Chapter Two
Lia strolled the Trail of Lights, trying not to look at the dire expression on her friend’s face. Trying to pretend she didn’t know something was wrong. But Ethan had been strangely quiet—pensive, almost regretful—since he picked her up.
The Trail of Lights was Austin’s answer to holiday cheer, a mix of retro Christmas displays and corporate sponsorship. Fat kernels of kettle corn marked the wooded path more clearly than wood-cut signs. Families had walked the Trail of Lights since its opening in late afternoon.
Nearing midnight, the crowd had thinned to mostly couples. They linked their arms and canted their heads toward each other, sharing the heat of their bodies and the steam of their breaths.
Not like Lia and Ethan. The inches between them felt like a mile.
She examined a Grinch whose lit up smile looked properly demonic. And somewhat lonely. “I always felt bad for him.”
“Of course you did,” Ethan said.
“What? I mean, the Whos down in Whoville had warm beds and Christmas presents. The Grinch had to live in a cave all by himself.”
“He had his dog.” Ethan tweaked his own dog’s ears. Oreo pranced around their feet, made frisky by the crisp air and the kernels of kettle corn he’d swiped from the ground.
“He did have the dog,” she conceded, studying Ethan. “Like you.”
Come to think of it, Ethan was a little Grinch-like. Not the looks. His skin had a steady tan from all the running he did, no green in sight. Although he did rock an evil grin when he teased her.
“We have that in common,” he said. “The dog. And the cave. And being a surly bastard.”
“You’re not a bastard.” He could be surly, though. Like tonight. “Anyway, the Whos acted all nice and inclusive, but look at their population. Everyone was the same. The Grinch was the outcast who just so happened to look different. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”
Ethan grinned at her. “I take it you’re not going to read How the Grinch Stole Christmas in your classroom.”
“Maybe I would,” she muttered, adding, “if I ever have a classroom.”
Of course he noticed. His brow creased in concern. “Hey, you’ve only got a few weeks.”
A few weeks and a shiny new diploma might not be enough. “I talked to the director yesterday.”
“And?”
And it didn’t look good. Lia had worked in the private school to pay her way through college. It had been more than a part time job to her. She’d made costumes for the school play on her own time. She had worked front and center at every fundraising carnival. Now she was graduating with a degree in early childhood education, but the director claimed there were no positions available.
Except there were.
“She says they need someone with more experience to fill that first grade spot.”
Ethan frowned. “That’s bullshit. You have years of experience with kids, and at that school. Who the hell else are they going to find?”
Ethan’s defense did bolster her, but it didn’t change facts. They were hiring right now for next school year, and once they gave that spot away, it would be a full year before she could be considered for a teaching position again. “She offered to increase my hours to full time, but I’d still be an aide. Not a teacher.”
“You can apply around though, right? To other schools in Austin?”
She shrugged, not quite over the sting of yesterday’s rejection. She had busted her ass for that school. She’d made friends… at least she’d thought she had.
If they didn’t want her as a teacher, who would?
Ethan put a finger to her chin and lifted. His fingers felt cool against her skin, but warmth filled her cheeks. Her gaze met his. He looked determined. Pissed. And something else she was afraid to identify. “They’re crazy if they think they’ll find someone better for those kids than you. You work harder than anyone, but more than that, you care about them. Really care.” He glanced over at the display. “Like the way you interpreted the Grinch.”
“Because I subverted a beloved classic?”
“Because you take the books seriously, even though they’re for kids. You take the plays and the art projects and everything seriously. Everyone gives it lip service. But you, Rosalia Monroe, you actually give a fuck.”
Somewhere during his speech he’d leaned in—canted forward, sharing heat and swapping breaths—and her heart began to pound. She searched his dark eyes, but the thousands of lights shielded his thoughts. All she could see was the familiar angles of his face, the dusting of golden scruff on his jaw, the shadows under his eyes.
“Can I put that on my resume?” she whispered.
He nodded solemnly. “Rosalia Monroe, Instructional Badass.”
A slow smile claimed her. “You’re good for my ego, you know that?”
He backed away with a half-smile. “Telling it like it is.”
Oreo whined and stomped his feet, and just like that, the spell was broken. Lia looked around, surprised to realize the trail had thinned out to almost nothing. Just how long had they been ogling Grinch? And just how close had they gotten? There were only inches between them.
She stepped back. “I was hoping for some hot chocolate before we leave.”
“Let’s head for the tree,” he said, his voice gruff.
The trail ended at a tall tent of lights—the proverbial Christmas tree. It was formed from massive strings of lights, spiraling high into the air, far above them. Little kids would stand underneath, spinning and spinning until they felt dizzy and sick. And underneath the light-formed tree, concession booths stood in for presents, serving warm drinks and buttered corn on the cob.
