Page 52 of Grump Hard
Twenty minutes later, the family loads a much more relaxed Daisy into their car, and just like that, the last animal has found a home.
The parking lot is nearly empty now. Just Luke and me and Janet and her husband folding up the volunteer table.
The sun has set completely, leaving us in purple winter twilight, with the temperature falling fast. The clean-up crew rolled the heaters back into the community center half an hour ago, and for the first time all day, I wish I had a base layer on under my heavy sweater.
“Come on,” Luke says, nodding toward my tent. “Let’s get your car packed before it gets any darker.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Thanks.”
We break down my photography station in silence. I roll up the backdrop while Luke disassembles the tent, then we make two trips to the Honda, loading the larger items first before heading back to retrieve the cases of camera and lighting equipment.
By the time we’re done, we’re alone in the small gravel overflow parking lot across the street, our breath forming clouds in the air between us.
This is it.
My chance to ask what the hell happened, to fight for whatever this is before it disappears completely.
“That went well, I think.” I try for a light tone and land somewhere between nervous and pleading. “We make a good team.”
Luke’s face shuts down again. Just like that. Like flipping a switch.
The softness that crept in during our time with Daisy vanishes like it was never there at all, until he’s studying me with an expression so impersonal it’s jarring.
“We managed well enough.” His voice is flat, final. “But, I confess, I’m glad the blackmail portion of my holiday is done. I hope you enjoy the rest of the season, Holly.”
“Wh-what?” I stammer. “You’re not seriously?—”
“Take care.” He lifts an arm as he starts across the gravel, heading toward wherever his car is parked, I assume. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
Stay out of my way? What? When was he ever in my way?
The hits just keep coming.
The parking lot seems to spin as this bizarre day gets even crazier.
I want to rush after Luke and grab his arm. Make him look at me, demand an explanation that makes sense. But my body won’t move. I’m frozen, watching him walk down the street, his shoulders straight and his stride steady.
He doesn’t look back.
Not once.
The cold night air cuts through my sweater to chill my bones, and in the distance, I catch laughter drifting from the pub. Low conversation by the country store. Doors slamming as the town offices lock up for the weekend. Normal sounds. Normal Friday night in Silver Bell Falls. As if the world hasn’t just tilted sideways, dumped me into the Twilight Zone, and kicked me in the shins.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Probably Candy, checking to make sure I’m okay.
But I’m not okay, not even close.
The tears I’ve been holding back all afternoon finally spill over, hot against my cold cheeks. I let them fall. There’s no one here to see. No one here to witness the silly, small-town girl who naively thought she could turn a damaged man’s stone-cold soul around with a kiss and some holiday cheer.
Turns out I was the one who had a lesson to learn.
Some hearts are too broken to fix. Some people will refuse your love, even when it’s freely offered with no strings attached.
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
And God, that’s sad.
