Chapter Four
After flipping on the light box, Derek laid out a piece of cartridge paper over the original sketch. Using a pastel pencil, he outlined the dog’s face, working carefully to avoid smudges.
He’d received approval from his agent on penciled illustrations for the next book in his series. The tales he wrote of a boy and his dog had far surpassed his wildest dreams and had become an instant success. Derek had dreamed it up as an adolescent, during a time when he’d needed to escape. To this day, working on the story was one of the only ways to block out the racing thoughts that plagued him. Where was his mother now? Was she still alive? He’d considered hiring a private investigator many times but wasn’t sure how he’d react to finding her. She’d left him, after all.
He heard the front door open and close downstairs and tried not to think of Izzy and their agreement, but it was nearly impossible. Part of him was relieved she’d jumped on board with the plan, but the other part still wanted solitude. The first week had crept by with overly polite conversation and manners. They shared meals together and kept to their own routines in between. Though it was awkward at times, it was the price of keeping his family from setting up speed dating in his living room on Christmas.
When Derek had first told Izzy about the plan, she’d looked appalled at the idea of pretending to be his girlfriend. Then he’d mentioned the price tag, and everything had changed. Did she have serious financial issues, or did money always sway her moral code? For now, he’d give her the benefit of the doubt. Her clothes weren’t fancy, and she didn’t wear jewelry. The car she’d driven past his gate looked like it might crumble into a pile of rust at any moment. Plus, who would work over the holidays if they didn’t have to? She seemed down to earth, although many people hid behind a veil of deceit. His mother had been a pro at it. Izzy was the first woman in the house, besides his staff, since his mother had slipped out of his life. It was unsettling that they both shared an aura of innocence, and when Izzy leaned down and planted a kiss on the dog’s wet nose, it was like a flashback of his mother doting on his childhood mutt.
Whoops of breathless laughter made him halt his sketching. Derek didn’t want to mess up the final piece and have to start over. He closed the door between his office and bedroom, picked up his pencil, and began peppering the paper with soft, feathery strokes. The sealed door wasn’t enough to drown out the gleeful yips and merriment going on outside. He spun around when he heard a soft thud against the house. He stalked to the window and looked out. Izzy was below, the hood of her red coat was pulled over her head, and dark hair spilled over the material. She was forming snowballs in her gloved hands and tossing them to Atticus, who bounced around like a giant bunny. When was the last time the dog had this kind of energy? Usually, his faithful companion didn’t leave his side, but since Izzy’s arrival, he’d turned traitor. Glittery flakes of snow began to drift down from the clouds, and she looked up with a smile stretched across her face. Derek was suddenly very aware of the steady thrum of his heart beating like a war march. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest.
He stood at the window and brooded. If only Izzy would stop baiting the dog, he could get some goddamn work done and avoid looking down into the snow globe below. Each noise from outside was amplified by his growing annoyance. Why did he find her so appealing? A long, joyful howl vibrated against the windows, and he tossed the pencil down, walked to the edge of his room, and swung open the door.
As he stomped down the long staircase, he muttered to himself. He’d never make his current deadline with those two screaming like banshees outside. He opened the front door, and icy air blasted into the room. Before he could get a word out, cold and wet mush covered his face and slid down his shirt onto his bare chest. Izzy’s hands flew up to cover her mouth, and a sheepish smile crept out from the corners.
“What was that for?” he yelled and brushed away the cold snow.
She lowered her hands to her sides and grinned. “Your move, Derek.”
He planted his feet on the first step. “I don’t have time to play childish games. I have work to do, and if you could keep it down—” Another snowball struck him hard in the shoulder. Where had she gotten that arm? He was going to put an end to this once and for all. He plodded down the steps and scooped up a pile of snow. Pins and needles prickled over his skin as he formed a tightly packed ball. He pulled back his arm and launched it. A satisfactory thud told him it found its mark. He didn’t have time to look, as he was already forming a pile of ammunition at his feet. He’d drench her and retire to his room for the day in a haze of satisfaction after beating her at her own silly games.
