Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Natalie tapped at the rattly storm window of my kitchen door then let herself in. “I’m not waiting for you,” she called as she shuffled her way inside. “I’ve already started eating. I’ll be helping myself to yours when mine’s gone, so get out here.”

I rushed into the kitchen, tugging on the ugliest of ugly holiday sweaters as she set down the cardboard cup carrier and paper bag bursting with breakfast burritos.

“I’m here, gimme.” I opened and closed my hands as if it would get me my breakfast faster.

“Good lord, what are you wearing? No, wait, I think I’m better off scrubbing this memory from my brain.” She pressed a burrito into one of my hands, latte in the other, and gripped my face on either side before planting a kiss on my forehead. “Thanks a million for helping out today. This is why you’re my dad’s favorite daughter. Ready for treemageddon?”

“I was born ready. Just make sure your dad doesn’t expect me to lift, cut, or tie anything.”

“He learned his lesson the year you busted Mr. Tate’s rear window. You’re on booth duty this year.”

I devoured my breakfast burrito while Natalie drove to the tree farm. I didn’t have to do much talking because she filled every bit of quiet with her excited chatter. How well she and Julian worked together, the way he knew, instinctively, what angles were best or how to pause to build suspense. How often he complimented the crew and how everyone enjoyed working with him—she emphasized with over for multiple times.

She barely took a breath as she gave me a play-by-play of the evening they’d spent shooting additional footage around town.

“Sounds like the two of you make a great team.”

Natalie gripped the wheel with both hands, looked at me, and grinned. “I like him.”

“Me too, Nat. He’s a nice guy.”

“No, I mean. Lex, like, I’m interested .”

“Ah.” Gee, I hadn’t noticed.

“I think he’s interested, too. Maybe. I didn’t ask because I wanted to talk to you first. Since, you know. You and his best friend are the hottest item in town these days. I didn’t want to make anything weird.”

Natalie didn’t tend to prioritize dating. She’d had a handful of not-serious relationships after one long-term relationship directly out of high school, but she’d always been more focused on herself. I was excited for her, but my mind buzzed with the realization that if she moved forward with Julian, he’d likely break her heart when he left.

“So, is it cool if I—”

“I don’t have dibs on the out-of-towners. Go for it if you’re into it.”

Natalie rolled to a stop at the red light and looked at me, brows furrowed. “I don’t have to make a move if you’re not feeling it. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“Crap, no that’s not it. Listen, it’s fine. Just … remember that their situation here is temporary.”

She wrung the steering wheel in her palms and focused on the light ahead of us. It flicked to green and she exhaled as she pulled away from the intersection. “I know. I just refuse to accept ‘he might leave’ as a valid reason to ignore what might be there.”

The words weren’t meant as an attack against me, but it stung anyway. I’d shaken it off by the time we got to the tree farm, where I hopped out to let myself into the semi-heated (but still freezing) cashier’s booth.

I made it home, washed the pine needles from my hair and pitch from my fingertips, and slipped into my “impress the parents” dress—tasteful, semi-low-cut, in near black. I’d finished my make-up and settled in for a quick mug of tea while I waited for James to call to let me know he was on the way. My phone rang, and I answered instinctively.

“When do I get to meet the man you’ve been inviting to stay the night?” my mother asked, her tone either disapproval or surprise—but who could tell with her?

“Mother, I can make these choices without your opinion.”

“Oh, I see. I’m not worthy enough to know when you’ve got a serious partner.”

“I don’t have to be in a serious relationship to have sex. I’m an adult, Jesus. How’d you know I had someone here, anyway?”

“I go way back with Steve Richards, the appraiser for your loan. You could have told us you were having money issues.”

“I’m not having money issues, I’m paying for a house repair. Besides, I know your preference is for me to unload the place, not give it the attention it deserves. What does the appraiser have to do with my sex life?”

“He mentioned in passing that he saw someone leaving the driveway when he got there for your appointment. You must bring him along.”

“What, who? When?”

“Your beau, for Christmas, of course. As if there’s another time of year you choose to visit us willingly.”

I’d visited every year at Christmas since they made their big move. Other holidays were hit or miss, but this was the one I was expected to attend, no excuses.

“I already told you, like three times. I can’t come this year. I had to cancel because I couldn’t afford the trip.”

