by Mary Campisi
“No.” Her mother had chased it her entire life and found nothing. “Do you?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said, his tone serious.
She had not expected that response. “So, you’re saying you think love exists?”
“I do.” His eyes grew darker, the brackets around his mouth deeper. “I absolutely do.”
Oh, there was pain in those words, and misery on his face. “You sound pretty certain.” Her voice dipped. “Like someone who’s experienced it.” Pause. “And not in a good way.”
Jameson toyed with a salt shaker. “You could say that.”
It was obvious from his response that he’d been in love, but something had happened. Had the woman died? Did cancer or some other disease take her? Or had it been a sudden and brutal death like a fall or a car crash? She had no business asking, but Nicki had never been known for subtlety. “What happened?” She couldn’t imagine a woman dumping a man like this, so she must have died, and it must have been tragic and sad, and oh, so painful.
Jameson Price wasn’t offering any information other than, “Let’s just say I learned a hard lesson and it cost me.”
What did that mean? Nicki wanted to hear more, wanted to hear what kind of woman this man could love. And what kind of woman could fill him with such pain and loss? She should ignore the expression on his face and talk about safe topics like martinis and entrees. But when had she ever done anything safe? Before she could catch herself, the words spilled out. “Who was she?”
He sipped his wine, stared at her so long she didn’t think he’d answer. “Somebody who deserved better than what I had to give.” His dark brows pinched together. “I was so busy building a name for myself that I forgot to take time for us.”
“I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to comprehend because I have a hard time believing that kind of love exists—not the all-in kind anyway. And not on an equal level. One person gives more than the other, another one doesn’t try hard enough, and before you know it, you don’t even know who you are anymore. You’ve changed yourself, your life, everything about you that makes you who you are. But it doesn’t matter, because even if you change yourself into what you think they want, it won’t be enough. They’ll still leave.” That’s what had happened to her mother; made her cry, made her dye her hair, go on diets, spend more on clothes than she could afford. None of it had mattered because they had all left anyway. Jameson stared at her as though he could see right inside her head to the desperate mother, the sad child, the pathetic existence they’d called family.
“Are you speaking from experience or observation?”
She lifted a shoulder, let the truth slip out. “Too much observation. And I wish it hadn’t been.”
“I see. Friend?”
She should just nod and pretend that’s what it was, but instead she told him another truth. “Mother.”
“I’m sorry.”
She sipped her wine, looked away. “She taught me a life lesson, and I wish I could say it was a good one.” Nicki forced a smile and dragged her gaze to his. “It was, however, life-changing.”
“My parents had a great marriage and I just assumed it was easy. Maybe they just made it look that way. I didn’t understand the compromise that was involved, the sharing, the give and take. I thought it all came naturally, no effort required. You fall in love, get married, buy a house, have a kid, maybe two, three, whatever. And you don’t worry about the problems because you love each other and things will work out.” He paused, his voice dipping, “Until they don’t. Until you forget she’s waiting for you at home. Until you choose work over her, and you forget why you fell in love in the first place, and what those promises were. My parents were married thirty plus years before my dad died three years ago. I didn’t even make it to the altar.”
“And you still believe in love, even after losing her?”
He finished his wine, shrugged. “Sure I do, but maybe just not for me. I’ve got three sisters, and one of them’s already found her happily-ever-after. In fact, she’s got a baby on the way. So, I’ve decided to be a doting uncle and a good brother.”
“At least you won’t get hurt again.”
He held her gaze, his dark eyes bright. “Yeah, at least there’s that.”
Nicki thought about her conversation with Jameson Price later that night as she lay in bed. Did he really believe he’d never find anyone again, or rather never look for anyone? Maybe he was afraid to trust, to open up and love. She knew she was. Her relationships had all been disastrous, but then she’d picked the kind of men who didn’t want to commit, the ones who were never going to settle down. She told herself that’s exactly what she wanted, that she didn’t want someone to answer to, someone to make demands on her time, someone who could hurt her. But every once in a while, she wondered what it would be like to have that one person in her life who cared about her, no matter what she looked like, no matter what kind of day she had, no matter if she wore makeup or sweats.
No matter what.
Of course, those thoughts were fleeting because that required a whole other level of trust and she did not want to do that. She could not do that. She wasn’t going to end up like her mother: sad, empty, and bitter.
Chapter 4
“Jameson, what do you think about the new girl in town?”
He poured his mother’s coffee, stirred in sugar and a heavy dose of cream. She meant Nicki Gallagher. “I don’t think anything about her.” That wasn’t exactly true. He’d been thinking about the woman a lot, and he didn’t like what he was thinking. She was a city girl who didn’t believe in commitment, and hadn’t she told him she didn’t believe in love? Yeah, that would be an interesting match. No thanks. He wasn’t going to get burned again, especially by someone who didn’t believe in long-term.
“Oh, really?” His mother’s dark eyes glistened. “You haven’t thought about her at all? You have no opinion? I heard you two were at the restaurant the other night until the wee hours.”
