Eight days later, Violet sat in front of Herman Healey’s desk at Masterson House Publishing. He had left her alone in the office, looking for his assistant to bring them coffee and proofs of her cover. As excited as Violet was to see the cover for her poetry collection, mostly her life felt like it was propelling with increased urgency and speed toward Friday night, Christmas Eve, when Zach would be returning from his tour. For the first time she could remember, Violet wouldn’t be returning to Maine to spend Christmas with her mother and her mother’s boyfriend. Although Zach didn’t know it yet, she planned to spend it in New York with him, she planned to be at his apartment waiting for him when he got home.

She’d tracked down Cora Aubrey last week.

“Hi, Cora. I don’t know if you’ll remember me because we met so long ago, but this is—”

“Violet Smith,” Cora said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you called.”

“I’m so sorry to be calling you at work, but Zach mentioned to me that you were working on a restoration project in Upstate New York, and I needed to talk to you, so I tracked you down.”

“No problem. I would have called you to talk about my train wreck of a brother, but I didn’t want to scare you away.”

Huh. Zach must have told her everything.

“Just so you know, Zach painted broad strokes, Violet. We don’t talk about the nitty-gritty. Well. Unless we’re drunk.” She laughed, and Violet relaxed. “Never seen my brother like this.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He’s pretty much a lost cause over you.”

“I’m pretty much a lost cause over him,” Violet said.

“Ah, phew! That’s good to hear. I mean, Zach deserves to be tested a little after what he put you through. But if you don’t want him, well, cut him loose, you know? Because he’s—”

Violet winced and smiled at the same time, loving the words that were coming, hating that she was causing him any pain.

“—really in love with you.”

“I’m really in love with him too.”

“Well, that’s a relief! If you’ll forgive me for being a pushy little sister, plan to tell him anytime soon?”

“Little sister?”

“He came first.”

“I didn’t know,” she said, loving this new information. “Hey, I have a favor to ask, Cora.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Zach’s coming back to New York next Friday. And I wanted to be there, in his apartment. You know, waiting for him. I want to decorate a Christmas tree and have dinner waiting. I don’t want him to come home to a cold apartment. I love him. I want—”

“Don’t look now, Violet. But that’s the second time in ten minutes you’ve told me that you love my brother.”

“Huh,” Violet murmured with wonder. Cora was right. The words had finally come freely and without forethought. They just existed, finally, finally returned to her. She started to giggle, and she covered her mouth to muffle the sound. She just hoped her courage wouldn’t fail her when Zach stood before her.

“Violet,” said Cora softly. “He’ll never hurt you again.”

“I know.”

“What do you need from me? Just name it.”

“Key to his apartment? Any allergies. Favorite color Christmas lights.”

“I’ll FedEx it. Soft-shell crab. Blue.”

Violet giggled again. “Thanks.”

“Text me your address.” There was a long pause before she heard Cora’s quiet, raspy, wistful voice. “This might sound weird but . . . thanks for loving him. You two are a long time coming.”

“Bye, Cora.”

Since receiving the spare key in the mail from Cora, Violet had gone to Zach’s apartment once. It was predictably neat, but she found his vacuum and ran it anyway, dusting the surfaces and opening the windows to air it out. Later tonight, she was having a Christmas tree delivered, and two large Target bags sat beside her in Herman’s office, filled with blue twinkle lights, silver garland, and beautiful blue, aqua, and silver bulbs. Zach’s apartment had the most amazing music collection she’d ever seen, but it didn’t have one Christmas CD. Happily, Violet’s iPhone was stocked with a huge collection, so she’d listen to John Denver and Simon and Garfunkel sing her favorite Christmas songs as she decked Zach’s halls.

“You said one sugar, right?”

Violet looked up to see Herman walking through the office doorway, holding two cups of coffee and a manila file folder under his arm. She smiled and reached for the proffered cup.

“Perfect. Thanks.”

“You were quick with those edits, Smith. I appreciate that. I like to run a tight ship. Which is saying something in publishing.”

