Page 29 of Home for Christmas in July

“Some chives, a little dill, sage, parsley. But the secret ingredient is fennel.”

“Hmm. That sounds like an authentic frittata. Italians love their fennel in almost everything.” I laugh at a memory. “My landlady in Ravenna served sliced raw fennel at the end of every meal. She called it a palate cleanser.”

“You know, I always wondered what happened in Italy.”

His tone is casual, but the question sets my teeth on edge.

“What do you mean, what happened?”

“The last I heard, you had that traineeship at Oxford and then a research position for the summer at the University of Bologna. When Carol tracked you down you were about to start the masters’ program in Italy. Then you came back to Mistletoe Mountain for our wedding and never left.”

“Oh—I don’t know. I guess I missed home,” I say lamely.

I feel the weight of his gaze as he studies me by the starlight.

“Don’t BS me, Noelle. What happened?”

Panic rises in my chest. “Nothing. It just wasn’t a goodsituation. I wasn’t really looking forward to going back, to be honest. Then, if you remember, Vashti’s daughter had her triplets two months early, and Vashti resigned to move to Illinois to help take care of her grandbabies. Suddenly, the Mistletoe library needed a director on short notice. And there I was. A job that I never thought would open up fell into my lap. It was serendipity.”

“Do you ever regret it? Staying here?”

I tilt my head and give him a curious look. “No. Does it seem like I do?”

He shrugs and swirls the liquid in his glass. “I don’t know. The Noelle I met in London was chock-full of dreams, big ones. Don’t get me wrong, Mistletoe Mountain’s a special place. I know that better than most, but it’s not a big place. Don’t you ever feel constricted?”

“No,” I tell him honestly. “I can do whatever I want at the library. I don’t have to deal with bureaucracy or hierarchy. I can make a difference in this community. Besides, little places can accommodate big dreams. I love this big little place.”

He squints at me as if he’s not entirely convinced. “And you don’t feel like you’ve missed out? I don’t mean professionally. Personally.”

“I’m not lonely.” I sip my wine, and then amend my defensive answer. “That’s not entirely true. Sometimes I’m lonely. Sometimes I look around and wonder how I ended up in my forties, without a partner or a family. But, on balance, I’m happy and fulfilled.”

“Why don’t you date more?” he asks.

I snort. “Have you looked around? Josh Morgenthal’s taken.”

“Come on. I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Pretty much everyone in this town is coupled up, unless I’m looking for a guy in his early twenties. And I’m not the cougar type.”

He considers this. “I guess the local dating pool is kind of shallow. I never really thought about it.”

“You haven’t had to.”Yet.

I wonder, will he start dating? Nick Jolly, eligible widower? Carol certainly didn’t want him to live his days out alone.

As if he’s reading my mind, he says, “I can’t imagine ever putting myself back out on the dating scene.”

“No?”

“No.” He turns to look directly at me again, and, yet again, his eyes are molten. “What are the odds I’ll find a true partner? I’m not sure lightning will strike a third time.”

I clear my throat. “You mean second.”

“No, Noe. I mean third.”

I hold his gaze. Unbidden, my tongue darts out and wets my lips. He follows the motion, and his Adam’s apple bobs. The air between us crackles. My heart thumps against my breastbone.

He’s a magnet, pulling me toward him. I see myself leaning in, digging my fingers into his thick hair, and … I jump up from the bench before I can do something irreversible.

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