We Need a Little Christmas (14 page)

“So,” he said. “How about those Dodgers?”

That set a tiny ripple of laughter through her. “I'll let you know in six months.”

“Oh. Right.”

Strangers on city buses had to sit this way all the time, shoulder to shoulder, he reminded himself. Liv sat motionless beside him, facing straight ahead.

“Okay, here's a real question,” he said. “What's the story with you and all the shoes?”

“I don't think it's so weird. Women love shoes.”

“Still. You're the queen of decluttering, right?”

Liv shrugged and sighed at the same time, two simple movements that put all his nerve endings on high alert. “Okay. I
always
loved shoes. They're like candy. But when I started learning to streamline things, I knew I had too many.” She turned her head toward him. “Some women would say you can never have too many, you know.”

“Right.”

“So, I made a rule. I can keep as many shoes as I want as long as I wear them. There's no point having a closet full of shoes if you only really wear two or three pair. So, I make sure I use them. I enjoy them. That way they're not clutter. It's a little silly, but . . .” Another delicious shrug.

“But you found a way to make it logical.”

She brought her head to rest on his shoulder, and Scott felt warmer still. He tried to think of porcupines. Gila monsters. The Wicked Witch of the West.

It didn't work too well. He was pretty sure the Wicked Witch didn't have soft hair that smelled like vanilla. Or maybe that was one of the candles.

“My turn,” she said. “Serious question. How did you and Nammy get so close?”

“I told you about that. I started doing repairs here.”

“Right. But when did she start feeding you and stuff?”

“I can't remember. I guess it just happened by degrees. Things like, one day I was working on her fridge. I made some joke about how mine was full of Budget Gourmet. I wasn't hinting, really.”

“But you didn't turn down her homemade soup.”

“I'm no freeloader, but I'm no fool either.” He shifted. “Liv? My arm's starting to fall asleep.”

It was almost true. In reality, his arm was getting stiff from the effort of trying to keep still next to her. Liv raised her head, allowing him to put his arm around her, then returned her head to his shoulder. More gingerly this time.

Keep talking.
“So, every couple of weeks, she'd have some kind of little job for me to do. With a house this old, there's always something that needs doing. And when I was done, out would come the cookies. Or the soup. Or the coffee. I think she kind of liked taking care of me, and I enjoyed it too. I liked her company.”

“She adopted you,” Liv said slowly. He heard something wistful in her voice.

“Maybe a little.” He paused. “She really did talk about you a lot.”

“Good.” He felt a quiet breath go out of her. “I'm trying to stop beating myself up over it. It doesn't do any good. But I wish I'd been here more. I guess for some dumb reason I thought there'd always be time.”

He heard the catch in her voice and gave her a short squeeze with his arm.
Keep talking.
“Why'd you stay away?”

“I'm not sure. Plane fares, I guess. And scheduling. When you're running a business, it's hard to get away.”

“Right. But why'd you stay in Texas to begin with? Why not come home?”

“Well, when Terri and I got out of college, we were already there in Dallas. And for what we wanted to do—you said it yourself. Most people here aren't sure what a home organizer
is.
Even if they understood it, even if some people were interested, there are only so many closets in Tall Pine. And—”

Liv stopped. She hadn't meant to go on.

“And?” Scott prompted. His voice, low and deep, reverberated in her ear where it rested on his shoulder. Coaxing her to go on.

“I was afraid.” She wished her voice didn't sound so small in the dark. Somehow, this little chat in the attic was starting to feel like a game of Truth or Dare.

“Afraid?”

She sighed. “I guess it sounds conceited, but I felt like when I graduated high school, everybody expected me to do something big. And I wasn't sure I could do it here.” She paused. “When you live in the same place all your life, people—expect things.”

“I wouldn't know,” Scott said, his voice laced with irony. “Nobody expects anything out of me.”

“I don't know about that. I think people count on you. I know we sure have.”

He shifted the conversation back to her. “So it was less scary to start out on your own, a thousand miles from home?”

“I know it sounds weird. But if I failed up here in Tall Pine . . .”

