Christmas Comes to Main Street (24 page)

Nate thought quickly. “I had to shave this morning. Once a year. Mrs. Claus insists. Says it tickles.” He gave Kara a wry grin, and she shook her head, a pleased smile teasing her lips.

“But your hair isn't white,” the boy continued. “Your eyebrows are brown. You're wearing a wig.”

Aw, darn. It was bound to happen. Nate leaned in close to the boy's ear and whispered, “Now between you and me, you're right. I'm not the real Santa. It's Christmas Eve, and Santa is busy loading his sleigh.”

The boy pulled back, frowning at him. “Then who are you?”

“I'm Santa's… son,” he said, deciding to shortcut what he anticipated as yet another long explanation about how helpers worked.

“His son?” The little boy's mouth formed a big circle. “Then you're the real deal!”

Nate heard Kara's sweet laugh over the raucous kids who were still waiting their turn and gave his leg a little jostle. “That's right. Now tell me, what do you want for Christmas this year?”

At this, the little boy looked sad. “It doesn't matter. You can't get it.”

Nate's gut stirred with unease. Who was he to make false promises to these kids? To offer them a dream that might never come true? To disappoint them on Christmas morning, all for a few moments of fun right now?

He gritted his teeth as heat coated his body, the velour suit suddenly suffocating.

He thought of everything he'd bought, what the kid might like. That train set, maybe. Or the bike. “What about a bike?”

The little boy just shook his head and picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans. “I just want a job for my dad,” he said. “That's all.”

Nate swallowed hard, unable to say anything, to make a promise he couldn't keep, or worse, to let the kid down, to take away his Christmas wish and his belief in Santa in one fell swoop. It was cold. Cruel.

He couldn't do this.

“I can't do this,” he said to Kara when the boy had gone off to get his cookies and milk.

Kara's blue eyes turned round. “But you're a natural! The kids love you!”

“But I'm lying to them,” he hissed, hoping to not be heard. “These kids are asking for things I can't promise them.”

“But they want to see Santa,” she pleaded. “They love seeing Santa.”

She didn't get it. She didn't understand. How could she? They came from two different worlds.

“You don't understand,” he said. “These kids… they think Santa can turn their life around. They think Christmas is some magical day.”

“It can be,” she said hopefully.

“Not for everyone,” Nate said simply. “Not for kids like me. Not for these kids.”

Kara's expression crumbled as she looked in dismay over at the kids waiting in line. “But what are we supposed to do?”

Nate shook his head. “Ask Bridget for the list. Make sure each kid gets one toy today—something they really want. We can make today special at least.”

Kara nodded. “Okay. I'll be right back.”

Nate sat back in the chair, smiling sadly at all the children who stared at him with hope, but all he saw looking back was the little boy who would wake up tomorrow and realize his father still didn't have a job, that life hadn't turned around, and that Christmas was just a holiday for the lucky ones.

I
t had started to snow while they were at the Hope Center, and Kara tried to attribute Nate's silence to the slick roads on the drive back to Briar Creek. He was perfectly pleasant as he handed the keys back over to Ivy and thanked her for the use of the car. He even managed to laugh with them when Kara told her friend about her itchy gray wig and the kid who had all but broken Nate's femur when he ran for him.

But Kara saw something in Nate, a shift in his demeanor, a faraway look in his eyes that made her heart sink a little. She'd messed up. Stirred things up. She'd pushed him too far.

“I'm sorry if today upset you,” she said as they walked down Main Street toward the bakery, where she was eager to relieve Molly of her counter service responsibility. “I saw that you wanted to help, and I thought…”

“It's fine,” Nate said, but she could tell by the set of his jaw that it wasn't.

“No, it wasn't. Christmas is hard for you. I should have remembered that.”

Nate stopped walking and stared at her properly for the first time since they'd left the children's party. In the cool winter light, his eyes were clear, and she could see the flecks of green around his pupils. “It's my fault. I let myself get carried away with the magic of the holiday, with the energy of this town. It's idyllic here, but it's not reality. Not for everyone.”

