Page 18 of Matches and Mistletoe
“Liar.” He’s about to lean in again, but then the kettle whistles, and he turns away to make the tea. “Sugar or milk? Or both?”
“A scoop of sugar, splash of milk,” I say, touching my lips. I feel warm and flushed all over.
“Exactly the way I take it,” he says.
We sit on the couch, with the teacups cooling on the low table.
“You haven’t asked my name,” he says, angling his body toward me and laying an arm along the top of the couch.
“I don’t want to know it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No?”
“It will break the—the magic.”
He laughs, low and musical. “If you don’t want to know about me, tell me about yourself then.”
“About myself?” Why would anyone want to know about me?
“Yes, you. Who are you, Gloria?”
The question startles me. “I don’t think I know anymore.”
“Since?”
“Since Tom died. Since Mary was born. Since—everything.”
“Whowereyou, then? Before all of that?” He reaches out, running his fingers over each one of mine.
“I used to draw. Not painting, but sketches. People, mostly. They weren’t very good, but it made me happy.”
“What else?” The movement of his fingers tracing mine is mesmerizing.
“Tom and I used to go dancing sometimes. Before Ellie was born. He couldn’t dance well, but he went because I liked it.”
The angel smiles. “True love.”
“I suppose so.” Suddenly I’m saying the things that have been in my head, that I couldn’t say to anyone I knew. “He could be selfish, too, though. In little ways. Thoughtless of me, and of Ellie. Ignoring what I said, what I thought. My opinions meant less to him because I’m a woman.”
“A foolish perspective, unfortunately common in this era,” he says.
“True. I’m surprised you can see it, being a man yourself.”
Chuckling, he brings my hand to his lips. “I’ve crossed enough strong women to know that you’re all to be revered and feared.”
The smile spreads over my face before I can stop it. It feels strange—too wide, too happy.
“There you are,” he says softly, smiling back. “I knew you were in there somewhere, Gloria.”
My face heats.
“Tell me more,” he says. “You have family?”
“Parents, no siblings. And my parents live too far away to visit us often.”
“Why not move to where they are?”
“This is the house Tom bought for us,” I say stubbornly. “And I can’t live too near my mother.”