Forget Truth or Dare. This was starting to sound more like psychotherapy. She'd never put this into words before, was surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth.

“I'd feel stupid,” she confessed. “I told you, I
hate
feeling stupid. I'm supposed to be the smart girl, remember? That's why I got so frustrated when I trapped us up here. You know the guy who just broke up with me? That's what really got me. He got engaged to someone else right away. And I felt stupid.”

Scott stirred, disturbing her comfortable position on his shoulder. “You know what?” he said. “For once, let's don't talk about the other guy. Not right now, anyway.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated. “Trying to break precedent, I guess. Same reason I haven't gone out with anyone since Tiffany and I broke up. By the time other people are making jokes about it, you kind of figure you're becoming your own cliché.”

Another way to break precedent would be to let me talk about the other guy, then not put a move on me
, Liv thought.

She didn't say it. Maybe because the longer they sat huddled together, the harder it was to remember that she didn't want him to make a move.

But he hadn't. Not since the other night, when he found out she was coming off of a breakup. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to be a gentleman. Especially now, with his arm around her and her head resting on his shoulder.

Probably he was trying to hold to an unspoken code of ethics. Or else she'd convinced him she wasn't interested. Or maybe she was just more resistible than she'd like to believe.

She huddled closer to Scott again, feeling the texture of his flannel shirt against her cheek. Feeling the firmness of his shoulder underneath. Wishing, suddenly, that she hadn't been so determined to push him away the other night.
Be careful what you wish for
, she thought.

Then again, she shouldn't be wishing for anything now, up here in the dark.

His other arm came up around her, and she held her breath. But no. He was just pulling the tablecloth up higher, past her shoulder, tucking it below her ear. Then he lowered his arm again.

Of all the dirty, rotten, respectable things to do.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Liv listened to the silence of the attic, punctuated only by the sound of their breathing, as the cold crept in around them. If anyone was going to make a move tonight, clearly, it was going to have to be her.

Not that she
had
to. But the longer they stayed quiet, the less she could think about anything else.

“Okay.” Scott broke into her thoughts. “I spy, with my little eye, something—”

“Dark?” Liv interrupted.

“Well, in here, it'd have to be something dark. Unless it's something light, in which case it's a candle flame. Got to admit, it's a pretty lousy game right now.”

Liv laughed a little, knowing he was trying to break the tension, grateful for the way he could make her laugh. And somehow, that made up her mind.

“Scott?” she said, knowing he'd turn his head.

She could thank him for being here, for making this past week so much easier than it would have been without him. Or she could just do what she wanted to do.

So, when Scott turned his head, she leaned toward him, hearing the sudden clamoring of her own heart, and it seemed the temperature of the air between them changed. She brushed his lips tentatively with hers, afraid he'd pull away, thinking,
This is how he felt the other night.
It was scary, going out on a limb. Heat shimmered through her as their lips connected, and she hung suspended, waiting to see if she was about to be humiliated. Whether she'd get back what she'd given him the other night.

Instead, his arms fit easily around her, as if he were catching her from a fall. He pulled her closer, his lips meeting hers, joining them together. So gentle, yet so wonderfully solid. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his arms folded more firmly around her, and now her heart pounded not from fear, but something else entirely. He deepened the kiss, and Liv forgot all about the cold. All about the attic. All about anything but the way it felt being in his arms and letting time stop.

In the back of her mind she wondered why on earth, after being kissed like this, any of those other women ever let him go. Except that she would, too. In a couple of weeks she'd go back to Texas . . .

He kissed her again, blotting out the meandering thought, blotting out any thoughts at all. She was only aware of his lips on hers, how very warm she felt, and the thrumming of her own heartbeat.

Then, distantly, another sound, almost like the rhythm of her heart. Only this sounded more like a steady click.

The source of the sound had just begun to register when Scott raised his lips from hers. In the dim candlelight, she saw him cock his head slightly, listening.

“The heater?” His voice was a husky whisper, although there was no danger of anyone else hearing.

“It can't be,” Liv said.

