Feeling my gaze, she glances at me and gives me a too-innocent smile. “What?”
“You planned this.”
“Planned what?”
Yeah, right. Nice try.
“You’ve been shoving Isaac and me together since the moment he arrived—you did this. You plotted it. You’re a plotter.” I whisper the last bit like it’s a dirty word.
She laughs and waves a dishtowel at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve always had such a wild imagination.”
“Good morning, dear ladies,” Charline says as she comes down the stairs, looking particularly chipper for the early hour. “Merry Christmas!”
She and my mother begin chatting about the day’s agenda, and I go back to brooding about my midnight visit with Isaac.
“It’s so good to see you kids together again,” Charline says, interrupting my thoughts.
I pause with my coffee halfway to my lips.
“Not together together, of course,” she laughs. From the look on her face, I would swear she wants to tack on, “Yet.”
Oh my goodness. They’re in cahoots. Who knew my mother was hiding a devious side?
I flash Mom a look and then hurry upstairs. The day is all planned out, and I’m almost relieved. We have church first, then Christmas dinner at Jeremiah and Clara’s house. We’ll spend the day there, drive around and look at Christmas lights when it gets dark, and then we’ll all head back here for coffee and dessert.
There is no room in the schedule for my mother to send Isaac and me off on any private outings, and for that, I’m thankful.
When I step into my room, I hear the shower running. I glance at the closed door, my mouth going dry.
Block it out.
I glance at the clock and shake my head. Isaac is using my allotted bathroom time to get ready for the day.
Is he purposely trying to break all the rules?
Pacing, I wait for my turn. I lay my outfit on the bed—a white, high-waisted pencil skirt and red blouse. It feels very festive, and Isaac has always liked me in red.
No.
Bad, Georgia.
I cross my arms and sit on the bed, impatiently tapping my foot on the rug as I wait. The shower turns off, and the glass door opens. I can hear him in there, moving about, turning on the faucet. Then it goes quiet.
Feeling acutely awkward, though this is my house, I walk to the door and give it a light knock, hoping there’s no answer.
“You can come in,” Isaac says from the other side. “I’m decent.”
I clench my eyes shut, chastising myself for not having the patience to wait a few more minutes. I set my hand on the knob and slowly turn it, pushing the door open. Hot air hits my face. The fragrance of Isaac’s soap, which is not the fussy lavender stuff my mom provided but a clean, masculine scent, fills my nose. I want to stop right here and breathe it in—and I might if my eyes hadn’t latched on to Isaac.
Shirtless Isaac.
Isaac without a shirt.
Yummy Isaac.
Georgia!
I throw a hand over my eyes like I’m a prudish spinster. “You said you were decent!”
His chuckle fills the small space. “Since when is a man without his shirt considered obscene?”
Um, let’s go with right now.
I take a tiny peek at him. Casually, as if he’s in a commercial, he takes his time applying deodorant. I can practically hear the velvet-voiced voiceover talking about sexy all-day confidence and whatnot. The mirror is completely fogged over, and his shower was so hot, steam moves through the air.
“Nice pajamas,” he says, and when I work up the nerve to lower my hand, I see he’s pulled on a black tee.
Frowning, I glance down at my flannel sleep shirt and black fitted leggings. “You saw them last night,” I point out…and then remember I probably shouldn’t bring up my after-midnight visit considering how I left things.
He raises a brow. “It was dark.”
“Right.”
I turn to leave, but he opens the door on his side of the bathroom and says, “All yours.”
As soon as the door closes, I rush across the small space and turn the lock. Just in case.
Hoping he left some hot water for the rest of us, I turn on the shower and quickly strip. As if I’m worried he’s going to burst into the room at any moment, I hurry under the spray and yank the opaque glass door closed. The water feels good, but the fact that Isaac was just in here is majorly messing with my brain.