A shudder passed through his core as the wind blew around his thin sweater. With every movement, snow crept through the gaps in his shoes, soaking his socks. He’d been so distracted that he hadn’t bothered with the proper winter gear. It was too late to turn back now. If he went inside for a coat and gloves, Izzy would have all the time she needed to prep fresh snowballs.
As he was bent over, a clump of snow connected with the top of his head, but he didn’t let it slow him down. The woman had great aim, he’d give her that. Atticus hopped through the snow, yipping with excitement. Izzy chased after him. The two looked so ridiculous, he had to laugh. The sound was foreign, and he wondered how long it had been since he’d smiled. For a moment, her eyes met his, glowing, triumphant. His breath caught, and his body tensed. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, eyes locked, but a message passed between them, strong and clear.
She broke the gaze, dodged behind a bush, and reappeared with fresh ammunition. He wouldn’t let her win on his homestead. Forgetting his worries for the first time in years, he fell into the game, quickly piling up balls of snow and firing them at will. They threw and dodged and ducked until they were both soaked and gasping for air. Her laugh of pure joy rang in his ears, and something stirred inside his chest. She ran for cover at the edge of the forest, and he followed, still sending a hail of snowballs flying in her direction. One connected with the side of her face and caught her off guard, sending her into the snow. He jogged over to see if she was all right and extended his hand to her. Instead of getting up, she kicked out his legs and pulled him down with her. His shock gave her the opportunity to push to her knees and gain the upper hand. Izzy’s hair fell in a curtain around her face, as she smiled down at him.
“I think we have a victor.” She spoke happily, her cheeks and lips rosy from the cold.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” His voice was hoarse and edged with danger. In one quick maneuver, he pinned her to the ground. Wet slush seeped through his pant legs, and his hands were buried in the snow above her head. Suddenly, the world around them melted away, and all he could focus on was the rise and fall of her chest beneath him. She stared into his eyes, unblinking. Izzy looked so innocent, so vulnerable. His nerve endings stirred and tingled. His hands slipped slightly in the snow, and the flutter of her heart drummed against his chest. The scent of her hair, lavender and vanilla, made his mouth go dry. Their lips were just inches from one another. He only had to angle his head to taste them.
Izzy glanced slightly to the left, and her eyes widened. “Where are your gloves?” She planted her hands firmly against his chest and pushed him off. Taking both of his hands between the wool of her mittens, she rubbed gently to warm them. “You should know better than that,” she scolded, and for the second time that day, his lips itched to curve into a smile.
When was the last time someone had fussed over him? His mother. After she’d left, he’d missed out on that special maternal bond. The one where soup and cuddles were doled out generously with the slightest cold. His father had tried his best, but they were both broken inside. It was hard for either of them to show emotion after that day.
“If you and that darn dog weren’t making so much noise,” he grumbled, glancing down at his pale hands nestled between hers.
“Oh, stop that.” She slipped her mittens off before he could protest and struggled to stretch them over his hands. “Let’s get you inside before we need to make a trip to the emergency room.”
Derek scoffed. “That’ll be the day.” She turned as snow fluttered down around her, and shot him a silencing look.
“If your hands don’t thaw properly, or you have any signs of hypothermia, that’s exactly where you’re headed.”
He followed her lead as she walked up the steps of the house, through the foyer, and into the kitchen. She ran the tap water and tested it with her fingers. Once she was satisfied with the temperature, she let the sink fill and turned to him so she could pull off the mittens. “All right, now soak your hands for a bit.” Her tone was so concerned. It was like she really cared. Derek did as she instructed and sank his numb hands into the water.
“How do you know so much about frostbite?” he asked, mostly to break the silence that had fallen over the room.
“I usually volunteer at the tree lighting where I live. It’s good to know a few simple first aid skills when there are a lot of kids around.” Izzy turned and opened the cabinet underneath the center island. She slipped Atticus a bone and pulled out containers of salt, sugar, and cocoa.
“Now I know why man’s best friend has suddenly turned. Those bones are his kryptonite.” His hands were starting to tingle and burn in the water.
