That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Three

“Thanks for the tour.”

Ryan’s standing awfully close, but in her defense, this porch isn’t exactly huge. So I back up until I’m practically pressed against one of the Adirondack chairs.

Am I supposed to invite her in now? I honestly have no idea. It’s not like we were on a date. I was just killing a couple birds with one stone: buying Sara time to clean up any out-of-place decorations, and presenting Ryan with the very best our town has to offer future guests.

For the record, Abieville understood the assignment. And I’m not just talking about obvious stuff, like street lamps decked with garland and colored lights on every roof. She liked those things, sure. But what really impressed Ryan was something more subtle: all of Main Street smelled like Christmas.

Hot cocoa and candy canes and cinnamon.

I kept thinking, if I’d been there with Sara, I wouldn’t even feel like I’m missing out on the cruise. Who needs a mai tai when Spill the Tea offers peppermint mocha with whipped cream?

Okay, a mai tai doesn’t sound totally terrible.

My point is, Main Street gave us the holidays on steroids.

Afterward, Ryan and I drove across the bridge to check out the other side of the lake. The property at the Beachfront Inn isn’t exactly Rockefeller Plaza, but the big tree out front of the main lobby is always grand. And Thornton Tavern was packed for lunch. People were bustling in an out in pairs and small groups.

Man, I’d love to take Sara there.

“I must admit, I was impressed,” Ryan says, snapping me out of my fog. “Abieville is just the right combination of quaint and rustic. Very homey, even if it’s not your home.”

“I agree.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.” Even as I say this, though, the twinge behind my solar plexus suggests that may no longer be true.

If Sara’s feeling even a fraction of the things I am, I’d be willing to at least discuss seeing where this goes. Surely the New York City public school system could use another history teacher with a penchant for lifeguard shifts, swim lessons, and girls’ basketball.

A coach can dream, can’t he?

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Ryan says.

“Surprised by what?”

“That you love this town.”

“Ah, yes. I sure do.” I shift my weight, feeling … awkward. I’ve been putting on a show, trying to impress Ryan for Sara’s sake, but I’m still a man with a concussion who slept on a couch last night. I’m exhausted. And foggy.

And have I mentioned awkward?

“Anyway.” Ryan cranes her neck, trying to see between the curtains in the front window. “You’ve convinced me the town itself will attract Platinum Stays guests. I just hope the Hathaway’s home will meet our standards.”

“Oh, it will.” I tip my chin toward the yard. “Sara got the flamingoes and tiki torches put away, so I’m guessing she’s ready for us.”

Hold on for just a little longer. For Sara’s sake. Then the show can end.

I stick my arm out like I’ve seen the guys do in that over-the-top Netflix series my mom and sister are obsessed with. “Shall we go through?” I offer.

Bridgerton. That’s the name of the show.

Also, I’m still being awkward.

“That’s not a good idea.” Ryan pinches her lips.

“Oh, Sara won’t mind.” I drop my arm. “I’m sure she’s excited for you to see the house the way she expected to have it for you in the first place.”

“I’m not allowed to evaluate the property with the homeowners present.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that.” I duck my head. “Give me a minute, and I’ll grab Sara. We can wait for you out here.”

“Fine.” Ryan glances at the door. “If I do most of the evaluation today, I’ll only have to check the storage room on Wednesday.” She puffs out a breath, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe I let you talk me into driving back out here again. And on Christmas Eve, no less.”

“Well.” I offer her a small smile. “I’m grateful you’re willing.”

“You were very persuasive.” Ryan examines my face for a moment. “Your friend, Sara, must be very important to you.”

Friend. Right.

“She is.” I clear the gravel in my throat. “The most important.”

As the words come out, I realize I mean them. Deeply. Like, soul-deep. The truth is, I never got over Sara Hathaway. I don’t think I ever really tried. And no, I’m not kidding myself that she shares those same sentiments. But we have shared space nonstop for days now. We shared a kiss yesterday. We shared a couch overnight. We woke up with our bodies tangled together this morning.

