The Giving Heart Page 6

  When she finally ceased rambling, Dahlia simply blinked, then spoke evenly—as her eyes dripped sarcasm. “I meant the situation with the land behind the inn. Since you promised Lila you’d talk to him about it.”

  Oh. That.

  Suzanne sighed and tried not to let her nervousness show. As if she hadn’t already completely blown her cover. “Um, I’m hoping to just bump into him somewhere soon and find a way to bring it up.”

  Dahlia took a sip from the big green mug before her. “Yes, because if you actually contacted him, he might get the crazy idea you like him or something.”

  Another sigh. “Correct.”

  Josh dropped off Suzanne’s drink then, along with the bill. And only after he’d rushed off to another table did Dahlia tilt her head to ask, “What is the problem between you and Beck anyway? Not that I mean to pry.”

  “But you’re going to anyway.”

  Dahlia simply shrugged. And Suzanne couldn’t really blame her—she’d done this to herself, stuck her foot in her mouth. “Well, the other day you blatantly denied having any romantic interest in the man. But you tipped your hand just now, girlfriend. So what’s up? And don’t try to just talk your way out of it—I want a real answer.”

  Suzanne looked at her wrist—then wished she had actually worn a watch. Darn it. “Time flies—Christmas trees to sell. And you have a luncheon to throw.”

  “Not so fast,” Dahlia said, calm as ever and not remotely frazzled by Suzanne’s threat of leaving. “I’m serious. What is it between you and him? Or not between you and him? I’m your friend—talk to me.”

  Suzanne blew out one more sigh—this one heavy with emotion as she tried to construct an answer. She was open about most things with her close friends—but when it came to romance and all her reasons for not wanting it, she kept things mostly on the surface. “Well, what I actually said was that I wasn’t sure how I felt. And by all accounts, it’s safe to say I’ve been pretty flighty on the whole subject since he first showed up here, so why ask about it now?”

  “Perhaps matters of the heart are just on my mind,” Dahlia replied, catching her off guard. “And the fact that life is short.”

  “Which is why I’m living mine exactly as I choose.” Suzanne finished with a succinct nod.

  Still, Dahlia tilted her head, looking truly puzzled. “That’s the part I don’t get. Why you choose to be alone when a lovely man—and I mean that in every way because he’s about the most handsome specimen I’ve ever seen on this island—wants to get to know you better? I realize you had a rough time when Cal died, and afterward, too. But time has passed, and they say it heals all wounds.”

  Suzanne attempted a smile at the thoughtful suggestion. But her wounds ran pretty deep.

  Even so, she tried to be a little more honest than usual on this topic and explain to her friend as best she could. “Finding someone you connect with, really connect with, on every level—it’s not as easy as the whole world likes to think. And it can be a lot of work—and heartache—trying to make that happen only to find out it won’t. The experiences I had after Cal just...left me tired. And made me feel foolish and even more broken. But maybe in the end, what it really comes down to is... I’m not sure I believe perfect love can happen twice. I had my perfect love—and now he’s gone.”

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth having,” Dahlia said without missing a beat. “In fact, imperfect romance can be ever so fun in its own way.”

  Suzanne narrowed her gaze on her older friend. “For a woman who says such wise-sounding things, I haven’t exactly seen you out dating up a storm.”

  At this, however, Dahlia let a sly little smile steal over her face. “Maybe I have secrets.”

  Was Dahlia bluffing? Suzanne simply eyed her friend.

  And was about to ask more when Dahlia said, “And on that note, I really do have to go.” She stood up, pulling on a large purple woolen wrap, laden with colorful costume jewelry broaches, probably collected over a lifetime. “But if you run into Beck, while you’re busy doing what you can for Meg, consider doing something for yourself, too. Coffee’s on me.” She scooped up the bill currently facedown on the table and headed to the counter, leaving Suzanne to look after her.

  People got so wistful at Christmastime. Always looking for something to make the season feel special, give it meaning. The whole world wanted everyone to be in love at Christmas, acting as if it couldn’t possibly be a pleasant holiday otherwise—it was almost as bad as Valentine’s Day in that way. Well, whether or not Dahlia had a real secret, Suzanne hoped it would be the last time she’d push Suzanne toward Beck. Suzanne had already endured enough of that—even if done lovingly—from Meg last summer. And if she moved toward Beck...well, it had to be because she was ready—not because her friends were feeling all sappy and sentimental about Christmas.

  But the man did stay on her mind.

  * * *

  SUZANNE’S INSTINCTS HAD been spot-on—it was a big day in the tree and wreath business. Every person staying on the island through the holidays who hadn’t already put up a tree ventured to Petal Pushers to buy one while skies were clear. She worked through lunch, and only when a snow shower hit around one o’clock did the crowds disperse, so she stopped to eat the sandwich she’d packed, then straightened the table of poinsettias near the front door, which had also gotten rather picked over the last few hours.

  The morning blue sky had transformed to white, and a check of the weather app on her phone suggested it would stay that way. The reprieve had been brief—more dry weather tomorrow, but until then snow showers would increase in intensity through the afternoon and evening. She could probably lock up and head home if she wanted to—and looked like trimming the big tree in front of the park would have to wait.

