Page 33 of Make You Mine This Christmas (Holly Ridge #2)

Austin

If I wasn’t so focused on keeping my eyes on the road to avoid looking at Brody before, his words may have killed us.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’ll need to find a beard and some theater glue, but I have to imagine in a town like Holly Ridge, someone has one in their closet.”

I laugh, assuming he must be kidding. “I can’t be Santa. I’m sarcastic and unreliable. A flight risk. That’s not jolly and reliable old Saint Nick.

“Austin,” Brody says. Something in his tone makes me take my eyes off the road to glance at his face.

The serious and earnest expression is illuminated by a passing light near a highway exit.

“You’re none of those terrible things you just said about yourself.

Well, you are sarcastic, but it’s all part of your charm, and I’m positive you can rein it in for twelve hours over two days. ”

“Still, I—”

“Your first thought when driving your live-in ex-boyfriend, turned fuck-buddy, turned whatever-we’re-not-saying to the train station with no notice is to not disappoint the kids of this community, to make sure your friend has a heads-up.

I’m not sure it gets much more Santa than that.

You’ve been standing next to me for weeks.

I know you can do it. You can wear one of my suits. ”

I mull over his words, his unwavering faith and belief in me overwhelming my senses. “Okay. You’re sure I can wear one of your suits?”

“Absolutely. There’s no one else I would trust to take care of them like I do.

” His voice is full of emotion, but like he said, we’re still not talking about it.

We’ve always had a ticking clock over us.

Maybe we were able to snooze it or brush the countdown away before now.

It felt nebulous. The workshop closes up on the twenty-fourth, but who wants to travel on Christmas?

I knew he had to go back to Stamford, to New York eventually, but it wasn’t set in stone.

Now, the clock has been wound forward, it’s blinking in bright red and sounding the alarm.

Suddenly, we’re down to minutes rather than days.

“I’ll have to come back to get my stuff, you know. Or maybe you could bring it down in a few days?”

“Well, with it being my mom’s last Christmas in Winterberry Glen, at least in her house, I think I want to stay around here. But you could come back and join us for sure. The Gingerbread Ball for New Year’s is a little corny, but a good time. I’m sure you’d be a guest of honor.”

I see Brody’s head nod out of the corner of my eye. My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I keep looking ahead, afraid the roadblocks springing up between us may manifest themselves on the actual road ahead.

“Right, of course. It would be great to see everyone from town while not wearing a red velvet suit. It’s very possible Grams is going to guilt me into staying in the city with her for the rest of the week.”

It’s hard to swallow past the lump growing in my throat.

“Sure, I know you guys are close, and you being here for so long was a surprise.” It’s the guy’s grandma—how can I fault him for wanting to spend time with her?

“And then I know January is busy for you all, wrapping up the season and getting tax stuff done.”

He clears his throat. Maybe I’m not the only one experiencing a lump. “Yeah, but then the administrative staff tends to take most of February off. I often travel somewhere. Maybe you could come with me?”

Images of Brody and me on a tropical beach, sharing an oversized lounger, sipping cocktails, flashes in my mind for a second before I force them away.

“I have that meeting with the guy from the tourism office the first week of January. Depending on what his offer is and if I take it, I probably can’t ask for time off right away. ”

“Right, of course not. I think it’ll be really great for you.

I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.

” The silence stretches between us. I’m positive Brody will be the first person I want to tell about how the meeting goes.

But right now, I don’t feel sure he’ll pick up the phone if I call—or if I’ll be able to bring myself to risk only getting his voicemail.

Luckily, you have a best friend who will be excited to be the first to hear your news.

And then he’ll go tell his wife, and they’ll hold their babies and be a perfect family, while you go home.

Alone. Where there’s no one waiting with a warm cooked meal or convincing you to buy an inflatable you don’t need.

Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be—the plus one in everyone else’s story.

I shake myself and focus my attention on the mileposts as they tick by. No other thoughts except the numbers, bringing me closer to losing Brody—again.

It’s silent until I turn on the signal for the exit to take us to the train station.

“We can figure this out, you know. I really believe we can,” Brody says, desperation in his voice.

The clicking of the turn signal fills the car again as I pull into the train station, so conveniently located right off the highway. The predicted traffic on the GPS never materialized, and we’re here thirty minutes before departure, like Amtrak suggests for this station.

I turn the car off, and the silence deepens without the sound of the engine, the whir of the tires.

“Even if we can’t,” I say, my words slow and measured, “I’m glad we had this Christmas miracle.

” My voice catches on the word Christmas, and I feel a tear spill from my eye.

Brody’s hand reaches out. His touch is gentle as he turns my head to face him.

His eyes glisten, and I see a tear track down his cheek, disappearing into his beard.

“I’ll never forget it, like I never forgot you.” His grip tightens as he pulls me to him, and our lips meet, salty with tears, tasting of hanging onto the last shreds of hope and something a lot like love.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” he whispers when he pulls back, tipping his forehead to mine.

“Then we won’t,” I whisper back. We stay still for a moment more before he presses a gentle kiss to my lips.

