Page 55 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

Crazily, stupidly . . . too-soon-to-be-admitting-it, in love with him. And all it took was a week and a revenge scheme.

Chapter Twenty-Three

January 1

Mav

“You have all the codes and all the numbers for the emergency repair people.”

“Yes, I’ve also known Jim and Tony my entire life, so I’m pretty sure I can get hold of them if I need to,” Henry quips before Scott swats him on the arm.

“I can’t believe I’m actually leaving.”

“You’re only three hours away. And besides, you’ll be back in a few weeks for the rest of your stuff,” I say, pulling her in against my chest. We’d stayed up past midnight last night as I’d asked, rolling in the New Year, making out under the covers as the cat curled up at our feet.

She’d woken up with drool on her cheek, her eyes puffy, her hair sticking out at all angles, and it took my breath away just how crazy it was that we’d managed to find each other.

Her hair now tamed, her makeup back to its usual precision, we were ready to hit the road slowly back to Seattle. Charlie was driving back with us, but had an errand to run this morning before we left.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” She looks at Henry, Scott, and then the B&B, and I assume she’s talking to all three.

“We’re going to FaceTime you every day, girl. Maybe twice if we need your help.” Henry winks as Scott rolls his eyes.

“You’re going to catch a cold if we stay out here much longer,” the chef says to Henry, pulling him back. I give them two months, then they’ll be christening a room like Indy and I did.

Henry’s eyes turn to pinpricks as his gaze is drawn behind us. He steps between the two of us, protectively placing himself between Indy and . . . I turn my head and see Mr. Honeyford. He glances at the car, the trunk open with multiple suitcases, more than for just one person.

“Indy, I was hoping to talk to you,” he says, keeping a safe distance from her.

“I don’t think so.” Henry bares his teeth, crossing his arms over his chest. No wonder Scott likes him; his protective instincts are one of his best qualities.

“It’s okay, Henry, I can do this.” Indy places a hand on his shoulder. “Head inside before Scott has to spoon-feed you broth for catching a cold.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He winks, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Have a safe trip. Let me know when you get there, okay? I want to see this luxury apartment I heard Holly boasting about before she started hooking up with James.”

Indy nods, her face poised, but I can see the wavering of her chin, the way she grips him when she gives him a final hug.

“Goodbye, Scott. Look after him, won’t you?”

The chef nods and follows Henry into the B&B, leaving Indy and me alone with Mr. Honeyford. His eyes cast down, his tall frame no longer the giant property mogul he once was. Now, he’s the picture of regret, mouth down-turned, even the green of his eyes seems to have lost clarity, like the life has been sucked out of him.

Indy, to her credit, stands tall, her arms folded across her chest. She inches herself closer to me, and I take the final step in solidarity.

“I’m leaving any minute, so I don’t have time for a heart-to-heart,” she says coldly. Her voice is stern, scratchy, so unlike the warmth I’ve felt.

“I heard you’re moving to Seattle. You two found each other. I’m pleased for you.” He looks at me. “For you both.”

Indy says nothing, her chin lifting a little higher.

“I’ve written a letter that explains everything. I didn’t know if you would talk to me, and of course I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But if you want an explanation, I’ve tried my best to give one in there. But I’m sorry, Indy. I can never make up for how I handled things—I know that. But please know, my actions have been my biggest regret.” He holds out the letter, but Indy doesn’t move to take it. The old man hesitates, glancing at me, and a sad lump of pity finds itself lodged in my throat. How often have I thought about my parents finding me, telling me how sorry they are for how they treated me. How desperate they are for my forgiveness. But my parents don’t know where I am, don’t know who I am. I’ll never hear from them again. They showed me no kindness when I was young, no kindness now. Mr. Honeyford, on the other hand, despite betraying Indy and his own daughter in such an unimaginable way, has always been kind to Indy.

I step forward, taking the letter and folding it into my pocket.

“Good luck in Seattle, Indy. I know I’m not the person to say this, but at this point there’s nothing for me to lose; your mother would be incredibly proud of you.”

He steps backward a few times, taking a final glance at Indy and then up at the sign for her mother’s B&B before pulling his long black coat around him, the crunch of his boots in the snow the last thing we hear.

Once he’s around a row of conifers and out of sight, Indy slumps against me, a quiver in her lip, finally shaking free.