by Jane Porter
She wasn’t so sure.
Call him, she told herself. Let him know you’re coming.
But she was afraid, unsure of his reaction.
Rachel tried not to panic as her connecting flight was pushed back yet another half hour, while new flights were now being canceled.
She found herself praying for her plane to arrive.
She prayed that Atticus would want to see her.
She prayed that—
Her prayer was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She fished the phone out of her purse.
It was Atticus.
“Hello,” she said answering.
“Just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas,” he said.
Her chest grew tight, tender with bottled emotion. “Merry Christmas to you, too. How are you doing? What did you do tonight?”
“Had dinner with the Sheenans, and then went to the caroling service at St. James with Lesley and her family.”
“Sounds like a wonderful Christmas Eve.”
“It’s been nice. But it’ll be good to see my family tomorrow.” He paused, cleared his throat. “What about you? How is your Christmas Eve?”
She glanced around the crowded airport with all the stressed and unhappy looking people. “Not as nice as yours.”
“I hope you’re not alone.”
“Oh, no, definitely not alone.”
“Good.” He paused, and silence stretched. “I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.”
“I’m glad you called. I was thinking about you, too.”
Another beat, one that made her heart ache.
“Merry Christmas, Rachel.”
Tell him you’re coming, tell him you’re on the way, tell him not to leave before you get there. But the words stuck in her throat and her eyes had that terribly dry, gritty feeling and she was afraid of being hurt, and not being enough. She was trying to change but maybe it was too little, too late. “Merry Christmas, Atticus.”
They hung up, and she squeezed her eyes closed, squeezed them painfully tight, but even then, it didn’t hold back her tears.
She should have just told him. She should—
She reached for her phone and typed a quick message to Atticus. “I’m sitting in the Salt Lake airport hoping my Bozeman flight will still leave tonight. Wanted to see you for Christmas, but if I don’t make it before you go, know that I tried.”
She didn’t have to wait long for a reply. “I hope it works out. Keep me posted.”
*
Rachel landed in Bozeman at midnight, the plane taxiing down the runway in a swirl of falling snow.
But she’d arrived, and she’d only brought a carry-on bag with her which meant she could head straight out. Unfortunately, the rental car booths were closed, and there were no taxis in front of the terminal. Standing at the curb, she tried her ride share app, but nothing was available. It seemed as if everyone was already home, tucked in for the night. She didn’t blame them. The snow was lovely but it was cold and she was exhausted and just wanted to be snug in a warm bed.
A big SUV pulled up in front of her and the passenger window rolled down. “Need a ride?” a very handsome man, wearing a fancy sheepskin coat, asked.
She didn’t think she’d ever been so happy to see anyone before. “Yes. Thank you!”
He came around, gave her a swift hug before taking her bag and stowing it in the back.
He’d felt so good, so big, and so right that some of her anxiety melted. “What are you doing here?” she asked, as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Making sure I saw you before I left,” he answered, closing the door behind her.
His answer made her heart ache. She’d only arrived. She wasn’t ready to think of saying goodbye, and she wasn’t going to focus on goodbyes. Not yet. “I’m grateful.” She smiled at him, content to just drink him in. “You’re looking well.”
He flashed her a grin. “I had a haircut a few days ago.”
She gurgled with laughter, and then it hit her that this was the first time she’d laughed since she’d left Marietta two weeks ago. “How did you know when I’d arrive?”
“Tracked your flight.”
“Thank you for that.”
He shot her a glance as he left the airport and turned on the frontage road. “So, what brings you to Marietta?”
“You. Lesley.” She wrapped her hands around one knee and started out the windshield where the wipers were rhythmically swishing away snow. “The bookstore.” He said nothing and she quietly added, “But mostly you.”
She felt rather than saw him look at her. She kept her gaze fixed on the window and the small, lacey snowflakes.
“Things not going well back home?” he asked carefully.
“They’re going according to the plan.” She chewed on her lip, wondering how to tell him everything that had happened, and everything she’d learned. Maybe best to start small. “I got the promotion.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “I got the call on the day I flew back into John Wayne Airport.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She waited another moment before adding, “I played in the holiday classic, it’s Novak & Bartley’s Christmas golf tournament for their big clients. I did okay considering it was the first time I’ve actually played with anyone other than my instructor.”
“Good for you.”
She heard the warmth in his voice and she looked at him in time to catch his smile. “I was so nervous.”
“Was it fun?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“It was kind of boring actually.”
He choked on smothered laughter. “You probably got a bad foursome.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.” She wrinkled her nose. “But maybe it’s me. My dad said I’m boring.”
He laughed out loud this time. “He said what?”
“That I’m boring.”
“I would never, in a million years, describe you as boring. Now, I might call you stubborn, obstinate, inflexible—”
“I’d prefer tenacious and persistent.”