I’m just rinsing the shampoo out of my hair when I spot his body wash on the edge of the tub. I bite my bottom lip, feeling like a love-sick idiot. That doesn’t stop me from picking up the bottle and flipping open the lid.
The fragrance is like green forests, cool lakes, and crisp alpine air. Before I can stop myself, I squeeze a tiny bit of it into my palm and work it into a lather, rubbing the bubbles between my fingers.
When I come to my senses, I plunge my hands under the water, watching as the bubbles disappear down the drain.
Then I squirt my own body wash onto a bath poof and hurry through the rest of the shower.
“Georgia!” my mom says, rushing to me about five minutes after the church service. “I forgot the rolls at the house.”
“What rolls?”
“The ones I made last night to bring to Clara’s.” She waves away my blank look. “While you and Isaac were at your party.”
“Okay…”
She pulls keys from her purse and shoves them in my hand. “Will you run and get them? Then you can head straight to Clara’s house. Dinner won’t be for a while anyway.”
“Sure,” I say, though it’s not like I have a choice. “But how will you all get to Clara’s?”
All seven of us managed to squeeze into Mom’s SUV, and now I’ll be leaving them without a vehicle.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. We’ll split up between Clara and Jason’s cars.” She pauses, and then her face lights up. “It might be best if Isaac goes with you, though—not sure we’ll have room for him.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she’s already looking over her shoulder.
“Isaac!” she hollers. “Will you ride with Georgia?”
“Mom,” I hiss under my breath, but she flat-out ignores me—nothing new.
“Thank you, Gigi,” she says, turning back to our group. “We’ll see you two shortly.”
Isaac ambles to me, looking beyond handsome in a pair of black slacks, grey button-up shirt, and complementing tie. He gives me a secret smile. “Want some company?”
I bite my bottom lip and roll the keys in my hand, unsure how to answer. I end up turning toward the parking lot.
“Careful,” he says, taking my arm—without my permission, I might add—when we reach an iced-over section that’s maybe five feet wide at the most.
I flash him a wry look. “I was going to walk around it.”
He shrugs and tugs me a tiny bit closer as he steers me precisely the way I was going to go. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
Whatever.
Fifteen minutes later, we reach the house. And guess what? No rolls.
Isaac leans against the kitchen island, watching me open cabinet door after cabinet door. I check the refrigerator, the pantry, even the microwave.
“What could she have done with them?” I say, getting frustrated. The kitchen is only so big. There aren’t that many places a pan of rolls could hide.
Isaac taps on his phone, making a call. Moments later, he says, “Hi, Kristy. We can’t find the rolls.”
Apparently he and my mother are phone buddies now.
A funny look crosses his face, and then he bites back a grin. “No, that’s all right. I’d like to change before we head over to Clara’s anyway.” He pauses and then says, “We’ll see you soon.”
“Where are the rolls?” I ask when he hangs up, less than amused.
“Your mother said she didn’t realize your dad put them in the back of the car.”
/>
“Didn’t realize,” I scoff.
He raises his brows, waiting for me to go on.
“Never mind.”
“Nah, come on,” he says. “What was that?”
I eye him. “I think she and your mother are trying to get us back together.”
He laughs, not sounding terribly surprised. He probably figured it out before I did.
Not wanting to discuss the subject further, I nod him toward the stairs. “Change, so we can go.”
But he doesn’t leave. Instead, he continues to lean against the kitchen island and study me. I squirm under his scrutiny, not liking what he might discover if he digs deep enough. Looking away, I pull a glass from the cupboard and pour a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge.
“Would it be so bad?” he asks.
He startles me so badly; I fumble the pitcher and end up spilling water all over the counter. Almost glad for the distraction, I pull the kitchen towel from the stove to mop up the mess. Just as I’m pressing it to the counter, Isaac’s hand covers mine.
He’s right behind me, his chest to my back, and my knees wobble.
“Georgia,” he says, his voice calm and low and way too close to my ear.