His eyes crinkled as he sat down heavily in his cracked and ancient leather desk chair. His desk was covered with papers, manuscripts, notes, and quarter-filled paper coffee cups. How he managed to find anything was beyond her.

He was a heavyset man, not very tall, with wobbly jowls and reading glasses that he wore low on his nose. Adjusting the glasses, he opened the folder before him and licked his finger before picking up the paper on top and handing it to Violet.

“So? What do you think?”

Tears sprang into Violet’s eyes as she drew the glossy piece of heavy-stock paper closer to her eyes. The cover of her book showed a man and a woman lying in bed together asleep, with warm sunlight softening their features. Their hands were laced together over the man’s wavy brown hair where the woman’s hand lightly rested. It was sweet and intimate, sexy and yet tasteful. It was Veronica and Nash. It was Violet and Zach.

“From your face, Smith? I’m guessing you like it.”

“You nailed it, sir.” She looked at Herman before looking back down at the warm, sensual cover that read The Chosen Landscape. She smiled at the words from Verlaine’s “Clair de Lune,” remembering when she’d touched the tattoo on Zach’s neck, under his chestnut hair.

“With all due respect, Smith, you nailed it. Your verses are visceral. They’re the best stuff I’ve read in forever, and we’re about to net a whole new generation of poetry readers with your words. A fresh voice. If I had to guess? I’d say you’re going to be a best seller.” He smiled as he took the cover proof out of Violet’s hand to place it snugly back in the manila file. “I’ll be honest, when John Lewis called me that day and asked for a poetry contract, I just about fell out of my chair, but--”

“W-what?” Violet’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open again as her heart kicked into a gallop. She took a shaky breath. “What did you . . . what does . . .? I mean, what does John Lewis have to do with . . .?”

“Yeah, I got the better end of that deal, eh? Oh, I didn’t know his reasons at the time, but he was pretty insistent, and since Cornerstone was picking up the tab on your contract, it made no sense to refuse a favor. You never know when we might need one of the Cornerstone guys for a cross-promotion, right? Lucky me you turned out to be so talented.”

Violet’s chest compressed as she stared at Herman’s kind eyes. He shrugged lightly, picking up his coffee cup. “I guess he wanted some guitarist to go on tour, but the guy would only go if I agreed to contract your work. I mean, I don’t generally offer people advances that big for poetry, but . . .”

“John Lewis bought me a contract?” she asked.

“Technically the guitarist bought you a contract,” said Herman. “You’re talented as hell, though I suspect he kept it from you just in case you objected to his methods. But I figure, if a man loves a woman that much? Well, she has the right to know it.”

Violet’s eyes brimmed with tears as she looked down at her lap. A tissue appeared before her face, and she took it gratefully, pressing it to her eyes.

“Have to go check on something. Take a moment, Smith.” Herman maneuvered himself out of his chair and pressed a palm gently to her shoulder before closing the office door softly behind him.

Zach didn’t want to leave her to go on tour. He’d gone on tour for her, to make her dreams come true. Tears poured down her face until the tissue was saturated.

Violet, you don’t get it. I keep saying it and you don’t get it. I’d do anything for you but let you go. I love you.

She cracked her knuckles, wiped her face and took a deep, restorative breath.

“Oh, Zach,” she sighed. “I’ve been such an idiot not to trust you.”

Her attention was suddenly drawn to her purse, sitting next to the Target shopping bags by her feet. Her cell phone chimed to indicate a text waiting.

 

Manchester was a packed house last night. Good energy.

How’s my girl?

What are you getting me for Christmas, Vile?

How about me in your bed?

That’s the only thing on my list.

Z

 

Violet smiled at the screen. Whatever plans she had to tell him she loved him in person on Friday were suddenly blown out of the water. She needed to tell him now. Right now. She took out her phone and started typing. When she was finished, she grinned at the words and pressed send.

***

“What’re you doing for Christmas?” asked Severin Slade, sitting across the table from Zach on the tour bus from Manchester to London. They had two final London performances tonight and tomorrow night before heading back to the States on Friday.

