Blushing Pink

by Jill Winters

  Absently shutting his phone, he tossed it somewhere, and mentally replayed what Veronica had said. Christ, she'd sounded awful. His heart squeezed inside his chest, because he knew he should do something; he knew she needed him. How could he just turn his back on her at a time like this? They'd known each other for ten years—together for eight of them—and it completely undid him to hear her sounding so desolate and so alone.

  Although Veronica wasn't exactly alone. She came from a big family, and had at least a dozen good friends. Still, he knew it wasn't the same as the kind of closeness they had once shared. And Uncle Martin... that undid him, too. He was a great guy, and he'd always been Veronica's favorite uncle. His cancer had been in remission for a few years... and now this.

  Brian started pacing. What could he do? Reese popped into his head for the about the millionth time that day. God, what was he going to do about her?

  He liked her so damn much; she exhilarated him more than anyone or anything had in so long.

  But he was thirty years old, and he knew the time had passed for him to have it both ways. He couldn't be partway into this thing with Veronica forever, and certainly not now. She expected him to commit to her again, and if he committed to Veronica, then he would have to stop seeing Reese. Exploring any potential between them would no longer be an option. It was only right, and anything else wasn't his style, anyway.

  Brian finally ceased pacing, and locked his gaze on his telephone. He thought about Reese again, and felt his chest tighten so much it was almost hard to breathe.

  Then he thought about Veronica. He thought about what was right, and what was less scary, and what was the only thing he could do. Then he picked up the phone.

  * * *

  By Monday morning, Reese had worked up a super chilly attitude that she was almost excited to use when Brian came into the cafe. She had spent the past night slipping in and out of disappointment and sadness, until finally anger had taken hold, and she'd discovered that anger was much easier.

  And if anyone had a right to be angry as hell... Brian had lied to her by omission and then led her on. He'd made her feel used and stupid. Now Reese couldn't wait for the smooth-talking jerk to show his face at Roland & Fisk, so she could give him a taste of her own kind of poison.

  So it was just her luck when Brian never showed. Not for lunch, and not all day.

  Reese had steeled herself to tell Mr. Suave what he could do with his double espresso—and then he'd never even come! She hadn't been able to try out her chilly attitude, and she hadn't gotten the chance to berate him until he gave her the answers she so desperately needed. Talk about a gyp!

  Later, after the anger had subsided, Reese was back to sadness. She didn't get this. She was the one who was upset; Brian didn't even know that she knew about his not-so-ex fiancé. She missed him—the lying bastard. Where was he?

  Brian did not come into the cafe for the rest of the week. Not once. In fact, the highlight of Reese's week had been helping Tina plan a romantic evening for "her boy, Freddy." By Friday afternoon, she had become somewhat numb to the Brian Doren situation. She still couldn't figure out how he'd managed to preempt her blow-off, but after a week of trying, she'd pretty much given up.

  Now, as she swept up some spilled grounds, Tina came out of the kitchen and said, "Brock, I just realized! Today's your last day here."

  "Oh, yeah," Reese replied, surprised. She'd forgotten that her sub assignment at the cafe was over. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and after the holidays she'd be back at her usual bookstore posts: the register and the customer service desk. She suddenly felt deflated. She had gotten into a comfortable groove there with Tina. She actually liked the baking, and sneaking sips of coffee was a hell of a lot easier in this part of the store. She'd even gotten used to the lurking creepy customer and his "turd"-obsessed mother.

  Sighing wistfully, she set her broom aside and emptied the dustpan into the trash bin. Soon it was back to Rhoda and Clay... and Amy, if she hadn't quit out of intimidation by now.

  "I'm gonna miss you, Brock," Tina declared suddenly. She was tugging on her cell holster, and avoiding direct eye contact.

  "I'll miss you, too," Reese said, smiling. "But you're still gonna keep me posted on what happens with Freddy, right? I want details." The romantic evening they'd planned included an out-of-the-way restaurant, a romantic walk through a well-lit area of Central Park, and a pricey dessert-and-coffee place nearby. Reese was vicariously excited for her, and was keeping her fingers crossed for total seduction.

