by Shirley Jump
A slight breeze kicked up and rattled through the trees. The rest of the world was quiet, the traffic behind this woods-lined path almost nonexistent.
The sun had begun its descent, oranges and mauves washing over the world. A bit of bright orange light peeked through the trees for a moment, then disappeared. They rounded a bend, and the path curved farther into the woods.
“I walk this path almost every day,” she said. “Or at least, I do now. I’ve tried to get out in the sunshine and air more often since I came back to Durham. Sometimes I walk alone, sometimes I take Ellie with me, in that stroller I bought her that cost a mint, and I had to have redelivered here.” She laughed. “Anyway, I like this path because it reminds me of Stone Gap.”
It did have that leafy green, quiet peace about it that Nick had found in Stone Gap. Almost as if they’d discovered an unsung corner of the world. Did she miss the town? Or him? “It’s a lot like the road that runs beside the lake. Except for the lack of a lake.”
“It also has one other thing that we had in Stone Gap.” They turned again, and from here the path spilled into a park. A playground sat to the left, built on a rubber surface designed to be soft when little ones slipped and fell. A small pond lay in the far distance, a dock jutting to the center. A heron picked his way among the grassy shore. But it was the circular building on the right that drew Nick’s eye.
A gazebo. Like the one in Stone Gap, this one had been decorated for the holidays. Similar white lights were twined among the railings and rafters, and giant red bows hung on each of the side panels. As they approached, the lights blinked on, glowing softly in the gathering dusk.
“I come here every night at this time. I never even knew the gazebo existed until I started walking the path. But then I found this and...well, some nights it’s hard to leave it and go home.”
“Why?” He prayed she’d say what he wanted to hear, that she came to remember the night they shared—that it meant as much to her as it did to him.
“Because it reminds me of our gazebo,” she said.
The words our gazebo made that hope spring to life in his chest again. “Vivian—”
“But then I realize nothing has changed. I’m still here, you’re still there.” She drew in a breath and raised her chin. “And even though I told you it was over... I kind of hoped you’d reach out anyway.”
Yeah, there was that. Every day that passed, he’d wanted to call, but he’d either caved to fear or stubbornness or some kind of convoluted male pride. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about contacting you. I have. A thousand times. It wasn’t until I screwed up a French omelet that I realized I was avoiding talking to you because I was afraid.” He shook his head. He had driven all the way up here, maybe because he was feeling sentimental, maybe because he was a fool, but if he didn’t say what he’d come here to say, he knew he’d regret it the rest of his life. “I don’t want to end up like my father, letting the words go unsaid for years. So here I am, and I’m going to say them.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, Vivian. I want to be with you. I should have gone after you when you left two weeks ago, but I was afraid.”
“Afraid that I’d say no again?”
“You did kinda run out the door when I said I wanted forever.” But so far, she was still here. Still looking at him with those big blue eyes and still holding his hand.
Her laughter was merry and light. “I did. You scared me, too, Nick. I was afraid to have the one thing that I had convinced myself I could live without. A family.” She led him up the gazebo steps and into the magic spot in the center where the lights above formed a halo on the floor. She shifted into his arms. She felt good there, really good. “All my life, I’ve focused on being smart, strong, successful. That turned into pouring everything I had into my career. That was my safety net. If I could keep succeeding there... It’s just like when I was a little girl and thought if only I was smart enough or neat enough or polite enough, my mother would step up, stop drinking and be a real mom. Instead, I was so busy being perfect and successful that I forgot to connect with the people I love. To build relationships. I was the one who wasn’t taking risks with other people. People like you. And yet, you know what? My sister still loved me and thought I would be a better mother than her.”
“Maybe she saw something in you that you didn’t see. Like I do.” Damn, Vivian was beautiful and smart. The day she’d walked into his life had made him one of the luckiest men on earth. It had just taken him a while to realize that.
“Maybe,” Vivian said. “But Sammie is also far smarter than I give her credit for. She asked for help when she was overwhelmed. Granted, running away and leaving Ellie in the kitchen unsupervised wasn’t the best way to do that, but she wasn’t afraid to admit she couldn’t be a mom on her own. Since we got back here, she’s been living with me. And I’ve been taking Ellie to work for the couple hours a day when my schedule overlaps Sammie’s at the diner.”
“Really? That’s great.” That explained the ease with Ellie, the conversation about bottles and teething. Vivian had changed, in a lot of good ways, since that day in the kitchen of the inn.
“And in doing that, I realized I could do all those things I had been afraid of before. Raise a child. Fall in love. Create a home. Have a merry Christmas.”
He thought of his grandmother’s house. The tree still sat in the living room, with only the lights on the branches. Since Vivian left, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to finish the decorating or to turn the lights on again. Nothing in that house felt right, not without her. “Wait. Did you just say fall in love?”
She nodded, her smile wide and unmistakable. “I fell in love with you, Nick, the night we had that date in the gazebo. It was because of how considerate you were. With the heater, the lights for Ellie in the tree. I just took a while to admit it to myself. And to you.”