Okay, who was talking? He’d bet it was one of his sisters, probably found out from somebody who’d spotted them. Nothing was private in this town. “We were just talking,” he said and took a sip of coffee so he didn’t have to look at his mother. She always knew when he wasn’t being completely honest. But they had been talking and just talking, not anything else, though the talking had gotten a little intense and they’d danced around a few issues. So, there was a reluctant mutual attraction, reluctant on both parts being the operative word. Sure, he thought she was beautiful, and she was sexy as well, with those hazel eyes, full lips, and long legs. And any man with half an ounce of testosterone would notice the way she filled out a sweater.
So what? He could look and not touch.
“Jameson.” His mother’s voice dipped, and she offered a smile. “There’s nothing wrong with having feelings for the girl. I hear she’s very beautiful.”
“Mom, I don’t even know her.”
The smile spread. “Not yet, but you will.” She paused, tilted her head to one side. “You do think she’s beautiful, don’t you?”
And it was his mother’s turn to play matchmaker. Between her and his sisters, it was a never-ending quest of trying to find the right woman for poor, pathetic Jameson Price, who’d had his heart smashed and never saw it coming. “She’s nice enough, but I wouldn’t order the wedding cake yet.”
“Who said anything about a wedding?” Those dark eyes narrowed on him. “I certainly didn’t.”
Yeah. Right. “Good, and let’s keep it that way, because Nicki’s only here a few weeks and then she’s heading back to the city.”
“Ah…I hear she’s from Chicago?”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Did you tell her you used to live there? And did you tell her about the restaurant there?”
She said it like it was part of a résumé and an important one that he should include for Nicki to see. “No, I didn’t and if you meet her, I don’t want you saying anything either.”
“Why on earth not? That’s a very impressive achievement. Why don’t you want to say anything?”
“Because it’s not important. It’s not even who I am anymore.”
“I know that.” She clasped her coffee mug with both hands, said in a quiet voice, “You just got off track for a little while, but now you see what matters in life and just need someone to share it. You have so much to give and I hate to think you’re closing yourself off to possibilities because of what happened between you and that girl.”
That girl, the one his mother and sisters had called spoiled and petty. “I’m not closing myself off, but I’m not throwing myself at anyone either. It’s just not going to happen.”
“It’s not going to happen with Nicki? It’s not going to happen ever? Which one is it, Jameson? Because you’ve been back in Reunion Gap long enough to figure out if you’re ever going to trust anybody again, or if you’re going to spend the rest of your life beating yourself up for what happened.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, and I won’t know until it happens.”
His mother sighed. “I suppose that’s a fair statement, but I hope you’re not going to be so close-minded that you miss another opportunity to be happy. From what I hear this Nicki isn’t like your usual women.”
His mother meant the kind of women that accepted a night without a commitment. Those women were desperate and they’d take anything he had to offer. Well, his mother was right about that. Nicki wasn’t desperate and she certainly wasn’t going to take some BS line from him. She was a challenge. Was that what made her so appealing? Damn, he sure hoped so, because he did not want to have feelings for a woman who pretty much admitted she was incapable of long-term. It would be a disaster and he’d be a fool.
“I’m glad we’ve had this conversation.”
“Sure, Mom, me, too.” And if they never had it again for the rest of his life, it would be too soon.
She smiled and when she spoke her eyes sparkled. “Don’t forget dinner’s tonight at 6:30 p.m. I’m making meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”
“Yup, got it. I’ll be here. And I’ll bring the dessert.”
“That’s perfect.” His mother set down her coffee mug and squeezed his hand. “I hope you don’t mind, but Andrea plans to invite Nicki for dinner tonight.”
“What?” His pregnant sister was a busybody who wanted everybody to be as happy as she was. Just because she’d fallen in love, snagged her guy, and had a baby on the way did not mean everybody wanted to do that, or that she had a right to trap unsuspecting, unattached individuals. “Mom, that’s wrong. Do not do that.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know the girl.” She crossed her arms over her chest and said in a no-nonsense voice, “But I am looking forward to tonight because anybody who can make you squirm in a chair like that has my attention—” she winked “—and my approval.”
The Cherry Top Diner made a decent New England clam chowder, and the salad wasn’t half bad either. Nicki was debating between a slice of peach pie and pumpkin roll when a very pregnant woman approached her.
“You must be Nicki,” she said, her face flushed, eyes bright with curiosity. “I’m Andrea Marone, Jameson Price’s sister.” She leaned toward her, smiled. “You had dinner with him the other night at The Oak Table.”
“Right.” There really was no privacy in this town.
“We heard you were here for the holidays and were staying at the Peace & Harmony Inn.” She paused and her voice turned pitiful. “Alone.”
“That’s right.” No different from most nights in Chicago.
“My mother wants to invite you to the house for dinner tonight. Nothing fancy, but it’s good food and my sisters are dying to meet you.” Her face lit up and her smile spread. “We don’t get a lot of strangers in town and Mom says nobody should eat alone. Please say you’ll come.”
When she saw Jameson again, she’d make sure she told him just how much she didn’t appreciate his family’s interference. If he’d kept his mouth shut, they wouldn’t know a thing about her. Not that she was alone, or that she’d be here for the holidays… But if she’d kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened. Nicki had told him way more than she’d intended, and she couldn’t even blame it on the wine. Once they’d started talking, he didn’t seem so intimidating or aloof. He’d been approachable, straightforward, and he’d listened.
