Holiday Magic (Second Chance) (11 page)

“
Yes. It was in your coat pocket just as you said. I tried to make a call, but there’s no signal. I plugged it in. It’s in the kitchen. I’ll dilute the coffee.”

She came back into the room with two cups. “I divided it and added more coffee for you and milk for me.” She handed it to him. “Is that better?”

“It’s great, thanks. It’s a good thing that the wiring is underground. The fallen tree could have left us without power. If they start coming down like that all over the county, we may be here for another night. I think I told you earlier that Charlie had said that if worse came to worse, it might be Monday before we could get out.”

She nodded, moved back over to the Christmas tree, and started to add more balls.

“Well, at least we have lots of food and wood.” She hoped she sounded cheerful and not terrified. “The fridge and freezer are full, and I think I’m cried out for a while,” she added trying to make light of her emotional reaction earlier. Three days alone with him? How would she manage to keep from throwing herself at him? And tonight they would lie side by side in sleeping bags on the same bed? Who was she kidding? That was going to be torture, but if he did have a concussion… She cleared her throat, trying to sound upbeat and friendly.

“
There are some movies on the shelf. Why don’t you choose something to watch while I finish the tree?”

“
Maybe I’d rather watch you,” he said softly.

She turned to look at him, surprised by the warmth in his eyes. She blushed.

Chapter Eleven

Georgia quickly turned back to the tree to hide how shaken she was by the intensity of his gaze.

“Suit yourself.” The catch in her voice kept it soft and low. “If you don’t want to watch a movie, why don’t you put a CD on? The player is over there on the shelving unit near the stairs.”

She heard him move, and a few minutes later, the strains of Bing Crosby singing ‘White Christmas’ filled the room.

“Since we’re decorating for Christmas, we might as well have mood music.” said he came and stood close behind her. “There’s little doubt that Christmas will be white around here. Let me help.”

Georgia nodded, unable to trust herself to answer. The Christmas song had always been one of her favorites. He handed her the balls one by one, and when she’d put them all in the tree, he gave her the bows. Finally, they worked together to put on the individual strands of tinsel. She knew from past experience he hated this part of tree decorating. He much preferred tossing clumps of the silver threads at the tree and seeing where they landed.

He shook his head. “I don’t know where you get the patience for it. If I had to do this any longer,” he held up a handful of tinsel, “I’d go crazy.”

She laughed. It felt good to be happy again. She reached for the shiny mess he held in his hand. “I think we’re done.”

She stood back and admired their handiwork. She smiled and turned around to look at him. “What do you think?”

“
Beautiful,” he replied hoarsely, but he wasn’t looking at the tree.

“
How does your stomach feel? Are you hungry?” She didn’t know how to respond to him. Maybe the head injury was affecting his behavior.

“
It’s after eight. We still have to watch for a concussion…” she was babbling, but stopped when she saw the look on his face. She reddened more, but this time it was with the flush of need racing through her.

He smiled. “I’m starving, and the smell of that sauce has been tantalizing me all afternoon. Can I help?”

“Maybe you could open the wine,” she said. Alcohol probably wasn’t the best thing for him now, but she needed the Dutch courage it would provide. At the very least, she needed to relax. She was twitchier than a high strung race horse.

The domesticity of preparing the table to serve the meal did little to calm her nerves. She removed the Christmas table cloth and replaced it with cheery yellow plastic placemats. She found a partially used green pillar candle, which she put on the candle plate as a centerpiece. After putting the water on for the pasta, she tossed the ready-made salad they had bought with the oil and vinegar dressing she’d made earlier. She took the warm loaf of Italian bread out of the oven and placed it on the breadboard, before handing it to Mark who carried it to the table. Once everything was ready, she drained the pasta and served dinner. With the candlelight, the glow from the fireplace, and the Christmas lights, it would have been impossible to make the place any more romantic.

Mark poured the Chianti he’d bought into wine glasses.

He raised his glass.

“Here’s to the cook and life. As long as there’s life, there’s hope.” He sipped his wine, and so did she.

