Page 35 of Christmas at the Ranch

Twenty-Five

I put down the article about Tate’s mother. My heart aches for what happened to Elaine. I think it was brave of him and Charlie to carry on, even though they suffered because of the risks that come along with their passion, their livelihood, in the most painful way possible.

A tapping at the front door of the newspaper office interrupts my thoughts. I go to answer it—and find Mya outside on the porch, holding a gift basket wrapped in cellophane and tied with a red ribbon.

“Hello,” she says brightly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I come bearing gifts—my parents and I wanted to thank you for the article in the Enquirer ’s special holiday section.”

“Please, that isn’t necessary,” I say. “That was probably the most incredible meal I’ve ever had in my life. I think I owe you. ”

“But we’re so grateful,” she says, holding out the basket. “We were wondering how to get the news about the secret menu out there, and you did such a great job. Please, accept the gift.”

I step back and invite her in, taking the basket from her arms. Inside it is a jade-green pottery teapot with matching pottery cups, so delicate and lovely they make me gasp.

“This is gorgeous,” I say. “It’s way too much.”

Mya shakes her head. “We’re happy to give this to you and Bruce. My parents got it the last time they were back home visiting relatives in China—and it will mean a lot to them for it to be here at the newspaper offices. I know Bruce loves his tea, so it will be put to good use.”

I feel a twinge thinking about Bruce on his own once I leave, enjoying his tea. Mya is looking at me thoughtfully, as if she can tell what I’m thinking.

“Why don’t we use it now? Are you in the mood for tea?”

“Definitely.” I find that I don’t want to be alone after reading about Tate’s mom.

I prepare the tea, then we take the pot and our cups over to one of the desks—but on the way over, she stops. She’s seen the articles I was reading.

“ Oh, ” she says, putting the teapot down.

“I just found out how his mother died,” I say, and swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know, before…it’s so sad.”

Mya lifts one of the articles and reads it over, then puts it down on the desk again, carefully smoothing it. When she looks up, I see her eyes are shining with emotion.

“It was so awful,” she says. “I remember it like it was yesterday. Mrs.Wilder was the most wonderful woman. We all thought she’d pull through.

It was a shock to the community when she passed.

” She’s silent for a long moment. Then she blinks a few times, picks the teapot up again, and heads over to an empty desk.

“Come,” she says. “Let’s have this before it gets cold. ”

We sit down. Then she looks me in the eye and says, “So. You and Tate. What’s going on?”

My mouth goes dry. “What do you mean?”

“Emory, come on. I found you in here, alone, reading articles about his mother’s tragic death.

When I mentioned his name just now, your face changed entirely.

You two had dinner at our restaurant, and the electricity in the air nearly shorted the place out, never mind the school project I was working on.

And Tate…” But she shakes her head. “I shouldn’t. ”

“Shouldn’t what?”

“Betray his confidences. He’s one of my oldest friends. I’ve known him since I was five. Except…” She sips her tea, quietly thoughtful again. “Well, I love the guy, but I might not be able to trust him to do the right thing here.”

“You mean cut me loose, right? Don’t worry, he already did that.

I felt like we were starting to get close again—but last night, he made it clear that we, together, have no place in the present.

” I swallow tea, give myself a beat to put my feelings into words.

“I should have gotten over Tate a long time ago.”

Mya surprises me by putting down her cup and throwing up her hands in frustration.

“Are you serious? God, you’re just as deluded as he is!

I say this with affection, because I really do like you, but it’s no wonder you two have taken nearly a decade to figure this out.

You’re both ridiculous.” Then she clasps her hands together.

“I’m sorry. I can be a bit harsh, but this needs saying.

And forget loyalty to Tate. You two are clearly never going to get where you need to be on your own, without a little prodding.

” She takes out her phone, types something out, then puts it down again.

“What do you mean?”

She shakes her head. “You know, I really thought you were smarter than this. But let me spell it out: Tate has never gotten over you, either.”

My heart stutters.

“That’s not true.” I deny her words even as a kernel of sunlight appears in my clouded heart.

“Are you sure about that?” she asks me.

“Positive,” I say as Mya rolls her eyes.

“You two,” she murmurs. “ Honestly. Have you seen the way he’s been acting since you came to town? Like no time at all has passed.”

“If you mean he’s still shutting me out, then you’re right—it feels like no time has passed at all.”

“And here my parents and I thought serving you that dinner would soften things between you. You think that was just a random assortment of food? Most of it was from the new menu, but the dumplings we served you are the exact dumplings my parents ate on their first date. They secretly call them the Falling in Love dumplings. But you two are a tough case.”

“Your parents know about me and Tate?”

Mya laughs. “ Everyone here knows that the reason Tate Wilder, the town’s most handsome, kindhearted yet brooding bachelor, has never settled down with anyone is because he’s been pining for some long-lost city girl for the past decade.”

Now I feel my cheeks flush. “That can’t be true,” I say, even as the kernel of sunlight grows into a ray of light. “It’s just a rumor.”

“I’d think that, too, except I’ve known Tate nearly my whole life. He’s not big on feelings talk, but there have been a few instances where he’s been honest with me. I know he hurt you, okay? But he was a grieving teenager when you met.”

My mind goes to the articles about his mother. I feel heartsick again.

“I know, and I was so unfair to him. We can’t get past it, Mya. It’s too late.”

But she just keeps talking as if I haven’t spoken.

“He was still grieving,” she repeats. “And still trying to hold on to a business that, you now understand, took his mother away. It felt like his only connection to her. He told me what happened with you two, what the blowup was about. You asking your dad to help, him offering to buy Wilder’s.

And I can understand it. You thought you were being helpful, but what you wanted would have changed everything.

And it probably would have still spelled the end of Wilder Ranch. ”

“I was na?ve to try to step in,” I say. “And my father wasn’t fair. I should have known he’d make it about profit, not compassion.”

“Sure. But Tate wasn’t fair to you about it, either. There was more to it than you understood.”

“I never asked what happened to his mother. I should have. I told myself it was too painful for him to talk about, but maybe I was just afraid to know how bad the truth was, because it would be something I could never help him fix.”

“You could sit here thinking of ways to blame yourself forever. Trust me, he’s done the same.

It was probably good you didn’t ask. Back then, it was still so fresh.

All anyone talked about when they talked about his mom was how tragic it was.

That was hard for him—it made it almost impossible for him to remember the good times.

Until you came along, and you made it safe for him to share those memories of her.

You did a good thing for him. Stop trying to rewrite history and make it otherwise.

” Her expression softens, and then her voice.

“This may be clear to you already: I’m not exactly a softie.

But even I can see that what’s between you two is special. It deserves a chance.”

I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. Maybe because I agree, but I’m still too afraid to admit that to myself.

Mya stands. “I’ve said enough. You two need to talk. And if he’s smart, you’re about to get the chance.”

Before I can ask her what she means, she’s zipped up her coat and headed out into the snowy afternoon, the front door banging shut behind her.

I sit still, dazed for a moment, then stand and rush to the door, intent on calling out to her to make sure she thanks her parents from me for the tea set.

There’s a figure on the walkway—but it’s not Mya.