Page 14 of A Perfect Christmas Romance (Kringle, Texas #8)

Nick held his breath, waiting to see how Liv would respond to his confession. The world around them seemed to pause. Even the Christmas music stopped.

“Y-you want to start something up again?” Her lips rounded in surprise, her eyes wary.

“I…” He moistened his lips, feeling like every ounce of moisture evaporated from his mouth. “I’d like to give us another shot.”

The words hung in the air between them, fragile as a soap bubble. Nick felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if Liv would offer him a parachute or give him a gentle push.

Liv’s eyes, those impossibly brown eyes that had haunted his dreams for five years, searched his face with a quizzical look.

Nick wished for the ability to read minds. Or at least a cosmic remote control to fast-forward through this agonizing moment.

“Nick, I...” Liv began, but whatever she was about to say was drowned out by an eruption of cheers and applause from the crowd.

Nick turned to look over his shoulder. Santa had just made his grand entrance, sweeping down the courthouse steps. Reality crashed in on him. The Christmas festival was in full swing, and they stood in the middle of it like two statues in a nativity scene.

“We should…” Liv gestured vaguely toward the Victorian house just off the square. “The art show starts soon.”

“Right, yeah.” Nick nodded, trying to mask his disappointment.

They made their way through the crowd, Nick’s mind racing. Had he misread the signals? Was Liv not interested, or just caught off guard? He’d spent years perfecting interview questions, but he’d wholly fumbled this one with her.

The Victorian house loomed ahead. Twinkling lights adorned the eaves, making the gingerbread trim look as if it had been dipped in stars and rolled in magic. People queued up to get into the event.

Once inside, the air, thick with Christmas scents—cinnamon, pumpkin spice, pine—wafted over them.

Paintings lined the walls, illuminated by soft spotlights.

Nick’s gaze skimmed over landscapes of snow-covered fields, abstract art, and portraits of rosy-cheeked children.

But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the paintings, his gaze kept drifting back to Liv.

She moved through the crowd with a grace that made Nick feel like he had two left feet—and possibly an extra one thrown in for good measure.

The lights caught the gold threads in her brown hair, making it glow like a halo.

He felt a surge of emotions that had nothing to do with his career and everything to do with the way his heart beat in time with her footsteps.

Nick scanned the room. Somewhere in this sea of festive sweaters and polite smiles was Matilda Merris—the key to his career advancement, the subject of countless practice interviews he’d rehearsed in the bathroom mirror.

“Do you see Matilda?” Liv leaned in close to whisper. “I don’t know what she looks like.”

Nick shook his head, feeling like he was playing a holiday-themed version of Where’s Waldo. “I only know her from photographs.”

“Well, Matilda is here with my colleague Dana. I’ll look for her.” Liv slipped into the crowd, leaving Nick to follow.

Not knowing what else to do, Nick tagged along, thoughts whirling.

How would he approach Matilda? What would he say?

He’d rehearsed a dozen opening lines, each one now feeling more ridiculous than the last. How do you get a reclusive older woman who publicly refused to speak on the topic to open up about the darkest time in her family’s history?

“There’s Dana,” Liv murmured, nudging Nick with her elbow. “Come on.”

They approached a woman with short dark hair and engaged in conversation with an older lady. He recognized her immediately. Matilda Merris. Her silver hair swept back, and she wore a rich purple boho outfit, looking every bit the accomplished artist.

Liv touched Dana’s arm. “Dana, hi. I hope we’re not interrupting.”

Dana turned, her expression neutral. “Liv, hello.” Her eyes flicked to Nick, sizing him up with a bold stare.

“Dana, this is my friend, Nick,” Liv said, her voice carrying a forced casualness. “Nick, this is my colleague Dana, and…”

“Matty Lunsford,” the older woman supplied, extending her hand to Nick with a polite smile.

Nick shook her hand, acutely aware of the moment’s importance. He owed Liv and Dana for even getting him this chance. It was up to him not to blow it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turned his attention to the painting in front of Matilda.

The artwork drew immediate attention, not because of the technical skills, but because of the stark emotion that leaped off the canvas and grabbed him by the throat.

In the foreground, a worn baseball glove lay on a rough wooden table, its cracked leather softened by time. From the center of the glove, a single, delicate flower—a vibrant yellow bloom—pushed through the webbing, its bright petals a stark contrast to the faded glove.

The background blurred into shadow, unfinished and ambiguous, hinting at unresolved histories. The light, however, focused on the flower, highlighting its resilience—nature’s quiet insistence on renewal, even from something broken.

The piece didn’t just speak to the past; it reflected a universal truth. Like Liv’s experience with her parents’ divorce, it captured the painful beauty of rebuilding after something once solid fell apart. It symbolized the possibility of hope growing in the cracks torn open by time.

He stared at the painting, mesmerized. The worn glove, the delicate flower—it felt like more than just art. The whole story woven into the brushstrokes, like a secret hidden in plain sight for those who knew the history.

Nick’s heart raced. Did he really need to interview Matilda?

The painting held so much—brokenness and beauty, decay and growth.

He had spent months believing that, like his boss insisted, they wrongfully accused her father.

But now, looking at the painting, doubt crept in.

The glove, so worn and damaged, and the flower, so bravely pushing through—was it a quiet admission of guilt or a plea for redemption?

The truth felt just out of reach, and Nick wasn’t sure anymore. Was her father innocent, or had Matilda already told the story—without words?

