ChristmasInHisHeart (13 page)

“Oh, honey, trust me, you should never wear those again.” Shawna grabbed the clothes and headed back to the bureau with them.

“I’m not talking to you.” Xander walked around her and grabbed a half dozen shirts from the closet, hangers and all, and deposited them in the bigger suitcase on the bed. “How could you do that? I covered for you when you had those issues with Greg. I stood by your side when you wanted to give Lyle a run for his money. I supported your decision when that good-for-nothing Hunter insisted on bunking in our dorm for two months—and I know he ate my Cheetos, by the way.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Xander returned to the still open drawer and grabbed his underwear. “Oh, you’re sorry. Well, that makes everything okay.” He dumped them back into the luggage and immediately headed into the closet to grab a handful of pants. “Hey, everyone, Shawna’s sorry she opened her big mouth and inserted her foot…completely annihilating my chance with the hot chef.” He spoke out to the imaginary audience.

“Oh, for god’s sake, stop being so melodramatic. I said I was sorry and I told him I was wrong. Doesn’t that get me any kind of bonus points?”

Xander let his head drop, chin resting on his chest as he took in a shaky breath. “It doesn’t matter, don’t you see, Shawna? You telling him you were wrong didn’t mean a damn thing to him then or me now. He’s gone and doesn’t want anything to do with me. I blew it.”

He glanced over and saw his small suitcase empty again. “And for Pete’s sake, stop messing with my clothes!” He stalked to the still open drawer and grabbed the clothing yet again. “Jesus, you’re freaking me out, the last time a woman touched my underwear this much it was my mom and I was twelve. Hands off.”

“I should call your mom; you’re being a baby, moving out because I pissed you off. Where are you going? Are you quitting Craft Time also? Thanks for the notice, asshole.”

“Bitch,” he countered, shoving the clothes back in the suitcase.

“Better believe it.”

They looked at each other, and even though Xander couldn’t force a full-fledged smile, he at least attempted one to match Shawna’s sad excuse for one.

“I’m so sorry, Xander. I may not be Dermot’s biggest supporter, but even I saw how happy you were the past couple of weeks.”

“Seems like a lot longer to me; god knows I’ve been fantasizing about him forever.” He pushed the luggage across the bed to clear a spot for them to sit.

“Ewww…TMI Xan, TMI.” She slumped down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

“You do realize some people would pay good money to hear my fantasies.” Xander chuckled.

“Yeah…okay.” Her voice softened to a low whisper. “What are you going to do?”

That was the thousand dollar question, wasn’t it? “I have no idea. I miss him so much. I woke up this morning and was halfway to Prudence’s before I remembered I have no one to buy coffee for anymore.” He collapsed forward, catching his head in his hands and concentrating on his breathing. His voice came out muffled, but he really didn’t care if Shawna could hear him or not. “How could I be so damn happy one moment and devastated the next? How is that fair? Who the fuck did I piss off to draw this type of karma?”

“I swear I am—”

Xander interrupted Shawna’s twentieth attempt to apologize. “It really isn’t your fault, Shawna. Yeah, so you suck for what you said, but that wasn’t the straw that broke Dermot’s back.”

“Huh? What was?”

You know how I feel about fire…I’d lost my brother to a holiday house fire…

“Misunderstandings. Something maybe I should’ve known but didn’t,” he mumbled to himself, but louder he answered Shawna, “Let’s just say the moment I decided to save Slinky, I’d doomed our relationship. You could’ve kept that big mouth of yours closed and I’d still be sitting here with you broken-hearted.” He looked behind them at the luggage and added, “Minus the dramatic flair.”

“Does that mean you’re staying?”

“Yes and no. I’m staying with Craft Time and in Parkerburg, but I think it’s time to find my own place.”

“No, Xan…”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, kissing her forehead. “Not because of you. I love you, Shawna, we’re good. I promise. But I can’t live in your guest bedroom forever.”

She sniffled. “But…”

“I know, and I’ll miss you too…especially your cooking, considering I don’t have my chef anymore”—he chuckled, but doubted it convinced Shawna of anything—“but look at the bright side, no matter where I move in this Podunk town, I’ll only be a few minutes from you.”