“That’s nonsense, of course you’re coming. Honestly, Alex, this is unacceptable, it’s Christmas. Besides, we’ve already ordered the Cornish hens for everyone.”

“Oh, well if you’ve already gotten the hens, we won’t have enough for James, so maybe it’s better if we sit this one out.”

“James, is it? Wonderful name. We’ll inform the butcher that we need another hen for James for Christmas Eve dinner.”

James let himself into the kitchen as I sputtered excuses to my mother. She accepted none of them.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” he said. “I was running late so I skipped a step. Are you ready—”

I tried to shush him before he came into the room, but the damage had been done.

“Is that James? Put him on.”

I groaned. “I will not put him on, Mother. I have to go. We’ve got dinner reservations and we can’t be late.”

“I don’t mind saying hello,” James said.

“See?” my mom said. I could practically see her tapping her long, painted fingernails against the tabletop in frustration. “I won’t keep you long. Maybe he can explain why you can make reservations for your own meal, but heaven forbid I ask you to set up reservations to have a meal with your father and me.”

“Your funeral,” I said to James as I handed him the phone.

“Hello, Mrs. McCall, and how are you this evening?” He paused and his lips turned downward as she barked back. “Yes, I know it’s not evening in your time zone, of course.” He started a slow, determined pace back and forth through the living room, running a hand through the hair at the back of his head. “California, that’s great. Yes, I’ve been many times. Of course. The Napa Valley wine tour was—” He gritted his teeth and inhaled as her snapping reply traveled across the space between us. “Oh. Yes, yes. I am aware there’s more to the state than wine tours and Hollywood.” He gritted his teeth and sent a deer in the headlights grimace in my direction.

I mouthed I’m sorry . “Mom, we need to leave. Say goodbye to your new friend,” I said, rising on tip-toes as if it would help my voice carry.

“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. McCall. We’re on our way out for dinner. My father is expecting us at the restaurant in half an hour.” I made wild throat-slashing gestures, two seconds too late. “He’s here for the weekend, so …” James paused, grimacing at his obvious error. I smacked a palm to my forehead. “Visit you? In California? That sounds …”

“Mom, we have to go!” I yanked the phone from his hand and hung up. “What have you done?” I laughed through my groan.

He whistled. “Wow. She’s … she’s scary. It’s like, no matter what I said, it was wrong somehow. I’m terrified.”

“Well, you’re also afraid of haunted bridges and cemeteries, but you’ve still managed to film a soon-to-be-famous ghost hunting movie with your friend.”

“First, I’m not afraid. I simply prefer to spend my time not freaking myself out. Second, does that mean we’re going out to visit your family?”

“Oh, hell no. Even if I wanted to torture myself, I couldn’t afford the trip. You’re off the hook, no worries.”

“It’s only fair, you know. You’re meeting my father—thank you in advance, I truly hope you come out unscathed. I don’t mind returning the favor. She was, uh, very insistent. Something about Cornish hens dying for nothing. I see where you get your flair for the dramatic.”

“The only thing I get from her is my chin shape. Anything else, personality or otherwise, was well-honed and intentionally opposite of her.”

“I can move some things around, get a couple of days off. We can fly out for a few days. I even have a stash of parent-approved gifts for this exact circumstance.”

“What, being forced into flying out to meet the parents of some woman you only just met?”

“Exactly.”

“I can barely afford the gas, let alone a plane ticket.”

“My treat?” James offered, but I swiped my hands through the air in a quick X motion before he got the words out.

“Not a chance. I hate taking money from people. I’ll promise that we’ll take a trip out for … Easter or something.”

“Easter, huh?” He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and a flicker of cautious excitement appeared in his expression.

My blood froze. Easter was months away. His reaction wasn’t particularly negative, but the presumption that he’d still be hanging out with me then was going to need some serious over-thinking later in the evening.

“Or whenever. Let’s get this over with. If your dad’s anything like my parents, he’ll already be inside wondering why we haven’t arrived for our 7 P.M. reservation at six-thirty.”

“You’re going to do just fine tonight,” he said. He tugged a small package from the interior pocket of his wool coat. “Parent-approved gift for you to get on his good side. Bourbon, small batch, very pricey. If he asks any questions about it, just mention smooth oaky notes and a strong caramel finish, then change the subject.”

