Page 22 of Christmas On Anchor Island

“Why?”

The last drops from the bottle created ripples on the surface of the wine. “I told myself it was because Grandma needs me. Because I have a life here and people who depend on me. Who would teach the classes at Lola’s? Who would do art with the kids at the daycare every Wednesday? Do you know what I realized today?”

“I have an idea,” he mumbled.

“That’s right. Anyone.” She lifted her glass in salute. “Anyone could do those things. And as your girlfriend so succinctly pointed out, Grandma doesn’t need me either. The truth is, I’m a coward hiding on this secluded little island where I don’t have to take any chances, and I don’t have to face the truth that I have no idea who the hell I am.”

This was the moment when Nick would tell her to stop being so dramatic and to grow up.

Instead, he said, “I know who you are.”

Mia was far enough into the wine to play the bratty little sister. “Please, enlighten me.”

Her brother once again removed the glass from her hand, though this time he set it on the counter without dumping it out. After leading her to the sofa, he forced her to sit before settling onto the ottoman in front of her.

“First of all, you aren’t a coward.”

She gave him an arched-brow look that said she didn’t believe him.

“Okay, maybe you are, but you’re also loyal, dependable, and the first to help someone in need.”

Leaning back, she dropped her arms at her sides. “So I’m a Saint Bernard.”

Nick had the audacity to laugh. “That is how you’d describe one, isn’t it?”

“Leave me alone with my wine.”

Mia tried to jump to her feet but he pushed her back down. “Let’s try this again. When you were twelve, you showed me a picture from the Louvre and said you were going to go there someday. Then you told Mom the same thing, and she told you to get your head out of the clouds.”

She remembered that day. “I never talked about going to Paris again.”

“When you were fourteen,” he continued, “you won that art contest at school. Do you remember?”

A vague memory came to mind. “The one for the black-and-white print?”

He nodded. “That’s right. We went out to eat after the award ceremony, and Mom said that if you gave as much effort to your real classes as you did to art, then you might get into a good college.”

That night had ended with Mia crying herself to sleep.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that you stuck with the art. You got into a good college, and you make a living doing something you love. Something you were told over and over again wasn’t worth pursuing. But you stuck with it. Why?”

Without thinking, she said, “Because this is who I am.”

Looking like a man who’d just won a great victory, Nick sat in silence, a wide grin splitting his scruff-covered cheeks.

“That isn’t what I mean,” she mumbled.

“Yes, it is. Mia, no one is just one thing. Against the odds, you embraced a part of yourself that felt as natural as breathing. Art was part of you. All you have to do now is embrace the other parts. Ignore the voices that tell you that it’s wrong, just like you ignored Mom. You can do that here, in New York, in Virginia, or in Paris for that matter.” Leaning forward, he dropped his hands onto her knees. “Go wherever you want to go.”

Mia pictured the ticket Henri had given her, and what seemed impossible an hour ago suddenly felt like a real option.

“You make it sound so easy.”

Nick gave her a tap on the leg. “I’m not saying that. The world is always going to be littered with assholes, and as much as I’m willing to do it, I can’t beat them all up for you. But I know someone else who probably knows a thing or two about dealing with them, and she’d likely throw a punch on your behalf if needed.”

As Nick rose, Mia followed suit. “What about Grandma?”

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