Page 30 of Meet Me at Christmas
Stella offered an apprehensive smile. She could definitely explain it, but she didn’t. Where would she begin? And if he did learn their story, she’d have to tell him how it ended, and she wasn’t ready to face her reasons for doing so just yet, if ever.
The guilt was already creeping in without that bombshell. He’d only joined the army after she left him. If those events hadn’t happened, he most likely wouldn’t be sitting beside her right now, having lost so much about himself and his life. Without warning, tears pricked her eyes. She turned toward the window, blinking them away and pretending to watch the icy slush that slipped past.
Eleven
They drove along in silence until Henry pulled to a stop in front of a familiar little bar, tucked away on a back road. A string of garland hung around a window that sported a neon Michelob sign. Stella’s heart beat so quickly at the sight that she worried it might hop right out of her chest.
“You sure this is the place?” she asked, wondering why, when they had the entire city of Nashville to choose from, he’d picked the bar where he first told her he loved her. The empty parking lot and three sticky-looking tables she could see through the foggy window were exactly as they had been that night.
“Yep.” He hopped out of the truck and went around to her side, then opened her door. “I come here a lot after therapy sessions.”
Trying to keep herself cool, she hopped down onto the cracked pavement and followed him to the door. He held it open for her and waved an arm ushering her through, a gesture he used to do all the time. But he didn’t even know that.
She went into the dark, musty, bar-style restaurant. The muffled sound of pans clinking in the back filtered through the small room under the twang of country Christmas songs, just as it had that night when they’d stopped on their way home from a basketball game in the city. It had been the only bar with an open table after the game. Stella slipped into the memory of it.
“I tried to tell you when we were in line for popcorn,” he’d said as they entered the little bar. “And again at halftime.”
“Tell me what?”
He ignored the waitress and stopped Stella right there in the middle of the restaurant. “And then I wanted to tell you when we were walking across the parking lot.” He reached out and took her hands. “I’m crazy about you.”
His smile, his flushed cheeks, had stolen her heart.
“I can’t live without you. I love you, Stella. There, I said it.” Then he stood as if waiting for the verdict, his chest rising and falling with anticipation.
Stella looked around. The whole place was watching. She leaned in as if she were going to tell him something, but instead pressed her lips to his and then everything faded away but the sensation of absolute perfection in his embrace. When she’d finally come to once more, the whole place was cheering. That night had sealed the fate of that lone bar, and it had become their spot. It was the place where they made all their life plans, drawing sketches of their dream house on the paper napkins, deciding how many dogs they were going to have, and debating whether the animals would be allowed on the furniture.
And now, fifteen years after his big announcement, nothing about the place had changed but the staff. “Y’all seat yourselves,” a waitress called from the back near the open kitchen pass-through.
Henry chose one of the booths across from an artificial tree adorned with a few sparse strands of silver tinsel.
“Why do you comehereof all places?” she asked, genuinely curious.
He pursed his lips, his gaze unsteady as he searched for the right answer. “It’s quiet and easy to avoid people here. And I have a cloudy memory of… something. Just a flash. I keep coming back, hoping it’ll surface.” As he sat down, Henry spread his fingers against the tabletop to lower himself onto the bench seat. His hands were more weathered than they had been, evidence of hard work etched into them.
“But you can’t remember?” she asked with bated breath.
“It’s hard to say, but being here also just feels normal. It’s one of two memories that are right on the edge of my mind.”
“What’s the other one?”
“I have this weird vision of a wooden door.”
“That one?” She pointed to the door through which they’d entered.
“No, the one in my memory is a light maple.”
A rush of recognition washed through her, and she had to work hard to keep her emotion from showing. It wasn’t the memory of their time here, but it was very possibly another memory ofher. As if all their memories were woven together somehow.
“A maple door? That’s the whole memory?”
“I think so. But I’m not sure. Like I said, it’s foggy.” He grabbed his menu and brought the conversation to a halt, his expression seeming to convey that his inability to give her a solid answer was somehow his fault.
Stella picked up her menu and perused the fare, wondering if he was recalling the same memory she had of that door.
All those years ago, Stella had come out of the market on the main road in town to find Henry leaning against his truck, wearing his work boots and a dirty pair of jeans, a smug smile on his gorgeous face.
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