“I’ll say.” She stood at the counter mixing the dry ingredients in a bowl before transferring them to a glass container. The tips of her hair fell midway down her back. Was it as soft and silky as it looked? He had to stop this. Something about her was bewitching him. He’d gone decades avoiding his own feelings when it came to women. It hadn’t been difficult until Izzy showed up on his doorstep. Maybe it was because she was so different from anyone he’d ever met. She was sweet, and calm, and real. No coy secrets, no layers to unearth, just simply Izzy. Moving around his kitchen with ease, she reached overhead to grab a copper pot, and the stretch showcased the subtle curves and lines of her body.
“What are you making?” His eyes were drawn to her perfectly rounded breasts as she turned to respond.
“Everyone should have a good hot cocoa mix lying around.” She filled the pot with milk, set it on the stove, and turned the burner on medium.
“There should be some packets around somewhere.” He moved his hands around in the water. They stung mercilessly.
Izzy’s face puckered into a grimace. For a moment, she looked truly offended. “Nonsense.” She took two mugs and set them next to the stove, then mixed in the powder she’d concocted. “How are your hands?”
“They feel like they’ve been soaked in gasoline and set on fire.” He frowned as he lifted them out of the water.
“Good. That means they’re thawing out properly.” Izzy took a dish towel, stood beside him, and patted his hands dry. “No more going outside without proper attire.”
“Yes, ma’am.” To his ears, his voice was quiet and gruff. His fingers itched to touch her hair. He’d been so sure he was going to kiss her in the snow. He stepped an inch closer to her now, so they were hip to hip. He longed to pin her up against the countertop and feel her body pressed tightly against his, but she spun away and busied herself with pouring cocoa into the cups. He cleared his throat and leaned against the granite surface. Maybe the cold had muddled his brain. He was turning into a puddle of melted wax at her feet, just like Atticus had.
He had no business thinking about carrying his temp up the stairs, laying her on his bed, and exploring every inch of her with his hands and mouth. Hadn’t anticipation flickered in her eyes when they were lying in the snow? Or had he imagined it due to his own heavy desire? Just being near her was making him lose his mind. Was it Izzy he was attracted to, or was it the length of time he’d been without a woman driving his urges? Besides, she’d just made it loud and clear that she didn’t want to be close to him. She’d probably run to the agency if he tried to kiss her.
He didn’t want to get tangled up anyway. They were supposed to be pretending to be an item in a few days. It wouldn’t do to actually fall into a relationship. He’d watched his father sink into a deep depression and struggle to live through each day without his mother. He didn’t want anyone to have that type of hold over him.
“Let’s go sit at the table,” Izzy suggested as she carried the full mugs away from the countertop. He reached out to help, but she shook her head. “Your hands might not be completely steady yet.”
“I have a better idea. Follow me.” He walked out of the kitchen in front of her and took a left at the end of the foyer. It was the kindness she’d showed him and the care she’d taken with his hands that prompted him to show her his favorite room of the house. He opened the door to the library and stood back to let her in first. For a moment, she just stood in the entryway, slack-jawed. Her eyes scanned the wall-to-wall bookshelves that were packed with classics and favorites and ran straight to the ceiling. An old-fashioned sliding ladder followed a track around the shelves for reaching the topmost volumes. In the center of the room stood mahogany leather chairs, perfect for sinking into with a book on a blustery day.
Izzy turned to him, eyes wide. “This is unbelievable. It’s straight out of a movie.”
“You mentioned you liked books so…” His thoughts were lost when she entered the room, set down the cups, and spun in circles with her head tilted toward the ceiling. He wanted to chuckle. She was a strange bird, in a charming sort of way. He was glad he’d showed her the room. Aside from him, no one had truly cherished this place since his mother. A lump clogged his throat. He had often found her cradled in one of the chairs with her feet dangling over the armrest, lost in a book.
“It must have taken a lifetime to collect all of these.” She stood at one of the shelves, scanned the titles, and ran her fingers down the spines as if they were priceless treasures. That was how he thought of them, too.