Neither of us moves, and the water begins to drip from the ledge and onto the floor.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“Don’t what?” He gently tugs the towel from my hand. “Clean up the mess? Or talk about us getting back together?”
Why must he be so blunt?
Isaac finishes the job and tosses the towel in the sink. He then takes me by my upper arms and turns me until the counter is at my back and I’m facing him. “Tell me you don’t have feelings for me.”
I stare at his shoulder. “It’s been ten years, Isaac.”
“That’s not an answer.” His hands are still on my arms, and his hands are warm through the thin fabric of my blouse. “Look at me.”
Even though I want to refuse, I recognize that it would be incredibly juvenile. Slowly, I drag my gaze to his.
“Georgia,” he says, his hazel eyes meeting mine. “Does any part of you, even a small part, still love me?”
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference to me.”
The answer burns in my chest, but I can’t spit it out. Okay, so maybe I’m still a little in love with him. I know it’s ridiculous—I fully admit it. Obviously, I should be over him by now, yet the years did nothing but dull the feeling. Now that we’re back together…
But what difference does it make? I’m most likely leaving Arizona, and I certainly don’t see Isaac moving back to Colorado.
“Please,” he says softly, his tone weakening my resolve. “Just tell me that in all this time, I’m not the only one who’s looked back and wished things had ended differently.”
“I…”
I’m crumbling; I can feel it.
“A small part,” I admit on a sigh. “Maybe.”
Isaac’s entire face lights up, but I duck under his arm, attempting an escape before he can say something I’ll regret.
Before I’m even a foot away, his arm loops around my waist and he pulls me back. I end up pressed against his chest, locked in an embrace that nearly thaws my heart. It’s just a hug, warm and simple. One of Isaac’s arms stays around my back, and his other hand presses against my shoulder blade, holding me close. He rests his forehead to my shoulder.
My arms hang at my side because I haven’t decided if I’m a willing participant or a prisoner. Isaac doesn’t seem to care either way.
“Let me help you,” he murmurs. “Watching you struggle all alone is killing me.”
I close my eyes and let out a tired laugh. “Are you trying to break all the rules? It wasn’t a checklist, Isaac. We’re not supposed to cross them off.”
“I hate your list,” Isaac says.
“I know.” I pause, almost smiling. “That’s why I made it.”
He tilts his head back just enough to look at me. “I have the entire week off. Tomorrow, I’ll fly to Phoenix and help you pack up your house.”
“Isaac—”
“Accepting help doesn’t make you weak.”
I stare at him for several long minutes, trying to find a way to put my thoughts into words.
“You don’t get it,” I finally whisper. “What was the point in leaving, in causing you all that pain, if I just rush back when it gets hard? It’s just not fair to you, Isaac. I don’t deserve you.”
Doesn’t he see that?
I’m the last person he should help. The last person who should get to bask in his warmth. I broke his heart.
His expression softens, and he rests his forehead against mine. “Sweetheart, this is a stumbling block in your mind alone. I’m over it.”
I struggle with it, wrestling with doubt and guilt and regret. It’s why I didn’t call him years ago, why I didn’t try to make amends. It’s as hard admitting it to myself as is was saying it to him.
Can I forgive myself for hurting him? Has he truly forgiven me?
“Okay,” I finally answer, even though I don’t quite believe him. “I need your help—I really do.”
Isaac looks surprised, like maybe he thought he’d have to get on his hands and knees and beg.
“But I have one condition,” I add.
He waits patiently, not rushing me.
This one is embarrassing, but if I’m going to take advantage of him, I might as well jump in with both feet. “If you come to Phoenix, you have to look at my car too. I can’t afford to take it to a repair shop right now.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Georgia.” He laughs to himself, obviously delighted. “I accept your terms, but I have one of my own.”
Of course he does.
I shrug one shoulder, telling him to get on with it.
His hand applies the slightest pressure to my back, coaxing me closer, and my pulse jumps. I press my arms to my sides, refusing to give in to the urge to touch him.