Even though Zach had played with the Mechanics before, in the studio, this tour represented his first bout of extended contact with them, and he was surprised to find Sev a bright and interesting guy under his rocker persona. His parents were college professors in England, and he’d spent a year at Oxford before taking his garage band on the road. That was ten years ago. Now? He was a major artist at Cornerstone.

“Spending it with my girlfriend,” said Zach. “You?”

“It’s easy for me. Quick train ride up to Oxford to see Mum and Dad.” Sev smiled, his face surprisingly innocent-looking when he wasn’t sneering and shouting into a microphone.

“What’s the deal with the chick you’re always texting?” asked Sev, glancing at Zach’s phone, which never left his hand unless there was a guitar in it.

Zach felt his face soften. “We needed a little time, but it’s all good now, I think.”

“You think?”

“Man, I’d ask her to marry me tomorrow if she’d have me.”

“Who’d want your sorry ass? Poor chit!”

“Fuck you, Sev.” But Zach laughed good-naturedly.

“Yeah, fuck me. I don’t even have a possible someone.”

“You should meet my sister, Cora,” said Zach, thinking she could do worse. Cora’s fiery personality would be a good match for Severin’s easygoing ways. And they were both brilliant, so at least she wouldn’t be bored.

“Yeah? You angling to make me family? She as ugly as you?”

“Fuck you, man. She’s my sister.”

“Right. Sorry. Been on the road too long. Forget to be civilized.”

Zach’s phone buzzed, and he grinned at Sev before turning it over.

 

Call me, Z!

I need to talk to you right now!

(I know how I got my contract.)

V

 

He read her words and then reread them. And again. His heart started thumping like the drum solo from “Wipe Out!” His whole body tingled unpleasantly from the sudden adrenaline rush, and he felt like a vulnerable child again, the way he felt when he and Cora would return from a summer day playing hooky at the lighthouse or castle to find his father waiting with a shoe to beat him for being away from the piano for so long. That terrible feeling of knowing he’d done something wrong and been found out.

She knew. She knew he’d bought her contract. Arranged it.

And she wanted to talk to him, the conventional kiss of death in any relationship. He’d bought her contract which basically screamed that he didn’t think she could get a contract on her own merit. And after all the times he’d insisted on how talented she was, it made him a liar. He’d just won back her trust and now she’d see him as a liar.

Oh, my God. Oh, God. She’s going to break up with me.

His heart twisted and he slammed the phone on the table – and worst of all, she’d think he didn’t believe in her enough to make it on her own. Inadvertently, he’d done the exact same thing to her that Smalley had done: undermined her work and dismissed her talent. Smalley was just more upfront about it.

“Fuuuuck!”

“Z, is everything okay?”

“No. Everything’s not okay. I’m going to be sick. Stop the fucking bus.” Zach lurched forward, taking his phone with him, without thinking, and yelled, “Pull the fuck over.”

A moment later, he was standing outside the door, on the edge of the M6, retching. Whether it was the frustration of his plan failing when they were so close to forever or the fact that he was sure he had just, essentially, lost Violet, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. He pretty much just wanted to fucking die.

He swiped his sleeve over his mouth and looked at his phone again. No updates. Just Violet’s three-line text. His fingers moved quickly to respond to her.

 

I’m not letting you break up with me.

I didn’t do it because you couldn’t. I did it because I could.

You are so fucking talented, it’s unbelievable.

Don’t you give up on me, goddamn it, Violet.

Don’t you give up on us until I can explain.

Not now when we’ve come so far.

I love you so fucking much it hurts.

Z

 

He wanted until the message was sent, and then, for the second time in as many months, he threw his phone into oncoming highway traffic and watched as it got run over. After all, if he didn’t have a phone, he wouldn’t be able to read the words, It’s over.

***

When her twentieth text sat unanswered on Thursday morning, she decided he must have turned off or destroyed his phone. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and in a weird way, it made sense—he’d gotten the last word in their conversation. Worried, she called Cora on Thursday evening, but his sister had had no luck getting in touch with him either.
“He’s probably a mess over this, Violet. You didn’t see him. After Yale, when he moved to New York? I was going to Columbia so we saw each other a lot. He was a wreck. He knew what he’d lost, and it ate him up inside like acid. He never got over you. Never even had a serious girlfriend. Just a string of flings. I only ever met one girl, and it was by mistake because I bumped into them at a bar. He’s probably just really worried he’s lost you again.”

