Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Hayden looked over the contracts Livi had emailed to him last night. The fees her clients were willing to pay were more than double what he thought they should be. Even better, the agreed-upon due dates were several months down the road. He could take his time and make both pieces unique.

“Wow,” Simone said from over his shoulder. “That’s a sweet chunk of change.”

He flipped the papers over. “Do you mind?”

She plopped down into the chair beside his desk. “Can I help it if I’m worried I’m going to lose my partner to the lure of the almighty dollar? And who knew upmarket woodworking was so lucrative?”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Simone. I’m not going anywhere.” He shoved the contracts into his desk drawer and stood. “Except to the elementary school. Today is the holiday concert, and we’ve been assigned to help direct traffic.” He handed Simone her jacket. “We need to hustle.”

“I’m glad your furniture making is becoming more than a stress-relieving hobby,” she said as they walked across the town square. “If you put a little promotional effort in, maybe you could grow your business into a full-time gig.”

“You sound like Elle.”

“Aha! So we’ve discussed a future together, have we?”

Hayden stopped at the corner to let the Amazon truck go by. The driver was dressed in full Santa garb. He gave them a loud “Ho, ho, ho” as he passed by.

“No talk of the future. We’re living in the here and now. Not that it’s any of your business.” He gave her a pointed look. “She got some crazy idea to build me a website as a Christmas present.”

“At least one of you is thinking about your future,” she muttered as she stepped past him. She turned around and walked backward so she was facing him. “Have you at least told her that you love her?”

He ignored her as he zipped around her on his way to the school.

Simone grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a bench in front of the town’s library. “Whoa there, Deputy Dog. You’re not going any farther until you tell me the game plan.”

“The game plan is for you to take the entrance to the parking lot on Water Street while I take the one on Oak.”

She made a growling sound deep in her throat. “I meant the game plan with Elle, wiseass. You love her. She obviously makes you happy because you’ve been wearing a shit-eating grin for days now. And, seeing as you are one of the most important people in my life, I want you to be happy.” She put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to do the smart thing and ask her to stay in Chances Inlet?”

Hayden focused his gaze over her shoulder. The library’s front window was painted with an elaborate mural of Santa flying his sleigh, dropping books into the outstretched hands of eager children below. The artwork was courtesy of a local artist who’d set up a gallery in town. In her application for the commission for the window, she told the city council she’d come to Chances Inlet for the sole purpose of finding her passion and sharing it with others. He sucked in a deep breath. Too bad Elle couldn’t find her passion in their hometown.

He looked Simone in the eye. “No. I’m not asking her that.” He started walking again.

“Why the hell not?” she demanded as she raced to catch up with him. “And don’t give me that bullshit about ‘if you love someone, set them free.’”

If it’s meant to be, they’ll come back to you.

Or something like that.

It seemed Hayden was constantly “setting Elle free.” She did always come home. Just never to him specifically.

“That plot point seems to work just fine in your grandmother’s romance books you’re always waxing on and on about,” he said.

“Are you kidding me?” She threw up her hands. “What is your problem? Just tell her.”

Hayden turned on his heel so fast, Simone lurched into him.

“Okay. I tell her. And she agrees to give up her dreams for me. What happens five years from now when she regrets missing out on her big chance because she chose me out of pity? Or guilt?” he yelled. “When she realizes she’s stuck in the town she couldn’t wait to escape from because I’m too effing messed up to live out there in the real world? Where will I be then, huh?”

Simone shook her head. “Where is this coming from?”

He heaved a sigh. “From real life. My real life. And Elle’s. We both had big dreams once. One of us should get to achieve theirs.”

“Oh, Hayden, what if you are her big dream?”

Her words hurt to even contemplate. “I told her why I can’t leave. That this is my home. And she knows I love her?—”

“Have you told her that? Actually said those three words? Out loud?”

He’d said those three words to her countless times over the years. So maybe the words meant something different now. But he’d shown her with his body what she meant to him. There was no way she didn’t know.

“I won’t beg her to stay. Call it bullshit if you want, but if she chooses New York over me, I’ll set her free.”

Simone stared at him, wide-eyed and breathing heavy. A car pulled up beside them, and a throat cleared.