But they were too late. Most of the stands stood empty now, hollow boxes that had already been unwrapped. Some stands were already vacant, with only littered napkins to show they’d ever been full. Others were in the process of being put away, tired concession workers loading their supplies.
Ethan hailed a man behind the kettle corn stand who was pushing the giant metal popper onto a cart. “Hey, wait up. You have any hot chocolate left?”
“Only water bottles,” the vendor shouted back, his face red from exertion.
“Damn,” Ethan muttered. Then, “We’ll take two.” He didn’t stop there—he handed off Oreo’s leash to her and rounded the wooden counter. With a nod, he bent down and pushed the barrel onto its cart.
The vendor wiped his brow. “Thanks. I usually have a helper for that.”
Ethan shrugged, because praise always made him antsy. He could dish it but he couldn’t take it.
“Just for that, I’ll give you these water bottles free of charge,” the man said. “And this last bag of popcorn. I was saving it for the ride home, but you two should have it.”
“We can’t take your popcorn,” Lia protested.
The man patted his belly. “I can do without. Besides, a young couple like yourselves should share a bag. It’s part of the experience.”
“No, we aren’t a—”
“We’ll take them,” Ethan cut in, giving her a look.
Okay, so he was a kettle corn fan. Got it.
He pushed some money on the man despite his objections before handing her a bottle and the bag. “What?” he asked to her pointed look.
We aren’t a couple. So why did you let him think we were? But she couldn’t ask that. It would only show it bothered her, when there was no reason for it to. It didn’t matter if the guy selling kettle corn thought they were a couple.
So a man and a woman were walking together.
At midnight.
It didn’t mean they were a couple. They were friends. Big difference.
But she didn’t have to answer; Ethan already knew. His face was dark and impassive, the colorful lights above them only deepening its shadows. “How’s Chris doing?” he asked.
* * *
Ethan grit his teeth as Lia launched into her third story about how great Chris was. And yes, Chris was smart and funny and obviously kicking ass at the internship with a state senator. But did she have to sound so breathless when she talked about him?
He’d brought this on himself.
Yes, of course he’d go with her, anywhere, anytime, like he was some kind of stand-in boyfriend. Just walk and talk and laugh with her, but don’t go home with her. No, she was going home to Chris.
Chris, who had emailed him after the phone call. Thx for covering.
As if they were still back in Afghanistan, covering each other’s asses. But Lia wasn’t a shift they could trade or a ration he could lend. She wasn’t a barrage of gunfire he could deflect. She was Chris’s girlfriend, and Ethan needed to fucking remember that.
No matter how hot she looked with a handful of kettle corn.
“God,” she moaned. “This is so freaking good. Why did you never tell me this was so freaking good?”
Maybe because you’re making sex noises, and if you keep that up, my dick’s going to be hard. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more, stories about Chris’s general awesomeness or Lia’s kettle corn orgasms every time she took a bite.
Her lips would be sticky by now, coated in caramelized sugar and salt. He’d give anything just for one lick, but she wasn’t his to taste. She wasn’t his at all. The only thing he could do was grip the steering wheel and glare at the dark Austin roads as he drove.
Wind whipped inside the truck cab, coming in through the tilted rear windows where Oreo had his nose pressed to the night air, ears flopping wildly.
“Chris thinks the senator’s going to run,” Lia said.
Chris worked for a state senator who was considering a run for the House of Representatives. Ethan knew he had big plans for his representative’s career—and his own career, eventually. There would be travel, and eventually, an apartment in DC. Lia would be gone, and Ethan would have no reason to hang around anymore.
No reason to stay and nowhere else to go.
“Maybe you can look for a teaching position in Washington,” he managed to say in a normal voice.
She gave him a strange look. So maybe not that normal. “I’m going to stay in Austin,” she said, but he didn’t believe her. Couldn’t believe her. Chris would end up spending more time in DC, especially once he made the inroads he wanted to. Especially when he ran for office. And Lia would be there to support him, because that was the kind of wife she would be.
He was suddenly grateful he hadn’t eaten any kettle corn. He might have chucked it back up.
“Well,” he forced out. “Maybe you should keep your options open. You can take the full time job as an aide as a temporary thing until you and Chris figure out where you’re going to live.”
She looked annoyed now. “I already know where I’m going to live. The same place I’m living now.”
Why the hell couldn’t he leave this alone? But he couldn’t. It bothered him that she was acting like things would stay the same. “You’re going to be graduating in a few weeks, Lia.”