“I know,” Violet said, feeling miserable. “He totally misunderstood me. How could I have been so stupid as to send that text without any indication of my feelings? I couldn’t believe he would do that for me—give me what I wanted more than anything else in the world just to take care of me and make me happy. It took my breath away. All I could think was that I couldn’t wait to tell him I loved him anymore. Right then. Right away. Instead I . . .”

“He’ll be pretty raw when he gets home. Zach bottles up a lot. Our folks, well, they were old when they had us, and they were old-fashioned. They didn’t hug us and kiss us, but they went easier on me than Zach. I was the girl. And I wasn’t as talented. They were so hard on him and it didn’t do any good to make a scene, so he just, you know, kept a lot inside. Except with you. Somehow with you, all those feelings came out. The poetry you write, I’m guessing. Somehow it speaks to something inside him and lets him be free. So I don’t know. Be ready when he gets there tomorrow. Go easy on him.”

“I will. And I’ll tell him to call you.”

“Thanks, Violet. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Cora.”

Violet put the phone in the back pocket of her jeans, looking around his apartment. The tree was almost finished. She just needed to add some tinsel and put the empty ornament boxes in his closet to keep things neat for him. His fridge was stocked with everything she’d need to make a lasagna tomorrow for Christmas Eve dinner. She’d packed an overnight bag at his place so she’d wake up there tomorrow, ready to create the perfect Christmas Eve homecoming. It felt so right, so natural and comfortable, staying in his space. Maybe she’d misjudged New York. Maybe, if she was with Zach, she could consider living here, after all. They’d be close to her publisher, close to the theaters that could produce his opera. Anyway it wasn’t something they had to decide immediately. As long as it was okay with him, she’d stay with him through Christmas, and they could figure out the rest together.

“Blue Christmas” played on the stereo, a reminder of Zach’s favorite lights and his probable mood. From the fourth-story window in Zach’s living room, she could see the lights of the Village all around her, twinkling in whites and oranges and lavender blues. She saw her reflection too, in her jeans and her Yale sweatshirt, brown hair tumbling around her shoulders, barefooted. She was a poet and a lover, a free spirit and a friend. She was loved. She was someone’s everything. And Zach had laid all of this—this entire sweet life—at her feet.

She plugged in the Christmas tree, loving the blue lights that twinkled against the silver garland, then sat curled up on his couch, hugging herself tightly and laying her cheek against the cool leather cushion.

He’ll be home tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d make everything right. Within moments she was asleep.

***

Zach didn’t wait for his scheduled flight on the 24th. After explaining everything to Sev, Sev called one of his old bandmates from Oxford who was delighted to play in Zach’s place on the last concert date in London, which meant Zach was able to leave London on Thursday night, a day early.

By the time Zach landed at Kennedy Airport it was almost midnight, but he rented a car and headed into the city to swing by his apartment and pack a bag before heading north. He wasn’t waiting until tomorrow to leave for Maine. He was driving up tonight straight through the early morning, arriving in Portland sometime around breakfast time on Christmas Eve.

He’d had plenty of time to think on the plane and he’d have more time in the car. But it was a simple plan: he would throw himself at her feet, assure her that he believed in her talent and beg her to forgive him for rigging her contract. He had no other options. He had to be with her. He had to convince her to give him one last chance, and if she wouldn’t, he honestly had no idea what he would do, because his life wouldn’t be worth living without her.

He flung open the door of his Sheridan Square doorman building, walking past the desk attendant without a glance, and beelined for the elevator. He resented even this stop, but he couldn’t show up at her mother’s apartment with nothing to wear but his filthy sweat-soaked concert wear. He pressed the button, still wondering how best to word his feelings, how to convey the depths of his regret and the vastness of his sorrow in contemplating a life without her. Telling her that he loved her seemed inadequate. It simply didn’t seem like enough.

