His Heart for Christmas (Love is Back in Mistwood Hollow #1)

Chapter 10 - Josh

I’m so tired of seeing her fucking fake smile. Every time she forces it, with hurt and sadness in her eyes, her dimple missing, I feel like shit. I don’t know what it was. We had an amazing night together. I felt safe opening up to her about all my baggage.

Then I woke up and felt someone against me and was happy. Emma’s perfume had filled my senses, her warm, soft body against mine made me smile, which instantly made me feel guilty. I felt like I betrayed Cara. My wife was the one who was always up before I could enjoy the view of her in the morning. She laughed with me, remodeled the house with me, brought me out of my shell and being with anyone else ... it feels like a betrayal.

I’m not crazy. I know she’s gone, she passed away and there’s nothing that will change that, but now that she’s gone, I feel like being happy and moving on is a disservice to her memory.

Seeing Emma’s fake smile is at war with that, though. I feel like I snuffed a candle, like the first time I caught a firefly and accidentally killed it as a kid. She deserves better. And I swore, I was sure, that if I didn’t see her every day, my feelings would dwindle.

Instead, my guilt has doubled over the last four days.

It was just supposed to be lust. That’s it. Just lust and nothing else, but as I get ready for the Christmas Eve celebration, she’s in every thought. I wonder if Emma will like the décor, if she’ll compliment the lights like she did before. If she’ll like how I’ve decorated the trees out front.

I want to know what she’s doing, if she’s happy, if she regrets being with me. Every second thought swirls around her and the farm feels colder without her in it.

Tony walks up to me and elbows me. “What’s going on with you?”

“What?” I demand.

He blinks at me for a moment. “That. I get you’re a hard ass and handle everything yourself, but you’ve been grouchy, even for you lately.”

“None of your business,” I dismiss.

“You know people have been talking. You go from almost nice to ... well, this, when Emma left,” Tony continues.

“I’m not interested in rumors,” I answer while adjusting some of the light up present decorations.

“But you’re starring in these,” Tony informs, handing me a stake. “They say that you and Emma were getting together, then something happened and that’s why you’re pissed and she’s not as bright and bubbly as normal.”

I pause mid-hammer. Closing my eyes, I sigh. “Have you talked to her?”

“So, the rumors are true!” He says loudly.

I finish pounding the stake into place and stand, towering over Tony. “Have you talked to her??”

“No, but I’ve seen her in the coffee shop next door. Generally, around this time of the day. She just stares at her phone a lot. She always smiles when someone talks to her, but it melts fast lately,” he says with a shrug. “Do you know something about it?”

“I'll go and get us a coffee,” I grunt.

I hate his sly smile. I give him a list of things to do, knowing he’ll get it done and go to the coffee shop. It’s been here for as long as I can remember, but doesn’t have the same clientele it used to. I’ve thought about buying the land they’re on to expand my tree growing, but I don’t want to step on toes, and I have no idea what to do with a coffee shop.

When I walk in, some conversations end and eyes turn in my direction, confirming what Tony said about rumors. A few women still eye-fuck me blatantly, but I ignore them and head to the counter. I order a black coffee for myself and a mocha latte for Tony.

While I wait for my order, I see Emma in a corner and my heart skips a few beats. She takes slow sips of her coffee as she looks over something on her phone. There’s no trace of her normal happiness on her face.

Someone says something to her and she forces her smile – no dimple – just like at my house. I hate it. My heart aches to fix it, but I know I need to be all in with her and I’m not sure I can be. I want to be, but all I can think about is my wife.

I promised I’d love her until death. There was no specification for if she died first. When the person walks away, Emma meets my gaze. Her hazel eyes are darker today. She swallows, forces a gentle smile, then grabs her coffee and leaves.

We’re not okay. She and I aren’t close to okay, even if she walked out as if we’d be able to be friends, I know I hurt her. In her eyes, I used her for sex to get over the last six and a half years of celibacy and tossed her to the side.

I want to tell her it’s because I’m torn. Because I feel guilty, because everything feels wrong when she feels right in my arms.

“You know, I heard she asked him out and he said no,” I hear someone whisper.

“Well, is she surprised?”

“You didn’t see them at the tree farm. He couldn’t rip his eyes away from her. I haven’t seen him like that since ... Cara,” a woman says.

I glower at her and she shuts up. No matter how I react to what I hear, this is complicated and people have to mind their fucking business. I grab my drinks, deliver them to Tony next door, and throw myself into finishing everything up for the celebration.

Then, I head to the cemetery. I set some fresh flowers on my wife’s grave and gently stroke her name. “I’d want you to find love again if the roles were reversed, baby.”

There’s no answer, there never is. But being here brings me peace. I swallow. “You know I always wanted a full life with you, kids, a real future and I’ve done nothing in the last six years. No traveling, barely keeping up with the house, coming here rather than going on dates ... but I think it’s time.”

I take a slow breath. “I loved you, will always love your memory, but ... but I think I’m missing out on things here by thinking about how different things could be. I’m missing out on someone who makes me happy, who’s patient, who’s so warm and bubbly and sweet. I want to be better for her.”

Cara never answers me. I don’t believe in ghosts because she’s never given me a sign, but the fact I don’t dream of her, I dream of Emma instead, sets my mind clear.

As I head back home and take care of more things for the celebration in the morning, I think of her.

She’s too wonderful to overlook and if I keep dragging my feet, if I keep finding obstacles to put in my way, I’ll miss out on her, miss out on life itself, and ... and I don’t deserve to be punished for what happened to my wife. I deserve to live, to love, to pursue my dreams and have a say in my own existence. And I’m going to. Starting tonight.