The Burlington restaurant was quiet. Waiters scurried in and out of kitchen doors with tiny servings of food on plates big enough to warrant their own orbit. James’s father had already arrived and was sipping something mahogany colored from a rocks glass. The straight-backed posture and tightly controlled movements gave off an air of superiority, while his dark, slightly wavy hair and well-defined jawline made his genetic connection to James evident. He stood when we approached the table, fastened the middle button on his blazer jacket, and offered a hand to James. After a single, firm pump of the hand, he turned to greet me. I’d already extended my hand.

“Hello, I’m Lex. It’s nice to meet you.”

He accepted my handshake. “Brooks,” he said by way of introduction.

“Thank you for taking time out of your trip to have dinner with us. A little something for afterward?” I slipped him the package James had given me.

“Ah ha, I see you’ve picked a confident one this time, James. Well done, well done.” He tapped the package. “This had better be bourbon; I simply can’t abide inferior liquor.”

He was making it so easy to instantly dislike him. “Absolutely. You’ll have to let me know how you enjoy it.”

“That I will, Lex, that I will.” He swept a hand toward the table to invite us to sit.

James pulled my chair out for me, then pushed it in as I settled. James and his father both unbuttoned their jackets and sat one by one: James first, then his father. It was the performance my parents wished I’d offer.

“James isn’t one for sharing details about his personal life. Color me surprised to learn that he’s in a relationship. I’m glad I was able to convince him to invite you.” James lifted his chin as if he wanted to break into the conversation, but his father plowed right through the attempted interjection, sharp eyes locked with James’s. “My back-up plan was to have him sit out the dinner so I could get to know you without his interruptions. But, truly, Lex. Kidding aside, I am pleased you were able to join us tonight. Quaint little restaurant, isn’t it?”

Quaint , like it was a roadside maple syrup stand instead of the hardest-to-get-into restaurant within an hour radius. So that was how he going to play it. Disguise his disapproval with niceties so he looked like the good guy.

James fiddled with his cloth napkin.

Brooks sipped, rattled the ice against the glass, then flagged down the next server to walk by. “Another, at your convenience. And of course, something for my dining companions here. Brandy? Martini? Wine? I think wine, don’t you? A bottle for the table, sommelier’s choice.”

“Have you been to Vermont before?” I asked after the server left.

“Of course, we’ve often hosted business retreats in Killington and Manchester rather than Stowe. I’m no stranger to the state. Living here, though, that takes a special breed indeed.”

“Can we get through appetizers before you start attacking me and my guest?” James muttered.

“Oh, come now. Nobody is being attacked. It’s simply a matter of opinion.”

“And one my parents share, actually,” I said. I lowered my gaze in James’s direction. I was here to be a buffer, so that’s what I was going to do. “They’ve been trying to convince me to join them in California.”

“California? What a waste. Nothing worthwhile there unless you’re one of those tech start-ups looking to make a mark. No honest work in that. Conning people out of their hard-earned money for something so intangible as an idea. An idea , can you believe that?”

“Ah, we agree, then. I should absolutely not move to California.”

“Absolutely not.” He accepted a newly filled glass from the server, then gestured toward me when she waited for approval on the bottle. I nodded—I had no wine selection skills to back up my decision—then nudged my glass toward the server, who went through all the required pomp of pouring and waiting while I sniffed and sipped before she disappeared.

“Law, though. There’s an honest career. James, here, would have made a brilliant lawyer, but he chose to forge his own path. Step out on his own. Go it alone. Brave soul.” He leaned back in his seat and gestured with his glass. “Filmmaking. Now that’s a vocation made for California. I don’t know how one expects to pay the bills in a field based on the fickle whims of the population.”

“May I remind you,” James said, “that the documentary is a stepping stone, not a career. If everything goes in our favor, our current project could take care of the rest of the school loans Mom took out to cover my degree. We were invited to participate in a closed competition for documentarians, and if we win, the prize money will pay off her debt. She can stop paying for my mistakes with money we both know she doesn’t have.”

He spat the word, probably mimicking the same way it had been thrown at him. My head spun at the realization that the documentary wasn’t just a fun way to pass the time—the prize money would help James clear debts, or perhaps his conscience. I knew exactly what that felt like—after leaving college, I took over my school loans, determined to not let my parents hold the debt over my head because I hadn’t fulfilled their dreams for my future. And now with all my other financial obligations … I’d have already bought the bookstore and expanded in a heartbeat if I didn’t have a stack of bills mocking me from the countertop.