The elevator doors opened onto his floor, and he turned left toward his apartment, fumbling in his pockets for the key. He turned the lock and walked inside.

His first thought was, Shit. I’m in the wrong apartment.

But then he noticed that the blue Christmas tree in the corner of the room and thought, Someone else likes blue lights besides me.

Staring at the tree for a moment, he willed his feet to turn around and leave, but just then he noticed someone stir on the couch. Wait a minute. It was a black leather couch. His couch.

He jerked the door back for a moment and looked at the number on the door: 4G. He was in his apartment. Where did that Christmas tree come from and who was on his couch? What the hell was going on?

Stepping all the way into the apartment he closed the door, backing against it, feeling confused and disoriented. As his eyes adjusted to the glow of blue lights, he noticed the figure on the couch raise her head, awakened by the sound of the door closing.

Oh my God. He’d know that hair anywhere.

“Violet,” he said in a strangled, disbelieving voice.

It was like waking up inside a dream. Or going utterly crazy after too much traveling, too many hours awake.

“Violet?” he asked again in bewilderment, rubbing his wrist as he moved toward her.

“Zach,” she murmured in a tired voice, extending her hand to him over the back of the couch. “You’re finally home.”

He took her hand. She was real. He knelt on the floor and buried his face in her lap.

***

Cora had known. She’d predicted it.

He was altogether undone.

Violet felt his shoulders tremble under her hands, and her heart broke for the depths of his sorrow. For the little boy who never knew he was loved. For the man who feared she didn’t love him back. For the endless, exhausting travel he’d endured just so that she could have her contract and her freedom. She moved her hands from his shoulders to his hair, running her fingers through the dark strands.

“I didn’t think you’d be home until tomorrow,” she finally whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

“It is tomorrow,” he said, looking up at her.

His eyes glistened, and he swiped at them with his sleeve, then reached out to grab her hips and pulled her down on the floor with him. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“You don’t hate me? For the contract?”

“Hate you? For putting your dreams aside to make mine come true? Oh, Zach, I’m so sorry that’s what you thought. I could never hate you for that. I know how you feel about my work. I trust you. You take my breath away.” She touched his cheek tenderly, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her. “Is this okay? Me invading your home?”

“Okay? I told you. Wherever you are is my home, you crazy beautiful girl. I thought I had lost you for good.” He pulled her onto his lap. “When I walked in, I didn’t think you were real.”

“Oh, I’m real,” she said, leaning forward as his head dipped to claim her lips with a primal, urgent growl of possession. She ran her hands from his chest up to his neck, resting them on his jawline so she could move his head where she wanted it. She wanted it flush and perfect so she could explore the satin warmth of his mouth with her tongue. His hands fell from her hair, down her shoulders, to her back, until he found the edge of her shirt and slipped his hands underneath, flattening them against the skin of her back.

“I missed you,” he murmured. “I missed you so goddamn much.”

He placed gentle kisses along her jaw and down her neck as she arched into him.

“How is this possible?” he asked. “You were going to break up with me.”

“No, Z,” she said. “Never.”

“You wanted to talk,” he mumbled into her neck, fingers kneading lightly over her back as his arms held her tightly.

“I had something to say,” she answered and his hands stilled.

He leaned back, his eyes searching hers as they held each other, sandwiched between his couch and coffee table, bathed in soft blue light.

“I love you,” she said softly.

A shudder made his whole body tremble, and his face contorted before he looked down. She placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her.

“I love you,” she repeated, her voice breaking as tears flooded her eyes.

Her voice was stronger as he gazed at her, and she said it one more time, “I love you.”

“Violet . . .” he started, but his breath hitched and his voice caught as he stared at her, his fingers unconsciously playing something on the soft, warm skin of her back. Something beautiful.

“I said I would go on loving you until I didn’t anymore,” Violet said. “And I never stopped. I loved you at Yale. I loved you when we were apart. I loved you at Deep Haven, and I love you now.” She smiled at him with glistening eyes. “I love you forever.”

“You’re my forever, Violet.”

“Yes,” she nodded, pulling his head back down to hers. “I am.”