I nodded but didn’t tell her I’d spent the day at the tree lot. Or that I knew Red’s business was up twenty percent since the diner reopened. All information I’d gained from that conversation at Morgan’s.
What I’d overheard at the farm market, and what Dee had described now, was a busy, thriving business district. It was nothing close to my first impressions when I’d driven in this morning.
I found I wanted to learn more. See more. Stick around for a while longer. Maybe even longer than just this weekend.
That was the last thing I’d expected to happen.
No, actually, seeing Lizzy Murphy again—all grown up—was the dead last thing I’d have ever expected, but my starting to feel at home here in Mudville was running a close second.
Now, all I needed to figure out was what the hell to do about both of those things.
FOUR
ELIZABETH
I sat in my car, parked on Main Street, looking for Christopher like a damned stalker.
Twisting in the driver’s seat I eyeballed the windows of Mudville House. Was he there at the hotel? Or was he staying at his uncle’s place?
A horrible thought hit me. Could he already be on the way back downstate? That last guess had my stomach twisting as I panicked.
We hadn’t gotten around to discussing his coming back for another shift at Santa Station tomorrow. There hadn’t been time since it had been so busy the entire day. And I’d had to be careful about what I said to him to keep up the sham that I didn’t recognize him.
Then I’d gotten called away at the end of the day due to a supply emergency. That ill-timed candy cane shortage had caused me to miss Christopher finishing the shift and leaving.
But it was December. Cold. Icy. Dark at four-thirty. My instincts told me he wouldn’t choose to leave tonight, but rather wait for daylight.
God, I hoped I was right about that. But I still didn’t know where to look for him.
With that thought, I came back full circle to the possibility of me going full-blown stalker on him.
It was like I was sixteen again. Him leaving. Me waiting around for him to show up again. Twenty-three years later and the situation hadn’t changed. I didn’t like it.
I liked even less that today was proof that I hadn’t changed either. Apparently I was still the kind of girl who sat around and waited.
Maybe that was why, twenty years after I’d sworn to myself I’d leave this town the moment I had my Mudville High diploma in my hand, here I was, still living in this tiniest of towns. Teaching at the same school where my mother had taught. Getting a degree from the local community college instead of going away to school. And still living in my parents’ house.
The more I took inventory of my life, the more I felt like a loser.
A knock on the window of my car startled the self-pity right out of me.
Through the glass, frosted on the outside with cold and foggy on the inside from condensation, I could make just out the blurred image of the Morgan Farm logo stretched across a male chest.
Any fear dissipated as I hit the control to lower the window. Boone Morgan, the wearer of the sweatshirt bearing the logo, leaned down.
“Hey. You okay?” he asked. “I saw you sitting here when I went into the store a while ago. Is something wrong with your car?”
“No. Everything’s fine. I was just, uh, checking Instagram to see if anyone was commenting on the posts about Santa Station.” I was getting surprisingly adept at lying since Christopher’s reappearance in town. I had to wonder if that was some sort of sign I should heed.
“And? Did you get a lot of comments?” he asked.
Perhaps I wasn’t so adept after all. On second thought, my lie was pretty pitiful since I didn’t even have my phone in my hand. I grabbed it quick now and shook my head. “I don’t know. My signal is so crappy the page won’t load.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yup. Tomorrow.” I nodded, happy to be done with this conversation.
I started to roll up the window as Boone straightened and turned. But when he moved away from my car, I was able to get a clear view of the entrance to the store. Who I saw had my finger slipping off the window control.
Christopher.
He’d changed out of the Santa suit he’d been wearing all day, but it was definitely him.
His clothes were nicer than they’d been when he was here that summer living in the cut-off shorts I’d fashioned for him when he’d realized his long jeans were going to be way too hot and impossible to swim in.
He was older. His body thicker. But there was no doubt about it. This was Christopher. My Christopher. The one who’d gotten away. Back here again.
As he walked across the parking lot, a shopping bag in his hand, I could have yelled hello. Could have asked him where he was going. Or walked right over and told him the jig was up and that I’d known who he was all day.
I didn’t do any of that.
Instead, I slumped lower in my seat and watched him walk to a black sports utility vehicle parked beneath the streetlight.
He tossed the bag on the passenger seat and then climbed in.
His vehicle emitted a burst of exhaust into the air before he steered out of the parking lot and onto Main Street.
I threw the car into drive, flipped on the blinker and turned the same direction he had. I technically wasn’t following him. After all, he just happened to be heading the same direction I had to go to get home.
Nope. I wasn’t following him. And I definitely was not stalking him. Could I help it that he happened to be going to the house next door to where I lived?
In spite of all my repeated rationalizations, I passed my own driveway and slowed along the road as he turned into the drive for his uncle’s farm.
The house was set way back from the street, but I could still see the lights glowing in the windows once he got inside. Yes, I sat there along the road long enough he’d had time to park, unlock the house, get inside and turn on lights. Maybe I was stalking, just a bit. But I couldn’t help it. I had so many questions.
Why was he here? Had his family inherited the house? If he did own the farm now, what was he going to do with it?
This was crazy. There was absolutely no reason for me to be hiding in the dark wondering. We were friends. I could just ask him all this.
We had his Uncle William in common. We had all that time we’d spent together that summer. So much more than just those parting kisses. More than enough to base a nice conversation on. We could catch up with each other’s lives before he went back downstate and we both went on with our lives.
Done being a scaredy cat. Done acting crazy, I steered my car off the snow-covered shoulder, my tires spinning out before I finally fishtailed my way onto the gravel of the drive.
I parked right in front of the house, got out and strode up to the door before I changed my mind.
Heart pounding, I pushed the button for the doorbell . . . then I remembered the bell hadn’t worked decades ago and there was a good chance it still didn’t work now.
Doing the next best thing, I knocked. First on the flimsy glass and aluminum storm door, but I wasn’t sure he’d hear that, so I opened that and pounded on the thick wooden front door of the farmhouse. Apparently, when I committed to a bad idea, I went all in.