Page 32 of A Lifetime of Afters
We were only inside for a few minutes, but by the time we got to his car, his good humor had disappeared.
So far, I’d gotten a different Hawkley every day. Today was no different. My initial excitement that morphed into heady anticipation as the afternoon wore on, now sat like a soggy lump of unease in my stomach.
“I actually am happy,” he offered me a small smile, “extremely happy to be with you.” Reaching across the seat, he picked my hand up off my lap and pressed my knuckles against his lips. Holding it there, his chest rose and fell with his deep breath. He gently squeezed and returned my hand to my thigh, covering it with his warm palm. “I feel guilty. I feel like I shouldn’t get to have you.”
Aw, it wasn’t me then. My stomach lightened. I turned my hand to intertwine our fingers. “Because of Hunter.”
“Mostly,” he flicked his indicator, taking us onto the highway. Once he merged into traffic, he continued, “Max is going to kick my ass.”
I laughed at the thought. My big brother going all, well, big brother.
His teeth flashed white in his beard, but he doubled down. “You think I’m kidding but I’m not. He will not like this. At all.”
“Whyever not?” I asked, exasperated.
He shrugged. “It’s the way with men. The idea of any man screwing your sister is distasteful.” He shuddered. “But for it to be your bro? Someone you’re close to? It’s a betrayal.”
“That’s crazy!”
His eyebrows rose in challenge. “Is it? How about if Harley hooked up with Max?”
Jealousy unfurled in my gut. “Oh my gosh, I think I’d be jealous! I’d lose my confidante, wouldn’t feel like I could let loose with her anymore.”
“There you go,” he laughed, his deep chuckle eliminating the last of my unease. “For guys it’s a little more elemental.”
“Don’t you think it’s different though? Hooking up as opposed to…” I trailed off suddenly aware of how much more certain I was of him than he was of me.
“As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to what we’re doing?” I ventured softly.
He smiled sadly, “And what are we doing, Noelle? I’m not even prepared to take you out in town for fear someone sees us and reports back.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
My words wiped all expression off his face. He answered dully, “You’d be surprised.”
Stroking his thumb across the pulse at my wrist, he turned the conversation, telling me stories about guests at the resort, catastrophes in the kitchen, romance drama between the staff, and some of the crazy events his mom pulled off over the years.
The highway rolled along beneath us, and it wasn’t until I saw the sign that I realized where he was taking me. I twisted in my seat and grabbed his shoulder. “Are we going to Mistlevale?”
“Happy?” He looked over at my face and what he saw made him grin.
The happy bubbles inside me threatened to explode. “So happy! I haven’t been here in years! Remember Harley and I used to beg you and Max to take us?”
“I do,” he chuckled. “We should have taken you more often.”
Mistlevale used to be a quaint, historic town with an equally historic name. Many years ago, as industry fled and the population dipped, the town got together and revamped itself into a tourist stop. Renovations began downtown at the city square first, and rippled outwards until it boasted one square mile of North Pole perfection.
Famous for its storefront windows that changed with the seasons, people flocked to its streets to take in the elaborate displays. But if you didn’t go inside, you truly missed out. The toy store, made up to look like Santa’s workshop, held mostly handmade and eco-friendly toys. At the back and behind glass lay an elaborate replica of the village itself with the addition of a fanciful train.
Likewise, the bakery, the deli, the craft store, the bookstore, and the restaurants all offered visual delights beyond their expected offerings. But the piece de resistance was the Christmas store. Set up like a winter wonderland, beautifully dressed Christmas trees displayed the ornaments for sale and created a path, the end of which led to every Christmas culinary delight you wish for and complimentary candy canes.
There were three fabulous restaurants in town. One, cafeteria style, served the multitudes with eateries serving food from all over the world.
The second, a diner, offered homestyle cooking from breakfast clear through to dinner. It was a warm hug on a cold day. That first sip of hot chocolate after shoveling the snow. Leftover turkey sandwiches at Grandma’s the day after Christmas. Comfort food at its very best.
Ayana’s offered something different. Candlelight and kisses. Soft lighting and sensual touches. A glass of wine in front of the fireplace. A bearskin rug after the kids went down for the night.
