The quiet of his absence turned their gazes. Carver stuffed his hands in his pockets and swayed back on his heels, a boyish posture. “I should first say that I’m sorry about missing the funeral. I have an excuse, but I hate to give it in light of my dad’s encounter with the mailbox.”
Struck off-kilter by his frankness, she opened her mouth and closed it again. At least, he’d waited until Nicole wasn’t around. At the same time, she shouldn’t be so thrown off by it. He was trying to apologize, sounded like.
“I’m sorry for mentioning it,” he said, confirming her thoughts. “I had a collision out front of the school and injured my left leg. It wasn’t serious, but I couldn’t walk for a while.”
Diane swallowed an unwanted ball of grief. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for that.”
“Yeah, well …” His shoulders sank, but his gaze deepened. “I’m sure you know who wins when you wrestle with guilt.”
Diane didn’t respond right away. He shouldn’t feel guilty. She wouldn’t have known who he was if he’d shown up. Yet …
She looked up at the eaves of the house, unable to hold his gaze so long. If they were close friends, then he should have been there. “Is that what this is? You’re wrestling with guilt?” she asked.
He laughed, a nervous sound. He turned his face upward toward the night sky. His dark hair dusted his shirt collar. “This is me preventing guilt because the Reverend Whiting is a stubborn old cuss.”
Reverend? His dad was a preacher? She didn’t ask it out loud. Probably, she was supposed to know, although she couldn’t think how. A moment later, his dad returned. His arms strung with tangled lights, he came to a halt at the edge of the narrow front porch.
“I found ’em, but …” The word trailed off.
“But you need my help,” she said.
“You didn’t walk down here to untangle Christmas lights,” Carver spoke in her ear.
Prickles traveled up and down her spine, and her tongue thickened. What was wrong with her? Why did he rattle her? He knew Lester. The familiarity bothered her; that was all. Add in, they were of similar height and age and how … cold … her life had become.
“I choose to help,” she replied.
His mom approached the doorway, blocking the golden light streaming from inside. She leveled a tray of steaming mugs in her hands. Nicole popped up beside her and opened the door. His mom stepped out and lowered the tray to a small table in the center of the porch. A Christmas cactus showered fuchsia blossoms around it.
His mom spotted the knotted light strands in her husband’s hands. “Oh, my. I did want those on the fence, but maybe if it’s too much trouble, then we should forget it.”
v “It’s no trouble at all,” Diane said, drawing her gaze. “I am an excellent light-untangler, and Nicole has inherited my gift. We will have them straightened in no time.”
“I am really good at it,” Nicole replied. “On the other hand, I am not into acting.”
Carver rounded Diane’s side and halted in front of her daughter. “I’ll bet you are as good as your dad.”
Nicole’s bravado extinguished. Her fingers curled, she rubbed them down her sides, not fifteen but twelve, and staring out the car window at the crowd gathered for the funeral.
“You knew my dad?” Nicole asked, after a time.
“Your dad was one my best friends,” Carver replied. “He’s the reason I started acting.”
“He … he is?”
Carver nodded. “He dared me, and no way was I going to fail and look stupid in front of Lester Mobley. If he could do it, then I could do it better.”
“My dad acted?” Nicole stood taller.
“Your dad was the best. It seems almost planned, your being here and me having room for students. That never happens, halfway through the year. I hope you’ll give it a try.”
Nicole puckered her lips and twisted them to the side. The minute’s wait became an eternity. She released her breath, her spine bending. “I’ll do it for Dad.”
Tears burned behind Diane’s eyelids. She shut them and willed the sensation away. The sound of soft footsteps brought her eyes open. Nicole took a seat, the tangled lights across her lap. Mrs. Whiting slid her a cup of cocoa and took the seat beside her. Carver’s dad reached for his own cup.
Carver reached for two and extended one to her. Lester’s eyes had been the palest blue. Looking into them, she’d always felt like she’d seen everything about him. He was transparent and open like that. Carver’s brown pupils, on the other hand, held things you’d have to probe to find. Had anyone ever tried?
“Thanks for that,” she said. “She’s been fighting me for two days. I’m worn out.”
“She’s fighting with herself over how to be happy without her dad.”
When she didn’t comment, he came closer, and the scent of his cologne swirled around her again. She dragged in a lingering breath.
“I am blessed to have her in my class,” Carver said. “Lester was an amazing guy.” He paused. “I’m thinking an incredibly lucky one, too.”
Diane’s breath lodged her throat. Because of Nicole? Because of Nicole. That’s what he’d meant.
Struck off-kilter by his frankness, she opened her mouth and closed it again. At least, he’d waited until Nicole wasn’t around. At the same time, she shouldn’t be so thrown off by it. He was trying to apologize, sounded like.
“I’m sorry for mentioning it,” he said, confirming her thoughts. “I had a collision out front of the school and injured my left leg. It wasn’t serious, but I couldn’t walk for a while.”
Diane swallowed an unwanted ball of grief. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for that.”