A faint
whoosh
came from below, the sound she usually heard coming from the ceiling above her head. Air rushing through the vent above the kitchen.

Scott frowned. “I thought you said you turned the thermostat off.”

“I did. I
know
I did. It's the whole reason I went downstairs.” That, and the fact that the attic had felt excessively warm back then.

It felt pretty warm again now, and it didn't have a lot to do with the furnace kicking on below them. Not yet. Eventually the heat from the house would reach them. This was another kind of heat entirely.

Liv straightened, breaking the spell, at least enough for her to think rationally again. She and Scott exchanged a look, and she thought she saw a question in his eyes. Of course, it was hard to tell in this light.

She rearranged the tablecloth over them both again and resumed her former position, huddled against him, not daring to speak.

Chapter 15

The attic warmed, the heater clicked off, and a few minutes later, Faye and Rachel arrived. Scott heard the car outside, then the front door opening.

“Liv? Scotty?” Both women's voices called in bewilderment from below as they walked into the dark house.

When they got the attic door open, Scott came down the ladder ahead of Liv. He wanted to be below to catch her if she slipped or fell. Blinking in the unaccustomed light of the hallway, he couldn't yet decipher Faye or Rachel's facial expression. He felt like a mole emerging from underground, except he was climbing down instead of up.

“It's a long story,” he said.

Ironically, Rachel had needed to climb partway up the ladder after all, pounding on the trap door with a broom handle until the door finally flung up to set them free. Rachel stepped aside as Scott descended the last few rungs. “How long were you two up there?”

“Um—” Unlike Liv, he didn't have the habit of digging out his cell phone, even to check the time. “What time is it now?”

“About six thirty,” Rachel said.

Funny, how much could happen in a couple of hours. Ignoring her earlier question, Scott took Rachel's place at the bottom of the ladder and held it steady as he watched Liv's boots descend the rungs. Halfway down, the boots halted.

“The color wheel.” Liv peered down at him, her eyes squinting, too. “Could we—”

After their long adventure, their original mission seemed secondary. Scott sighed and answered her calmly. “Climb back up. Then hand it down to me. Be careful.”

When Liv disappeared into the attic, Scott remounted the ladder and waited until she handed him the brittle old cardboard box. It wasn't very heavy, but Scott took a couple of steps down before he handed it to Rachel, who set it on the nearest kitchen chair.

“Thanks,” Rachel breathed.

You'd think that box contained the family jewels. As his vision readjusted to the light, Scott sent a questioning look past Rachel to Faye, who gave a tolerant smile and a barely perceptible shrug. Propped on her crutches, she seemed in good spirits, although it had to have been a long day for her.

Then Scott held the ladder again while Liv came down, blinking the way he'd been a few minutes ago.

“So, what happened?” Faye asked.

Liv began, “I—”

“I need to replace the handle on that trap door,” Scott interrupted. “Once we got in, we couldn't get out. In my business, we call that painting yourself into a corner.”

Liv spared him a grateful smile, brushing off her jeans yet again as if to put the whole horrible experience behind her. Then she went to hug her mom and sister. What else did he expect? An engagement announcement? Still, her brisk, cheerful air sent an unspoken message: What happened in the attic would stay in the attic.

You're the one who kissed
me,
remember?

He stood by and listened while Liv got the update on Faye's doctor appointment. In addition to the sprain, Faye had chipped her kneecap, which added to the swelling, which wasn't really anything to worry about. Keep the knee elevated, more hot and cold compresses . . .

As they started to leave, Faye asked, “What happened with the heater?”

At the reminder of the temperamental appliance, Scott and Liv turned to each other. Then they turned, as one, toward the thermostat in the hallway. In the process, Liv jostled into him, sending a ray of warmth up through his arm into the rest of him.

It didn't take two people to check a thermostat, but if he hadn't seen it for himself, he wouldn't have believed it.

“I
knew
I turned it off,” Liv said.

Sure enough, the switch was set, indisputably, in the
off
position.

“What?” Faye and Rachel asked.

Liv's face flushed with color. “It's a long story.”