Atticus smiled and shook his head, but he said nothing else and Rachel was content to sit, listening to the Christmas carols playing on the satellite radio station. Hard to believe she’d made it to Montana after all. It had been such a stressful day trying to get here. “What is Lesley like?” she asked. “You said you went to church with her tonight, so you must get along with her.”
“She’s exactly what you expect. Warm, kind, sweet, funny, helpful, determined to make everyone feel good.”
“You didn’t tell her I was planning on selling the bookstore, did you?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her I was coming?”
“No.”
Rachel fidgeted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Have you decided if you want to buy the bookstore?”
He glanced at her, expression sober. “Let’s not do this now. You only just got here.”
“But you’re leaving in the morning.”
“And sometimes less is more.”
Prickly heat rushed through her, and she looked out the window, and blinked hard, horrified that she was going to cry now, in front of him, but she was tired, and overly emotional. She had to keep control or this entire trip would end in disaster.
*
Atticus saw the tears in her eyes and his gut cramped. The last thing he wanted was to make her cry.
He reached over and took her fist in his hand, his thumb stroking over her tightly clenched fingers. “That came out the wrong way. I’m sorry.”
Her throat worked. She was still holding back the tears but she gave a faint nod.
“Did you want to see me because you wanted to see me? Or did you want to see me to talk about the bookstore?”
A tear fell, a glistening streak on her pale cheek. She reached up with her free hand to brush it away. “See you,” she said brokenly.
His gut burned and his chest felt heavy. He gently worked her fist open, and laced his fingers through hers. “I’m going to be honest, and I hope this doesn’t hurt you, but I’m not interested in the bookstore anymore, Rachel. I’m just interested in you.”
She drew a raw breath. “I’m good with that.”
“Yeah? Because sometimes everything is just business with you.”
“I know, and I’m working on changing that.” Her fingers tightened around his. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to see you. I needed to see you. You’re the best part of my life and I’m here to figure out how to keep you in it—” She broke off, gulped for air. “Romantically. You make a great friend, but I’d like more with you, if you’re open to that.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed the back of her hand. “Most definitely open to that.”
“Really?”
He laughed at her astonished tone, and gave her an amused look. “I want it all with you. It’s not a secret. We should be on the same team. I can see a future with you—marriage, children, our own Marietta home.”
“Wow.”
“Is that a good wow, or a bad wow?”
She laughed tremulously, and she gave his fingers another squeeze. “It’s an I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening wow.” She turned in her seat, facing him. “I was so afraid I’d lost you. So afraid I’d missed my opportunity.”
“I wasn’t going anywhere, Rachel.”
“But I rejected you. I ran away.”
“I knew you’d come back.”
“How?”
Fingers still laced together, he placed their joined hands on his thigh, just above his knee. “I just knew you. You were overwhelmed. But you’re tough, and persistent, and you don’t give up.” He glanced at her. “And here you are.”
*
Fresh tears shimmered in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered before she ruthlessly bit into it. “You’re making me cry.”
“That’s okay, as long as I can also make you smile and laugh.”
“You do. You’re the only one who can make me laugh.”
“We’ll have to broaden your circle of acquaintances then.”
She laughed, and they drove the rest of the way to Marietta in silence, but the kind of silence where it felt warm and safe and unbearably good.
“Your apartment is ready for you,” he said, as he turned off Highway 89. “Even managed to stick a few things in the fridge for you for the morning.”
“How did you manage that on Christmas Eve?”
“I know people.”
She grinned and looked out the window, excited to be back. Most of downtown Marietta was dark, with just the holiday lights shining on the turn-of-the-century-style streetlamps. But as they approached Paradise Books, her corner building glowed.
Rachel glanced at Atticus and then back to the bookstore. The window displays had been redone. She couldn’t yet see the details but they were filled with rich jeweled color and sparkling lights.
Atticus parked his SUV in front of the store. She jumped out of her side and went up to the window facing Main. The scene was spectacular, a vision straight from the pages of The Nutcracker. Heavy red velvet curtains framed the large Plateglass windows, the fabric pulled back with golden tassels allowing the rich crimson to ripple and swag. A legion of nutcrackers fought a rat army, while a delicate ballerina pirouetted above. Different versions of the book balanced on glass snowflakes. It was gorgeous and magical.
“This is incredible,” she exclaimed, as Atticus joined her at the window, her travel bag in his hand. “Who did it?”
“Sadie.”
“It’s amazing.”
“She changed the windows out last weekend, too.”
“Why?”
“She wanted people to pay attention, and it’s worked. Even before Lesley arrived, the bookstore was starting to get foot traffic. You’ve sold quite a few books.”
“I didn’t sell them,” she corrected. “So you’re telling me the bookstore stayed open this entire time?”
“Yes. I ran things the first week, and then Lesley and her sister arrived last Sunday, and Lesley took over.”
“She must think I’m awful.”
“No, not at all. She knows you have a career in California, and she had a great time here. She was in her element. And you wouldn’t believe the number of people who came to see her.”
