It’s not full forgiveness, but it’s an opening, and I’ll take it.
I’d like to patch this up before we get to my parents’ house, but I bite my tongue. Everything I’ve said during this drive has replaced my shovel with a backhoe, and the hole I’ve been digging is halfway to China. The best thing I can do right now is to shut up.
So, I clamp my jaw and make a private vow: I’ll let Finley have her Hollybrook Christmas. I’ll keep my hands—and my feelings—reined in. I’ll be the solid, non-threatening “boyfriend” my family and Finley expect.
That’s what we agreed to, right?
Chapter Eight
Finley
This is a mistake.
I’d never flown before, but I wasn’t nervous until Mirna filled my head with all the terrible things that could happen on an airplane. The airports were crowded; the guy next to me on my flight to Atlanta was manspreading as though airing out his junk; and the second plane was so small, I was sure we were going to crash into the side of a mountain.
As soon as the plane landed, I was beyond relieved I’d made it to Vermont alive. And then when I stepped out and saw the snow, I stopped in my tracks.
It was beautiful.
All my apprehension about coming here momentarily faded as I took in the snow-covered landscape and the falling snow. Sure, the view of the airport wasn’t breathtaking, but it still felt magical. Full of promise.
And then I saw Alex and it was like the magic had swept into the airport terminal too. He stood in the middle of the lobby, watching me with an intensity I felt to my marrow.
And for a few seconds, this felt real. Like I was really his girlfriend, and he was taking me to meet his family.
Until reality hit.
He would never date me? Because I work in a coffee shop?
What?
I can see that he’s nervous about what we’re doing, but it never occurred to me that part of the reason he’s nervous is because he’s embarrassed about who I am. Or rather who I’m not.
I’m nothing like the woman who came in that day to get his coffee. I’m not super-model beautiful, and I don’t have a high-power career, but I’m damned proud of who I am and what I’ve accomplished despite my circumstances.
How dare he think less of me because of my job?
I nearly told him to turn around and send me home, but he claims there aren’t any flights until tomorrow. Which means I’m here tonight anyway, and since he told me days ago there aren’t any available hotel rooms, I’m stuck with him for the night.
But I can’t get over my overwhelming disappointment in him. I thought he was a decent person. Turns out he’s more like his ex-girlfriend than I thought.
Some of my disappointment fades as we drive into town, though. The streets are clear, despite the continuing snowfall, but the ground is covered with multiple inches of fluffy snow sparkling in the glow of the streetlights. Houses line the two-lane road, every one of them lit up with Christmas lights and explosions of decorations. Most are older, in Bavarian- or Tudor-themed architecture, along with some Victorian and Cape Code thrown in for good measure. They’re all freshly painted and so well taken care of that it looks like a movie set and not a real town.
But as I take it in, my heart wrenches. Mom would have loved this place.
Alex drives several blocks and then turns onto another street of older homes, these larger than the ones we just passed. After he goes several more blocks, he pulls into the driveway of a two-story Victorian. There’s a wraparound porch and even a turret with a small window at the top.
I’m completely enchanted. White lights line the porch and roof lines. Evergreen swags are wrapped around the porch railings, and there are two evergreen wreaths with red ribbons and white lights hanging on the double glass front doors. Several animated reindeer are in the front yard, also covered in white lights.
I gape at the house in wonder. I’ve spent the last few days imagining what Alex’s house looks like, and while I suspected it was older and charming, this exceeds my expectations.
A new fear hits me. If his family can own a house like this, then maybe they’re as snobbish as he’s insinuated.
Alex pulls behind a Honda Accord, turns off the engine, then he turns to face me with a sad smile. “I’m really sorry, Finley,” he says looking sincere. “Can we try to start over again?”
I turn to him, my resolve softening, but I’m still hurt and disappointed. “I’m not going to lie about who I am, Alex.”
He shakes his head. “I know I’ve insulted you. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just the women I’ve dated?—”
