The Asheville Christmas Tradition (Carolina Christmas #4)

3. Hannah

Despite her efforts, which included a ghastly wardrobe choice, even the annual “ugly holiday sweater” party didn’t put Hannah in the Christmas mood. Still, she tried to sink into the spirit in the Copper Creek Elementary School cafeteria, which was somehow different when it was hosting raucous adults instead of starving students.

Cruising through the crowd, Hannah tasted the mediocre appetizers, laughed at some cringeworthy Christmas clothes worn by her fellow teachers, and dug deep for the holiday magic that had completely eluded her this year.

Even the first-year Spanish teacher’s knit top featuring dancing Chihuahuas and the words “Feliz Naughty Dogs” failed to do the trick.

Unlike every other year, Hannah was having a blue, blue Christmas and, deep inside, she knew why.

The one thing she’d wanted under her tree—had wanted for nearly a decade—would not be there yet again.

Maybe that was why she’d actually chosen not to get a tree at all, instead encouraging her boyfriend to put one up at his place. That spared her the pain of looking at it for a month and knowing…there wouldn’t be an engagement this year, either.

And speaking of Keith—where was he?

He said he’d be here after work at his body shop, and warned her he’d be ten, maybe fifteen minutes late for the seven p.m. starting time.

But it was nearly eight and she hadn’t heard a word from him.

“And where’s your husband, dear?”

Hannah turned at the question, posed by Nancy Arcuni, the woman who’d run the elementary school front office since Hannah herself had been a student here. That meant she should know that Keith was not Hannah’s husband .

“You mean my boyfriend, Nancy? He’s late.”

Her well-creased expression softened. “Honey, you’ve been with that man forever. Why aren’t you married?”

Hannah gave a soft laugh at the unsubtle question. “I’m in no rush.”

A gray brow shot up. “I’d tie that man down,” she said. “He’s not bad-looking, if you like the Prince Harry type.”

Prince Harry? Keith had auburn hair and his beard came in red. That’s about where his similarity to British royalty ended.

“Don’t you want to get married?” Nancy asked.

Yes , Hannah nearly screamed over the guffaws of laughter from the music teachers, who always seemed to have so much fun at these things.

“It’s a different world now, Nancy,” she said instead. “Marriage is merely a piece of paper.”

Nancy gave an unladylike snort. “Not for my Frankie. You know, we got engaged after knowing each other exactly one month and five days. It’s true,” she said when Hannah looked dubious, even though she’d heard the story before. “He came out to my father’s farm up near Boone to work one summer. Oh, he was dreamy, too. He was the nephew of a neighbor, an Eye-talian boy from New York City. He said he took one look at me in the hayloft and knew he’d met his wife—and we were seventeen years old.”

“And you’ve been married how long, Nancy?”

She gave a sweet smile. “Fifty-two years this January.”

“Oh, wow.” Hannah sighed. “I’ll never see that anniversary.” At this rate, she’d never see any anniversary.

“Then rope that man down, Hannah MacPherson,” Nancy said. “You just tell him that time’s a-wastin’ and you’re not getting any younger.”

“It’s fine,” she said, glancing toward the door again with a kick of frustration—for his lateness, for his unwillingness to commit, and for making her have this conversation.

“Is it fine, though?” Nancy countered. “Because you don’t seem fine. I think you’re just accepting crumbs and I guess some women will do that, but if you were my granddaughter? I’d say throw those crumbs in the trash and find something fresh and ready.” She leaned in, gray eyes narrowing behind her rimless glasses. “You’re a pretty girl with a wonderful personality. Don’t take crumbs, Hannah.”

Hannah managed a smile and checked the clock to see Keith was officially one hour late. No call, no excuse, no explanation.

“I think I’m going to take off,” Hannah said, backing away from Nancy. “We have class bright and early tomorrow and those kids are restless so close to winter break.”

Before Nancy could answer, a few other teachers joined them, so Hannah used the chance to slip away. With a few more quick goodbyes, she stopped at the coat room to get her jacket and walked toward the parking lot doors.

Just as she reached for one, it popped open and there was Keith.

“Oh, there you are. I was just leaving,” she said.

“You are?” he asked, surprised. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. We got a few last-minute drop-ins at the shop and I stayed open to take care of them.”

She’d heard the excuse a million times—the only body shop for miles was always busy and Keith liked to handle his customers personally.

“It’s fine,” she said, vaguely realizing it might have been the tenth time in an hour that she’d uttered those words. And to be honest? It wasn’t fine. “I’m ready to leave.”

He looked past her, cringing as he scanned the crowd. “Whoa, the ugly sweater brigade is out in full force.” He tipped his head to her black and white Santa pullover with a row of tiny red ornaments around the shoulders. “And you’re doing your bit, I see.”

She wasn’t in the mood. “Yeah. Anyway, I’m going home.”

“Home?” He blocked her way. “Nope, not going to let you. I know you enjoy this party and I’m sorry I’m late, but I want to say hi to your work friends. Look, I see that P.E. teacher—what’s his name?”

“Jack Bellingam.”

“Right, right. Jack. C’mon, let’s say hi to people.”