“Let me kiss you,” he murmurs, his eyes moving to my lips. It’s a soft-spoken command, a gentle order.
My breath catches, and my stomach tightens. Isaac takes my silence for permission and slowly lowers his head.
“The list says you can’t,” I remind him in a weak effort to prolong what I know is inevitable. We’ve been moving toward this moment since I called him from my lifeless car.
“It’s one of the four.”
He’s closer now, and I swallow, my emotions skittering all over the place.
“You’ve broken so many, it was impossible to know,” I say.
A smile flickers across his lips. “Let’s not forget you were the rule breaker last night.”
I could say something else, keep the banter going and then push him away before we’re in too deep…but my eyes are closing all on their own, and my skin tingles with expectation.
And then our mouths meet.
Isaac’s lips are warm and soft. The kiss is featherlight, a whisper, a promise. He moves his hands from my back, running his fingertips down my arms. When he reaches my hands, which I’ve unknowingly clenched at my sides, he coaxes them open. His calloused hands, so used to manual labor, touch me like I’m precious, like he’s been waiting for this moment for years.
He twines his fingers with mine, pressing our palms together. It’s intimate in the sweetest way, and I almost can’t handle this much sensation. I want to run away, hide, pretend I don’t feel the way he’s slowly chipping at my heart.
“I’ve missed you, Georgia,” he whispers as he brushes his lips over the corners of my mouth. “You have no idea.”
Oh, but I do. I really do.
“I keep wondering if there’s something wrong with me,” I admit softly—and only because my eyes are already closed. I could never say this to his face. “No one can measure up to you. I go on dates, but they’re not you. Someone tries to kiss me, and I push them away because it feels like I’m still yours. You say you’re still in
love with me, and the truth is…I’m still in love with you too.”
He goes completely still, and I realize I stepped over a line. Panicking, I open my eyes and try to escape.
He doesn’t let me.
“Do you mean that?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “Georgia?”
Tears sting my eyes, and I rip my gaze away. I nod, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
Isaac breathes out a short laugh…and then he kisses me.
And I mean, he really kisses me—not another one of those little nippy, flirty kisses that we’ve been toying with.
I gasp out a startled breath and then sink into him, moving my lips with his, remembering a rhythm that we perfected a decade ago.
It’s like coming home.
I pull my hands from his and wrap my arms around his shoulders. His hands find my waist, and he deepens the kiss, asking for more and giving more in return.
When we break apart, he holds me tightly, almost as though he’s afraid if he lets go, I’ll disappear again.
But not this time. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll let Isaac help me; I’ll gladly accept the comfort and security he’s offering. I don’t know where it will lead, if it will lead anywhere at all, but after all these years, I think it’s time we give this another chance.
“I didn’t buy you anything for Christmas,” I say against the soft material of his shirt. “Just thought I should let you know.”
His chuckle shakes his chest, making me smile. “There’s always next year.”
“I told you,” I tease. “I’m not making this an annual thing.”
He loosens his grip on me and meets my eyes. “Oh, Gigi, I think we are.”
I stand on my toes to kiss him again, feeling completely warm and happy for the first time since my life fell apart, maybe even longer. Isaac leans down to meet me, not even pulling back when Poindexter chases Calliope into the living room. Two seconds later, there’s a Christmas-tree-sized crash.
I pull away. “We should—”
Isaac tugs me back, smiling against my lips. “Later.”
Epilogue
Georgia ended up staying in Phoenix. As planned, I flew home with her the day after Christmas and helped her pack. It took several dozen calls, but she found an apartment that was available for her to move into immediately. Because the rent was cheaper than the house she’d been in before, she was able to invest some of her savings into a website, and by the end of the month, she was officially self-employed.
10 Ways to Survive Christmas with Your Ex: A 27 Ways Novella (27 Ways Series Book 3) Page 8