Page 95 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

Tanner had never felt a stronger urge to kiss someone in his life.

“Oh, here, I almost forgot.” She shoved a wadded cloth into his hand and brushed past him.

Tanner followed her retreat, a hollow ache gripping him. When she exited his vision, he glanced down. His bloodstained handkerchief, the monogram stark against the white linen. Crushing it in his fist, he stared, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

I thought I loved you.

Tanner blinked the mist from his vision, threw his head back, and swallowed deeply. Kat had loved him once and, oh, God...if he had only known. He had not thought himself good enough for her to love.

And he had a sinking feeling she had spoken the truth. For her, their love was as dead as Charlie’s Christmas tree was doomed to be.

* * *

Kate pressed her brow against the windowpane and watched Tanner pace the length of her mother’s store. His hands were knotted behind his back, his head bent, seeming to search the ground before him. He halted, glaring at the row of windows above him. His eyes glittered in a sudden splash of moonlight, blue-black. Fortunately, he didn’t know which window was hers. She would not put it past him to climb the ivy trellis and pound on the glass until it shattered.

Or she did.

She pressed her hand against her chest, burrowing her fingers into wool, her heart tripping beneath her palm.

Oh, Tanner.

Her skin felt sticky from the tears she had shed since returning home. She scrubbed at her cheeks, rolled her tongue over her teeth. The faintest hint of whiskey, of him, remained. If only the same could be said for her heart.

Doomed. She was doomed to remember this evening for a lifetime. As if she’d needed more memories of Tanner Barkley to shove in a trunk already chock-full. Little about him, about their wondrous summer together, had faded with time. No matter what lies she told him. She could remember everything.

Sunlight pouring over him. Black hair tangled round her seeking fingers. His tongue, laving the warm hollow at the base of her throat. The weight of his chest, his hips, his legs, driving all judgment and worry of consequence from her mind. She flexed her hands, untangling the imaginary strands.

Dear God, memories were dangerous.

She shivered and draped one foot over the other, hugging her stomach, her arms unsteady. Tonight, she’d done the unimaginable and actively participated in her own downfall. Alcohol induced, perhaps, but still, there you had it.

After Tanner’s newspaper article, she ceased all contact with him. For months after, he tried to destroy the barrier she’d erected between them. Letters she returned unopened, dogged-eared calling cards she threw in the rubbish bin, visits to her sister’s home she ignored.

Finally—and, yes, absurd on her part that she hated him for it—he had given up.

Blinking back tears, she searched the path behind the shop…and found only a yawning expanse of gray.

Gone. Given up. Again.

Kate’s chest hitched. She had come to Edgemont seeking answers, about Crawford, about her future, about her life.

Instead, the answer provided was that she still loved Tanner Barkley.

She stumbled to the bureau tucked against the bedroom wall and swept her hand across the marble top, scattering her mother’s bric-a-brac. A cologne bottle dropped to the floor and shattered. The scent of violets cracked the air. Kate did not blink, didn’t care if she sliced her feet to shreds on the glass.

Where was it?

There. She lifted the hairpin and traced the edge. She brought it close to her eyes, but didn’t really need to. Enough moonlight spilled into the room. Regardless, she did not see the crooked hairpin she held, but the one that bounced off the bricked courtyard by Tanner’s boot two years ago. Plated gold. At the time, all she believed he could afford. He bought them for her—an impulsive purchase on one of their rare trips to the city—two weeks before...well, two weeks before her world shattered into as many pieces as her mother’s cologne bottle.

A trace of gold remained, winking in the light. She curled her hand into a tight fist, a rusted edge nicking her skin.

Why had Tanner kept her hairpin all this time? And why had he admitted this to a roomful of strangers? During a stupid parlor game. She wanted to believe this meant he loved her, had always loved her.

She shook her head. Not possible. Tanner Barkley didn’t love anyone but himself.

* * *

Concealed by shadow, Tanner hoped Charlie couldn’t see him. He sighed, remembering the cheroot wedged between his fingers. The one with the glowing red tip.