  It was only on the ride back to Goldwood that evening that Reese really thought about Christmas. It had sneaked up on her again this year when she hadn't yet mustered up any true Christmas spirit. Luckily, she'd bought her family's presents before she'd come home for winter break, but still, for some reason the holiday seemed to loom over her in a way that was surreal and vaguely depressing.

  Even though she'd told herself she was over Brian, when she heard a sappy song on the radio, it all came back. Not with tears, though—she was past that. Now there was just a numb, gauzy awareness that true love was never going to happen for her. She would never admit that she believed that, because people would just try to predict how wrong she'd be and try to deluge her with pat optimism.

  And she would humor them, and pretend she believed they were right because they'd be trying to help.

  But inside, she'd still feel alone. Inside, she'd know that her fate as kooky Aunt Reese the perennial spinster was sealed. Ugh—the mere idea made her feel sick. No, nothing even remotely resembling Christmas spirit.

  Too bad she couldn't talk to her sisters about Brian, but Angela was bogged down with her own problems right now, and Ally... well, frankly, Ally had a big mouth. She meant well, of course, but she was impatient. Definitely a big believer in instant gratification. Even if she swore to secrecy, she would end up not only telling Ben, but hounding him to find out Brian's intentions. And if Ben couldn't produce results fast enough, Ally would confront Brian herself with something subtle like, "So, what's up with you and my sister?"

  No, thank you.

  As Reese pulled into her parents' driveway, she forcibly shook off her self-pity, which was starting to annoy her. She had a wonderful family, and it was Christmas, and she didn't want to waste her time and energy obsessing over a guy who had played her for a fool. It wasn't as though she had ever been able to read him anyway; it was really just as well.

  That settled it then. She was going to enjoy Christmas if it killed her.

  * * *

  So she did. More or less. Holding true to their fish diet, Joanna and Angela made a Christmas dinner of sole aux cepes that was actually good. TLC aired a Wedding Story marathon, but Joanna relented and let Michael play a CD of colonial Christmas music instead.

  While Ally arranged presents under the tree, Ben polished off the last of the jingle-bell cookies, and Angela and Drew seemed content, sitting quietly next to each other on the sofa.

  Meanwhile Reese sat cross-legged on the thick, soft carpet with her biscotti. Kenneth had called her twice that day, and sent her a card. It seemed that ever since their dinner date, he'd shifted into pursue mode. Reese didn't understand it, and if this had happened a month ago, she would have been thrilled. But now, it didn't do that much for her.

  Well, it was flattering... but she couldn't seem to stir up any real enthusiasm. This was, of course, not what her mother had hoped to hear. She had been bugging her relentlessly about inviting Kenneth to the house for the holidays. Although Reese had firmly refused, she couldn't completely blow the guy off because he was still coming to Ally's wedding, and she didn't want that to be awkward for either of them.

  Professor Kimble had also sent a card, only his was thicker, and when she opened it she was less than startled to find an audiotape enclosed. The card read, Best wishes for a Happy Holiday (Hallmark not Kimble), and then, Please transcribe this tape at your leisure. I'll need it by the beginning of next week.

  Hey,
it wasn't like she had anything else going on. She hadn't worked on her novel in a while, and could not seem to get up any motivation.

  By eight o'clock that night, Reese needed some air.

  She'd snapped photos of Ally and Ben under the mistletoe, Angela and Drew under the mistletoe, and her parents under the mistletoe, and now she was beyond drained.

  Grabbing her thick winter coat from the hall closet, she picked up her keys and wound a scarf around her neck. "Bye, you guys," she said.

  "Where are you going?" Joanna said, pressing her head against Michael's chest, as they remained standing under the mistletoe.

  "I'm going out for a little while. I just need to clear my head."

  "Reese, I don't like that idea," Michael said with concern. "It's dark out now and—"

  "Don't worry. I'll go somewhere well lit... um, the pond. How's that?"

  "All right, sweetheart," Joanna said, "if you're sure."

  With that, Reese headed out, hopped into her car, and headed to the frozen pond in the center of town that was usually mobbed with ice-skaters. There was a hot cocoa stand, and a skate rental booth, too. She'd spent a lot of time there when she was young—back when she still got the kids' rate on her skates, and had no clue that cocoa was fattening.

