
Celia picked up the box and opened it. Inside was a tiny velvet jewel box. Her heart started beating faster. She glanced questioningly at Richard, who put his hand over hers before she could open it.
“You know this comes with a proposal, right?”
“Dad, you’re supposed to be kneeling!” hissed Peyton.
Richard rolled his eyes in a credible imitation of his daughter. “Fine. S’cuse me, buddy.” He lifted Rowan onto Celia’s lap and slid to the floor on one knee. Peyton and Lily squealed shrilly and grabbed each other’s hands.
He held her hand, cleared his throat, and looked into her eyes. “Celia Jackson, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Tears sprang into her eyes but she smiled. “You’re very sure of yourself, asking in front of an audience.”
“Oh, I’m not sure of myself at all,” he admitted. “But I figured you couldn’t turn us all down.”
Celia looked around at all of them. The candles on Lily’s crown were flickering and her eyes were shining, Peyton was practically hopping with excitement, and Rosie was literally holding her breath, her cheeks turning pink with the effort. Rowan clambered off Celia’s lap and helped himself to a cinnamon bun. “Cake,” he said again, approvingly.
And Richard … the exasperating, adorable, sexy man she loved, was looking up at her, a confident smile on his mouth and just a hint of anxiety in his eyes. She sniffed and tried to blink back the tears but it was too late; they were already running down her cheeks.
“You’re right, I couldn’t possibly turn all of you down. Of course the answer is yes.”
Sneak Peek
Acting on Impulse, Book Two of the Silverweed Falls Series
Chapter One
Thirteen years ago
“Joy, would you mind staying for a couple of minutes?” Chris asked, trying to keep his voice casual. “I just want to run over the blocking for our dialogue in act four, scene one, one more time.”
Joy glanced up from the front row of the theater where she was talking to Victor. She looked faintly surprised but nodded. “Okay, but just for a few minutes. I need to get home to put Charlotte to bed.”
Victor, the director, stood up and tossed his knapsack over his back. “Don’t mess with it,” he growled. “You kids have it down perfectly.”
Chris thought quickly. “I’m just not used to this space. I felt more comfortable performing outdoors. Just want to get a bit more use to it.”
Victor shrugged. “Fine. Just turn off the lights and shut the doors when you leave. The doors will lock behind you, so don’t leave anything. Do hurry up, Simon.”
Simon had been sitting cross-legged on stage mending a tear in the hem of the cloak he wore as Don Pedro. “Fine, I’ll bring it with me,” he huffed.
He stood up, threw the cloak dramatically over his shoulders, and pulled a long-suffering expression at Chris and Joy, who smiled back at him. He blew them a kiss and hopped off the stage, and he and Victor walked up the aisle of the theater and exited through the main door.
“What exactly did you want to go over?”
The light was dim, but Chris could see Joy’s guileless green eyes staring at him from over her script. She’d already put away her costume, which was a shame—the Renaissance-style dress emphasized her small waist and showed off her cleavage, and Chris would happily have watched her walk around in it all day. The oversized t-shirt she’d changed into was boxy and shapeless. On the other hand, the cut-off shorts she wore showed off her shapely legs, so he couldn’t really complain.
He glanced away from her and stood up, making for the stage. “It’s the blocking. I’m just not totally comfortable with it since Victor changed it.”
“It went fine tonight, didn’t it?” But Joy put her script down and stood up, following him to the stage anyway.
“We have more space here. I felt like I was walking a little too fast to cover it all.”
In fact, that evening’s performance had gone very well, but he wanted an excuse to be alone with her, and the scene gave him the perfect cover.
Tomorrow was the final performance of Much Ado about Nothing, the Silver Scene Players’ summer production. They’d been in rehearsals since early June. It was now mid-August, and the summer was winding to a close. It had been an intense experience; he’d been in a few minor roles before, but this was his first leading role—and his first Shakespeare play. Privately, he’d thought Victor was crazy to cast him in the lead, but he’d thrown himself into it with his usual abandon and, so far at least, he’d carried it off.
With Joy’s help.