“Everything okay, kids?” Sheriff Hollister asked from the front seat of his Bronco.

Hayden found his composure first. “Yessir. We are on our way to direct traffic.”

The sheriff looked between them as if he didn’t believe Hayden. After a strained thirty seconds, he let it drop.

“I’m going to watch the concert,” he said. “Come inside when the parking lot is clear again. There are always lots of baked goods left over.”

He drove off toward the school as Simone hurried around Hayden.

“He had me at baked goods,” she quipped.

“Simone.”

She stopped and looked over at him. Hayden wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Thank you for having my six,” he told her. “And for being one of the most important people in my life.”

“I still think you’re focused on the wrong thing here. But if my grandmother’s books have taught me anything, it’s that men are idiots about love.” She nudged him in the side. “You gotta do you, though. Good thing I know a doctor. She can sew up the pieces of your heart come New Year’s.”

“Did you get ’em?” little Emily whispered when she and her two partners in crime slipped into the back room of the book shop that afternoon.

Everett nodded.

“Yes!” Henry whooped.

“Shh,” Emily and Whitney hissed.

It was all Everett could do to maintain a straight face. He hadn’t had much interaction with kids during his adult life. Not that he felt like he was missing out. Yet, over the past couple of weeks, these three had wormed their way into his afternoons until he looked forward to their grimy faces and silly stories each day.

Emily held out her hand. “Lemme see.” She opened and closed her palm. The eldest McAlister granddaughter was the undisputed ringleader of the trio. The girl would be a force to be reckoned with when she was older.

He pulled the crocheted snowflakes from his bag. All three were unique and crafted by Kitty. She thought it was adorable that he wanted to give them to his “fan club” as she called them. Technically, they weren’t gifts. They were a bribe to keep the kids from interrupting while he worked. They could stay, but only if they were silent.

He held them out of Emily’s reach. “We have a deal?”

“Yes.” She wiggled her fingers again. “We have a deal.”

All three kids nodded solemnly. He almost laughed at their earnestness. He didn’t have huge expectations that this would work. Emily couldn’t help bossing the other two around. And Henry was a wiggle worm who “forgot” he was supposed to be quiet most days. Not that it mattered. West had finished all his research. Now, all he could do was wait.

He handed them each one of the snowflakes. “Here’s my end of the bargain. Now each of you can give your mom a special gift for Christmas.”

“But I have two moms,” Whitney moaned.

“That’s right.” He made a show of patting his pockets before pulling a fourth one from his bag. “Here you go.”

The little girl’s blue-green eyes lit up. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“We need to wrap them so I can put mine under the tree. That way, my mom won’t see it until Christmas,” Henry said.

“I’m way ahead of you.” West pulled out a roll of wrapping paper from behind his chair.

Emily frowned. “But we don’t have scissors. Or tape.”

“In my satchel.” Everett reached for his bag, but Emily beat him to it. No surprise, she was rifling through it before he could stop her. She yanked the scissors and tape from the bag and put them on the table.

He hoped she’d stop her snooping there, but of course she didn’t.

“Hey. What are these?” She pulled out Keeley’s journals. “They are pretty.”

His heart smashed against his chest as he watched her finger the precious books. He reached across the table and grabbed them from her hands. “Those are private,” he said with more force than necessary.

Emily’s blue eyes were instantly shiny, and her bottom lip began to quiver.

“You can’t touch other people’s things without asking, Em,” Whitney chastised Emily before wrapping an arm over the girl’s shoulders. The littlest one was the empath of the group.

“I’m sorry.” Emily’s lip was still wobbling.

Everett felt like a beast. He reached over and gently cupped Emily’s chin.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you. These notebooks are very important,” he explained. “These are very pretty, aren’t they?”

He was glad to see her regain her composure almost instantly.

“Where did you get them?” she demanded. “Are they yours?”

All three children moved closer to get a look at the leather-bound journals in his lap. They were tied together with a piece of red-and-green ribbon he’d found at the inn.

“They belonged to my wife.”

“You’re married?!” they all seemed to say at the same time.

“I was. Once.”

Henry’s face went pale. “Did she die?” he whispered.

