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Her heart said no, but her head said yes.
She had taken such a leap of faith by letting herself fall for him, and he’d left. Even if he’d had a good reason he had still walked away, and she didn't know if she could trust that he wouldn’t do it again.
“Thank you for taking the time to tell me all of this, I truly am glad that you took the time to work on yourself.” Her tone was a little dismissive, but she was doing the best she could.
“Let me take you out to dinner.”
“It’s Christmas Eve.” It was a lame excuse and she knew it.
“And you hate being alone at Christmas, so let me make sure that you're not. Please, just dinner, the two of us, if nothing else, it will take your mind off the holidays.”
It would be so simple to say yes.
She wanted to pick back up where they had left off, but she didn't know what the right thing to do was.
“You kept the Christmas tree,” Michael said. Releasing her wrist, he walked across the room to a small table in a corner of the living room where the Colorado Blue Spruce Christmas tree sat, decorated just as it had been last Christmas.
“I couldn’t get rid of it.”
Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the tree and picked it up. He looked so good. The same as he had the last time she’d seen him and yet different somehow. He looked less stressed, more at peace, the guilt was gone from his eyes and his stance. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. That reassured her a little. He was here now because he wanted to be, he had his life sorted out, and now he had come to see if theycould sort things out as well.
“Dinner?” Michael asked, appearing before her. He picked up her hand and lifted it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm and then the inside of her wrist.
Samara shivered.
How could one pair of lips make her feel so good?
How could they erase twelve months of pain, and doubt, and loneliness?
“Will you let me spend Christmas Eve with you and take you to dinner?”
*****
4:15 P.M.
He waited anxiously for Samara’s answer.
Had he waited too long to return?
This past year had been the longest of Michael’s life. He’d worked as hard as he could to get himself together so he could come back for Samara. Every day he had wanted to call her, tell her he was sorry for leaving like he had, and tell her why it was so important that he sort himself out before they could start their lives together.
Assuming she still wanted a life with him.
Every day he had worried that leaving the way he had caused irreparable damage to their relationship, but he hadn't known any other way to do it. If he’d gone to see her in the hospital, he wouldn’t have been able to leave, and that would have left him balancing precariously between sobriety and an alcohol-fueled downward spiral. Sooner or later, life would have thrown something difficult at them, and he would have turned back to the bottle.
But now for the first time since he’d turned to alcohol to numb the pain of killing his daughter, he felt like he had a handleon his drinking. He was always going to be an alcoholic, and there was always the chance that he might fall off the wagon, but he had given himself the best chance he could of remaining sober.
Because he had noticed the way it affected her, Michael pressed another light kiss to the inside of Samara’s wrist and was satisfied to see her shiver in response. Was it fair to try to manipulate her like that? Maybe not, but he was here to win her back, and he knew he stood a chance because she’d kept the decorations on the little bonsai Christmas tree they’d made last year.
“I guess,” Samara said a little uncertainly, but he’d take it.
“Thank you for giving me another chance.” Michael dipped his head to kiss her, then thought better of it, she wasn't in that place yet, so instead he touched his lips to her forehead. “You are so much more than I deserve.”
She fought the urge to disagree with him, he could see it in her big, beautiful blue eyes, but instead she asked, “I’m still dressed in what I wore for Asher’s party, is this okay or should I change? I don’t know where we’re going for dinner.”
While she looked stunning in a simple ankle-length denim skirt, black boots, and purple sweater that nicely complemented her pale skin, dark hair, and bright blue eyes, she’d be too cold for what he had planned. “Go change into something warm,” he said. “And don’t forget your coat, scarf, mittens, and beanie.”
Samara looked curious now. “Where are we going?”