She was older than he was. Old enough to be married and have a kid, but they’d been cast opposite each other as Beatrice and Benedick, antagonists who masked their desire for each other beneath snarky remarks and playful bantering. At first, Chris had turned on the charm in hopes of getting Joy to buy beer for the younger cast members, but when she’d laughed in his face and told him to find another mark, she’d gained his respect. He was used to being able to charm his way into anything—from illegal drinks to pretty girls’ pants—but Joy didn’t take his shit. She was as witty off-stage as her character was on. She was irreverent in most things, but she took the play seriously, studying her lines and cues obsessively. Off-stage, they’d enjoyed a friendship based on a common love of theater, jokes, and games of witty one-up-manship.
Gradually, the fact that she was married came to seem irrelevant. She was beautiful, she was clever, and she wasn’t a pushover.
She was perfect.
Chris took his position. Victor had blocked the scene so that they began on opposite ends of the stage and slowly circled each other, coming closer and closer with each pass until they were near enough to kiss. He cleared his throat and began.
“Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?”
“Yea, and I will weep a little longer,” replied Joy, back in character despite the sloppy t-shirt and denim cutoffs.
They circled around each other, speaking the lines that drew the two characters into each other’s arms.
“I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?” said Chris. There was a slight tremble in his voice that had never been there before.
More lines, a tighter circle. They were within a step of each other now.
“Why then, God forgive me!” Joy/Beatrice cried.
“What offence, sweet Beatrice?” asked Chris, his heart pounding suddenly, like it never did in front of an audience.
Joy met his gaze, her expression full of longing. “You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I love you.”
They were so near each other now that he could see the streaks of gold in her green eyes. She dropped her gaze as he spoke his line: “And do it with all thy heart.”
She lifted her eyes to his again and they took the last, fatal step toward each other. “I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest,” she said, managing to drop her voice and project it at the same time so that it would be audible for the last row yet still sound intimate.
He leaned in for the kiss. They’d rehearsed it dozens of times, performed it publically five. Each time, he felt his attraction to her grow a little stronger, but he still had no idea if she felt the same way about him.
Their lips met. Victor had told them to count to three slowly before they broke apart—enough time for the audience to feel the attraction, but not long enough to be boring. Out of habit, Chris counted—one, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand—but when he felt Joy start to pull gently away, he held her close and kept kissing.
And she kissed back. This was no longer a stage kiss, but a real one. Lips parted, tongues met and vied for dominance, Joy’s body melted into his, and he felt her hands snake up the back of his neck and tangle themselves in his hair. Somewhere, someone moaned—was it him? And for a few ecstatic seconds, he had the uncanny experience of both losing and finding himself.
Then she pulled back violently and the spell was broken.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, as if it hadn’t been her hands in his hair, her tongue in his mouth.
He blinked, his famously cocksure arrogance swept away by uncertainty. “Joy …”
She stepped back completely, taking her hands off him. “Chris, I’m married
. You know that.”
“I don’t care,” he said stupidly.
“Well, I do,” she countered, acid in her voice.
“Come on, Joy.” He took a step forward and tried to sound assertive. “You don’t love that guy, I know you don’t.”
He could tell immediately it was the wrong thing to say. She was speechless for a moment with outrage, though he noted that she didn’t deny it. “Don’t be an ass!” she finally managed. “Did you arrange this just to make a pass at me?” She waited a beat for a reply that he wasn’t able to give. “You’re unbelievable! I’m leaving.”
She whirled and marched backstage, heading for her purse and her car keys. His famously quick wit deserted him and he felt his mind go blank as she stormed away from him.
Finally—“Tell me you love him, Joy!”
She stopped for a moment but didn’t turn around, then she strode into the wing. “Fuck you, Chris,” he heard.
“Why do you stay with him when you could have anyone?” he called after her.
But the slamming of the theater’s back door was the only reply he got.
The cast party was at Simon and Victor’s house the next evening. The final performance, a matinee, had been a rousing success—the best of six amazing performances—and now it was time to celebrate. Family and friends were invited, and Scott had insisted on coming with Joy and bringing Charlotte.
A couple of days ago, she might have vaguely resented his presence. She shared virtually everything with Scott—they had the same friends, the same house, the even worked for the same department at the university—and the play had been her special thing, hers alone, a new experience with new friends that took her out of her regular roles of wife and mother and office drone and cast her in a completely new light.
She understood now why movie stars were always falling in love with their co-stars on set. A play—and no doubt a movie as well—was a special kind of bonding experience, strangers brought together in pursuit of a common goal, sharing in-jokes and dramas and camaraderie as they went. For two months of rehearsal, she’d been part of something that was completely outside her regular life, and it had been precious to her.