Page 88 of A Very Merry Enemy
I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her outside. The temperature has dropped, and Holiday wraps her arms around herself against the cold. I give her my jacket from the back seat, then start the engine. Her breath fogs in the air, and I crank the heat.
“This is ominous,” she says as I take the old dirt road that leads behind Mawmaw’s house.
“Just trust me,” I tell her, driving down the trail, deeper into the woods, at the far edge of our property.
“I do.”
CHAPTER 17
LUCAS
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as we get closer.
This could be a mistake, but I have questions that I need answers to. Because Dominic will show up in less than a week, and his presence will inevitably complicate things.
I can feel her watching me as I navigate the dirt roads that didn’t exist fifteen years ago. My brothers and I spent several summers in my early twenties cutting drivable trails to our favorite places on the property. After five minutes of driving, the road gets narrower and the trees get thicker.
My heart is pounding now. I realize I’m nervous and second-guessing this whole plan. What if she doesn’t want to be here? What if bringing her back to this place hurts more than it helps? What if I learn something tonight that I can’t ignore?
Maybe I should turn around. Maybe?—
But then I’m pulling onto the barely there path that leads to a clearing, and it’s too late to back out now. I park and kill the engine, glancing over at Holiday. She’s staring out the windshield into the darkness.
“Ready?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head.
When we were kids, she was afraid of the dark. Some things never change.
I smile. “I’ve got you.”
“You always did.”
I get out of the truck, and I open the door for her, taking her hand. The November air is cold and crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant wood smoke. Holiday looks up at the starry sky, and I watch her breath fog in the air. The stars are brighter out here, and it’s hard to believe they’re the same ones we used to wish on.
I lead her forward, and she stops dead in her tracks when we move closer to our destination.
The tent sits exactly where it always did, the same spot we claimed as ours when we were seventeen. Two camping chairs face the firepit with an extra stack of wood nearby. Bourbon sits in one of the chairs, chilled by the late November temperature.
“Lucas,” she whispers, and her hand tightens on mine.
I can see recognition flash across her face as memory after memory hits her. Her eyes go from the tent to the firepit to the exact spot where we spread a blanket under the stars fifteen years ago. The place where I told her I loved her for the first time and where we made promises we couldn’t keep.
She takes a few steps forward, her hand slipping from mine. She moves toward the tent and reaches out to touch the canvas like she’s making sure it’s real.
“I feel like I’ve stepped back in time,” she says.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. “Haven’t really been back much, either. Just a few times.”
The truth is, it was always too hard to visit. There were times when I was in my feels and sat out here, drinking alone. But I never brought anyone else here. This place has always been ours.
I light the wood I stacked earlier. The kindling catches quickly, and flames lick at the larger logs. The fire grows, casting dancing shadows across the clearing and pushing back thedarkness. The firelight catches her face. For a second, she looks exactly like she did when we were teenagers—all hope and possibility, with that perfect smile that used to easily undo me.
“I can’t believe you remembered all the details,” she whispers.
“Our time together was unforgettable.” The admission costs me, but I give it anyway.
I remember the first time I brought her here and how nervous I was. Back then, we rode a four-wheeler down the path I’d carved out when I found this natural meadow. We stayed up all night talking about our dreams—her bakery; me expanding the farm; us building a life together.
