Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

C hloe’s little tree was shaping up. Yesterday, she’d decorated it with the lights and ornaments she’d gotten at Target, but it had still seemed a little sparse. Then she’d gone to the Archers’ for dinner—her house had just seemed too sad and lonely after Derek’s disappearing act—and they’d had a batch of Emily’s holiday popcorn that Sara had told her about. That had given Chloe the idea to string popcorn on her tree, although pieces kept disappearing from the bowl beside her on the couch as Ashley artfully scooped them out and batted them around the room. Love Actually played on the TV, thanks to Emily loaning her a DVD player and a collection of holiday movies since the cable service hadn’t been installed yet.

Dinner with the Archers had been lovely. Any worry Chloe might’ve had that she couldn’t be friends with them if things fell through with Derek had evaporated. It certainly looked and felt like things weren’t going to work out, and she hadn’t felt awkward around them at all. She only hoped they felt the same after they realized she and Derek were kaput.

Would he really move to San Francisco? She’d spent last evening trying to reason that out in her mind, but it just didn’t make sense. It would be far easier for him to cut her out of his life than to run away from his home. And she planned to tell him that.

Now that she thought about it, she thought the Archers might turn their backs on her, especially after she dumped their almost-adopted-kid.

A knock on the door nearly made her drop her popcorn string. She turned and looked through the window out onto the porch, but she couldn’t see who was at the door, nor could she see a car in the driveway.

She set the string down on the couch and got up. She could see it was Derek through the glass panes at the top of the door. Joy ripped through her before she tamped it down with cold, hard reason: he was probably here to break up for real.

Swallowing, she opened the door. “Hi.”

It was raining, and he was wet. Had he walked over? She glanced at the driveway again and verified that it was empty. Her car was in the garage.

His face looked a bit pale. His blue eyes shone bright despite the shadow of the porch. “Can I come in?”

Chloe’s heart was racing, but she forced herself to remain calm. He could be here for the best of reasons—or the worst. “Sure.” She held the door wide and let him in.

He tentatively stepped over the threshold and slowly wiped his feet on the mat she’d picked up during her shopping spree.

“Can I take your coat?” she offered.

Wordlessly, he slipped it off and handed it to her. It was sopping wet, so she just hung it over one of the dining room chairs and let it drip on the hardwood. She’d clean it up later.

She kept sneaking looks at him, but for now, he was simply staring into the living room—at the Christmas tree.

She came up beside him, moving softly because she didn’t want to spook him. He seemed like he was maybe only half there. It had to have taken a Herculean effort to even come here, let alone come inside. She would take this as slow as he wanted. She just hoped he wanted.

“It’s shaping up,” she said, gesturing to the tree. “I’m making popcorn strings. Do you want to help?”

He shook his head immediately. His quick denial iced the hope in Chloe’s chest. “Do you mind if I look around?” He turned his head to look down at her. “Alone?”

“Not at all. Do whatever you need to.” Please , just don’t leave again.

He nodded, again seeming like he wasn’t really with her, and walked through the living room to the hallway that led to the stairs and the back of the house. She heard him climb the stairs and forced herself to sit on the couch. Time stretched, during which she neither picked up her popcorn string nor paid any attention to the television.

Emily had sent over a little mantel clock for the fireplace, and Chloe couldn’t stop looking at it. Five minutes. Ten. Silence. Finally, after fifteen minutes, she couldn’t stand it any longer. She got up and walked to the stairs. Then stopped. She shouldn’t intrude. She could be patient.

After pacing the little hallway across from the open kitchen and staring at the clock on the microwave for another three minutes, she gave up on being patient and climbed the stairs. There was a landing halfway up where the stairs switched back to the upper floor. It contained a large window with a seat she’d made cozy with several throw pillows and the sage green blanket from the Archers’ apartment, which she’d somehow gotten the guts to ask if she could have. Just seeing it there—here—made her realize you could start over again. She only hoped Derek could see it too.

She climbed the rest of the way and paused. Where would he be? There were two bedrooms at the front of the house and the master suite at the back. Intuition told her to move to the front. Still, she didn’t move. She didn’t want to intrude. Torn between retreating downstairs and continuing, she decided to give him the choice. “Derek?” she called softly. If he answered, she’d go to him. If he didn’t, she’d try to mind her own beeswax.

“In here,” came his response. Relief flooded her and she realized she’d been holding her breath.

She followed the sound of his voice and found him cross-legged on the floor of the bedroom on the right. The bedrooms were mirror images of each other, right down to the built-in window seats.

One of the boards on the front of the seat had been loosened. Two stacks of paper and a notebook sat on the floor next to Derek.

He looked up at her, his eyes as bright as she’d ever seen them. And she realized it was because they glistened with tears. “These are mine.”

Because he hadn’t told her to go away, she moved slowly toward him. “What are they?”

“Poems. I wrote them after we moved here.” He laughed—he actually laughed. “I sound a little angry.”

