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Thankfully, Belinda chose to let the good sex comment slide. Hearing her thoughts out loud, however, made Noelle even more certain she was right, and had let the romanticism of Saturday night get the best of her. “Other than being angry with the way I took off, I wonder if James has even given me a second thought.”
“I’m sure he has. He didn’t strike me as someone who took...those kinds of encounters...lightly.”
“Me either,” Noelle replied. “He certainly sounded businesslike enough today though. Talking about the company’s new direction and all.”
“New direction?”
“Uh-huh. Based on the points in his email, I’d say he’s back to focusing on streamlining and internet sales.” She could see it now. Today Fryer. Tomorrow the Christmas Castle.
“Hmm.”
Noelle frowned. “What?”
“I’m not sure,” Belinda replied. “Did you see today’s business headlines?”
“No.”
“I think you should. There’s something very interesting in it.” Her mother-in-law retrieved the newspaper she’d dropped on the desk during their talk. It was folded in thirds, to highlight the headline on the weekly marketing column. Noelle’s heart sank as she read.
Hammond’s to Discontinue Iconic Window Displays.
The article below quoted James as saying he wanted to take the chain in a “new direction” and build a store for the next generation.
“‘It’s time Hammond’s let go of the past,’” she read. “‘We can’t bring the past back, no matter how badly we may want to.’” It was a harsh-sounding quote, one she imagined marketing hadn’t wanted to use.
“When I read the article this morning, something didn’t hit me as right. Still doesn’t, although I can’t put my finger on what.”
Noelle stared at the headline.
All week she’d been downplaying Saturday night to ease the giant ache in her chest, but her efforts hadn’t worked. There were too many reminders in the Christmas music and lights. She wanted the holiday to go away so she could breathe again. She who held Christmas in her heart fifty-two weeks a year.
But ending the window displays? They represented the one decent family memory he had. It was why he kept them going year after year, regardless of the cost. Because there was a part of him, the ghost of that little boy, that wanted to believe family meant something. That he meant something to his family. Before his mother’s midnight departure convinced him otherwise.
No. Noelle’s heart seized. Dropping the newspaper, she stumbled toward a chair. The room had become a tunnel, a narrow dark tube with black all around.
“Are you all right?” she heard Belinda ask from far away. “Is something wrong? What is it?”
No. Yes. Everything. The answers flew through her head as her realization became clear.
She’d disappeared in the middle of the night without a word just like his mother. He’d spent the day revealing himself, at her urging, and she’d let her cowardice trample that vulnerability. In doing so, she solidified all of James’s fears.
That was why he was closing the window displays. Not because he wanted to take the chain in a new direction—though he would and do so brilliantly—but because that little boy no longer believed in his own memory. James had retreated, quit, waved the white flag in defeat.
He had given up hope, and it was her fault.
It wasn’t right. Someone needed to tell him he had too much sweetness and light inside him to hide behind profits and modern retail. Someone had to show him he was special.
Lovable.
Not someone. Her. Noelle needed to fix the horrible wrong she had done to him. And not by text or by phone either. In person.
“I need to go to Boston,” she told Belinda. “As soon as possible.”
She may have thrown away her chance to be with him, but Noelle would be damned if she cost him Christmas.
* * *
“Why are you still wearing your coat?” Jackson asked, as he slipped into his seat. As usual, he was dressed impeccably in a suit from his London tailor.
“I’m cold,” James replied. “This table picks up a draft from the front door.”
He and his father were meeting for a business lunch in the bistro across from Hammond’s. Outside, Copley Square bustled with Christmas shoppers, many of who stopped to watch the Hammond’s displays. In fact, there was a crowd of preschoolers clumped in front of them that very moment, watching the elves make mischief in Santa’s kitchen. Why they were standing out in such blasted cold was beyond him. A shiver passed through him, and he looked away.
“If you’re uncomfortable, we can move,” Jackson said.