He pulls back, reaching into the back seat for his garment bag, and climbs out of the car.

Two taps on the door after he shuts it serve as his departing notice, and I watch as he walks to the station.

I feel like I could burst. It can’t end like this.

Unbuckling, I lean halfway out the window. “Hey, Brody!” He turns and looks at me. “Merry Christmas.”

Thanks to a well-placed streetlight, I can see him smile. “Merry Christmas, Austin.”

I stay where I am as he turns back around and continues his path, until he’s through the door and out of sight.

Only then do I sit myself back in the driver’s seat and turn the car on.

The radio turns on automatically, and Christmas music fills the small space.

I push the button to silence the cheer, and head back to the highway, with only my thoughts for company.

* * *

Back in Winterberry Glen, I can’t bring myself to go back to my apartment, knowing there will be pieces of Brody everywhere.

I know I can’t avoid it forever, but I can at least for tonight.

Instead, I pull into my mom’s driveway. After I turn the car off, I sit still for a moment, exhausted.

How in the world am I supposed to put on that suit tomorrow and be what those kids need? All I want is to sleep for a week.

The front door opens, and I see my mom’s silhouette back lit through the storm door.

If I don’t get out to explain why I’m here, she’ll knock on my car window in a few minutes.

Once I step onto the front porch, she looks at me questioningly.

“He’s gone, Mom,” is all I can manage. She opens the door wider, ushering me in. “Let’s make some hot chocolate.”

A few minutes later we’re sitting on the couch, steaming mugs of cocoa in hand. The only lights in the living room are the ones on the Christmas tree in the corner, and music is softly playing from the stereo.

“So what happened?” she asks. “You were getting along like gangbusters the other night.”

I take a sip of chocolate to fortify me and prepare to explain. “He got a call from his assistant. Something happened with one of his Santas and an important gig. He had to go back to New York tonight or risk getting stuck in a storm and not making it tomorrow.”

“Well, how did he get to the train station?”

“I mean, I took him. I understand why he had to leave. It just hurts he’s not coming back.”

She puts her mug down on the coffee table and turns fully toward me. A sign she means business. “He said so, point blank?”

“I mean, not exactly. We talked about different times we could see each other, but there are some roadblocks in the way. And anyway, after he gets back to the city and leaves the bubble of Winterberry Glen and us living together, he’s not going to want me any—”

“Austin Michael Owens.” Even at thirty-six, getting full-named has me sitting up straighter.

“Why do you find it so hard to believe you’re easy to love?

” I open my mouth to reply, but she holds up her hand.

“That boy loves you. I see it in the way he looks at you, cares for you, accepts texts from your mother about celebrations he surely had no interest in going to hours before. I see it in the way, after all these years, he came back for you. Why wouldn’t he make the effort to see you after work called him away? ”

I shrug. “His life is there, and my life is here.”

“And does it always have to be that way?”

“Well, no, I guess not. But you’re here, and then there’s the possibility of a job with the tourism board . . .”

“Sweetie, I love you. But a maybe job at the tourism board? You’d be bored senseless in a minute.

I’m so blessed to have brought you into this world, to have had all this time together, good and bad, living so close.

Besides, soon I won’t be living here anymore, so you can take that out of the equation. ”

“I mean, a job that contributes to my health insurance would be nice,” I mumble, mostly because I need to defend myself a little bit.

“I think they have those in New York, or in Stamford too, you know.”

“But what about Christmas? The last one in this house?”

“A house is a house. It’s the people who make it a home. It’s time you put finding your home first. Besides, you know I won’t be alone. People are always wandering in and out—it’s a Christmas open house.”

I’m quiet for a moment, thinking back to my conversation with Brody in the car on the way to the train station.

He tried so many times to tell me he didn’t want this to be over, but I couldn’t meet him in the middle.

Instead, I shut him down, deflecting out of fear I’m not worth the effort.

I’m going to need to go the whole way to him this time.

It’s only fair. After all, he came the whole way to me.

“That’s the face of a man who’s developing a plan,” Mom says, picking her hot chocolate back up and taking a satisfied sip.

“One’s definitely starting to take shape. I promised Brody I’d fill in as Santa tomorrow and Tuesday, but I can drive to him in the afternoon. The storm should have passed by then. If you’re really sure it’s okay I’m not here on Christmas.”

“Seeing my son happy after all he’s done for me is the only Christmas present I need.

Now get out of here, I paused a new Hallmark movie when you showed up at my door all mopey.

” She softens her words with a smile, knowing full well she would have talked it through all night if I needed her to.

I lean forward and kiss her on the cheek before taking quick steps to the door.

“Dinner tomorrow night?” I say over my shoulder when I reach the front door.

“It’s a date. Now get out!” The sounds of a city gal and small town guy falling in love fill the living room, and I smirk. Gender identity aside, sometimes life is just like the movies.

Back in the Bronco, I dial Blaire’s number.

“Blaire, I’m going to ask you to be unethical for me. But if things go like I think they might, you’ll have a guaranteed Holly Ridge Santa for a long, long time.”