The conversation over dinner avoided the accident. Mark praised her cooking, and they discussed their favorite foods, some she had not eaten in the last few years. Mark mentioned the Christmas village as if there was a possibility that they could visit it together. She wanted to talk about their relationship, but she didn’t know where to begin, and given the possibility of a head injury, she didn’t want to upset him. When they had finished eating, Mark insisted on helping her clean up, and dried the dishes. It was a household task that they had completed together many times in the past.

Afterward, they carried the rest of the wine into the living area, and since the sofa offered the best place from which to watch the suspense movie they had chosen, they sat together on the couch. She made a bag of microwave popcorn, and placed it in a large bowl. How many times had they watched movies like this? Her heart opened a little wider.

The movie, billed as a thriller, but one that verged on horror, was one that neither of them had seen, and they soon became engrossed. It wasn’t long before they were sitting close together with Georgia burying her face in his left shoulder each time something frightening filled the screen. Mark laughed and teased her as she covered her eyes with her hands to avoid seeing some gruesome sight, only to peek through her fingers. It felt like old times.

Georgia had enjoyed the closeness of the evening, and she suspected that Mark had suffered no ill effects from his accident. She had been able to relax and enjoy his company. Mark hadn’t commented on the closeness, but he hadn’t tried to push her away either. Instead, he had held her nestled against him like in the old days.

The movie ended, and since it was almost midnight, Mark added three logs to the woodstove as Charlie had said. The tree and railing lights would go off soon, so they climbed the stairs. Mark stopped in front of the first room, the one she had prepared for them earlier.

“You can use the bathroom first,” he said, reaching for her arm as she stepped around him. “Thanks again for coming out to look for me. I owe you one.”

Georgia couldn’t help herself. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, the stubble of his beard tickling her. “You’re welcome. No matter what’s happened between us, I wouldn’t want anything to ever happen to you. I hope we can be friends again, Mark. I’d like that, but you aren’t getting rid of me just yet.”

She turned on the light in the hallway that showed the queen-sized bed had been made up with two sleeping bags, side by side, each covered with a blanket. She saw the amazed look on his face.

“
We still don’t know if you have a concussion, and I won’t hear you in the next room. I hope you’re okay with this, but after the evening’s scare, I’m not feeling very brave, and I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep in the other room listening for your call.” By the time she finished speaking, she knew she was as red as she could be. “We’ll be in separate bags, but if you need me, I’ll be close enough to help. I’ll use the bathroom first.”

She slipped in and closed the door before he could say anything.

Mark stood and stared at the door. A huge grin split his face. If Georgia were willing to forgive him, he would gladly get hit on the head again. He turned and walked into the room. She might not be ready to share his sleeping bag, but she was ready to let him into her life. That was all he needed. Once he got his foot in the door…

She came out of the bathroom, dressed in old sweats as he was, and she had never looked more appealing. She sat on the left side of the bed and turned to climb into the bag, one of the newer mummy-styled ones, and pulled up the zipper.

“If you need anything, wake me,” she said. “Seriously, if you’re in pain or you feel sick, don’t hesitate. Goodnight.” She snuggled down and closed her eyes.

He turned off the hall light and slipped into the bathroom. He stood staring into the vanity mirror, but could not suppress the smile on his face. He cleaned his teeth and took two more of the tablets she had given him. The headache was not as bad as it had been, but he credited knowing Georgia was willing to forgive him for that far more than any of the analgesic tablets he had taken. It had felt good to just sit and talk as they had, like old friends, and the way she had burrowed into his shoulder during the movie had made his body react in an embarrassing fashion. Thank God for the cushion on his lap! He just hoped he could keep his need in check tonight.

He turned off the light and stretched out in his sleeping bag. He could tell from her breathing that she wasn’t asleep yet, but he didn’t say a word, preferring to just bask in the happiness he felt. The chalet was comfortably warm, but he was sure that it would be cold in the morning when the fire had burned itself out. He let his mind go over the events of the day. Georgia’s tears when he had joked about dying, and her willingness to stay in the room with him now convinced him that she still cared for him. He reached up to touch his cheek where she had kissed him – nothing romantic about it, but he had been so grateful to feel her lips on his skin that he had almost died of pure pleasure. As he felt sleep overtaking him, the sounds of her gentle breathing cocooned him, and his last thought was how nice it felt to be friends with her again. Maybe with time, it could become something more.

