Christmas Wishes and Mistletoe Kisses(34)

“Is that Mickey Mouse on your T-shirt?” he asked with a larger smile.

“It’s vintage,” she said, offering a grin in return.

“I see.” He led her to the ballroom where a fire was already going. He offered for her to take a seat on the sofa.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“No.” He’d knocked her confidence today. He’d made her feel like she’d ruined everything. She’d been so sure of herself, and the first bedroom she’d shown him had been all wrong. She took a deep breath and said, “I wanted to apologize for the picture in that room upstairs. I just found it in a closet.” She bit her lip, thinking. She didn’t know what to say. “I just wanted…” She struggled for the right words. “I just wanted to be sure that I hadn’t overstepped any bounds. I was under the impression that I could use anything I found in the house.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. It just took me by surprise. I never go in that room anyway, so you can leave it up if you’d like. It doesn’t matter.”

Again, a wave of disappointment washed over her as she saw his indifference to all the hard work she’d put into that room.

He was quiet, not offering anything more.

She got up and walked to the window, nervous energy zinging through her.

To her surprise, he followed, pacing up beside her. “I have questions,” she said, turning toward him. As she did, she realized they were standing under the mistletoe together. It felt ridiculous at that moment. “Tell me,” she said. “Why do you have a baby’s room all decorated and you didn’t bother to tell me? Why were you so upset about that picture? I have to know these things to get it right. I want to do a good job for you.”

His seriousness was different this time. There was a slight uncertainty to his face, and pain—she could see it. But lurking underneath it, it looked like he wanted to tell her. Out of nowhere, he started talking, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “The baby’s room was Sarah’s idea of encouragement. She thought I’d fall in love with it and want a baby like she did. But I don’t. And you’re right: this house is meant for a family. So I left it, not knowing how long I’d stay here.”

He wasn’t planning on staying in this house? His words hit her like bricks, but the magic of where they were standing, the mistletoe hanging above her—for some reason it all gave her a little hope that everything would be okay. She’d do a wonderful job, so good he’d love it and want to live here forever.

“But you are still here,” she said.

“For now.”

As she digested this, she realized that she’d created this magical atmosphere—the trees, the stockings, the greenery. It had all come from her mind, and none of it was real. After Christmas, it would all be gone. What about him? Was he planning to be gone as well?

“What about the picture? It’s a gorgeous picture. It’s a shame it was hidden in the closet.”

Abbey thought about the pies Nick had sent over, how he’d followed her lead and had dinner on the sofa even though it was clear how uncomfortable it was for him, how he’d looked when he was running with Max. He hadn’t had to do any of those things, but he’d reached out, and for that, she was grateful. Now she wanted to reach out to him. He stood silently, looking at her, so she continued. “It looked like that picture really upset you. You’ve been very kind to me and Max, and I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t seem fine. Look, I know it’s none of my business, but your reaction to my choices in decorating is. I put something in your house that made you upset, and I feel terrible about that. If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t. You seem like a very kind person, and I just worried about you. That’s all.”

After she said that, his face changed. There was an interest in his eyes—she’d seen it before, but this time, the intensity behind it was startling. Was she the first person to say she worried about him? “I was at the waterfall depicted in the photograph the day my dad died.”

“Oh.” She covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry.” Abbey thought about how Nick didn’t easily forget things, and she wondered if the feelings for the loss of his father were as fresh as his memory of it. “Why did you preserve that memory with an enormous photo, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was just after my wedding. Sarah had insisted that we go on our honeymoon. Dad had barely made it through the wedding—he was really sick, but he’d come anyway. His cancer had spread; he was so thin…”