Kara frowned. She didn't like the way he was talking, generalizing this town, lumping her in with it. Setting himself apart. They'd made a connection, and somehow, so quickly, it felt like it was coming undone.

“Everyone has struggles,” she pointed out. “My life has been far from perfect.”

“But you haven't experienced what those kids do. I have. It sticks with you. It shapes you. And this…” He swept his arms up and over the street. Kara followed his gaze, allowing herself to see Briar Creek through his eyes, from the garland that wrapped every lamppost to the wreaths that hung on every shop window, to the pristine snow and the shoppers with their bright red bags and the twinkling lights that had already flicked on in anticipation of sunset. It was like something off a postcard.

A far cry from the Christmases those children today knew.

Her brow pinched into a frown when she considered her efforts, what she'd tried to accomplish, and her temper began to stir in her defense. “I think those children had fun today. What would you have preferred, that they didn't have a party? That they didn't get to see Santa and just be like every other kid for a few hours?”

“But they're not like every other kid,” Nate insisted. “Tomorrow morning they're going to wake up and realize that. And when they go back to school, and the other boys are bragging about their new bike, they're going to remember again. They're always going to remember.”

She nodded. “Just like you're always going to remember.”

“There are some things you don't forget.”

She blinked, waiting for him to say something more, wondering what there even was to say. “So I guess that means you won't be sticking around Briar Creek much longer?”

“I have to get back to Boston, Kara,” he said, his tone firm, determined, and without an ounce of emotion or regret. “That's my life. That's my reality. This… this was just a little glimpse of how life might have been.”

She set her hand on his arm, not ready to give up just yet. “How it
could
be. I've seen the change in you since you arrived. In a matter of two short weeks, you've changed.”

“No, I got swept up. There's a difference.”

“But—” She felt her eyes sting with tears, not because he was going back to Boston, but because he didn't seem to care.

“We come from two different worlds, Kara,” he said tightly. “I should have remembered that.”

“So you're just going to let the past determine your future?” she cried. Even though it was snowing, even though the ice crunched below her feet, she felt hot and agitated and at a complete loss. “You're not that same person anymore.”

“Yes, I am,” he said quickly. “And shame on me for forgetting that.”

Kara opened her mouth to say something, but it didn't matter. Nate was backing away, muttering an apology, his hands sinking into the pockets of his coat as he turned on his heel and walked away. She watched him walk down Main Street, hunched against the cold, his tread determined. She waited for him to stop, to turn around, to look at her one more time, but his pace never slowed.

To an outsider, he looked just like the man he'd tried to become, in his expensive wool coat and leather shoes, but only she knew the lost soul hiding beneath and the demons that wouldn't go away, and today had gotten the best of him.

She watched, with a heaviness in her heart, until the distance between them grew longer, and soon she couldn't see him at all.

Nate closed his suite door with a click and, for good measure, turned the lock, even though he knew it had little effect if his aunt was set on seeing him.

His duffel bags were in the closet, where he'd set them nearly two weeks ago, and he pulled them out now, quickly pulling his clothes from the hangers and drawers, not bothering to fold anything.

It was time to leave. Time to get back to Boston. Back to his routine. Back to his life.

And soon… soon all this would be a memory of the sweeter side of life, of the way things were for some, but not for him. As much as he wished he could say differently.

He hesitated, thinking of the look in Kara's eyes before he'd turned and left her standing on the sidewalk. His jaw pulsed, and he realized he was clenching his teeth, fighting back the emotions he couldn't indulge in, not when his parents were still relying on him, not when going back to Boston, doing what he'd set out to do, was the only life he knew, the only true path.

His inbox was piled with unopened emails from the office, and even though he knew that no one was looking for him to respond today, he wanted to engross himself, get back in the mindset, remember his responsibilities. Where he came from. Where he'd never be again.

He sat down at his laptop and got to work, happy for the distraction, hoping to numb the heaviness in his chest, the image of Kara's face, still so pretty, despite her bewilderment. He'd seen the confusion in her eyes as she'd searched his face, looking for an explanation she could understand—but how could she understand?