Meddling in James’s project didn’t feel quite so harmless anymore. Not when his reputation and his mother’s financial situation were at stake.

“Ah yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten about your honorable quest. She chose to take on those loans when you chose to ignore the stipulations I’d set for your education. I’d tell you to leave her to her decisions, but we both know you’ll never listen. Hell, if you’d taken my advice and studied something useful, at the school I’d determined as your best option, you’d have graduated without debt.”

His father had gone from secret jerk to total asshole in the span of a few sentences. James swallowed a couple of times, then reached for his water glass and nearly drained it in two sips. I looked between James and his father, both of whom were gripping the table edge and leveling sharp stares across at each other.

“Some things are more important than status, Dad. Like joy. I seek joy. That’s why I’m here, in this state, filming this documentary. I enjoy it and the life I’ve found, outside of your expectations.”

“So, Lex, what is it that you do here in snowy, joyful Vermont?” His father turned his head in my direction, but his eyes remained fixed on James.

“I manage a local business,” I said, then cleared my throat before continuing. “A bookstore. I’ve been doing my best to keep business chugging, but the owner is set on outdated business strategies. It’s a labor of love, I suppose.”

“Why on earth would one choose to go down with a ship that’s not even theirs? You seem like a smart girl. Why not simply open a competing business and run the other owner into the ground? If you can afford the cost of starting a business, of course.”

“Part of the draw is the physical location. It’s a welcoming building, perfectly positioned in the center of town.” James’s father sipped his bourbon and eyed me over the rim of the glass, his pinky finger pointed toward the ceiling and eyebrows aiming to follow suit. “However, I see your point. There may be value in the direct competition.”

“A woman with a head on her shoulders, James, good for you. I’ll be keeping an eye on her. And, Lex, any time you decide you’re ready to go into business for yourself and need to bounce some ideas off someone, I’m your man. Free advice goes a long way.”

The server slipped toward the table and clasped his hands in front of him, diffusing the situation just in time.

We savored our meals, James’s dad making a point to send his “heartfelt thanks” to the chef for a dish that “exceeded expectations,” but his tone hinted that the bar hadn’t been high. We indulged in a sweet dessert and digestif before gathering our coats from the coat check and heading out the door.

We had parked in a nearby lot and walked the short distance to the restaurant, but that was too pedestrian for James’s father. He instead presented a valet ticket and waited as the valet attendant searched for the appropriate key fob.

Somehow, the flashy designer leather and gold keychain was mundane against the sleek black and silver Mercedes key fob. He probably had a matching key chain to accompany his other keys—or at least one each for his vacation home and weekend convertible. The house probably had a bio-unlock feature that scanned his eyeball to allow admittance—no key necessary; can’t mess with the minimalist aesthetic.

“She purrs like a kitten, but she runs like a cheetah. Give her a little extra gas around those corners if you want to see what she’s got,” he told the valet, who ducked into the parking garage to retrieve the car with a promise that he’d return shortly.

As we waited for the car to come around, James rocked heel-to-toe as if he was anchored in place. His father’s posture mirrored James’s: hands in pockets and grim expression. The difference was that Brooks managed it without the slight inward curve of the shoulders or constant fidgeting.

Headlights flashed through the garage opening, car tires squeaking slightly as the valet accelerated, then again when he tapped the brakes harder than was necessary. The corners of his mouth turned upward, farther than should have been physically possible, when he exited the car.

“Was I wrong?” James’s father asked, nudging the valet with a fist.

“Not in the least,” the valet said, holding the door open. James’s father reached into his wallet and plucked a tip from inside. “For your attentive service this evening, thank you.”

The valet accepted the bills and returned to the podium while we said our goodbyes.

“I suppose you’ll expect the usual Christmas gift, then?” Brooks asked.

“It seems to be tradition at this point, why change anything?”

“If you insist.”

“Have a wonderful trip home,” James said. “Enjoy the holidays with Sheila. Or Pam? I’ve lost track. Best wishes for a healthy holiday season, either way.”