Scott said his goodbyes and left the same way he'd arrived—separately. If Liv wanted to explain, he'd leave it up to her.

* * *

That night, Liv slipped out of the double bed, wrapped herself in her robe and furry slippers, and crept down the hall to the living room. She plugged in the color wheel and sat on the floor, watching the passing colors bathe the tree in light.

She hugged her knees. It couldn't be as cold on her mother's carpeted floor as it had been up in the attic. But it was definitely lonelier.

The tree, however, matched her memories at last. She and Rachel had sat at the foot of this tree so many times at Nammy's house, watching the colors change. Warm red. Frosty blue. Fiery orange. And a green that wasn't anything like a real pine tree. She'd have to give her mother that one. If you wanted a “real” tree, this wasn't it.

The adult in her knew it was corny. But the child in her still saw the beauty, the sparkle, the magic. She could see the tree the way it had looked to her back when ten days to Christmas seemed like a long time, the waiting nearly unbearable.

Liv did a mental count. It was twelve days to Christmas now, and it felt like no time at all. Two days after that, she'd fly home.

She rested her chin on her knees and remembered sitting this way just a few hours ago, a solid arm coming around her shoulders to make her feel, suddenly, a whole lot warmer.

No point
, she told herself, and thought of Scott's eyes, blue and questioning. The way she'd dodged the questions with happy chatter when Mom and Rachel arrived. He'd gotten the message, all right. Shortly after they got home, he'd sent her a text: Do not. I repeat, do NOT try to move the boxes down from the attic. I'll get them next time you need a load picked up. Let me know when. S.

Not a word about those Dodgers, and it didn't sound like he'd be dropping by Nammy's house uninvited any time soon.

Footsteps shuffled on the carpet behind her. Rachel's voice whispered, “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn't sleep.” Liv didn't turn around. “What's your excuse?”

“Haven't you noticed how often a pregnant woman has to get up and go to the bathroom?”

Liv chuckled in spite of her mood. Good thing Rachel hadn't been the one trapped in the attic.

Bare feet came up beside her, followed by a series of groans as Rachel lowered herself to sit on the floor next to Liv.

“You'll never be able to get back up, you know,” Liv said.

“Tell me about it.”

Liv wasn't sure if she wanted company or not. But Rachel sat in silence for several minutes, sharing the sight.

“Pretty, isn't it?” Rachel finally said, her voice just above a whisper.

Liv nodded without raising her chin from her knees. “Mom was happy to see it, too. She just couldn't admit it.”

“Remember how we used to go to Nammy's on Christmas morning?” Rachel asked. “We'd open our presents here first. Then we'd go over there.”

“And we shook all the packages for weeks before, at both houses. You always wanted to peek.”

“And you wouldn't let me,” Rachel said.

“And there'd always be something extra under Nammy's tree. From Santa. A box that wasn't there before.”

“Maybe she did that in case we did peek.”

Liv smiled and did something she never would have done when they were ten and seven years old: she reached over and squeezed her sister's hand.

Rachel hadn't asked any questions about what happened between Liv and Scott tonight, although theories had to be running rampant in her head. Once upon a time, her present-peeking sister wouldn't have been capable of that kind of restraint. Maybe curiosity had brought Rachel down the hall to the living room.

But there was nothing to tell. Not really.

“Who gets the tree when we take it down?” Liv asked instead. “Or do we fight over it like we fought when we were kids?”

“No, it's yours,” Rachel said. “You're the one who saved it.”

“I'm also the one who put it in the to-go pile to begin with.”

“Christmas trees don't hold a grudge. Also, Brian would probably hate it.”

Liv wondered if Scott would like it. She should have invited him over to see it. If only she hadn't caved in to her impulse. Now things would just be strained between them again. Her eyes teared over.

The blurring of the colors in front of her just made the tree look more beautiful. She dropped her forehead to her knees.

“Hey,” Rachel said. “I'm supposed to be the emotional one.”

Liv didn't dare lift her head, didn't dare speak.
I don't know what to do.