Georgia woke to a shadowy room, with a comforting warm body pressed against her back. At some point during the night, he must have flipped his sleeping bag over since his arm was now holding her snugly against him under the wool blanket. He was still asleep, and it sounded like the gentle breathing associated with deep sleep. She checked the digital alarm clock on the table beside her and saw that it was after seven.

Since it was still so dark, no doubt the storm hadn’t ended. She knew the chalet would be cold. The fire would have gone out or had burned down quite low by now. Part of her wanted go down to add wood the fire since her early morning stomach was rumbling, while another part of her, the one that held her heart, wanted to stay like this, snuggled in his arms, forever.

Mark, what was she going to do about him? About them? She had been so scared when she had found him, and just as scared when she realized how she would feel if he had died. She had to tell him what Lucy had done. Although she had thought herself the only one hurt three years ago, she might have been wrong. If he still carried her picture, it had to mean something.

She realized what had happened three years ago no longer mattered to her, one way or the other. Even if he had been with Lucy, he wasn’t with her now, and Georgia was prepared to fight for the man she wanted this time. No more running away in shame. If she hadn’t been so prideful, if she had waited for an explanation…

Seeing him hurt like that had made her realize how much she loved him, how much she had always loved him. Life could be cut short so easily. The man in New York City hadn’t expected to die in Central Park that day. Gwen had been right. Sometimes the old wishes and dreams were the ones that really mattered. She wanted them to be a couple again. Life was too short for regrets, and she regretted not having listened to him back then.

“Georgia?” Mark said, moving away from her as quickly as he could when he had realized his position. “I know you’re awake. Sorry about that, I must have moved in my sleep. I usually sleep alone and…”

“
It’s okay. I appreciated the warmth.” Her heart broke anew because he was not as happy to be snuggled as she was. “How are you feeling? How’s the head?”

“
I’m fine. I’m going to go downstairs and stoke the fire. Stay in bed until the place warms up. It’s still snowing, so we aren’t going anywhere soon.”

“
Okay. I’m nice and warm, so I don’t mind staying here.”

She felt the bed give as he got up.

“Here, let me throw one of these blankets over you.” He spread the wool blanket over the sleeping bag. “It should be warm downstairs in about ten minutes. I’ll put the kettle on for you.”

“
Thank you.” She remembered the way he used to fuss over her. “Are you sure your head isn’t sore.

Heat flashed in his eyes. “The head isn’t what I’m worried about right now.”

She chose not to comment, but she had seen the bulge of his desire. Perhaps his need to move hadn’t been because he wasn’t happy snuggling, but because he was too happy to be there. Could she use their chemistry? Would it be fair to them to do so?

He turned without another word and left the room.

Georgia lay under the covers for a few more minutes trying to decide what to do. She wanted him, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, but she needed to be honest with him first. Honesty would give her a clear conscience, and if they were going to move ahead, there could be no more secrets between them.

She climbed out of bed, hurried into the bathroom, and took care of business before heading downstairs. Fervently wishing she had brought something better to wear than the old jogging suit she had slept in, one a couple of sizes too large, she walked towards the kitchen where he stood with his back to her. She probably couldn’t look less sexy if she tried! She shook her head. One of the floor boards creaked, and he turned towards her.

Mark smiled as she came into the kitchen. The room was heating nicely.

“
Good morning, sleepyhead. Before you ask again, I feel fine—no dizziness, no nausea, my shoulder is a little stiff, but the headache is barely noticeable. The cheek looks worse than it feels.”

She had almost stopped breathing when she had seen the blue-black bruise under his eye, although the eye itself wasn’t swollen shut. The scratches on his face were redder than they had been, and she would need to put more antiseptic on them. There had been flecks of blood on his pillow case, but nothing to cause her concern. He looked wonderful in a ‘battered hero’ sort of way.

“Good morning, yourself. Do I smell peanut butter?”

“
Your breakfast awaits.” He indicated a plate on which sat two lightly toasted pieces of bread smothered in peanut butter, and a cup of tea. “I hope you still take it with milk.”