“That’s okay. It took me a while to come after you and tell you that you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He brushed away an errant tendril of her hair. “I want to spend Christmas with you, Vivian. This Christmas and next Christmas and all the ones after that.”
She shook her head. “We can’t do that here.”
His heart dropped. Damn it. Had he wasted all this time? Misunderstood what she just said?
“I won’t be here for Christmas, because...” Vivian said, “I want Ellie’s first Christmas to be special, even if she is very unlikely to remember it. And I wanted to give Sammie a real holiday too. So I took a week off, and called the inn. Except there’s one problem.”
“The inn is closed for Christmas.” A smile began to tease at the edges of his mouth.
“Yep. So I’m going to need another place to stay. You see, I really want Ellie’s first Christmas to be in Stone Gap. And sadly, there’s no other B and B in town. I do hear, however, that there is a mostly empty house that already has a very special lopsided tree.”
The smile spread across his face and felt like it reached all the way to his toes. “That house also has a nursery already set up.” He couldn’t bring himself to walk in that room since they left, never mind bring the crib back to Mavis.
The tease he loved lit her eyes. “Are you accepting reservations? Otherwise, my plan was to just show up on your doorstep, sort of like a baby showing up on your kitchen table.”
Damn, she felt good in his arms. He never wanted to let go of her again. “I’m sorry, but you have to be a part of the family to stay at 32 Lakeshore Drive.”
She raised her gaze to his. “And am I? Part of the family?”
“Honey, you are all the family I want.” He leaned down and kissed her then, slow and sweet and tender. She raised on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, and when Vivian kissed him back, Nick’s heart soared. They stayed there, until the sun went down and the air chilled, and then they went home.
* * *
The nex
t morning, Vivian woke up in Nick’s arms. The sun had yet to rise, but she couldn’t wait. All her life, she’d dreamed of this moment, this exact kind of day, and now she had it, with her sister sleeping in the next room and Ellie in the crib across the hall. And the man she loved right beside her, still tangled up with her. “It’s Christmas, Nick,” she whispered. “Wake up so we can go downstairs and open presents.”
He opened his eyes and gave her a smile. “I already opened mine.”
She laughed. “That was last night. Today, I want a Christmas to remember. For all of us.”
For the first time in his life, Nick Jackson was up at dawn on Christmas morning. There were no servants to make breakfast or butlers to hand out the presents. There was just them, in the house that held all of Nick’s best memories.
They went downstairs, still in their pajamas, followed a moment later by Sammie and Ellie, and the four of them sat around that lopsided tree, with its lights and the dozens of decorations they’d hung together the night before. Later, there would be pancakes and presents, but in that moment, watching the rainbow of lights dance across the features of the woman he loved, Nick realized even Santa couldn’t top this gift.
* * *
Don’t miss Grant’s story,
the next installment in
New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jump’s
The Stone Gap Inn miniseries,
Coming soon to Harlequin Special Edition.
Keep reading for an excerpt from A Down-Home Savannah Christmas by Nancy Robards Thompson.
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A Down-Home Savannah Christmas
by Nancy Robards Thompson
Chapter One
Bridezilla.
Elizabeth Clark’s husband-to-be had called her Bridezilla. Right in the middle of their rehearsal dinner.
She’d simply worried aloud to her sisters, Jane and Kate, about the flowers for the ceremony and whether the florist had understood that she wanted the tall arrangements behind the dais, not in front of it where they would block the guests’ view of the wedding party. She didn’t think Roger was paying attention, since he was seated at the opposite end of the table for twelve.
He must have been, because he called out, “Relax, Bridezilla. Just go with the flow.”
There was an edge to his voice, and it carried down the length of the table, past their guests, who had fallen silent in the wake of his words. After Elle had processed the barb, she’d chosen to believe he was trying to be funny.
Sometimes Roger’s humor missed the mark and sounded caustic. On the occasions when she reminded him to check his tone, an argument usually ensued. Tonight, on this night when she needed everything to be perfect, she decided to let his quip slide.
She was a good sport. She and Roger were deeply in love.
Even so, she couldn’t help saying to no one in particular and everyone in general, “Grooms are lucky. They simply have to show up on their wedding day and everything is done. Poof! Like magic.”
She sent Roger an air kiss and a good-natured eye roll.
Everyone, except Roger, followed her lead and laughed.
That was when she thought she’d glimpsed something dark in his eyes.
* * *
Over the next twenty-four hours, every niggling doubt and fear that Elizabeth had caged in the wayback of her consciousness had commando-crawled its way to freedom.
Now, as she stood with Roger at the altar in her picture-perfect white dress, in front of their friends and family, holding her flawless bouquet of white and blush peonies, ranunculus and heirloom roses, and listened to the minister proclaim marriage sacred—something that should not be entered into lightly and only after much consideration—her doubts and fears waged all-out warfare, like a terrifying premonition that Elle watched come to life in slow motion.
