Page 14 of This Christmas

She takes one of the trees from me and gently sets into the back of the truck. “I’d like a lot of things, Zane. But like in life, we don’t always get what we want.” Evangeline leaves me there, holding the other tree. I set it in the back of her truck, take a long glance at her, and head up the drive to where my fiancée sits in the SUV.

Today will go down in the Book of Zane as one I wish I could have a re-do of. Sadly, at this point in my life, there’s a long list of days I need to re-do.

My hand rests on the handle, and I take a deep breath before opening the door, climbing in and shutting the door behind me. The house I shared holiday dinners in, made out with Eve in, and sort of grew up in, looms in front of me. Battery operated candle lights sit in the windows, likely to come on around five in the evening if I remember correctly.

Also at five, the house will light up with white lights, and with red-and-white lights in the shrubs out front, and on the wooden sleigh in the front yard.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Eve climbing the stairs in the backyard to the house. If I remember correctly, she’ll walk into the family room, through the kitchen, and down the hall to her bedroom or bathroom. Assuming she even lives there.

Caryn sighs next to me. My mind scrambles to find the words I should say right now. Starting off withI’m sorryorare you okaydoesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do. Instead, I start the car, reverse out of theparking lot, and head toward the Inn. Caryn’s social meter on today’s activities has reached a maximum. I’m smart enough to realize this.

When I park at the Inn, she doesn’t wait for me to open the door for her or check to see if I’m following. I do though, knowing full well I owe her an explanation.

Thankfully, the innkeeper isn’t looming when we walk inside. At the top of the stairs, we turn right and head down the hallway to the room on the end, the one with the en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet.

Caryn opens the door, dumps her bag of dirty clothes in the trash, and heads right to the bathroom. I sit on the bed and wait for her to return.

Thirty minutes later, she comes out with her icy blond hair wet and towel dried.

“I’ve known Evangeline my entire life,” I start, even though Caryn isn’t paying attention to me. “We began hanging out with each other after her brother passed away. By high school, we were dating and were a couple until I left to take the internship with your dad.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s meant to give you some insight into my life.”

“You could’ve told me about her.”

“You’re right, I should’ve. Believe me, I tried. When you and I started dating, there was a day in particular when I felt off. I almost left and came home that day, but I didn’t.”

“Is she the reason we’re here?”

It doesn’t escape my notice that she doesn’t askabout the day I’m referring to. I shake my head. “We’re here for my dad.”

“Who loves Evangeline?”

I nod. “Everyone in town loves her.”

“Including you?”

“No,” I tell her, although technically we’re not in town.

SEVEN

EVANGELINE

When George told me Zane was back in town, I never suspected to run into him hours later. Let alone on my family farm. What in the tinsel was this man thinking? Showing up to the one place where he wasn’t welcome? Acting as if nothing has changed?

Not only did he show up looking like Adonis in a suit, but he brought his Aphrodite with him. I think that stings the most. Not Zane bringing her, buther.

Caryn—innocent in all of this—was gracious. When I took her to the back to get cleaned up, I expected her to pepper me with questions, but she just thanked me profusely. At first, I thought she simply didn’t care about the past. For all I know, he told her I was this horrible girlfriend who demanded too much of him or I was a stage-five clinger and the only way he could get rid of me was to move to New York City. I suppose, from an outsider’s point of view, those two things could be accurate about me. For the first week, Ilit Zane’s phone up with texts about how much I missed him, sending him photos of our apartment as I decorated, folding his clothes, and pictures of the city we both loved so much.

Sure, as the weeks went on and each promise was broken, I stopped texting him. I could take a hint. He found whatever he needed in New York. I wasn’t it.

Caryn was.

Maybe Zane never told her about me. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, he could’ve met her and pretended like his life here didn’t exist. That surely explains why he left and never returned, not even for his father.

The last thing I want to do is think ill of this woman. It’s not her fault. It’s Zane’s. I will die on the hill that men need to communicate effectively and be honest. Hopefully, Zane has learned this, and maybe that’s why he wanted to talk. Telling him I’m busy is definitely a coping mechanism. I’m not as busy as I want him to believe. It is, after all, December and my priorities are the holidays. Patrons of Reindeer Ridge Farm come first, and then there’s the tree lighting ceremony, and I always get tasked with something to do during it. Let’s not forget I have to make sure Santa, a.k.a. George, gets to the children’s party in fashion.

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