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His father had made his mother unhappy. His father had disappointed their mother. He knew. He knew because he’d read letters she’d written, letters she’d hidden away but he—the writer and reader in the family—had found them and read them all and her anguish scared him. She regretted her choices. Regretted her marriage. Regretted even motherhood.
She loved her sons but she would have been better alone. She would have been better a teacher or a social worker. She would have done something positive with her life…
And so that night at dinner, the ring remained in Cormac’s coat pocket. He never proposed. Whitney never even knew he’d planned on proposing.
He broke up just days later. She was devastated. She’d loved him. He knew she’d loved him and had wanted to spend her life with him.
He retreated to escape her pain. She fought for him. So he pushed her away, hard. They were not a couple. They would never be a couple. He was her boss. She was his subordinate. That’s all they were. End of story.
This time it worked. She stopped reaching out. She turned in her notice. She tried to move on.
Right around then, April and Daryl decided to renew their vows now that Daryl was back from Afghanistan. They asked Cormac and Whitney to join them in Last Vegas for the ceremony.
They’d had a courthouse wedding the first time. This time they wanted Las Vegas pomp and so Cormac was to be Daryl’s best man and Whitney, the Maid of Honor.
Unthinkable such tragedy for what had been a joyous day. And no matter what others said, he couldn’t seem to forgive himself for surviving, walking away from the accident unscathed.
It was years before he realized he was wrong. He hadn’t escaped the accident unscathed. He lived with guilt, endless guilt, for not being in the limo at the time of the crash, because maybe if he’d been there he could have done something for the others. Or maybe, if he’d died, Daryl and April might have lived and Daisy would have been raised by her real parents.
*
It wasn’t until she reached her room that Whitney realized she was still carrying the to-go bag with Daisy’s kid pizza.
Whitney texted Cormac letting him know she had the pizza and did he want her to drop it off at the front desk, or…?
He replied that Daisy would probably snack on a slice before bed and would Whitney mind bringing it to the room? He sent her his room number.
Whitney took the stairs up a floor and walked down the hall to the room with the sign Copper Mountain Suite. He had a little doorbell and she pressed it.
Cormac opened the door a few moments later, his blue plaid shirt all the way unbuttoned revealing an impressive chest with pecs that gave way to an even more impressive set of six pack abs.
She tried not to stare at his torso. He’d always carried muscle but he looked even better now than she remembered. All that muscle…all that tan skin…
She held the bag out. “Pizza,” she sang, trying to cover the fact that she was a tad flustered by his very appealing body.
“Thank you,” he said, his deep voice husky and gravelly, putting vivid pictures in her head.
Heat surged through her. Her skin felt hot all over. “My pleasure,” she said tightly.
“I feel like I should tip you…or something.”
She heard the way he paused and then his inflection when he said or something. Her imagination was working overtime. She could only think hot and sexy thoughts.
Suddenly he leaned forward and slid his hand behind her head. His head dropped and his lips covered hers.
It wasn’t a shy or tentative kiss. His lips were firm and warm and he kissed her as if he knew her, and remembered her and she shivered because it felt so right, even though it was so wrong.
She couldn’t kiss him, shouldn’t kiss him, and yet the pressure of his lips was achingly familiar. She lifted a hand to his cheek, breathing him in, her heart hurting. She’d once loved him so much. She’d never been happier than with him. As the kiss deepened her eyes burned and her chest squeezed tight.
Lock this away, she told herself, save the memory but end it now…
You must end this now.
And she did. She drew back, crossing her arms over her chest as if to protect her heart. She felt shattered and she didn’t know why. He was the past. The past. And there was no place for him in the present.
Couldn’t be.
She curled her fingers into fists, nails digging into her palms. “That was wrong.”
He didn’t look at all apologetic. “So wrong but so right,” he countered, leaning against the doorframe, his huge body dwarfing her.
“No.” She hardened her voice. “And that can’t happen again.” She sounded flinty to her own ears. “I’m not single. Not available. And not interested in you.”
