Page 82 of Not Home Alone

“I want to walk,” she snaps.

“Then I will walk with you, hang on.” I grab my coat from the closet. Did I turn off the waffle maker? Is the stove on? I don’t think I turned on the stove. “I’ll be right there, I gotta check something!”

By the time I’ve made sure that all small kitchen appliances are unplugged or turned off and headed out the front door, Merrily is already a block away.

Why the hell did I decide to show her I care again? Because this sucks. Old Me would be blasting Zeppelin and knocking back scotch right now. New Me is burning homemade waffles and literally running after the woman I love to beg her to listen to me.

Dammit.

That’s why I decided to show her I care. Because I love her. Because I love her more than anyone I know.

When I catch up to her, I put my arm around her shoulder. She’s hunched over with her arms crossed and she looks so sad it’s breaking my heart. “Merrily. I asked you to believe that I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t. That’s the last thing I want. I was waiting for the right time to tell you so we can figure this out. Together. Let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t need to hear excuses, Grant,” she says softly. “Joy told me about your dilemma, and I understand. I’m just really sad.”

Somehow, the fact that she isn’t fighting with me right now is even worse. “It’s not fine, and I’m not giving you excuses, Merrily. I want to tell you the truth and work this out. I am not leaving you. I didn’t choose the company over you. I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” I take her hand, and she laces her fingers with mine, which is a relief, but she won’t look at me. “If I don’t take over the company, my dad will sell it to this guy, Voss. He will gut the manufacturing business, outsource it. That’s hundreds of jobs gone. Main Street properties will be sold to big out-of-town developers. Your dad’s store… I’ve been trying to figure out how to stay with you and save the company and this town.” Blowing out a frustrated breath, I say, “And I didn’t tell you sooner because this thing between us was the one thing in my life that felt good. I’m sorry.”

She finally looks over at me and stops walking. “I get it.”

I lift her chin with a curved index finger and kiss her. Thank god I get to kiss her again. “I wanted this time with you, even if it might end. I wanted you to know me, even if it’s only for two weeks.” I kiss her all over her beautiful, sad face, and then I rest my forehead against hers. “I don’t want this to end, Tucker,” I tell her.

Merrily exhales so loudly, caressing the back of my neck with one hand, grabbing onto my coat with the other. She kisses me so frantically it scares me. It feels like a last kiss, and this can’t be a last kiss. I haven’t even made her my first good homemade waffle yet.

She pulls away from me, kind of dramatically, but she does have a degree in theater after all. Then she takes my hand and leads me down the sidewalk again. She is all up in her feels, and this is the kind of thing I never thought I’d want to deal with, but it turns out this is just another side of Merrily Tucker that I love. “This sucks,” she says, matter-of-factly.

“Agreed.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence.

When we get to the auditorium, and I follow her onto the stage, I take her hand, turn her toward me and say, “Come with me. To New York. To live. You can do theater there. Broadway. Off Broadway. I’ll produce a play to get you started.”

Her lower lip quivers, and she shakes her head.

“I know it’s asking a lot, but I am so in love with you, Merrily. I’ve loved you for ten years. I don’t want to go back to loving you even though I’m not with you. Be with me. Please.”

She touches my face, kisses me again. It’s not frantic this time, but it still feels like a goodbye kiss. It’s surreal, having this conversation on this stage. “I love you. I love you, Grant. But I can’t move to New York now. I just accepted a job here. With the mayor’s office. Doing something only I can do. Something I would love to do. And I want to help my dad with the store.” She sounds so resigned, and I hate that. “I appreciate that you’re offering to help me in such a big way, but I need to do this on my own. Here. It’s not just about directing plays for me now, it’s about the community. This one. And I wouldn’t ask you to stay if that means not taking over the company. Hundreds of people’s livelihoods depend on you.” She sighs and shrugs. “I can’t leave Holly Grove, and you can’t stay. So where does that leave us?”

Looking around the stage, I say, “In the magical world of the theater, I guess. How can I help you here?”

I help her move set pieces into position, check spotlight cues, test sound levels, cue up music tracks, and unfold chairs for the audience. We set up a big sandwich board she and her stepsister painted that announces The Christmas Barn as the sponsor of the performance, and insert flyers into the programs that offer 15 percent off next year if people bring it into the store. In some ways, it’s not as romantic as it was the first time we were alone together on this stage. In others, it’s a billion times better because we know our situation sucks and we’re working together anyway. If that isn’t love, then what is?

TWENTY-SEVEN

MERRILY

It’s late. The stage is set for The Notcracker tomorrow, and I’m so grateful for Grant’s help. So much of that play is about Clara’s belief in the soul inside of the wooden Nutcracker Prince doll she receives as a gift, and how that belief and kindness was the magic that broke the curse and brought the Prince back to life. But in real life, even if I do believe that Grant didn’t want to hurt or deceive me, it doesn’t change the fact that the other things we believe in and care about are going to keep us apart.

It’s starting to snow as we’re walking through the neighborhood, and I’m so aware of how this is just like that night ten years ago, when he walked me home and I showed him the Home Alone House on the way. I don’t have to say it, because I know Grant realizes it too. The difference is that back then we were asking each other questions, trying to find common ground. And now we’re silent because we know the answer to the most important questions. Do we love each other? Yes. Is that enough? Doesn’t fucking seem like it, no.

We’re holding hands, and I don’t even have to ask him if he wants to walk over to the street my dad’s house is on. I barely have to lead him in that direction. We have an unspoken agreement that while we can’t seem to control the plot of our lives right now, at least we can make our fantasies of how things could have gone a decade ago come true.

There’s a dark corner at the end of the block and a big tree at the dark edge of someone’s large property. I pull him behind the tree and lean back against the enormous trunk. Grant gathers my hair to one side so he can press one kiss to the nape of my neck. That one little kiss sends exquisite shivers down my spine; the shivers alchemize into tremors in my belly and then make themselves uncomfortable between my legs in the form of a pulsating ache.

I grip the collar of his coat with both hands, pulling him closer. He’s not wearing his leather jacket, but his cologne has notes of leather and sandalwood. My lips part for his tongue. He moans when he tastes the peppermint-flavored lip balm I applied before we left the gym. I can feel him carefully unzipping my puffer jacket, the way he did that night, so slowly I barely even notice. He reaches inside my coat, and his cold fingers explore the skin between the waist of my jeans and the bottom of my sweater.

I didn’t protest then, and I certainly won’t now. But I do bite his lower lip. This time, he doesn’t yank his hands away, and I don’t apologize for biting him. We aren’t teenagers anymore. We bite and we explore. Gazing up at him, I take hold of his hand and push it up to my breast. I don’t hold back, but I still whimper when his fingertips graze my nipple, because this man just knows how to touch a nipple.

And I know how to massage an erection.