She took a breath, thought about socializing, but something stopped her.

Crumbs .

She was accepting crumbs from him, just like Nancy said. Keith knew when Hannah was disappointed in him, and he always managed to charm or sweet-talk his way out of it. And she accepted crumbs.

“No, let’s not,” she said. “I’m super tired and I have work tomorrow.”

“They all do.” He made a face. “Why do teachers have these things on school nights, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but…” She gestured to the door. “I’m taking off.”

“All right. Suit yourself.” He followed her out the door, draping an arm over her shoulders. “Come over to my house for a while. We can chill and watch TV. Or we could finally decorate that dumb tree you made me get.”

“I just want to go home,” she said, not in the mood for an argument. For anything, to be honest. And really not in the mood to hang ornaments on his Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

He walked to her car quietly and when she pulled out her keys, he turned her and forced her to look up at him.

“How long am I going to be in the doghouse for being an hour late tonight?” he asked.

“You’re not…” She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “I don’t care that you were late. Well, I do, but it’s just indicative of a bigger problem.”

“A problem?” He stuck his hands in his parka pockets and stared down at her. “You gonna tell me what it is?”

“You know what it is,” she said, knowing that this conversation could only lead to his usual excuses…

It’s just a piece of paper.

I want to live with you first.

We’re together and that’s all that matters.

My parents’ marriage was a disaster.

He had an answer for every argument, always ending with, “What difference does it make, Hannah, if we love each other?”

“I don’t want to fight tonight,” she said, eyeing her little hatchback like it was the getaway car from a bank robbery and she needed to be in it.

“I had no idea we were in a fight,” he countered. “What the heck is eating at you?”

She inhaled and looked up at him, taking in the features she had always found comforting and sweet, if not the most handsome man in the world. She didn’t need handsome—she needed a husband.

No, no, she didn’t need a husband, but she wanted one.

“Keith, I’m thirty-four years old.”

“I told you I don’t want kids,” he shot back, no question at all about why she’d state her age. “You’ve known that from day one. I had bad, bad role models and I’m not equipped?—”

“But what if I do?” she fired back. “What if I want kids and marriage and all that…stuff?”

He studied her for a long time, a little storm of emotion in his eyes. “I’d say you’d changed. You told me you were fine with no kids. Okay with no piece of paper. And I told you I will happily live with you. Move in tomorrow and we can call it.”

“Call it… what ?”

“Living together.”

She curled her lip.

“I know, I know,” he said. “Your Christian dad hates that. It would break his heart. I’ve heard it all.”

It would break her heart, too. “Aren’t I good enough to marry?” she asked on an uncomfortable whisper, the echo of Nancy’s love story reverberating in her brain.

“Hannah,” he groaned her name. “I love you. You know I love you. I’ve never been with another woman in, what, ten years?”

“Eleven.”

“Even better. That’s a long time for me.”

“It’s called a commitment, Keith. You don’t get a medal for not cheating on me for eleven years.”

He looked skyward. “It’s my way of showing you how much you mean to me, Hannah.”

“What about marriage?”

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t believe in it. Can’t do it, don’t want it, and won’t try it.”

She felt her shoulders drop with the weight of his stubborn decision. Yes, she knew his parents had an acrimonious divorce that had gone on for years and made most of his childhood absolutely horrendous. His father had poisoned him against marriage, but in almost every other way, Keith was a good man.

Frequently late and stingy with compliments, but good.

Anyway, if he wouldn’t marry her, what other way even mattered?

“I want to go home,” she repeated on a defeated sigh. “I’m tired and I don’t want to have this conversation anymore.”

He stepped back so she could get in the car. As her fingers closed over the handle and she opened the door herself, a bone-deep sadness pressed on her.

Sometimes when he didn’t do things like open a car door for her, it hurt in the stupidest and most real way.

“Good night, Keith.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said as she closed the door.

This was just about the closest they ever got to a real fight. He was too chill to argue, but also too chill to care.

Too chill to fight for her or…marry her.

She got home to an empty apartment, dark and quiet and lonely that night. Why had she given up on the Christmas tree this year? Just because it seemed sad to decorate it alone or hang a star and have no one appreciate the effort? She should have one to make things cheerier.

But there was no tree, no garlands, no Nativity scene, and not a sprig of mistletoe in sight. Hannah had gone on strike this Christmas, and now she was paying the price with sad surroundings and a heavy heart.

So she stripped out of her ugly top, showered, and put on flannel pajamas, taking her laptop to bed.

There, she just made herself more miserable by tapping on the Pinterest icon and revisiting her hidden and old—five years now, at least—fantasy wedding page. There’d been a time when she was certain she’d change Keith’s mind about marriage.

Over time, she’d slipped into his mindset, agreeing that they were together no matter what. She bought into the “marriage is only a legality” hogwash, just to please him. And, yes, she said she couldn’t move in with him because it would break her father’s heart and maybe her mother’s—if she was watching from heaven.

But the truth was that living together was a compromise she didn’t want to make. So she lived like this, accepting the status quo and surviving on…crumbs.

How could she possibly celebrate the season when her heart was so empty, so heavy, and so sad?