In other words, I’m already more than somebody Sara used to go out with every summer. What I want to be now is more than the guy who broke her heart.

I can only hope that by convincing Ryan to give Sara another chance, I’ve also convinced Sara to see me as someone she might be able to trust again. Instead, I find her in the living room, shoulders slumped, spirit deflated.

“Hey.” I glance around checking for what could’ve gone wrong. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” she says, but she’s not making eye contact. “How was the tour?”

“Good.” My chest is tight. I quickly survey the room, including a peek into the den and kitchen. “Looks like you were able to get things back to normal. Ryan says if we wait outside, she can evaluate the place right now. Everything but the storage room.” I reach down to help Sara up, but she stands on her own, ignoring my hand. Then she heads outside, wordlessly. Uh-oh.

I wait for Ryan to move inside with her clipboard at the ready, then I turn toward Sara. “You sure you’re okay?”

She drops into one of the Adirondack chairs with a sigh. “I guess I didn’t love the fact that you begged to squire Ryan Detweiler around Abieville while I was stuck here cleaning.”

I cough out a laugh. “I begged to squire her?”

“You know what I mean.” Sara’s voice is wobbly. “You flirted all over that woman like … like a big ball of flirt.”

At the risk of upsetting Sara more, I let out another small laugh. “I was just being friendly, and my friendliness worked. Ryan’s inside right now, hopefully finding the house acceptable for Platinum Stays.”

“So.” Sara’s voice is soft. Almost a whisper. “You admit it was a strategy.” She lifts her chin, swallows hard.

Hold on.

Is she … jealous?

I won’t lie, my chest expands at the possibility. And I’m not proud of it—in fact I should be ashamed of myself—but I kind of like what this side of Sara Hathaway reveals. Even if she can’t say the words out loud, the look on her face tells me she doesn’t want to see me with anybody else. Which could work out well, since I don’t want to see myself with anybody else either.

Even simpler, I don’t want to see anyone else. Or date anyone else. Kiss anyone else. Hold anyone else but Sara in my—well, you get the picture.

“I swear I was only trying to help you,” I say. “And for the record, Ryan Detweiler knows I’m not interested. At all.”

Sara blinks up at me. “How?”

“How what?”

“How did she know you weren’t interested at all after you waved your … friendliness all over her?”

I bite back a chuckle. “For the record, I behaved like a total gentleman. And she knew I wasn’t interested, because the entire two hours we were together, I couldn’t stop talking about you.”

Sara gulps. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“You talked about me for two straight hours?”

“Pretty much.” I incline my head toward the chair beside hers. “May I?” When she nods, I take a seat, turning to face her. “Everywhere we went today, I had a story about you.”

“Really?” Sara’s cheeks pink up. “That was probably … pretty annoying for her.”

“On the contrary,” I say. “She told me all my anecdotes brought Abieville to life. That she could see young people, engaged couples, honeymooners, families, older folks on their anniversaries coming to this town for the quaintness. The romance. The happiness. I really sold her on the story. And the story was us.”

Sara draws in a long breath. “Us?”

I meet her gaze. “Yes. I just wish … I wish there was a different ending.”

“Oh.”

My heart starts rattling in my chest. This is as close as I’ve ever gotten to admitting I made a mistake when I pushed her away. Can’t get much closer without saying the actual words.

So maybe it’s time I told her the whole truth.

“Sara, there’s something you should know.” I pause to clear the cotton in my throat. “About our last day together. That last summer …” I let my voice trail off, fumbling for the right words, as my phone starts ringing. Volume on high.

When I don’t make a move to check it, Sara’s gaze flits to my pocket. “It could be your family calling from the ship,” she says. “Or your doctor confirming your appointment. It could be important, Three.”

My jaw shifts. “ You’re important.”

“I’m also not going anywhere.”

“Fine.” I dig in my pocket and pull out my phone. When I see the name my chest caves in.

“So.” Sara shoots a glance at the screen. “Who’s calling?”

“Preston Bender.”

“Who’s that?”

“The sheriff.”