Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Except it wasn’t.
Our English teacher was in there, doing what Eve and I wanted to do. Seeing your teacher in the throes of passion is one thing. Seeing her with someone that wasn’t her husband was a whole other ball game.
Needless to say, the start of the school year was awkward.
“I’m sorry this ruined your plans for the evening,” she says as I gently put her down.
I cup her cheek. My thumb rubs under her eye while she looks at me. I lean down and brush my lips against hers.
“The promise of hot cocoa makes up for it.”
“We only have an hour left.”
“Well, then I guess I better go wrap some more presents.”
SEVENTEEN
EVANGELINE
The smart thing for me to do is to tell Zane, thanks but no thanks. Thanks for coming back into my life, but this is where we’re going to stop. Every voice in my head screams at me to pump the breaks, to not follow him down the hall where I know we can hide and make out. To cut him off and tell him he had his chance, and he lost it.
The magic of Christmas makes me believe we can be different this time. That he’s different. And while I want to believe in the fairy tale, part of me is scared that all of this sparkle is going to come crashing down around me and he’s going to go back to New York. Or he’s going to realize having the high society life, where money isn’t an object, is far better than living in this small town where the highlight of our Friday night is wrapping presents at the community center.
I love my life and there was a time when Zane wanted this life as well. I truly wonder if he’s ready for this. And I wonder if I’m ready or even willing to give it to him.
Kissing him is nice though. For so many years I put it out of my mind—what it felt like to be kissed by him; what it felt like to be in his presence. He’s always had an air about him. Strong and confident, but not arrogant. Growing up, people would comment on how well Bernie raised Zane, mostly as a single parent. Zane could’ve easily gone off the rails and become a menace, but he didn’t. He excelled in high school, as an undergrad, and then law school. He would’ve graduated the top of our class had he not left. His boss must have a lot of pull in order to get Zane’s last semester transferred so he could graduate in New York.
Did he graduate?
I look over my shoulder at Zane, standing in the large window looking out over Main Street. After we finished at the community center, we ordered a pizza to go, and stopped by the store to make sure his father didn’t need help closing up. The smile on Mr. Whitaker’s face when Zane walked in was brighter than a thousand bulbs. He is so happy his son is home. Can’t say I blame him.
Now, the empty pizza box sits on my counter, ready to go in the trash downstairs, and I stand at my stove, boiling water for hot cocoa while Christmas music plays from my portable speaker. I look at Zane again, and this time I catch him looking at my tree. It’s not a huge tree, but perfect for the space next to the other window. I don’t have a lot of ornaments on there, mostly white lights with red bows.
Once the kettle whistles, I add the water to the hot chocolate mixture my mom has mastered but refuses to give me the recipe for. Someday, she will. Her and my dad talk about selling the house and land, and retiring. The thought makes my stomach churn. I know the tree farm is a lot of work, but I can’t imagine not having it be part of my life.
“Here ya go.” I hand Zane the mug and then stand next to him. Main Street is beautiful at night. With two weeks to go until Christmas, the boutiques are open well past their normal closing hours to allow for those last-minute shoppers.
Each streetlight, a replica of early America, has garlands and white lights wrapped around it with a big red bow affixed to the lantern style light. The town does each pole the weekend after Thanksgiving. And when it snows, like it’s doing now, the magic of the holidays spreads cheer to all.
“It’s too bad these windows don’t open.”
“Why’s that?”
Zane points, forcing me to step forward and look down the road. Carolers are standing under the streetlight on the corner, and they look like they’re straight out of a Dickens novel.
“I think they performed at the community theater tonight,” I tell him. “But yes, it would be nice to listen to them. Do you want to go downstairs?”