“Yeah, well …” His shoulders sank, but his gaze deepened. “I’m sure you know who wins when you wrestle with guilt.”
Diane didn’t respond right away. He shouldn’t feel guilty. She wouldn’t have known who he was if he’d shown up. Yet …
She looked up at the eaves of the house, unable to hold his gaze so long. If they were close friends, then he should have been there. “Is that what this is? You’re wrestling with guilt?” she asked.
He laughed, a nervous sound. He turned his face upward toward the night sky. His dark hair dusted his shirt collar. “This is me preventing guilt because the Reverend Whiting is a stubborn old cuss.”
Reverend? His dad was a preacher? She didn’t ask it out loud. Probably, she was supposed to know, although she couldn’t think how. A moment later, his dad returned. His arms strung with tangled lights, he came to a halt at the edge of the narrow front porch.
“I found ’em, but …” The word trailed off.
“But you need my help,” she said.
“You didn’t walk down here to untangle Christmas lights,” Carver spoke in her ear.
Prickles traveled up and down her spine, and her tongue thickened. What was wrong with her? Why did he rattle her? He knew Lester. The familiarity bothered her; that was all. Add in, they were of similar height and age and how … cold … her life had become.
“I choose to help,” she replied.
His mom approached the doorway, blocking the golden light streaming from inside. She leveled a tray of steaming mugs in her hands. Nicole popped up beside her and opened the door. His mom stepped out and lowered the tray to a small table in the center of the porch. A Christmas cactus showered fuchsia blossoms around it.
His mom spotted the knotted light strands in her husband’s hands. “Oh, my. I did want those on the fence, but maybe if it’s too much trouble, then we should forget it.”
v “It’s no trouble at all,” Diane said, drawing her gaze. “I am an excellent light-untangler, and Nicole has inherited my gift. We will have them straightened in no time.”
“I am really good at it,” Nicole replied. “On the other hand, I am not into acting.”
Carver rounded Diane’s side and halted in front of her daughter. “I’ll bet you are as good as your dad.”
Nicole’s bravado extinguished. Her fingers curled, she rubbed them down her sides, not fifteen but twelve, and staring out the car window at the crowd gathered for the funeral.
“You knew my dad?” Nicole asked, after a time.
“Your dad was one my best friends,” Carver replied. “He’s the reason I started acting.”
“He … he is?”
Carver nodded. “He dared me, and no way was I going to fail and look stupid in front of Lester Mobley. If he could do it, then I could do it better.”
“My dad acted?” Nicole stood taller.
“Your dad was the best. It seems almost planned, your being here and me having room for students. That never happens, halfway through the year. I hope you’ll give it a try.”
Nicole puckered her lips and twisted them to the side. The minute’s wait became an eternity. She released her breath, her spine bending. “I’ll do it for Dad.”
Tears burned behind Diane’s eyelids. She shut them and willed the sensation away. The sound of soft footsteps brought her eyes open. Nicole took a seat, the tangled lights across her lap. Mrs. Whiting slid her a cup of cocoa and took the seat beside her. Carver’s dad reached for his own cup.
Carver reached for two and extended one to her. Lester’s eyes had been the palest blue. Looking into them, she’d always felt like she’d seen everything about him. He was transparent and open like that. Carver’s brown pupils, on the other hand, held things you’d have to probe to find. Had anyone ever tried?
“Thanks for that,” she said. “She’s been fighting me for two days. I’m worn out.”
“She’s fighting with herself over how to be happy without her dad.”
When she didn’t comment, he came closer, and the scent of his cologne swirled around her again. She dragged in a lingering breath.
“I am blessed to have her in my class,” Carver said. “Lester was an amazing guy.” He paused. “I’m thinking an incredibly lucky one, too.”
Diane’s breath lodged her throat. Because of Nicole? Because of Nicole. That’s what he’d meant.
❤
A Christmas Blessing: A Best Friend's Widow Romance
Amazon (ebook and paperback)
Other ebook retailers*
Amazon (ebook and paperback)
Other ebook retailers*
To ease the burden of her husband’s passing, Diane Mobley moved in with her in-laws. It’s good for everyone involved. She can take over their gourmet food shop, and they will give her daughter, Nicole, the love she needs to grow and flourish.
When Nicole’s new drama teacher, Carver Whiting, turns out to be her husband’s high school best friend, their instant attraction is fraught with doubt and guilt. Her husband casts a huge shadow between them. Adding pressure is a secret from her past, which might just be more than their fragile relationship can stand.
It could be that forgiveness, peace, and joy, the meanings of Christmas, aren’t meant for her. It could be that finding love the second time around is simply out of reach. A SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS, 2nd Generation Book.
*Other ebook retailers includes: Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple, Tolino, Vivlio, Smashwords, Gardners, Fable, Everand, Overdrive, Odilio, cloudLibrary, Hooplan, BorrowBox, Bookshop
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Suzanne D. Williams, Author
www.suzannedwilliams.com
www.feelgoodromance.com
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