Everett didn’t know much about kids. He believed it was best to lead with the truth, though. At any age.

“She did,” he replied.

He watched as Henry swallowed roughly. “My dad died, too.”

“I didn’t know that,” Everett replied. Perhaps he should have thought this conversation through a bit more. “I’m sorry.”

The little boy nodded. “Do you still miss her?”

Everett returned the nod. “Every day.”

“My dad died before I was born, but I miss him.” Emily and Whitney each took one of Henry’s hands.

Christ. Everett had waded into a minefield.

Henry flicked his chin toward the journals. “I keep the flag from my dad’s funeral in my bedroom. It’s good to have something of theirs ’cos then they are a part of you still.”

Now, it was Everett’s turn for a painful swallow. The little boy was likely parroting words the adults in his life had fed him. Still, Henry was spot-on.

“It is.”

“She must have been really special,” Whitney said.

Out of the mouths of babes.

Unbidden tears burned the back of Everett’s eyes. “She was.”

“Did she write books like you?” Emily, ever the inquisitor, asked.

“She wrote stories for magazines and newspapers.”

“Like Aunt Elle,” Emily said.

“Exactly like your aunt Elle.” He placed his palm on the top notebook. “These are her books that tell the story of her life.”

“Are you going to let other people read them?” Henry asked.

Let other people read them . . .

That was the million-dollar question. Everett had only gotten the courage to read them himself this past week. They were eloquent and brilliant and so transparent, it hurt. They also told her story of why she was so determined to free her interpreter and the many others who aided Western journalists.

Other people needed to read the message of her grit and devotion. He just didn’t have the guts to take on the job himself. But he was beginning to get an idea of who might be best for the task.

“Yes, Emily. Someday, I will. I’m not ready to share her with the world just yet.”

All three children lunged toward him. Their arms crawling around his neck as they burrowed in closer.

“It’s okay,” Henry said. “You take all the time you need.”

Everett felt a sob lodge in his throat. He wrapped his arms around the three kids. As angry as he was with Helen Keneally, she’d never know the huge favor she’d done by banishing him to Chances Inlet.

“This looks . . . interesting,” Xander Fisk said from the doorway. “You aren’t trying to shove these kids into an oven you have hidden back here, are you, West?”

Emily and Whitney squealed as they pulled free. Henry let go and raced toward the gym owner.

“Xander!” Henry wrapped his arms around the man’s knees. “You promised you’d let me try the rock wall over break. Today was the last day of school. Can I come climb it tomorrow?”

Whitney was already back at the table, carefully wrapping her two snowflakes. Emily sat down beside her and did the same.

“It’s up to your mom.” Xander ruffled Henry’s hair. “If she says yes, then sure.”

“Aw.” Henry dropped his arms and threw himself into a chair with extra dramatic flair. “She said I have to be sixteen.”

“I’ll work on her for you, sport,” Xander said. “Maybe we can get her down to twelve.”

Henry sighed as he rolled down into a sitting position at the table and wrapped his own snowflake.

“Are you almost done with” —Xander waved his hand toward the kids— “whatever this is?”

“I’m not interested in climbing the rock wall,” Everett quipped.

“Har, har. The Rotary Club holiday cocktail party starts in twenty minutes. The sheriff said the individual you’d be interested in meeting will be there. Whatever that means.”

Finally.

“Excellent. What’s the address?”

“I can’t tell you that. It’s invite only.”

Everett cocked an eyebrow.

Xander laughed. “You’re going as my plus-one. When you’re finished babysitting, come find me out front.”

The three kids quietly finished wrapping their gifts. Everett picked up the pile of journals and rolled out some wrapping paper.

Whitney eyed him carefully. “What are you doing, Mr. West?”

“I want to wrap these because they are a gift from my wife. To me.”

“Can we help?” Henry asked.

“How about you three do it for me? That would make it extra special.”

He sat back and watched as the children worked together to carefully wrap the bundle of journals. His plan was coming together. If all went well at the cocktail party, he’d share his ideas with his agent. Not that he cared if the guy objected. Everett could always find another agent. Kitty was already onboard. And she was the most important piece of the puzzle.