“Hey! I like this Podunk town.”

“I better like this Podunk town, I lost my heart here.”

Shawna sucked in her breath loudly. “He loves you,” she whispered, as if afraid for him to hear her.

“I know. I think I knew before he did, even though he’s never told me. But I won’t force myself on him. I’ve told him how I feel, I’ve made it clear I want us together, now he has to decide what he truly wants.”

Shawna started shaking her head before he finished speaking. “No. If he loves you and you love him…” She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder again.

His voice never sounded so cold when he stated, “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

***

Snow fell in swirly, lazy little eddies, kicking itself back up and pirouetting prettily before landing on the ground or the window or the hat or shoulder of a passing shopper as though it had no particular place to be.

Dermot watched the snow with disfavor. He preferred direct and to the point. A straight shot from cloud to ground to slush under someone’s boot heels.

“Ahem.” He redirected his gaze to Macy, who sat in front of the window.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you want to go with grilled sweet potato and candied pecan toast as the sandwich of the day?” Her gaze was overly soft and sympathetic, but he knew that was only because she didn’t know the full story.

“Yes.” She thought Xander had broken his heart. It had been easier to stay silent than to confess to his small loyal crew that their boss was an idiot, the author of his own pain.

“It’s just”—Chaz gave him a strange, curious little look, as though he might know something—“well, you said to have the sweet potato curry for the soup of the day, and it might be a little much for people, don’t you think?”

Dermot’s jaw dropped. He was seriously losing it. “I…I’m going out. Chaz, you decide what you want to serve and get back to the kitchen to start the prep. I promise I’ll be back in time to help before we open for lunch. I just need fresh air.”

He nearly knocked his chair over in his haste to get away from that table of his friends and co-workers. He was so fucked up… He’d fucked up so badly. Without Xander, he was lost, unable to even focus on his food, his restaurant. Previously, with all his other boyfriends, even back when his brother had died, he’d been able to lose himself, console himself with cooking, creating. His restaurant was his baby. He’d poured his heart and soul into making it the best it could be.

And Xander had ruined it all.

Ruined him.

“I’m sorry.” He grabbed the chair, eyes burning, heart aching. White-hot embarrassment tied his tongue. “I just…” Shaking his head, Dermot shoved the chair under the table and dug his hands into the pockets of his Under Armour hoodie. “I trust you. You can do it.” He forced himself to walk to the door instead of run, to open it normally instead of slamming it into the wall.

Stepping outside onto the crowded sidewalk, Dermot joined the throng of shoppers. At one time he’d have been thrilled to see how popular their little historic district had become. He would have loved seeing all the heavily laden bags, catching the scented steam of Prudence’s to-go coffee clutched in his cold hands.

Today, every whiff of peppermint just reminded him that Xander wasn’t bringing him coffee anymore. He hadn’t since a week ago, when Dermot had let some evil impulse for self-preservation have control of his body and his mouth. He’d woken every day, cold from the inside out and alone with his regrets and fear.

Even now, strolling down the street with the
dilettante
snow flirting with him, he was fully conscious that he was looking for Xander’s head above the crowd, hoping for just a glimpse of the man he loved. Icy snow stung his nostrils, the laughter and cheerful chatter of the shoppers stung his heart.

If his goal for the day had been to get out and forget about Xander, or even to reinforce that he didn’t need Xander, then his walk was a failure. Everything he saw, felt, smelt on that meandering painfully slow walk just reminded him of what he’d lost.

Thrown away.

Instead of easing his pain, it deepened, until his gaze landed on the display window of a quaint, old-fashioned antique shop. The windows were adorned with strings of popcorn and bright red cranberries, and the display itself was a carefully uncluttered array of antique toys and board games. In the exact center, place of pride, was something he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from. It was brilliant red with tiny firemen in bright yellow perched on the back peeking out the window.

Without taking his eyes from the fire truck, Dermot reached for the door. A bell jangled as he crossed the threshold. He’d been in here before. Ethel’s Attic was one of the few shops that had been occupied when he’d opened his restaurant eight years earlier. He’d found some of his decor here in those early days.