  After she parked, Reese walked across the white, powdery ground, which had not yet been squashed into slush. She took a seat on one of the mahogany benches near the pond, situated under an old-fashioned-looking street lamp with colored lights twirling around it that were blinking slightly out of time. The skaters looked happy and serene, and bundled to the hilt, with foggy breath seeping out from under their scarves, as holiday music played overhead.

  At this time of night, the Goldwood pond was crowded with couples instead of children, which proved to be depressing. Men and women were practically hugging as they skated together, and Reese wanted to loathe all of the PDA, but instead she was just jealous.

  "Reese, is that you?" a syrupy voice said.

  Reese turned to see Lane McBride approaching, with muscle-neck Tom on her arm. "Oh, hey, Lane," she said, forcing a smile. "What's up?"

  "Ooh, I'm glad I'm not the only one who ducked out on Christmas!" she cheered, and flashed a big grin. "Reese, you remember Tom, right?" They exchanged brief, pointless pleasantries. "Well, we were just leaving, anyway. Tell Ally I said hi, okay?"

  When Reese agreed, Lane cooed, "Thanks, you're the best. By the way, don't forget about the surprise shower on Friday—you bring Ally and it'll be just us girls!"

  "Oh, right. Don't worry; I haven't forgotten," Reese lied.

  "Well, toodles," she sang, and dragged her boy-toy away with her.

  A few long, solitary moments passed before Reese glanced over at the hot cocoa stand. A line was wrapping around it, with people chatting and laughing and shivering, and it hit her.

  It was so damn obvious. There was a whole world out there full of people and laughter and hot chocolate, and she was wasting it feeling sorry for herself. How stupid!

  She was suddenly filled with disgust. But it was a good kind of disgust—the proactive kind—the kind that made her get off her butt and do something about it.

  Hopping up from the bench, she blew on her hands, and smiled into the night. Things were going to be different. No, really, she meant it this time. She was going to get back to her novel, and Kimble would just have to wait. Her dissertation would have to wait.

  Chocolate would wait, too, she thought, as she deliberately avoided the cocoa stand; she was determined to lose a few pounds before Ally's wedding, and she couldn't afford to sabotage herself now.

  After she laced up a scuffed pair of size sevens with obviously dulled blades, she said hi to Mr. Sapperstein, who mentioned that he and his poker club were looking forward to Ally's wedding. Then Reese headed onto the pond. "Break a leg!" Mr. Sapperstein called from behind, making her feel extremely jinxed.

  And then she was out on the ice—floating around and around, letting the night wind tangle her hair, burn her cheeks, sting her nose... and breathe new life into her heart.

  Chapter 21

  The week after the holidays, Reese was back at Roland & Fisk and not minding it so much, because her mind was usually somewhere else. She was tired all the time, but in that eye-strained, stayed-up-half-the-night-writing, excellent kind of way that she would not trade for any amount of sleep.

  The family had also been very busy finalizing the details for Ally's wedding, like arranging vegan meals for Ben's aunts, and revamping the head wreaths so they were not quite so mortifying.

  On Thursday afternoon, Reese finished with a customer, and glanced up at the clock: 1:30. Good, her shift was already half over. She had taken the next three days off—Friday for Ally's shower, Saturday for the rehearsal, and Sunday for the ceremony and reception. Out-of-town guests would be staying at the Goldwood Villa Hotel, which gave Reese the idea to treat herself to a room, too. She figured the hotel would be a terrific place to get away from all the other distractions and chaos in her parents' house; it would be the perfect place to work on her novel. It was really coming along, but she definitely had to keep plugging.

  For a Thursday afternoon, the customer service desk was pretty deserted. Reese still took her breaks in the cafe, and talked with Tina all the time. Her big, romantic evening with Freddy was only a day away.

  Reese hadn't seen the creepy customer or his mother in a while, but she was definitely not complaining.

  Just then a woman approached the desk. "Hi," Reese said brightly, actually glad to have a customer to assist. "How can I help you?"