“Really?” She kneeled beside him. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Please.” He held up one of the papers and read, “Life sucks. People suck. Everything sucks. Except bacon. Bacon does not suck.”

She laughed with him. “I have to agree. Bacon does indeed not suck.”

He shook his head, set the paper aside, and picked up another. “Home is a four-letter word. I think it’s not a good one.”

Chloe’s heart threatened to split in two. “How old were you when you wrote that?”

“Ten, I think?” He stared at the paper a moment longer then set it in the pile. “We’d lived here about a year. I hated it.”

It took everything she had not to touch him, to ease his pain. “But I thought you fell in love with Ribbon Ridge. You made friends with the Archers, right? You and Kyle became best friends.”

“Not at first. At first, I tried to beat him up.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d done that. “I did manage to give him a bloody nose.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth. “You didn’t.”

He nodded, a smile playing around his lips, and she nearly threw herself at him because she wanted so badly for him to be happy. “He made fun of my haircut. I’d gotten a crew cut like my dad used to have. He was a cop.”

It was the first thing he’d told her about his dad. She regarded this as massive progress, but tried not to get too excited. “That’s nice. Not that Kyle made fun of you, but that you wore your hair like your dad.”

His smile faded. “I grew it out and I never cut it that short again.”

She ached to give him comfort, but she was too afraid to break the moment for him. Instead she said, “But you found your place here.”

“Eventually. I didn’t make things easy when I first moved here. I was pretty pissy. Hated school. Hated this tiny, lame town.” He looked around the room, distaste creasing his features. “Hated this house.”

She waited for him to say more, willing patience to outweigh her curiosity.

“It was so quiet. Dad was loud, funny. Always talking, reading, doing. He was the light and core of our family and when he died, I think it—our family—died with him.”

This house was a tangible reminder of the loss he’d suffered. The loss he was still trying to let go. She suddenly wished she’d listened to the warning signs and never rented it. She loved him, wanted a future with him, and if they couldn’t do it with this house, she’d move out. “I’ll move. Newberg’s not that far.” She looked at him expectantly, her heart in her throat. “Unless it’s too late.”

He smiled weakly and reached out to take her hand. His fingers were cold, but strong. “It’s not. At least for me. But maybe it is for you. I’ve been such a jerk.”

“It’s definitely not too late for me.” She appreciated his acknowledging his behavior. “And I’ve tried to understand. Though I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose both of your parents, and when you were so young.”

He squeezed her hand. “I miss them.” His jaw tightened and anguish lined his face. “So much. And yet I’m lucky to have what I have. I’m not alone. I’ve never been alone. So why do I feel like I am?”

Chloe couldn’t stand it anymore; she moved closer to him, her knees pressed against his thigh, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Because in some ways you’re still the little boy who lost his parents. And you always will be. It’s part of who you are, and instead of hiding him away, maybe you should invite him in.”

Tears leaked from her eyes as she held on to him tightly, for him, for her, for their future together—she hoped.

After a long moment, he drew a ragged breath. He turned his head and kissed her forehead. “You’re beyond amazing. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

She pulled back and smiled at him, dashing her hand over her eyes. “You didn’t do anything special except make me fall in love with you.”

“Oh, Chloe,” his voice broke. “I love you, too.” He brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her softly. She kissed him back with all the love bursting from her chest.

It was a good minute later before she lightly pulled back, though she kept her hands around his neck. “I’ll move. It’s no big deal.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want you to live in Newberg. I’d wanted . . . well, I’d hoped I could bring myself to accept you being here, that I could learn to like being here myself. But,” his gaze was adorably pleading, “and please don’t stop loving me, I don’t think I can do it. I’m glad I came in and got these,” he glanced at his poems, “but I’m ready to move on. I’d like to sell the house.”

She had no problem with any of that. Except . . . “Okay, but where am I supposed to live if I don’t take the place in Newberg?”

He gave her a crooked smile that held a hint of uncertainty that was so endearing, she wanted to kiss him senseless. “With me, of course. If you don’t mind the bachelor loft. We can find something else, if you like.”

She grinned. “The bachelor loft is fine with me, but aren’t you afraid we’re rushing things? We’ve only known each other, what, a week and a half?”

He traced his finger along the side of her face and gazed into her eyes. “I’m afraid of a lot of things, but not of my feelings for you or of our future together. Yes, it’s quick, but I’ve spent so long in the dark, I’m desperate for the light. And you’re my light, Chloe. My love.”

Tears threatened again, but these came from joy and love and happiness. “I love you, Derek.”

“Do you still need help with the popcorn strings?” he asked.

“Sure, but,” she was confused, “aren’t we going to leave?”

“Tomorrow, I think. I’d like to decorate your tree and maybe have dinner. I’d like my last memory of this house to be the best one.”

Love spilled from Chloe’s heart and warmed every inch of her. She kissed him again. “Welcome home, Derek.”