  When the bell on the front door jingled, she glanced up to see—speak of the land-developing devil—Beck Grainger. And her heart nearly stopped. Just from the sight of him.

  Or was it that Dahlia had made her think too hard about him? No, quit lying to yourself, once and for all—he was already on your mind. Or maybe it was because of the mission for Meg and Lila. But no, just stop it—you were thinking about him before that, too. You like to think about him. Thinking about him feels warm, cozy.

  “Heard this is the hot spot for Christmas trees,” he greeted her with a smile.

  She met his gaze. Or tried to. God, his brown eyes did sparkle. It was hard to look at him directly, hard to hold eye contact.

  She gave up, stared at his mouth instead. Which was also attractive to her.

  Coat. Safe to look at his coat. Well, better anyway. Even if her heart still beat too hard. “You want ’em, we got ’em,” she said, trying to be just as jovial. “Spruce, Scotch pine, fir—both Douglas and balsam. Just take your pick.” Then she pointed over her shoulder, toward the back door of the shop—and used the opportunity to divert her gaze. “The bigger ones are out back. You’ll probably want at least a ten-footer for your place, right?” She hadn’t been inside his house, but even just from the outside knew it was spacious, as were all the homes on West Bluff.

  “Actually, it’s not for me,” he said. “And maybe you can recommend the right size. I’m taking it to the Summerbrook Inn.”

  At this, she swung her gaze back toward him—too surprised to remember that looking at him was difficult. “Really? A tree? For the inn?” She tilted her head. “Why?”

  He scrunched up his nose, appearing just a little guilty, a little hesitant. “Then you haven’t heard?”

  She let her eyebrows lift. “No, I heard,” she told him knowingly. “But still, what does a Christmas tree have to do with it?”

  He winced, lightly scratched at his darkly stubbled cheek, and appeared uncertain. “It’s...sort of a peace offering. For Meg’s sister. You probably know Lila.”

  She nodded. “Yes.” And she supposed this was her ch
ance to do what she’d promised. If only she hadn’t reverted back to finding it so hard to meet those amazing eyes, a brown so warm they could almost melt all the ice in her heart.

  Why on earth could she not just look at the man the same as she looked at anyone else? Was it because she was fed up with love or...was she so ridiculously attracted to him that she simply didn’t know how to deal with that? Could the two be so easily confused? And yet, her heart beat faster in his presence. It always had with him. Always.

  He gritted his teeth lightly. “She’s pretty worked up about the situation. And I noticed there’s no tree in the front window, or any other Christmas decorations I can see, so I thought a neighborly gesture might...help.” Then he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Any chance you think she’s overreacting and that Meg will be okay with the change behind the property?”

  Oh boy. The “change behind the property” was putting it lightly, so now it was her nose that scrunched. “Um, no.” She wanted to say more, should say more—to keep her promise—but no words would come. This is why you can’t date. Handsome men paralyze you. Though this case was extreme. And in that moment a startling and horrifying truth struck her—no man had ever had this effect on her. Ever. Not even Cal, the love of her life.

  Uh-oh.

  She realized she was gaping at him now—well, at the front of his coat anyway—her mouth hanging open. Hopefully he’d chalk it up to the situation with the inn. She needed to move things along here somehow. “But if you’re serious about taking Lila a tree, an eight-footer would be nice in the parlor, and I have a pretty Douglas fir that size right out front.”

  She stepped past him, opening the door. A burst of cold air blew in as she pointed to the nearest tree in the row of them currently lining the front of the lavender building. When he leaned past her to look, she caught the scent of him. Something leathery and musky and masculine, it seemed to ricochet through her body.

  And when he turned to say, “That sounds fine—I’ll take it,” it put their faces close. Maybe closer than they’d ever been. A liquid, ice-melting awareness flowed through her.

  “It’s starting to snow,” she said, apropos of nothing, realizing that wet heavy flakes had just begun dotting his shoulders, face, hair. It gave her a reason to duck rapidly back inside and put some distance between them by circling the small counter to the register.

  As he let the door close and pulled a wallet from his back pocket, she wondered if he’d felt it, too—that awareness. If he’d felt her feeling it. Or if he just attributed her odd behavior to the fact that she often acted weird around him. What on earth does he even see in me?

  “You’re not wearing a hat,” she said. Another genius, random remark.

  But he didn’t act like it was an odd thing to say. “It was sunny out when I left the house. I’m still not used to—you know—not being able to throw something in the car you might need later.” He ended that statement with a little wink—which, good Lord, reached right down into her solar plexus.

  She attempted an answer. “Yeah, it takes a while. And for you, not like you can just run back home and get it.” She suspected it was at least a fifteen-minute walk up to West Bluff from here, maybe longer through the snow. And a glance out the window revealed that it was coming down heavier now. “Things are different here.”

  He looked up when she added the last words. And could tell he got the deeper meaning behind them.