The minister asked, “Do you, Roger, take Elizabeth to be your wife?”
Roger paused for what seemed an eternity. Elizabeth watched the color drain from his face and then he reached up and tugged at his shirt collar, causing his bow tie to cock to the side like an uncanny smirk.
A hiccup of nervous laughter echoed in the crowded church. Elizabeth tried to snare Roger’s gaze. If he would just look at her, they would take a deep breath together and everything would be fine. But Roger was staring off into the distance somewhere over her left shoulder, in an anxious trance.
Stay with me, Roger. It’s just nerves. Everything will be fine.
He’d never liked being the center of attention. She knew that about her husband-to-be, but for as far back as Elizabeth could remember, she’d dreamed of a humongous wedding. She’d wanted the big white dress, the court of bridesmaids and bushels of flowers.
Most of all, she’d dreamed that this day would be perfect. And it would be. They just had to get through their vows and to the other side of “I do” and everything would be fine.
Elizabeth stole a glance at the 256 people who had gathered at the Independent Presbyterian Church of Savannah to watch the high school sweethearts marry.
Rogabeth. Elloger. They’d been together so long that many already thought of them as one entity.
The minister cleared his throat. “Roger, do you take Elizabeth to be your lawfully wedded wife? If so, please answer, ‘I do.’”
Good God, was he holding his breath now?
If Roger would just look at her, she’d silently remind him to breathe. And not to lock his knees.
Come on, Roger. Don’t pass out on me now.
Reverend Chambers put his hand on Roger’s arm. “Roger? We need an answer, son.”
Roger opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but he snapped it shut again before he could make a sound.
Now Elizabeth was the one holding her breath.
She stole a glance at the congregation. Could a person actually die from self-suffocation...or humiliation?
Breathing was overrated.
Then again, nothing would wreck a wedding faster than the bride dying at the altar. She gulped a breath of air like a drowning swimmer who’d broken the surface.
Now, if Roger would just answer, or nod, or something. Anything. Reverend Chambers could pronounce them husband and wife and they’d walk down the aisle arm in arm and out the doors at the front of the church. She’d fix his tie and they’d take pictures. They’d laugh about how he’d almost passed out in the middle of the ceremony and had given her a case of hives.
Come on, Roger.
Elizabeth was entertaining the thought of nudging him with the toe of her shoe. God knew her dress was big enough to hide the prod. But before she could do it, she locked gazes with Daniel Quindlin, best man.
He reached out and gave Roger’s shoulder a firm shake.
“Come on, man,” he said. “Do the right thing.”
For a moment Elizabeth thought Daniel was trying to help. Until Roger found his voice. “I’m...sorry. I can’t do this. Daniel’s right, Elle. I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.”
Roger gave Daniel a resolute nod. “Thanks, man.”
As the world moved in slow motion, Elle watched her groom exit through a side door. Her sister Jane slid her arm around E
lle’s waist, propping her up and shielding her from the astonished faces greedily gobbling up the drama.
Elle couldn’t feel her legs. Through the blood pulsing in her ears, she heard Jane hiss in a low, venomous voice, “How could you, Daniel? Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?”
Six years later
Elizabeth Clark had been back in Savannah less than twenty-four hours and already she was questioning whether coming home had been the right decision.
Home was the Forsyth Galloway Inn, the sprawling mansion-turned-bed-and-breakfast on Whitaker Street that had been in her family for six generations—more than one hundred fifty years—and had been a thriving business since 1874. She’d grown up in the big Victorian house with its turret, ornate gingerbread and creaking mahogany floors. The place was simultaneously comforting and claustrophobic. It evoked a certain nostalgia, not so dissimilar to memories of Great-Aunt Gertie’s overzealous bear hugs. Everyone tried to avoid her hugs, until she’d cornered them and they had no choice but to be smothered in the pillow of her enormous bosom. But years later, when Great-Aunt Gertie and her propensity to invade personal space was gone, her hugs seemed kind of sweet, a throwback to simpler times.
The Forsyth was Elizabeth’s smothering hug. When she was there, she couldn’t wait to get away from it but it always drew her back when times were tough. Like yesterday, when the bottom had fallen out of her life in Atlanta.
It was the last day of school before the holiday break. Some of the teachers were making plans to go out after work for some holiday cheer, when Principal Wescott had buzzed Elle’s room and asked her to come to the office for a quick meeting.
The long and short of it was, her job as an art teacher had been eliminated. She knew her position was tenuous when they hired her two and a half years ago. The money for art education wasn’t in the school’s budget, but a group of tenacious parents thought art was important. Via the school’s foundation, they’d raised enough money to hire an art teacher for two years. The parents thought if they got the art program off the ground, the county would work it into the budget. That didn’t happen, and despite raising enough money to cover her salary for the first semester, the foundation finally realized the county wouldn’t budge and had redirected its efforts behind a new pet project.