Page 69 of Meet Me at Christmas
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, walking over to see whatever it was he saw, but when she stopped next to him, there was nothing there.
“We used to dance, right here.”
If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his arms around her while they swayed to the music. “Yes.”
He reached out, his fingertips grazing her waist, asking for permission. She stepped toward him, the two of them like two magnetic poles, and before she knew it she was in his arms, and they were moving effortlessly together like they always had. The sensation broke her heart all over again.
He dipped his head, the stubble on his cheek brushing her skin, his lips so close to her that her skin tingled in response.
“Do you still feel anything for me?” he whispered in her ear.
She couldn’t tell him no. Because that wouldn’t be true. Her feelings for him had never waned; she’d just pushed them away, trying not to feel anything. The truth was that dancing with him was like coming home. She, too, missed her best friend and the man she loved.
He pulled back to look at her.
She peered into those blue eyes and knew she couldn’t deny it. “Yes.”
Henry leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. An explosion of fireworks shot through her body. She didn’t know what would happen in the days to come, but as his lips moved on hers, she wasn’t able to formulate a single thought, so she relaxed into the feeling of being with the love of her life.
When they finally slowed, he looked down at her and grinned—that smirk surfacing as if he was up to something. “Hi,” he said as if he’d only just seen her.
“Hi.” She stared into his eyes, all the good years they’d had rushing back between them.
The music continued playing as they stood together, learning this new version of themselves. Then he grabbed hold of her, dipping her and making her laugh. When he righted her, he said, “I’ve done that many times before too.”
“Yes, you have. What made you remember?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just did. Being with you is better than weeks and weeks of therapy.”
“You’re right. I’ve been reading about a new theory along those lines. While I still think therapy is ideal, in this case you got lucky and found an alternative to release the memories. But… your memories have all been positive ones. You’re still blocking out the negative thoughts.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He clutched her tighter and nuzzled her neck, making her squeal before he let her go.
Mama’s voice interrupted them. “Look who I found while I was out and about.” She walked in with Mr. Ferguson.
Henry greeted them while Stella helped Mr. Ferguson into the room. “What are you doing on this side of town?” she asked the old man.
“I was lonely, so I thought I’d take the bus out this way and go to that Christmas lot. It seemed so festive, and I thought it might make me feel better.”
Mama leaned over to him. “You know you never need to feel lonely. You can always call me.”
Mr. Ferguson’s face lit up. “Oh, you’re too kind.”
“I’m alone too, you know,” Mama said.
“Not this holiday.” Stella put her arm around Mama and gave her a squeeze.
* * *
Stella sat across from Henry and Mr. Ferguson while Mama pulled a chair up beside her at the table.
Mama shuffled the deck of cards. “What do you say we play Crazy Eights?”
“How do you play it again?” Henry asked.
His question amused Stella. “We used to play this after work to wind down.”
“Oh, my goodness, yes,” Mama agreed. “You and Stella would come over for dinner sometimes, and you two would play for hours. You were neck and neck, and we never knew which one of you would pull off the win. You kept multi-game scores on pads of paper.” Mama gasped. “Hang on.” She got up and went over to the kitchen junk drawer and rifled through it. Finally, she pulled out a legal pad. “Look! I’ve still got your last score card. You can pick up where you left off.” She dropped it onto the table, along with a pen.
