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She folds her arms across her chest almost like my ideas, these weapons which keep stabbing me, don’t even frighten her. “Seasons change. Winter doesn’t have to last forever. You can be whatever kind of person you want to be.” She shakes her head, and in a strong tone I don’t hear very often from her, she adds. “I always thought you took after your mom anyway. Don’t make me change my mind.”
I’m not expecting to fight my smile. She took all my arguments and made them look like possibilities instead of absolutes. Is it truly as simple as deciding not to be like my dad? I know I’m not just a Davenport. I’m my mother’s son too. I swallow. My winter can end. I could kiss that smart aleck look right off her face. “We’d better talk about something else. That look on you is dangerous.”
Brie starts striding forward again and I follow suit. “It is dangerous, so don’t even think of throwing me into any pond.” Brie shoves her finger into my chest. “Remember how I saved you back there? Don’t you dare try anything.”
I vaguely recall throwing Brie into my pond a time or two back in our high school summer days. Okay, not vaguely. Vividly. A wicked grin crosses my face. “No promises.”
She puts a wide berth between us, and I almost regret my threat. Being home again is hard, but being with Brie is as easy as breathing. She’s a ray of sunlight against the icy fields and a steady heartbeat infusing life into my soul.
How can I walk away from her again?
I can’t.
Chapter 21
Brie
IlaughwhenRockwellknocks on my door the next morning and lets himself in before I get there. “It looks like you’re getting comfortable here.” I’m elbow deep in sugar cookies, and I’m glad I didn’t have to try to open a door with my messy hands.
“I might be.” He shrugs, his easy swagger from the door revealing how truly comfortable he is. “I might also need some real company after spending the morning with Travis.”
“Don’t let him hear you say those words.”
“He knows how I feel.” Rockwell leans on the kitchen counter and grins at me.
Something’s different. After all he faced yesterday, his ready smile is unexpected. I stupidly grin back.
“So, what’s on your agenda today?” he asks.
I love how he wants to know my schedule, and I assume, plug himself into it. “Thanks to you and your help yesterday afternoon with Wassail setup, I don’t have much to do until tomorrow night.”
“Except bake cookies.” He motions to my flour mess.
“Oh, this isn’t a big deal. It’ll only take me a couple of hours to finish up here.”
“A couple of hours? Sounds like nothing.”
I nod. “I’d let you help except we’re selling these to earn money for the after-school program.”
“And they can’t look like my wrapping paper job?”
I smother my laugh. “Your words, not mine.”
“Can I roll the dough out for you?”
He really wants to help in the kitchen again? Either he’s really bored or . . . I don’t want to finish my thought. I don’t want to get my hopes up only to be dashed again. I know his plans to leave, but when he acts like this, my hopes start flying of their own accord. I don’t even have the list to depend on anymore. “Are you sure you can handle it?”
He starts rolling up his sleeves. “Depends on how good you are at directing me.” He winks and comes around the counter to stand beside me. I don’t know why my pathetic heart is suddenly all seized up. It’s not like I’ve never seen muscled forearms, been winked at, or had a guy stand next to me before. Ever since our walk around the pond yesterday, we’ve been pretty comfortable again together—which is why my heart is on overdrive. Needless to say, the caution tape around my feelings is losing its adhesive power.
I hand him a ball of dough and explain the thickness and size I’m looking for. He gets right to work while I carefully monitor him—I mean the dough. I tilt my head so I can see his face better. There’s nothing obvious about it. Man, I'm weak.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, meeting my intent gaze.
Nothing profound comes to my mind to cover the obvious. “Uh . . .” I scan the room, looking for an idea to latch on to. I see my Kismet notebook on top of the TV. Why did I keep leaving it out? “Just that I think you should write a Christmas list.”
His eyes follow mine to the notebook. “Oh, really?”
I give a nonchalant shrug to draw his attention away from it. “It’s a fun exercise.” And it worked wonders for me. “Besides, you need a few more things to do before you’re stuck going to Wassail Night tomorrow.”