  "Yes, hello. I'm looking for a New York Times bestseller by either a man or woman. Um, it's about a guy, and something with a war... I think."

  "Okay, do you know if it's been on the best-seller list for a long time?" Reese asked, figuring out exactly how she was going to track it down. At Roland & Fisk, the policy was simple: "Put the book in the customer's hand." The days of pointing them in a vague direction and letting them wander off into cluelessness were gone.

  Normally Reese didn't mind walking with a customer to get a book. The only thing that boggled her mind was the overwhelming compulsion people had to make small talk with her on the way, desperate to fill the thirty seconds of silence. She'd never understand that.

  "I don't know how long it's been on the list," the woman was saying, "and it might have been the USA Today list. I can't remember." Shrugging, she threw in a halfhearted "sorry."

  Reese attempted to locate the book in the computer database, but after less than ten seconds, the woman grew impatient. "Maybe there's someone else who can help me?"

  "Oh..."

  "What do you need?" Rhoda asked, suddenly right behind Reese, because for the next four hours they would be sharing this tiny customer service cell, and Reese would be enduring Rhoda's endless condescension about all of the books people wanted to read, as opposed to the obscure ones Rhoda pretended to have read. What fun.

  Then again... Rhoda's arrogance might come in handy. Really, if she wanted to take this woman off Reese's hands, more power to her. Stepping aside, Reese let Rhoda embark on what she knew would be a wild-goose chase.

  Just then, she heard the creaks and squeals of a rolling cart. Poor Amy was wheeling an overflowing dolly of books that looked like they were about to cave and topple any second. "Do you need some help?" Reese asked, starting come out from behind the desk.

  Sharply, Darcy yelled, "Do it and get docked, Brock."

  "Wha—?"

  "She needs to learn," Darcy said, and blew an obscenely huge bubble with her bright blue gum. "Come on, keep moving, Amy; the books won't shelve themselves!"

  Of course, Reese felt bad for Amy, who had taken over Reese's place in the Darcy-torture department. Not that Darcy didn't still hound, harass, and haunt Reese all day, every day. She did—but not with nearly the same gusto. It seemed that she saved her zeal up for Amy. Claiming she was "breaking her in."

  The poor girl still tr
ied so hard, but what she failed to grasp was the most basic Roland & Fisk principle: There was little point in trying, because you were screwed either way.

  Amy looked at Reese with a miserable, beast-of-burden expression of agony, while Darcy trailed behind her snapping her fingers and taunting her with threats.

  Then the cart screeched into the distance, and Reese shook her head and let out a laugh. She couldn't help it; sometimes life just seemed so ridiculous.

  As she straightened some papers on her side of the desk, she heard Rhoda ask someone if he needed help, and she heard that someone say no, thank you, he was there to speak with Reese. She kept her eyes glued downward as her heart raced and her pulse exploded in her veins. The voice was achingly familiar—low, smooth, and sexy—she'd know it anywhere, and it ripped her heart in two.

  * * *

  After steeling himself up to talk to Reese, Brian had gone to Roland & Fisk with the rationalization that they needed to clear the air before Ally and Ben's wedding.

  Of course, he hadn't realized how much bullshit that was until he saw her. One look from across the store, and his chest had constricted, the breath joltingly knocked out of him. Immediately, he felt that inexorable pull—that helpless attraction. Christ, he was still totally intrigued, infatuated, and charmed. And everything else he had no right to be anymore.

  He'd been about to approach when Reese had darted out from behind the desk to help some bedraggled cart girl. That was so Reese—so energetic, so damn sweet—and he'd known that about her, even as he'd picked up the phone to call Veronica two weeks before. He had made his choice to try to move forward with Veronica, and he couldn't very well go back on it now... could he?

  Now that they were face-to-face again, he just wanted to reach across the desk, grab Reese, and pull her to him. To feel her softness against him, to hear her whisper his name, to hear her whisper so shyly, "I like being with you."

  Every time he remembered the words, they pierced right through him. Reese had been so honest, so trusting, and he had disappeared on her afterward—using all his willpower to avoid the cafe altogether. And she still had no idea why.