Dana’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her tone professional. “Nick, are you an art enthusiast?”

He gave his attention to Liv’s friend and tried to strike the right balance between honesty and discretion. “I appreciate art, though I’m more of a writer myself.”

“Oh? What sort of writing?” Matilda’s tone was dry as chalk.

Nick took a deep breath, knowing his following words could make or break the opportunity. “I’m a journalist, actually. I specialize in human interest stories, particularly those that intersect with sports history.”

Matilda’s expression shifted immediately, a slight stiffening of her posture, guardedness slipping into her eyes. Dana, too, tensed.

“That’s… an interesting field.” Caution flared in her eyes.

Nick pressed on, aware that he might not get another chance. “Ms. Lunsford, I’ve actually been hoping to speak with you. Your perspective on certain historical events in baseball could provide valuable insights.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mr… what was it again?”

“Matheson. Nick Matheson.”

“Mr. Matheson,” Matilda said. “I’m simply here as an artist. My personal history is not up for discussion.”

Nick felt the opportunity slipping away. “I understand your desire for privacy, but your story—your father’s story—is an important part of baseball history. I believe sharing your perspective could offer a more nuanced understanding of those events.”

The air around them seemed to chill. Dana stepped closer to Matilda, protective, her scowl warning Nick to back off.

“I’ve spent decades avoiding my father’s long dark shadow,” Matilda said, voice cool. “I have no interest in revisiting that part of my life.”

She turned to leave.

Nick couldn’t let her go, not without one last attempt.

He stepped in front of her, careful to keep his tone respectful.

“I respect that. But if you ever change your mind, I’d be honored to tell your story—the full story, not just the headlines.

I’d love to explore how your past inspired your incredible artwork. ” He gestured toward the painting.

Matilda studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke. “Leave your card with Dana. I make no promises, but… I’ll consider it.”

Nick’s pulse quickened. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either. “Thank you. I appreciate your consideration.”

“Ms. Lunsford,” another guest approached, cutting the conversation short as Matilda turned her attention to them.

Dana gave Nick and Liv a pointed look that said their time was up. They retreated to a quieter corner of the room.

“I blew it, didn’t I?” Nick asked, frustrated.

“No,” Liv said. “I don’t think so. She said to leave your card with Dana. That’s a maybe.”

“Your friend seemed upset with me.”

“She’s protective of Matilda, that’s all.”

“I hope I didn’t put you in an awkward position. That was never my intention.”

“Dana understands. She’s torn between her duty and our friendship.”

“I did ask too much of you, didn’t I?” Nick’s gut twisted.

Liv shrugged. “No more than I agreed to.”

“Without your help, I wouldn’t have even gotten this far. I appreciate you so much, Liv.”

They stood in silence. Nick was acutely aware of Liv beside him, of the way her arm almost but not quite brushed against his. It felt familiar and new all at once.

“So,” Liv murmured, “about what you said earlier, under the mistletoe…”

Nick’s heart leaped into his throat. “Yeah?”

“I… I’m not sure what to say, Nick. It’s been five years. We’re different people now.”

Nick nodded, trying to mask his feelings. “I understand. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. It’s just… being with you again brought back a lot of good memories.”

Liv’s eyes softened. “Good memories?”

“The best,” Nick said, voice scratchy.

Liv opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a booming voice cut through the chatter.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please!”

Nick and Liv turned to see a portly man in a festive sweater standing at the front of the room, microphone in hand.

“Welcome to the Kringle Christmas Art Show! I’m Mayor Cotton, and we’re thrilled to have so many talented artists with us tonight. Before we begin the official judging, I’d like to invite our artists to say a few words about their work. Let’s start with Matty Lunsford!”

Matilda made her way to the front of the room, her posture straight and dignified. As she spoke about her painting,

“She’s incredible,” Liv whispered.

Nick nodded. “There’s so much more to her story. If only she’d let me interview her…”

“Now that you’ve met Matilda… what’s the plan if she doesn’t call you back? Will you pursue her to the ends of the earth or let it go?”

The question felt weighted—a trap. The look in Liv’s eyes said his answer was important.

Nick ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he was navigating a minefield. “Honestly? I don’t know. The story could be huge for my career. But Matilda? If she doesn’t want to talk, how can I badger an older woman to boost my career? Then there’s you…”

Liv turned to face him fully, her brown eyes searching his. “Me?”

Nick took a deep breath. “You make me question everything. My priorities, my goals, my motives… my entire life.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Nick said with a wry grin. “But I think I’d like to find out. If you’re willing.”

Liv let out a quiet breath, and for a moment, Nick thought there was hope. But then she shook her head slightly, her expression resolute.

“Nick, I think we’ve both done what we needed to do.”

Her words made him feel like he’d climbed into the ring with a super-heavyweight boxer. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Liv said, “you got your introduction to Matilda, and I got the push I needed to speak up at work. We’ve both fulfilled our deal.”

Nick’s throat tightened. “So that’s it? We’re done?”

Liv’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I think... maybe we were only meant to help each other with this one thing. And now, the time is over.”

“So, after everything, we just... walk away?”

“Maybe we need to.”

Nick stood frozen, his heart pounding. “Why?”

“We’ve changed,” Liv said. “And that’s good. I’ve changed. My parents are getting divorced. I’m finally figuring out what I want, and right now, I need to focus on that.”

Nick gulped. “I get it.”

She gave a wistful smile, and for a moment, the silence between them was almost unbearable. “I think this is goodbye, Nick.”