Ada, the spritely elderly woman who had inherited the shop from her mother sat in a rocker near a wood stove that put out a soothing, homey scent. She looked up from her knitting and peered at him through tiny spectacles.

“Why, Dermot Alasdair! I haven’t seen you since I stopped going to those awful city planning meetings. What brings you in, dear?”

“The fire truck in the window…” He stumbled over the words, feeling a little shaky. That truck resembled the one he recalled from his grandparents’ house, true, that he and his brother had played with as children. But what made him think that Xander would like it? Appreciate it?

Ada tutted. “Earl! Fetch that fire truck from the window for Dermot.”

A small bespectacled man in a sweater-vest popped up from behind a shelf of books. “Yes, Granny.” He scurried away, casting Dermot curious glances as he went.

“Now, you know it's not worth a lot.” Ada pointed one of her knitting needles at Dermot. “It’s been repainted by some fool. I only put it on display because it fit the theme. You’re not a collector, are you?” Her needles clacked together furiously for a moment or two.

“No, it’s a gift for…someone.” Dermot watched as a loose, delicate snowflake formed under his very eyes. “Ada…that’s lovely.” He tried to keep his focus on the old lady, away from the fire truck, the foolish impulse gift.

“This?” She cut the thread with strong white teeth, tied something, and then handed it to him. “Take it. I make the snowflakes to pass the time.” Her voice rose. “Since I haven’t got any great grandbabies to knit for, that is.”

Looking at those gnarled fingers, the loving way they rolled up the delicate, fancy little snowflake garland, Dermot had a moment of clarity. For an instant, his heart was free of pain, his vision was clear. A plan, fully formed, sprang into his mind. He flashed the hapless, childless, Earl a knowing smile as the man approached with the truck. “Thank you.” A plan, and a week until Christmas Eve to put it into action. It was enough.

Chapter Fourteen

Xander couldn’t do it anymore. Evidently he wasn’t as strong as he gave himself credit for. After making sure that Sprocket had control of the check-out area—a task the guy hated but Xander didn’t care about at that moment—he stormed to the office and pushed open the door.

To ensure Shawna understood his mood, he put an extra oomph in the push, making sure the door bounced off the wall with a loud banging noise. Shawna definitely received the message when she jumped in her seat and stared at him wide-eyed.

“What the”—she glanced over his shoulder into the store and lowered her voice—“what is your problem?”

“I can’t do it anymore. I thought I could give him his space, but damn it, I’m going over there.” Xander entered the room and slammed the door closed just as loudly as he’d opened it. “I don’t care if that makes me look like a chump. I fucking just don’t care.”

Shawna stood and held her hands out like he was some child in the middle of an absurd temper tantrum, and maybe he was. “Now, Xan—”

He pointed a shaky finger at her. “Don’t try to stop me. I know your feelings when it comes to him and me and you know what…I don’t care about them either.” He fisted his fingers in his hair and yanked them out roughly, probably adding to the haphazard way he usually wore it.

“That’s my problem, Shawna, I can’t seem to find it in me to care about anything. If love really isn’t enough, then what the fuck are we doing all this shit for? It should be enough…if you love someone damn it…”

“Xander?”

“What?” he growled at her.

“Why are you still here?” she raised her eyebrow with her question. “Are you trying to convince me you should make a move on the jerk or convince yourself? Because I’m all for you heading over there and claiming your man. God knows I’ve never seen you go this long without smiling and just being happy.”

Xander stopped his tirade and blinked at his best friend, digesting what she said. “He isn’t a jerk,” he defended the man who broke his heart.

Shawna’s smile filled with understanding. “I know, but until you show off your pearly whites again and mean it, he is to me. Now go on, leave. I’ll cover the register and between Sprocket, Thom, and Lydia on the floor, we’ll be fine without you for a while.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sales program Xander had formatted for her. “That stupid thing can wait until later.”

Now that the time of truth was near, Xander found himself hesitant. He looked at the computer screen and mumbled, “You know, you really should finish the data-entry portion of that now. I can wait and storm the restaurant when you’re done.”

“Alexander Leahman. Are you nervous?” Shawna walked over and grabbed his hand, holding it between her two warm ones. “I’ve never seen you so unsure of yourself before.”