She liked that about him. A lot.
Nicki forced a smile and said, “Thank you very much for the offer, but I’m used to being alone. I actually prefer it.” Why was this woman looking at her like she’d just admitted a horrible truth? Had Jameson told her that Nicki was a pathetic loser who couldn’t commit, that she had no family, that her mother was dead? She didn’t want pity; she didn’t need it. She liked being alone; she did not miss family. How could she miss something she never had?
“Oh no, it would be very bad manners to leave you alone and our family’s known for its hospitality. Mom still cooks a ton of food, as if we were all still living at home. It’s just the way we are.” She placed her hands on her large belly, studied Nicki. “Please say you’ll come. It would make my mother so happy.”
And why exactly would it make her mother happy, she wanted to ask. Was this a fix-up? She fought the heat creeping up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. Did Jameson know about the potential fix-up? She bet he didn’t because he would not be happy about this—not at all. Something told her he’d also revealed way more than he’d intended to the other night, especially the part about the old girlfriend. “I appreciate the kind thoughts, but I really think I’d rather be alone.”
Andrea Marone shrugged. “Then you’ll have to come tell my mother because she’ll march right up here and guilt you into coming. Trust me, it’s just easier to do it. That woman is pretty forceful when she sets her mind to something, and hearing that you’re here by yourself at Christmas doesn’t sit well with her.” She inched closer, lowered her voice, “You see, my mother was an orphan and never knew her family. It’s really important to her that people aren’t alone, especially during the holidays.”
And that’s the reason Nicki found herself sitting in the Prices’ dining room several hours later, trapped by Thomasina Price, her three daughters, and a string of Christmas carols that stirred up sad memories. Jameson sat across from her, stiff and silent, studying his food as though he found it much more interesting than the dinner conversation. Or maybe he was simply angry at his family for inviting her. Or angry at her for accepting? Did he think she wanted to be here? That she’d have accepted if she could have conjured up an excuse that didn’t insult his mother?
“Jameson used to live in Chicago. Did he tell you that?” Maria, the youngest Price, a petite brunette in her mid-twenties, smiled at Nicki.
Jameson lived in Chicago? “No, he didn’t mention it.” She waited for him to comment, but he’d taken an interest in a piece of meatloaf. When had he lived there? And why hadn’t he mentioned it?
“He sure did.” This from, Samantha, sister number two. “Worked in a restaurant, too. The Oak Bench.”
Jameson lifted his head and glared at his sisters. “She’s not interested in hearing about me or how I washed dishes in a restaurant.”
“Oh, but she is,” Nicki said, forcing a smile. “Everybody in Chicago knows about The Oak Bench, and if you got close enough to the kitchen, even if it was to wash dishes, then I want to hear all about it.” The Oak Bench? She’d only been able to get a reservation there a handful of times and the wait for one was at least a month!
He shrugged. “It was a nice restaurant. Good food. Busy.”
“Jameson.” His mother patted his hand and said in a voice filled with emotion, “Why don’t you tell Nicki the truth?”
The truth? What truth?
His youngest sister leaned forward. “Yeah, Jameson, why don’t you tell her the truth?”
“The whole truth.” Andrea placed her hands on her over-l
arge belly and offered a smile that brought out the dimples in her cheeks.
He sighed. Twice. “Okay, I worked in the restaurant, and once in a while I got to throw together a few dishes.”
Was he serious? He acted like he was talking about tossing together a turkey and ham sandwich. “What dishes?”
He toyed with his fork, studied the tines. “The duck and the lamb.”
“Really? I’ve only been there a few times but I had the lamb dish. It was the best I’ve ever tasted.” Nicki stared at him, tried to find the chef beneath the man who’d served her wine and told her he still believed in love. “That was you?”
Another shrug. “Could be. Depends on the night.”
“Even if he weren’t working, it was Jameson’s recipe.” Maria forked a piece of meatloaf. “He concocted it all by himself because he’s really good at what he does.”
“And he does a lot more than mix drinks and toss burgers at The Oak Table.” This from Samantha, whose voice was firm, steady. Devoted.
Nicki had never had siblings but she knew defense tactics and protection when she heard it. What would it have been like to have a brother or sister who wanted to defend her like Jameson’s siblings did? Would it have made life with her mother more manageable? Lessened the burden and grief?
Andrea laughed. “He doesn’t like to talk about himself so we have to do it for him.”
Jameson sighed. “I don’t like to talk about myself because I don’t like it when people puff out their chest and say how great they are.” Those whiskey-colored eyes narrowed on his sisters. “Nobody’s that great. There’s always somebody better, and making a memorable lamb chop isn’t life-changing.”
“It is for some people,” Maria said.
“Yes, indeed it is.” His mother beamed at him, squeezed his hand. “The church is still talking about the wedding soup and homemade bread you sent over when Mrs. Gentry passed. They said it was the best soup ever, and the bread melted in their mouths.” She leaned toward him, lowered her voice. “Almost better than a communion wafer.”