But she knew exactly what she was going to do. She'd finish up here, spend Christmas with her mom and sister, and go home to pick up where she'd left off. Starting anything with Scott just didn't make sense.

It was the right thing to do. She was sure of it. Why start something she couldn't finish? Something that would pull her back toward Tall Pine, when there was no way she could stay here? It wasn't even fair to Scotty.

Leaving Tall Pine would be hard enough as it was.

* * *

“Next time, leave me the key and I'll have the tree up and waiting when you get home,” Scott told his parents.

He wrestled the noble fir into the stand, making sure the base of the trunk made it all the way to the bottom so it would take more water.

“What? And miss out on this?” His father adjusted the screws around the trunk of the tree for its preliminary position. “Okay. Let go.”

Scott did, and the tree promptly listed forward and to the right.

Ray and Norma Leroux had been back from their cruise less than two days, and now they were determined to make up for lost time, getting their Christmas decorations in place. Scott was still included—or maybe it was drafted—in the annual ritual of setting the tree up, if only because, unlike his father, he could get through this part of the process without swearing.

“Next year, an artificial tree,” his dad muttered.

Scott had been hearing that since high school. He'd believe it when he saw it. Until then, he didn't mind being included, with or without the swearing and muttering. And he was pleased to note that although he'd moved out nearly ten years ago, they still made it a point to choose a tree that was significantly taller than his six-foot-five. Even if it made the thing that much harder to get into the house.

“Did you put up your tree yet?” his mother asked.

“Yes, ma'am.” Never mind that his tree was spindly, about five and a half feet tall and looked like someone's disreputable uncle. He'd gotten it last weekend, while Liv and her family worked on Nammy's house with Rachel's husband. Maybe that was why he'd picked out a tree Charlie Brown would be ashamed of. He hadn't been in the mood to fuss with it.

“What I don't understand,” Scott said, “is why you want the tree back here in the family room, instead of the front window.”

“This way we don't have to move all the furniture around,” his mother said.

“Besides, it'll block our view of the tree house,” his dad said.

Scott looked past the drawn-back curtains, through the window, to the remains of his first-ever carpentry project: a dilapidated tree house resting uncomfortably on the limbs of the weathered oak in the backyard.

“You really should take that down,” his mother added gently.

It was an old discussion. During the winter, cold and snow kept him from getting around to it; summer was his busy season; in between, one distraction or another got in the way. Besides—

“Hey,” he said, “it's a historical landmark. A Leroux original.”

“It's the work of a ten-year-old.” His father's eyes gleamed. There was affection behind the old harangue, as well as the unspoken comment:
a talented ten-year-old.

“Like I said,” Scott said lightly. “A piece of local history.”

More history than they knew.

After the Christmas tree had been properly straightened, lit, and decorated, Scott went out to see his old handiwork in the gathering dusk. Not a bad piece of handiwork at the time, although it had always tilted about ten degrees to the south. But years of neglect and weather had turned it into a bit of a hazard as well as an eyesore. He ought to get out here, the next warm day, and dismantle it for useful firewood before any prowling neighborhood kids got too adventurous and sneaked in to explore. The rungs leading up the tree weren't as secure as they used to be, there'd be splinters everywhere, and who knew how well the floor would hold by now.

But oh, the memories.

In spite of the stiffening evening breeze, Scott tested the flat boards that served as rungs and made a tentative climb, high enough to rest his arms on the floor through the open doorway. As long as the rungs and the floor didn't both give out at the same time, he should be all right.

He breathed in the scent of damp wood—at least this time of year, any bugs that lived up here were dormant—and remembered secret club meetings with Dane and Ron when they were ten, eleven, twelve. Once puberty hit, the old hangout was forgotten, until it dawned on Scotty that the former boys' hangout would be the perfect make-out pad. He'd tried it once, with Michele Fitzsimmons, the literal girl next door. His clumsy attempt at a first kiss had ended with a shove that almost landed him flat on his back in his own backyard. So much for his bachelor's lair.

Women in high places, he thought. He'd fared better with Liv yesterday. At least, until it was time for her to escape.

He needed to accept that some things weren't meant to be.

* * *