“You kissed me back.”
She swallowed hard. “It was the wine.”
“It wasn’t the wine. You had one glass.”
“I’m a lightweight.”
“You’re a liar, and I could prove you wrong right now—”
“And I’d hate you,” she interrupted hoarsely. “Do we really want to go there? Do we need to ruin everything?” She turned around and walked away, eyes burning like mad, chest on fire.
Chapter Nine
‡
She spent way too long trying to fall asleep that night. Whitney tossed and turned trying to get comfortable, trying to relax, trying not to think of the kiss.
And yet at the same time, that kiss was all she wanted to think about. She wanted to let herself feel it…because it was amazing. She hadn’t wanted it to end, which is what scared her. Jason was a decent kisser but he didn’t make her pulse pound or her body come alive.
He didn’t make her heart ache.
He didn’t make her want…or hope.
While Cormac made her want so much…
Still.
She bunched her pillow beneath her cheek, squeezing it tight, squeezing all the emotion she was feeling into a little ball, before locking it inside.
It took her another hour to fall asleep, and when she did, her sleep was fitful at best.
She dreamed of Daisy and Cormac all night long. Some of the dreams were sweet and some of the dreams were strangely realistic but others were filled with angst and anxiety, dreams where Cormac was getting married and Daisy was the flower girl and then Cormac’s bride turned and she was very pregnant with a huge baby bump and Cormac was looking at Whitney mouthing sorry.
Waking from the last dream, Whitney rolled over onto her side and pulled the covers high up her chest and laid there, pulse pounding and heartsick.
It was too much being here in the in the same hotel with him. It was too much spending alone time with him. Too much going to movies and having dinner and walking with Daisy as if they were together…a family…
But they weren’t. She didn’t belong.
She had to do something to end the familiarity and intimacy. Needed to create distance and space so that her first thought in the morning and her last thought at night was not about him.
If he was going to be staying here at the Graff until his house was read
y, she needed to find someplace else to live. This wouldn’t work, bumping into each other all the time. It might be convenient from a business standpoint, but she’d much rather have to rent a car or walk across town, than run into Cormac every time she turned around.
Eventually Whitney fell back asleep and when she woke again it was bright outside, the sun playing peek-a-boo from behind gray clouds.
This time she couldn’t remember her dreams and she was glad. She was also glad it was morning so she could get up and get going and find a place to stay that would be her place, not Cormac’s.
After showering and dressing, Whitney grabbed a copy of The Copper Mountain Courier, the local newspaper, from the front desk and skipped down the front steps of the hotel to get breakfast on Main Street.
She ended up at Main Street Diner across from Marietta’s old courthouse, but was surprised at how busy the diner was, considering it was a sleepy November morning. Not wanting to wait for a table, Whitney took a seat at the counter.
She ordered eggs and bacon and a cup of coffee and sipped the coffee while reading the paper waiting for her breakfast to arrive. Snow was in the forecast, the storm expecting to dump a good foot or two in the coming days.
She read the article on the front page of the community section about the parade next weekend and then a piece on the Marietta Stroll the weekend after. This year the gingerbread house competition would be held at the Graff instead of the bank.
Whitney enjoyed the small town news. So different from what she was used to reading at home.
Turning to the classified section, she skimmed the ads looking at furnished studio apartments and Rooms for Rent. There wasn’t much available, at least not on a short-term basis.
“Mind if I join you?” A deep voice asked at her elbow.
She glanced up to discover Kris Krinkles at her side. This morning he was dressed in a cherry red flannel shirt, sturdy dark denim jeans, and heavy boots. With his full snowy beard, thick white hair, and friendly blue eyes he looked like the real thing. He made her wish he were the real thing. Wouldn’t life be better if there was a real Santa Claus and magic hats that could bring snowmen to life?
“Please do,” she said, folding her newspaper in half so it’d take up less room. “It’d be great to have some company.”