  It was her opening, so she needed to pull herself together and make her play for Meg’s inn. “Beck, I have no idea how land deals work, and I’m sure there’s a lot of money involved. But taking out the trees on the hill behind the inn is a pretty big move for this place. Things don’t change here in big ways overnight. Even having been on the island only a couple of years myself, I’m aware of how much people appreciate the...sameness of the place. And it’s why most of them are here.” It pleased her to have gotten all that out despite being a little breathless.

  He gave a solemn nod. “Don’t worry, I understand that. Thing is, though, anytime anything is built in this world, there’s usually somebody who doesn’t like the idea or feels it hurts their way of life. But for any progress to happen—anywhere—you have to look to the greater good change brings.”

  That all sounded very nice—and even heartfelt. But it didn’t help anything, and she hoped she could spit out a measured response despite how painfully hard her heart still beat. “I suppose if this were happening on the other side of the island, I wouldn’t care so much. But it’s right up the street behind my best friend’s business.”

  He let out a long sigh before pasting on a small smile. “And here I was hoping you’d be on my side.”

  Something in her deflated—upon realizing that...she wished she could. Support him. For no other reason than...just wanting to. Because it would build a little bond between them. And the very desire for that stymied her all over again—she wanted a bond with Beck Grainger.

  “It’s not that... I mean...” She stopped, sighed. Again, so short of breath and inarticulate with him. She usually said exactly what she meant, with everyone. Take a second. Think clearly. “The thing is, I have to be on Lila’s side on this. Because I get the value of those woods for Meg and the inn and their whole family. It breaks my heart to think of them being gone, for lots of reasons.” Her heart hurt, her chest went tight—but keep going. Say what you mean. Just say it. “Though if this were something where I could take your side, I would. I mean, because...” She stopped, pursed her lips, tried to gulp in some air without being obvious about it.

  “Because why?”

  Say it. “Because I think maybe I finally have a crush on you. Or maybe I have had all along and was too confused to know it. Because I like you.”

  Whoa. That was saying it, all right. Putting it right there on the table. She couldn’t breathe. She watched his coat, light brown with darker buttons. She zeroed in on a button, studying it closely.

  “That’s good to know,” he said. She took in the warm little smile on his face only peripherally.

  But it slowly gave her the courage to lift her gaze.

  “Because I like you, too,” he went on. “But I think you already know that.”

  Yikes. She had no idea how to respond to that last part, and what came out was, “Still?”

  “Still,” he said. “I mean, if you...wanted to get together, I’d love to take you to dinner.” He looked absently around, offered up another small smile. “Though I guess Dahlia’s or the Pink Pelican is about as close to fine dining as I can come until spring.”

  Of course Dahlia’s or the Pink Pelican—the bar at the Huron House Hotel—sounded just fine by her, but this change of heart was still new, and her declaration felt sudden, and certainly unplanned. She needed to slow things down here. And also try to quit acting like a basket case. So she just nodded. “That’s...good to know, too. Because, you know... I don’t know...maybe.”

  “Maybe what?”

  Somehow now she’d focused on his hands—big, strong hands—where they held his wallet, ready to pay for the tree. But this drew her eyes back up. To his. For only a second. A really good second, though. “Just...maybe.” Eyes down. And then a new thought occurred to her—one he’d just inspired. Eyes back up. “Maybe...spring.”

  Then she rang up the tree and told him how much, thinking it would have been a better strategy to declare her feelings after he’d paid. You are so bad at this.

  But as he passed her a credit card, their fingers brushed, and she felt the tiny touch everywhere—and as her entire body processed the lovely sensation, she swiped the card and wondered if he’d experienced it, too.

  Returning the card to him, she switched the subject back to the original, practical one. “I...hope you don’t think taking Lila a Christmas tree is going to fix things.”

  He appeared pleasantly pragmatic, even if an inkling o
f the guilt she’d seen earlier crept back into his expression. “I know it won’t. It’s just...a gesture. To show her I’m not the bad guy. To try to make amends.”

  She gave her head a knowing tilt. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

  And for the first time ever, Beck Grainger cast her a downright flirtatious look that moved through her like liquid heat and made her forget all about winter. “Sometimes holding your breath and being patient pays off. After all, if I’m lucky, I might get you to go out with me next spring.”

  Then he pushed his way through the door and back out into the snow.

  * * *

  AFTER THE LAST few days, he was already tired of the snow. But as Beck dragged the big fir tree up Harbor Street, colored Christmas lights lining storefronts and snow falling all around him, suddenly Summer Island felt a little closer to being an idyllic winter wonderland. His conversation with Suzanne had unexpectedly brightened his mood.

  Of course, he wasn’t getting ahead of himself. Calling Suzanne a slow mover was an understatement. If it had taken her this long to even admit she might like him a little, it wasn’t as if they would go out tomorrow. And she had baggage—her husband had died and it was enough to keep her from dating, apparently for a pretty damn long time.

  So the upshot was that they might eventually have dinner. Spring, she’d said. And maybe. Perhaps it would finally happen—when the snow melted and the flowers began to bloom. But a long winter lay ahead before that came to pass. So maybe the thing he shouldn’t hold his breath about was a date with Suzanne.