His father adjusted his coat and climbed into the vehicle and James pressed the door shut, double-patted the hood, then offered a quick two-finger salute. After rolling down the window halfway, he hunched to peer upward at James through the opening.

“This one’s not bad. I see potential in her. See if you can keep her around a bit.” He winked. “See you around, Lex.”

I sucked frigid air through my nose and into my lungs and fisted my hands in my pockets until my fingernails pressed little half-moons into my flesh.

“Don’t get lost,” James said, and his father glared through the driver’s window, then sped away from the scene—nearly curbing the tires in the process.

James spun toward me, fire in his eyes, and twined his fingers with mine. Keeping a strong front was the priority right now; I couldn’t let it show that I was freaking out inside about potentially ruining his shot at an important competition.

“Wow,” I said. “He’s … something.”

James pressed his fingertips to his temples.

“He’s so condescending,” I continued. “All of that ‘let me know if you want some free advice’ junk. Who does he think he is?”

He shrugged. “Most people love him.”

“What, they fall for that act? No way.”

“Growing up, it was all ‘you’re so lucky he’s your father, such a wonderful man.’ Like, they don’t know they’re being insulted until they’ve gone home and mulled, and even then, they assume they’re misremembering the tone. You held your own, though.” James swooped in and pressed his icy lips to mine.

“I might have nightmares tonight. Him, standing over me, telling me how ‘quaint’ my store is.”

“You know what might make it better? Dessert.”

“We just had mille-feuille, are you honestly still hungry?”

The gleam in his eye proved that he was in fact still hungry. But two scoops of chocolate in a waffle cone wasn’t going to sate his appetite.

He started walking along the salt-strewn sidewalk, and when the distance between us stretched far enough to tug my arm gently, I quick-stepped to catch up. We walked side by side, the chunks of rock salt crunching beneath our footwear that was very obviously not meant for icy sidewalks.

“Is that why you left New York?”

“Because of my father? No, I figured out how to deal with him a long time ago.”

“So why did you leave, then?

James stopped, faced me, then grasped both of my hands in his. He closed his eyes and sighed, then looked me in the eye. “Have you ever felt like there’s somewhere else you’re meant to be? Like, where you are isn’t where you’re supposed to end up?”

“I’m one hundred percent sure I’m exactly where I need to be. This place is who I am.”

“And you’ve always been sure?”

I pulled my hands away and waved them through the air, showing off the falling snowflakes and strings of colorful lights twined around the vintage-style street lamps. “Where else could you get this small-town charm? Though for some reason, I seem to be the only person who can be content here—nobody else, my family included, has had any trouble picking up and taking off.”

“What about travel, then?”

I huffed a laugh. “The best part of traveling is knowing that I can go home when I’m done.”

“Well, I’ve never had that. The feeling of coming home. I had a house; I had a job. I had a family that, for better or worse, loved me … I guess. But none of that felt like home. So, I keep looking for that feeling in my chest. The one that says, ‘Hey, this is it. This is where you belong.’ I figure if I try enough cities, one of them will speak to me.”

I scuffed a toe through the grit and gravel that had built up on the sidewalk and locked my eyes on the trail my shoe left behind. “So, you’re just going to keep on going until something feels right, then?”

James reached for my hand again, but I kept my fists tightly bunched. He was always going to be a moment away from taking off to some new, exciting location. Hunting that feeling of home. I got the draw—I hadn’t even made it through college before crawling back home, back to where my heart pulled. I craved safe, while adventure called him at every turn.

“Can we just head back?” I asked. “Maybe, uh, watch a movie at your place?”

“Movie at my place it is.” James brushed his gloved fingertips against the back of my hand, and this time I opened my palm to him so he could lace his fingers within mine again. We strolled toward the car at a carefree pace, shoulders bumping into each other as we walked.

“So, what’s the usual Christmas gift?” I asked.

James chuckled and his jaw tightened as he smiled. “I make him donate to a literacy program for people who are incarcerated. It goes against everything he believes in—you know, basic decency, human rights, encouraging critical thinking and education. So, they get a ten thousand dollar check every year, and I’ve asked them to slap my father’s name on the donor list instead of mine. Which means, he gets thank you notes from the people receiving the books. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

My heart warmed enough to melt through the wall of ice I’d been trying to build around it. Falling for this guy—hard—was inevitable.