CHAPTER SEVEN
Amelia
The day went on with everyone minding their own business in an easy, familiar rhythm that stretched back to my childhood. Brett went to town for some things, Reese took the kids to a friend’s home and stayed for coffee with their mom. Carson went jogging and I took a walk. It was good to be out in the open.
That evening, Brett appeared from the garage with a triumphant smile.
“I have an idea,” he announced grandly. “Let’s do a barbecue. Like old times, eh, Carson?” he grinned.
Carson groaned. “Am I going to have to compete with you over who can do the best grill again, Mr. Barbecue?”
We all laughed.
“Well, I plan to beat you,” Brett chuckled. He turned to me. “I got butternut squash for you, sis,” he added as an aside to me.
“Oh, good.” I smiled, relieved. I hadn’t eaten red meat for years, and Brett’s success with barbecuing anything else tended to have limits. Reese had invented a dish for me last time I stayed that consisted of grilled butternut squash and a sauce she had yet to teach me how to make. My mouth watered at the thought of it.
“Okay!” Brett sounded pleased. “We’ll have to go on the back terrace. At least it’s out of the wind.”
“I bought some chestnuts,” Reese added, appearing from the sitting room, her handbag on her arm. “We can do those to start off.”
“Whee!” Josh said. “My favorite.”
Cayley patted her brother’s soft hair. “You’ve only had them once before,” she pointed out.
“I still know it’s my favorite,” he insisted. I smiled at the naïve truth in amusement.
You don’t have to have had something more than once to know it’s your favorite.
That thought shouldn’t have made me think of Carson, but it did. I felt a delicious tingle in my belly at the memory of our time together. From the first night, I’d known he suited me. Limited experience aside, there are some things instinct just tells you. That was one of them.
In ten years, it hasn’t been exactly disproved.
I’d had several lovers but none of them had even come close to satisfying me the way Carson had in that year of being together.
I smiled and listened to the kids as they recalled the last time they’d had chestnuts. It seemed to be the previous Christmas, when the family had gone to a German-style market. Hearing their talk made me feel excited about Christmas myself.
“You look happy,” a voice commented. Carson. I looked into his warm gaze.
“I am,” I said quietly. “It’s nice to spend Christmas here. Makes me nostalgic.”
His eye caught mine before I could look away. “Me too.”
I swallowed hard, rising excitement flowing in me. That wasn’t exactly what I’d meant—that I was nostalgic about us—but nevertheless I was not sorry he’d taken that meaning. It was also true.
“I…” I paused, not sure what to say about that. His head moved closer to mine and I moved forward, not even aware I did so, so that my lips almost brushed his own.
“Shall we move to the dining-room?” Reese asked, cutting through the tension. I blinked, seeing her standing beside me.
“Okay,” I agreed. I felt dazed.
In the dining-room, we all sat around the table. Carson sat beside me and I was conscious of his closeness without having to look in his direction. It was as if my body was aware of his every move, my skin tingling with his closeness and my body tense.
Brett was outside on the terrace, making a fire in their grill and Reese sat opposite me, preparing chestnuts, assisted by the kids who seemed to have been possessed of a kind of Christmas fervor. They were singing carols and they sounded happy.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Carson whispered.
I nodded, seeing the look of fondness in his eye as he watched my brother’s two children enthusiastically rolling chestnuts in aluminum wrap.
“It is,” I agreed.
“It makes me think of when I was a kid,” he observed, chuckling. “The excitement, Christmas morning…gifts.”
“Looking up the chimney for Santa,” I laughed, before I could stop myself.
He grinned. “You did?” his eyes were tender and I blushed.
“Yeah. I don’t know why, but I always thought the guy might be stuck up there.”
He laughed, eyes bright. “No way! That’s smart.”
I squeezed his hand, without thinking about it. He drew in a breath. I let go.
We looked at each other. Slowly, deliberately, he moved his hand so that it covered mine. I felt my heart tense in my chest, as if it would never start beating. As if this moment was all there was, and all time had stopped here on its shore.
“Amelia,” he whispered.
I looked into those eyes, noticed his pupils had narrowed with longing. My body melted. I leaned toward him, hand shifting in his to stroke his skin. He tensed.
“We shouldn’t,” he hissed.
I nodded. Closed my eyes. I didn’t remove my hand but I stopped stroking his wrist. He smiled at me when I looked at him.
“Sorry,” I said shakily. “I shouldn’t have.”
“No,” he said. “It was my fault. I just couldn’t stop it.”
“Nor could I.”
We both looked at each other, then I glanced down to where our hands lay on the table, still clasped. I looked about. Reese was out on the terrace, engaged with my brother in some complex discussion about the temperature of the fire for chestnuts. Josh was on the floor, making a race-car from leftover tinfoil. Only Cayley was at the table.
I noticed her watching us, then look hastily away. She hadn’t looked shocked, or interested, or amused, as I might have expected a ten-year-old to be, seeing adults behave like we did. Instead, there was a softness on her face, almost as if she understood something momentous had happened for us. I sighed.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I said, moving my hand.
Carson made a face. “I guess not.”
I nodded. When Brett came in, a smile of triumph on his face, we were sitting side-by-side, not looking at each other. He cleared his throat.
“Two minutes before the first course arrives,” he announced grandly.
“Chestnuts!” Josh cried. “Hurray!”
“Let’s go see!”
Cayley and her brother raced outside to stand around and watch the process of roasting chestnuts. Reese tried to keep them from touching the foil. Brett came and joined us at the table.
“Right, Grant,” he said, addressing Carson by his surname. “Are you ready for the challenge?”
He laughed. “Okay…I guess.”
We all laughed. Brett went on to outline his idea of a competition: they would each grill half the meat and compare the results.
“How will we know who grilled what?” Carson asked reasonably.
“We’ll put them in different pots as we’re done. And no cheating, mind!”
I smiled. The friendly contest was just like something they would have done years ago, when they were friends at college and I was at home, watching the two of them interact. I had spent a lot of time around Brett when he was with Carson. I guessed it had been transparent, but it seemed neither of them realized my sudden intense interest in football had been to spend time with Carson.
“Okay! We have to start together, or the first person gets a handicap,” Brett insisted. “Come on!”
Reese appeared in the doorway with the chestnuts and ordered them both back to their seats, laughing at the rueful faces.
“Like two kids,” she complained, grinning at me as we unwrapped chestnuts and transferred the steaming contents of the foil wrap to the table together.
I nodded. “They were worse when they were.”
She grinned. “I can imagine.”
“We’re two kids,” Josh complained. “We don’t do that.”
I laughed, and saw Carson guffaw with mirth.
“That’s us told, bro,” he said.
Brett hung his head. “Oh! How embarrassing…” he grinned.
We all laughed. The next ten minutes were taken up with eating and enjoying roasted chestnuts. The spicy warmth filled my senses, drifting my mind back down the years to the magic of childhood Christmases. And the one holiday Brett and Carson spent together.
When I looked up, Carson was watching me. His eyes had an expression so gentle that I felt I would melt, become all soft and melty like the chestnut I was eating. He was evidently thinking of the same time as I was, because he whispered to me.
“Memories, eh?”
I nodded. “So many memories.”
We smiled at each other. The night was dark and close, the Christmas lights on in the corner and the air was redolent of cinnamon and cloves. My heart overflowed with warmth. My leg pressed against his and he didn’t move away. Rather, his leg stayed where it was, making my heart soar.
As I forced myself to look away from his bright, merry gaze, I found myself wishing I could think of something—anything—that would bring down the barrier that ten years had built.
I wanted to get back together with Carson: all I needed at this time was a way to do just that.