He'd been one of those kids from the center today. And just because he drove an expensive car and sent his parents on vacations didn't mean he still wasn't one of them. He'd changed his circumstances through hard work and perseverance. Loafing around Briar Creek and getting swept up in some silly holiday traditions undermined that struggle and denied the essence of who he really was. She could never understand that, and a part of him envied her for it.

He was so engrossed that he didn't even realize his aunt had let herself into his room by use of her house key.

“My, you are smart,” she crooned in his ear, making him jump so hard he almost dropped his laptop. “All those big words and all that advice. It looked like that email went out to at least ten people, too. I bet they were important.”

Nate closed the computer and waited for his pulse to resume a normal speed. “Was there something you wanted?” Something worth breaking into his room for, he thought to himself.

“It's Christmas Eve,” his aunt announced, standing to clasp her hands together with excitement. “It's my last holiday tea of the year, and I'd like you to come and enjoy it.”

Nate closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to partake in yet another Christmas tradition. He'd had about enough of that for today. “Aunt Maggie—”

“I have a table waiting for you,” she informed him in a tone that told him she wasn't going to back down, at least not easily.

He looked up into her expectant gaze with dread. “Is it really important to you that I come down? I have all these emails to reply to and—”

“And you'll have plenty of time to work once you're back in Boston,” she quipped. She rattled her keys, which hung from a giant brass ring, and moved to the door. “Come along. You wouldn't want your Earl Grey getting cold.”

So she hadn't been exaggerating when she said it was all ready for him. Nate smothered a groan and pushed himself up from the chair. He followed his aunt silently out of the room and down the stairs. In the dining room, right near the big bay window, a tea tray and pot were waiting at an empty table. The best table, he realized. The one with the unobstructed views of the town square and Main Street.

Shame nipped at him as he took his seat. “Aren't you going to join me?” he asked his aunt as she watched from a few feet away.

“Heavens no! Someone has to serve the guests!” She smiled at him fondly. “This is for you. Relax. Enjoy. And be sure to try those snowflake cookies. They really are delicious.”

Nate looked at the tray, where, on the top racks, among the peppermint scones and lemon tarts, was the same kind of snowflake cookie he had seen every day for nearly two weeks and never tasted. His mouth felt dry, and he tightened a fist in his lap, his appetite lost. He thought of Kara making the cookie fresh that morning, while he was still asleep on her floor, her scent still on him, reminders of her… everywhere.

It felt just as wrong to eat it as it did to ignore it.

He poured himself a cup of tea instead, wishing it was coffee and black. Despite his aunt's warnings, it was still too hot to drink. At the surrounding tables, guests laughed and chatted, some catching his eye before turning back to their spouses. Nate thought of Kara and what she'd said about this inn, how she'd always admired it and had been sad to miss the tea this year. Instead she was probably putting the finishing touches on her gingerbread house for the contest judging tonight or frantically dealing with the holiday rush.

He wished it had been her sitting here, enjoying this moment. He wished she was here with him.

Nonsense. He sipped the tea, almost scalding his tongue, and set it back on the saucer. The porcelain rattled, adding to his anxiety, the anger that was building within him at what he'd seen today and how it made him feel.

It would have been nice to have stayed in this town. Hell, it would have been nice to have grown up here.

But this had never been in the cards for him.

He stayed in his seat until the tea service was over and the other guests began reluctantly leaving their chairs. He ate the lemon tart and even that damn peppermint scone, which, admittedly, was sort of good. He ate the salmon and arugula sandwiches and the mandatory cucumber sandwiches, even though he hated cucumber, always had. But he didn't eat the snowflake cookie.

He looked out the window, onto the skating rink where he and Kara had first held hands, and to the square where they'd built a snowman. His gaze traveled over to Main Street, where neat little shops lined the cobblestone sidewalks. If he squinted hard enough, he could almost see the bakery, glowing in the fading sunlight.

And he could almost see Kara looking back at him.