“Thanks for the newsflash, Ethan.”
“That means I can’t meet you and Chris on campus for lunch between classes.”
“So we’ll see each other after work,” she said. Stubbornly.
He closed his eyes briefly before focusing on the road again. Nothing but darkness, the trees a shadow wall pointing toward home. Lia’s home with Chris, the place Ethan didn’t belong. All three of them were friends, but things had already begun to change when Chris had graduated this past spring and gone to work for the representative full time.
“Everything will be different,” he said, unable to say more. Unable to say, You can’t be alone with me anymore.
Even tonight had been a mistake.
“We’re friends, Ethan. All three of us, best friends. It wasn’t school that made us friends. It’s the fact that I’ve known both of you forever, before you even deployed.”
That softened him, a little, to remember her as the skinny preteen she’d been. He’d had an unhealthy fascination with her even then, but she’d only had eyes for Chris. All the ladies had eyes for Chris, which Ethan had never minded.
Except with her.
He pulled into the parking lot of her apartment and jerked his truck to a stop. The vehicle shuddered at the suddenness, and kettle corn spilled onto her lap and rolled all over the floor of his car.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Crap.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, not feeling all that sorry.
“Ethan?”
He rummaged under the seat for some fast food napkins and tossed them at her. “Here,” he said without looking at her. “Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll put Oreo in the front seat and the popcorn will be gone before I get home.”
“Ethan.”
Finally he met her gaze. Her eyes had turned to moons, wide and reflective. He saw in them a thousand tiny lights on a string. He saw in them everything and nothing and a future he couldn’t be a part of. Technically he could see her tomorrow, for lunch. And the next day. But staring at her in the twilight, it felt like goodbye.
“You’ll get a real offer,” he said. “As a teacher, at a great school. And wherever you end up, they’ll be lucky to have you.”
He had hidden his feelings for so long, it felt strange to want them exposed. But in that moment, he did. He hoped she knew what he meant also, that Chris was lucky to have her.
Her eyes glistened—with what? With liquid night. With ink. With anything but tears, but then they slid down her cheeks and he couldn’t pretend any longer.
“Go,” he said roughly. Go to him. Go live your life. Go away where you can’t make me ache and want and hurt anymore.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice high and trembly. Like a plea.
“Just get the hell out.”
She turned from him and stumbled out of the truck. It wasn’t safe, her running out of the truck that way. He started to get out, started to follow. But the moon blanketed the empty parking lot, lighting gravel like stars, and her path was clear. He watched her take the few steps down into her apartment’s entryway.
But she just stood there.
Her hand reached up to knock. Her head lowered.
With a sinking feeling in his gut, Ethan realized her little zippered purse was on the floor of his truck, half covered in popcorn. It must have her keys. His throat felt tight. He grabbed the leather pouch and jogged across the parking lot.
He reached her just as the door opened. Chris stood there, wearing a rumpled shirt and slacks. His eyes were bloodshot but he started to smile. Then he saw Lia’s face. Ethan couldn’t see her—she wouldn’t look at him—but it must have been bad. Chris’s gaze met Ethan’s, questioning. What happened?
Ethan didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t very well say, I’m in love with your girlfriend. I have been for years.
“You forgot this,” he said instead, holding up the pouch. But Lia was already slipping past Chris into the apartment they shared.
Chris’s eyes lightened with something like recognition. He saw what was happening, felt the tension in the air and knew what it meant—maybe that was for the best. Now he’d know better than to ask the fox to guard the henhouse. But it wasn’t worry that filled Chris’s expression. Not even jealousy. Instead it was a sort of smugness, and it made Ethan wonder if Chris had seen his feelings all along.
“Did you have a good time?” his friend asked, too polite to be real. He had seen Lia’s face, and Ethan must look torn to shit—like he felt inside, but Chris was cool as the air around them.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Ethan muttered. Losing Lia—not that he’d ever had her, was hard enough. Knowing his best friend found it funny did not help his mood.
Chris smirked, eyes flashing, and Ethan had a sudden glimpse of how he would look as a politician. Determined and mildly sleazy. Resentment was a hard knot in his gut. Why did this fucker get the girl? But then he remembered that this fucker had his back many times; they’d survived that way.
Then his anger evaporated and he was left only with disappointment.
“Take care of her,” he said as he turned to leave.
He had driven all the way home, and Oreo had eaten all the kettle corn, by the time he realized he still had Lia’s purse. Right when he’d decided he couldn’t keep meeting up with her throughout her day, tagging along which only made things worse. He needed to end this tonight.
So he dropped Oreo off in his empty apartment and started the drive back.