Shay took a sip. It was like drinking a chocolate bar. “It’s perfect.” If it were any sweeter it would be syrup. “I do agree that Connor has given his heart away.”
Penny set down her mug. “Yes. To you?”
The question took Shay aback. Her perceptions shifted slightly on their axis. His mom thought Connor had given his heart to her? “No. To someone else.” Wait. Was she Molly?
No. That was wishful thinking. If she was Molly, Connor would simply have asked her out. He wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of a ruse like this.
Penny looked perplexed. “He gave his heart to someone else? Who?”
“He hasn’t told me. I’m helping him prepare, though, to ask her out.”
“Mm,” Penny murmured in an unconvinced tone.
Had there been a time in the past when Connor liked her? She wished she’d noticed! And yet . . . She had to cut herself some slack. She’d been a kid. Her taste in boys had been haywire. “Why did you think it was me who he’d given his heart to?”
“He was enamored with you when you were younger.”
“He was? He told you that?”
“He’s never been the type to confide in me about romance. But I could tell he adored you. It was all over his face. More than once, I drove him to cross country meets when you were running. That was back in the day before he had his own license.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
Just then, she heard the front door open and close.
Connor entered the kitchen from the hallway. He was dressed more casually than usual, in track pants and a long-sleeved athletic tee. A slow, tender smile moved across his mouth as he took her in. “Hey.”
In response, desire curled through Shay like a satin ribbon. “Hi.”
“More sugar,” Connor said to his mom, setting a grocery bag on the counter.
“Thank you, darling. Hot chocolate?”
“I’ll have some later.”
“Were your ears burning?” Penny asked him. “My nativity angel and I were just talking about you.”
His brows immediately lowered with concern.
“It was all good,” Shay hurried to say.
“Your nativity angel is actually here to christen my new painting,” Connor said to his mom.
“Yes,” Penny answered, “but nativity angels always have time to chat with their doting librarians in the world.”
“And they never say no to chocolate,” Shay added. “What’s your role in the nativity?” Shay asked Connor.
“This year I’m one of the people who passes out food.”
“What?” she squawked. “How come you’re not a shepherd or Joseph?”
“Because only my mom’s naive new recruits agree to be character actors.”
“Connor!” Penny chastised with fake outrage.
“It’s true,” he said to Shay.
Apparently, she was a pawn in Penny’s master nativity plan.
“Shay,” Penny said, “while you finish your hot chocolate, I’d like to hear all about your stationery shop.”
Shay explained that Christmas fever had reached dizzying heights in Misty River and that she and Gabe were doing their best to radiate holiday cheer while working overtime.
She didn’t tell them that, in her heart of hearts, a discordant note kept ringing. She looked forward to spending time with her brother and sister-in-law on Christmas Eve, but Christmas Day would be fraught with tension thanks to her parents. Nate the Disappointment was gone. Her feelings toward Connor were fruitless. So this particular Christmas was shaping up to be sadder than most.
Shay! Look at Penny and Connor! A grave diagnosis hung over them and they weren’t griping. She had a lot to be thankful for. Wonderful friends. Her business. That was enough for any person.
During recent talks with Connor, she’d learned that though his sisters could be loud and challenging, they were also as good-hearted as Connor and his mom. These two could expect a warm, rowdy, loving Christmas. Which was no less than they deserved.
The discordant note rang again, stubborn. However, it was scientifically impossible for a person to give in to depression when drinking a chocolate bar.
She arrived at Connor’s studio, once again, with the taste of chocolate in her mouth. Reverently, she approached the newly finished piece while snow floated down as perfectly as if it had been manufactured for the Broadway production of Frozen.
He’d chosen colors similar to those of the last piece, except that he’d added one new shade—somewhere between peach and dusky pink. The work communicated emotion to her. Longing.
She spent time composing possible titles in her head. “To me, this one is like looking at love’s garden through a frosted window.”
Several seconds of quiet followed. She turned her chin to him and found that his attention was on her.
“Love’s Garden Through a Frosted Window is the perfect title,” he said.
“Were you channeling love with this one?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I was. Thank you for the title.”
“We angels aim to please.” She neared the shelves, idly running a fingertip down his various tools, visualizing them in his calm, capable hands as he worked.
She earnestly wished she could stay, but checking her watch, she saw she’d need to leave in a few minutes. She loved this studio, this house, time spent with him. In Connor’s presence, she felt two things that she typically didn’t feel simultaneously with guys. She felt valued. And she felt physical magnetism.
Back when her parents’ marriage tanked, she’d realized that pleasing them had become impossible. She’d forsaken that goal and instead decided to claim her individuality, to please herself. Sometimes, she rubbed people the wrong way. They viewed her as too independent, too outspoken, too individual, too quick to stick up for herself or her business.
With Connor, it was like a vacation because she didn’t have to worry about that. He accepted her. More than that, he seemed to appreciate her.
He was starting to feel like home to her . . . yet she couldn’t let that sensation take root. He wasn’t. Her boyfriend. Or her home. “What attracted you to Molly?” she asked.
“Her confidence. She knew her own mind.”
“How long have you liked her?”
“Quite a while.”
“What’s stopped you from asking her out before now?”
“At first, I was too shy to do it. Lately, circumstances.”
“How much do you like her?”
“This much.” He indicated the painting. He’d said he’d been channeling love while working on it.
He loved Molly. The admission pierced her with the chill of a metal stake. “Your mom told me that she drove you to some of my cross country meets before you were old enough to drive. Did you go to the meets . . . for me?”
He hesitated. “Yeah.”
“You never mentioned you were there.”
“We were friends and I liked to cheer for my friends. But I never liked to”—he shrugged—“publicize it.”
She wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. He was irresistible. And she felt such a powerful pang of remorse that she hadn’t given him the time of day back when he’d liked her, that she needed to go. “I have to run. I’m on my way to a Christmas cookie exchange.”