I suck in a breath, wishing I could leave the story there.
“A month later, I got the call from Mom that he’d…” I can’t say it. Even now, I rarely put those words together. “No warning, no time to say goodbye. He was just gone. Mom and Caleb were reeling just as much as I was. And all I could think was how badly I’d let him down, that he’d…gone, and I’d refused the one thing he’d ever asked of me.”
“Oh, Griffin.”
“So of course I came back. Too late, maybe, but I’m here. And no, it’s not always easy, but this is the only way I can make it up to him.” To him, to Mom, even to Caleb. I have debts all the way around.
“Don’t you think your dad wanted you to be happy, too?” Her gentle question soothes and cuts at the same time.
“I am happy.” It’s an automatic response after a year of practice. But I’ve already admitted plenty for one emotional afternoon. I haven’t talked so much or so openly in years, and I can feel that cracked-open heart closing back up again. I hug her tighter. “Maybe even happier since my mom guilted me into working on this Christmas festival of yours.”
She slants her mouth like she wants to convince me to go back into sharing-my-feelings mode, but I’ve already switched intoshowing-my-feelings mode. I slide one hand along her heavily parka’d back, urging her closer.
“I’m hearing that you’re loving every minute of working on the festival,” she says.
“I’m loving certain minutes.” I drop my gaze to her soft, full lips. Waiting. Urging.
Hope leans down, her eyes intent on mine as she closes in. She presses her warm mouth to me and draws back to look into my eyes again. Before I can argue, she pulls off her gloves in a quick motion and cradles my face in her hands.
Her fingers caress my jawline, my temples, the taut skin that lightly aches beneath a still-purple bruise, and finally rake into my hair. I can’t help the groan that tumbles out of my throat at the sensation of her nails over my scalp. She presses another soft kiss to my mouth and again pulls back. I tilt my chin, desperate to reach her.
When her mouth returns to mine and she opens up to me, I die a little inside. There’s no teasing pulling away this time. Wine lingers on her mouth, but mostly, I taste her. Sunshine. Summer. Bright, vibrant Hope.
I run a hand along her leg until I reach the parka. I’ve got a growing urge to be anywhere other than an ice-cold fishing spot. If I were as smart as I think I am, I would have planned this unplanned afternoon more strategically.
She smiles against my mouth, and that open affection staggers me. When has a woman ever taken so much joy from just being with me out on a riverbank? It isn’t much. Isn’t anything close to what she deserves.
She finally pulls away again and gazes down at me, grinning like this moment means something for her, too.
Please don’t let her be tipsy anymore. Let this be all her. All us.
I press my face against her warm neck, breathing in her bright, happy scent. Heaven on earth. “What did you need rescuing from today?”
“My mother.”
I try to shift beneath her, but my butt’s too numb. “What did she do this time?”
“She’s…” Hope seems to debate the right answer. I pull off my gloves, too, and run my fingers through her soft hair, trying to share the same encouragement she gave me. “She means well, but she’s always trying so hard to get me to do more.”
“More what?”
“Anything. Everything, as long as it’smore. I can always aim higher. My store could be bigger. The Christmas festival could become a full-time job. She’s always setting me up on dates because I obviously can’t get that right, either.”
“Is that what you needed to be rescued from, a Thanksgiving date?” I’m joking, but the laughter dies in my throat when she gives me a funny sideways glance. “You were on a date just now?”
“No!” She bites her bottom lip. “She was just…sort of trying to arrange one for me.”
I drop my hands to my sides. “Who’s the guy?”
She shrugs. “Some pediatric dentist in Bend.”
I can’t remember hating anyone as much as I hate this guy. “What’s he like? Good guy?”
My voice is stiff and weird, but I can’t fix it.
Hope stands, and for a split second, I think that’s it. She’s realized her mistake and is going to ask me to take her back to whoever her mom’s so excited about. Instead, she tosses one leg over mine and straddles me, climbing into my lap. My brain malfunctions as she runs her fingers in my hair again, her legs warm against my hips.
“He’s not you.” She holds my face, her fingertips sending tendrils of heat across my skin. “He’s never done carpentry for a Christmas festival just because his mom asked him to. He’s never defended me and my dreams when nobody else would.”