“I’m not surprised. Everyone loves her.”
“People love the books, too. One person bought the entire Mark Twain series you had.”
“I didn’t know there was an entire Twain series here.”
“He paid over six hundred and thirty-five dollars for the set. I probably could have gotten more, but I didn’t want to jeopardize the sale.”
“You did all this for me.”
“I did it for us. I believe in us.”
She didn’t think she’d ever heard anything so lovely in her entire life. “I love the way you say ‘us.’”
“You didn’t a couple weeks ago.”
“I was terrified.”
He reached for her, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Not terrified anymore?”
“More terrified of missing out on the best thing I’ve ever known.” She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him. “You’re the best thing. You’re kind of amazing.”
“I know.” And then he kissed her, and it was a kiss that went on and on, and by the time he was done, Rachel was warm and tingly from head to toe.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, overwhelmed by the joy she felt. Everything in her was full of hope and light.
“Merry Christmas, Rachel. So glad you came back.” He unlocked the front door, flicked on the overhead light and handed her the key. “So what made you decide this is where you wanted to be?”
“Besides missing you?” she asked, stepping into the store.
He remained on the threshold. “Yes.”
She gestured to the store, and then the street covered in white powdery snow. “I realized I didn’t like my vision board. It wasn’t… me. And when I pictured what I wanted, and what I needed, it wasn’t the big office, or the large corporation. I need people, and love. I need you. I want to have what I lost when my mom died. Family. Traditions. Feelings.” She laughed even as she blinked back tears. “This is crazy. I haven’t cried in years, and now I can’t stop! I have so many feelings and oh, Atticus, I think I love you.”
“Good. Because I know I love you.”
He closed the door behind her and kissed her, and the kiss made her knees weak and her head spin. Rachel clung to his thick jacket, thinking she had to be dreaming. She’d been so alone for so long, locked inside of herself, locked in with her grief and somehow her heart felt wide open, open to love, love to change, open to a future she hadn’t even imagined could exist for her.
It was a miracle.
“Stay,” she whispered.
“We won’t get any sleep if I stay, and we’re going to need sleep if we’re to be in good form for Lesley’s tomorrow. We’ve been invited to Lesley’s for Christmas morning and we can’t not show.”
“You’re not leaving for Texas?”
“I’m going to catch a later flight.”
“Will Lesley mind if I show up uninvited?”
“No. She, like me, was hoping you’d find your way back to Marietta for Christmas. It’s one of the reasons Lesley came home.”
Rachel’s eyes filled with hot tears. “Everyone had such faith in me… faith I didn’t even have.”
“And yet you’re here.”
She felt like she’d swallowed the sun and moon and was full of light. But not just light. She felt a new calm, and strength. “Do you think my mom’s here?” she whispered. “Because I think I feel her.”
He wiped away one of her tears, and then another. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Even though she’s not physically here anymore, her spirit remains.”
“You believe that?”
“I d
o, and I believe she’ll always love you. Your mom wants you happy.” He kissed her gently. “And I do, too. I’ll be back tomorrow at ten. How does that sound?”
“Like I can sleep in.”
“Do you really sleep in?”
She grinned and shook her head. “No.”
“Didn’t think so. Good night, Rachel.”
“Good night, Atticus. Thank you for picking me up.”
“Anytime. Every time.”
*
Rachel’s head was still spinning as she climbed up the stairs to her apartment, stripped off her clothes and tumbled into her bed, which smelled sweet and fresh as if the sheets and pillowcases had just been washed.
She suspected someone had done that for her, too.
It was overwhelming because she wasn’t used to people doing things for her. Ever since her mom got sick, Rachel had been the one to take charge, make plans, get things done. And now people, who were almost still strangers, were doing things for her.
It boggled her mind.
And yet it also felt incredibly good. To think she might actually be important to someone… to think she might belong somewhere…
Rachel fell asleep, humming with warmth, and brimming with gratitude.
*
Lesley lived in a big handsome house with tall white columns on Bramble, just a few blocks from Bramble House Bed and Breakfast, and Lesley was exactly as Rachel remembered—short, slightly round, with a sweet face, smiling eyes, and gray curly hair.
When she spotted Rachel behind Atticus, she gave her the biggest hug. “Oh, my goodness, what a gift this is. So very, very glad to have you with us this Christmas.”
“I almost didn’t make it,” Rachel confessed, following Lesley into the house. “My flight was one of the few that got out last night.”
“So glad you did. I was hoping to see you, and Atticus was so sure you’d come.”
They both shot Atticus a glance, and he shrugged, smiled, and excused himself saying he needed to put the champagne in the refrigerator.
“I tried to call you,” Rachel said. “I left a couple messages so don’t be surprised when you get back to Australia. All is well, I just wanted to talk.”
“And now you’re here. What can I tell you?”
“This is probably not the best time. It’s Christmas and you’re making breakfast—”