Page 101 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
First, he collects dry clothes for me up in my room, then he warms us up some leftovers which we eat by the fire. After doing the dishes, he even organizes the cake and pie taste-test.
My pie wins.
But it’s slightly possible he threw the competition.
Once the food’s all been devoured and the dishes are washed and dried, Three makes us a nest of pillows and blankets on the floor of the living room. That’s so we can watchHome Alone on the brand new flat-screen. Three recites almost every line, and I gleefully cheer him on. It’s his favorite Christmas movie, after all. And when Kevin’s mom comes home, I get a little teary-eyed.
Afterward, at my request, we make a plan to fall asleep right there in front of the Christmas tree. I’ve always wanted to do that, but I never could,because of the gala.
So we both try dozing in the glow of the twinkling lights, but end up talking instead—sharing stories we missed from each other’s lives over the past ten years. We both have a lot of funny stories to tell with a few sad memories sprinkled in. Mostly we’ve been happy, which is a good thing. We just ignored the holes in our hearts and made the best of all our blessings.
Later, when the embers have all winked out, and my eyelids are thick and heavy, I’m just drifting off when I feel a sweet, soft kiss on my forehead.
“Hi,” I say.
“Did I wake you?”
“I don’t mind. I wasn’t quite asleep yet.”
“Well it’s midnight now,” Three whispers. “Happy Birthday, Sara Jane.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Three
So I just spent an entire night holding the woman of my dreams, and now I want to call my mom.
That’s weird, right?
Yeah. Probably.
Super-weird, at least on the surface. But hear me out. These past twelve hours with Sara weren’t like when we got stuck in the storage room. Or when we ended up sleeping together on that one small couch. For one thing there was no grandfather clock chiming at us every half hour. But that’s not the real point.
The difference between every other moment Sara and I have been together since she returned to Abieville was the connection. What I’m feeling for her is no longer based on the great memories from years ago. And it’s not about how beautiful she still is. Although—no exaggeration—she’s basically a goddess in my eyes. But now that I’ve seen who Sara’s become, I can’t believe I was ever strong enough to let her walk away from me.
Scratch that. Ipushedher away.
But as hard as that was back then—and how hard it stayed fora long time—I think we’re both feeling now like that might’ve been the best thing for us.
The first time around, Sara and I were just having summer fun. We had days on the lake and bonfires at night. We had ice cream and the hots for each other.
(That’s what my dad called it anyway.The hots. I gave him a lot of grief for that, but he wasn’t wrong.)
Of course Sara was already smart and funny back then. And kind. Beyond gorgeous. That’s an objective fact. So yes, we definitely had chemistry, and man, over those four summers, I fell hard for her. But only as hard as any kid can when he doesn’t know much about himself yet.
Make no mistake. This isn’t about age. Plenty of people can and do find the loves of their lives when they’re young. My parents met at Abieville Elementary, and fifty years later, they’re still going strong.
But for me, not fighting for Sara back then—or defending my family to the Hathaways—was strictly because I hadn’t proved my worthiness to myself yet. The disapproval I gauged in her mom and dad’s voice started in my own head first. I had no idea what the future held for me. I wasn’t ready to stake claim to a specific career. To support a woman. To be a man.
Then there was Sara, six months younger than me, and already so clear about what she wanted. Not just to go on to become an attorney someday, but to make her parents proud. She always felt like their happiness was her responsibility. And I get why she’d believe that. Their miracle baby. Only child. She was a gift from day one, and kept on giving.
So I hope she’s starting to realize she’s her own person too. She can make choices that bring her happiness without worrying about her dad’s legacy or whether her mom will be disappointed.
My parents never pushed me to work hard for anyone but myself. They weren’t in a hurry to see me climb any ladder beyond the lifeguard stand. They always saw Abieville as a townworth building a life in. At whatever pace suits you. So they always had faith in me.
And that’s exactly why I need to call my mom.
Because this morning, Ryan Detweiler approved the Hathaway’s home for Platinum Stays, and ever since Sara dropped me off to head back to the city, I’ve been pacing the floors wanting nothing more than to be with her again.
