A smile touched her lips.
It faded slightly, taking a bit of my hope with it when she spotted me standing behind the reservation counter.
“Oh. I thought you’d be out to dinner. I tried texting, but the service in this town stinks. If I was staying, I’d switch providers. Maybe get a satellite phone. I hear they work well in the mountains.” She cleared her throat; cheeks flushing their telltale pinkish hue. Removing her mittens, she reached into the canvas tote bag slung over her shoulder and removed afolded piece of paper. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I was going to leave you a note.”
Notes were bad news. No one wanted a note. I hadn’t expected her to turn me down, and now I faced the realization I never had any leverage because I had no intention of revealing her secret. Some blackmailer I turned out to be.
She stepped up to the counter but didn’t hand over the paper. Instead, she furrowed her brow and stared at my dinner. Nope—Thiswas officially rock bottom. Beneath the lake of gelatinous gravy was a sandy bed of shame where people you care about discover you’re eating Thanksgiving dinner alone.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I quipped, tossing back the same phrase she’d said when I caught her in the antique shop.
“It never is, is it?” Her hand dipped into the canvas bag a second time and she pulled out a large plastic container. Setting it on the counter, she removed the lid. “I felt bad for whoever was stuck working the reservation desk, so I grabbed some leftovers. My dad makes a mean turkey, and my mom handles the sweet potatoes.”
“What did you make?” I asked, my voice unusually hoarse.
She pointed to the thick dollop of jellied berries. “The cranberry sauce. I promise it’s not from a can.”
She could have popped it out of a can and sliced it into cubes, and it was still going to be the best thing I’d ever eaten. But homemade? There were no words.
“Here, I’ll save you a trip to the microwave.”
She walked over to the hearth and held her hands in front of the flames. The warm glow of the fire flickered over her slenderframe and made her blonde hair gleam. Years had passed, and I found I was still as drawn to her as I’d always been. It wasn’t difficult to imagine our lives turning out another way. But this wasn’t one of those sappy holiday movies where a glimpse into an alternate future was enough to fix the past.
After a minute, she returned and placed her palms around the plastic container until steam rose from the inside. “It’s the witchy version of heat conduction. Careful, it’s hot.”
I speared a piece of turkey and slid it through the cranberry sauce. My eyes widened at the first bite, and I had to control a groan of pleasure. How could such a simple combination of food taste like a feeling?
Slow down…savor it.
“I remember your warming trick. Your toes were freezing, and you warmed your boots after each ski lesson. I wouldn’t let you touch mine.”
“Because you thought I was going to melt the bindings!”
I shrugged. “They were expensive.”
The room settled into a restless quiet while I ate the leftovers. Our memories were a minefield. Watch your step or one might explode in your face.
Sage wandered the lobby, examining the finer details of my attempt at renovation, while I watched her, wondering when she was going to reveal her hand.
I wanted to know what she thought of the place. If she would have done anything different. Had I done the lodge justice? And most of all, would she believe me if I told her I hated the way things ended between us?
But I stayed quiet and savored the sweet potatoes, afraid if I asked the wrong question, she might leave.
The last bite came too quickly, like most good things, ending far before you were ready. Sage approached the counter.
“I don’t suppose you have any pie in that magic bag of yours?” I asked, half-joking, half the most serious I’d ever been in my life.
She rolled her eyes, and I nearly fell over when she removed a second container with a single slice of pumpkin pie.
“You’re greedy, you know that?”
“Comes with being a small-town degenerate. I can’t help myself.”
Flattening her lips into a thin line, she collected the empty container and put it back inside her bag. A few bites of pie and this whole charade would be over. I was almost afraid to finish it.
But then she surprised me.
“I decided I’m in. I accept your obvious attempt at blackmail.”