“My mother was an avid reader, and my father had books shipped in by the dozen during their courtship. Each anniversary, he’d find a rare edition or historical artifact to add to her collection.” Why had he said that? He was trying to keep his past under wraps, and yet he’d just unearthed a piece of his history.
Izzy turned and met his gaze from across the room. His muscles stiffened in response to the question he knew was coming. He’d walked right into it with his stupid admission of the past.
“What happened to her?” Her voice softened, and her expression changed.
“I don’t like to talk about it.” Derek sat on the couch and lifted the hot cocoa to his lips.
“Derek,” she whispered. “If we’re to be in a fake relationship, it would be helpful to know some of your backstory.” She moved away from the bookshelves and walked closer to the couch.
He highly doubted his father would bring up his mother to Izzy, but she had a point. If Janet or his father mentioned something about his childhood, it would be a red flag if Izzy was clueless. He’d gone to the trouble of keeping Izzy here, and he wanted to ensure that when his family left after the festivities, they believed him to be in a real relationship. It was the only way the nagging would finally stop.
He licked whipped cream off his lips. She was right. Homemade chocolate was better than his packets. From now on, he’d just let her rule the kitchen and keep his mouth shut.
“I grew up in this house. My father was drafting a documentary on seventeenth-century architecture throughout New England. He fell in love with this castle and its tale. It’s rumored that an aristocrat fell in love with a peasant girl and had a grand castle built for her on the outskirts of town as a statement to his family, who wouldn’t accept her.”
“That’s very romantic.” Izzy sighed. She sat on the opposite couch with her feet tucked under her body.
“My father thought so, too. He met my mother during the restorations of the house. She worked at a coffee shop in town. They were married shortly after, had me a year after that. I had a happy childhood. Her name was Alena, and she was kind and as doting as a mother could be. And then, out of the blue, she packed up and left us.” There was a soreness in his throat as he told her. It had been a long time since he’d talked about it. His mother had been his hero. He’d never trust someone like that again.
“Oh, Derek. I’m so sorry.” She leaned forward, eyes filled with sympathy.
“I was just entering my teenage years and poof, she was gone. My father hired the best private investigators in the country to look for her, but they all came up empty. She didn’t want to be found.” His jaw clenched tightly shut. He’d cried himself to sleep for weeks. The pain of losing her had been a living, breathing force inside him, tearing him to pieces, destroying his confidence and self-worth.
“I know how it feels. Someone you love leaves, and you’re stuck thinking that maybe if you were more, better, they would have stayed.” Izzy looked down at her hands, then back at him. “My mother left me, too, but I know her whereabouts. It must be hard not knowing.”
He hadn’t expected her to understand, or voice his innermost feelings that maybe he was the reason his mother left. If he’d been better behaved or smarter, maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have pulled her car out of the winding driveway and never looked back. Izzy’s easy support deepened the connection he was starting to feel with her. He let his chin dip to his chest. If she struggled with the same mindset as him, she must have felt rotten when he tried to send her packing. He couldn’t make up for it now, except to show her he didn’t mind having her around.
“Where did you grow up, then?” he asked, finding himself drawn to her story.
“I never knew my father. My gram raised me after my mom dropped me off for babysitting and never returned. She lives in a new place every few years with a new husband. I didn’t fit into the lifestyle she wanted.”
Poor girl. At least he’d had one loving parent. In a way, both her parents had left her. “The Gram that lives at Silver Acres?” He drained what was left in his cup and set the empty mug on the coffee table.
“Yes, that’s right. She’s amazing and never made me feel like a burden. When she wasn’t working, she spent all of her free time with me. We’d go for long walks in the park, or she’d set up a big blanket outside on summer nights and we’d have a picnic and watch the fireflies. One of the reasons she loves Silver Acres is the big community gardens the residents can help tend.” A smile lit her face. She clearly worshiped Gram.
“My mother loved to garden. Her flowers and plants surround the property. I’ve let them go, though.” He couldn’t face the thought of tending them, so he’d let them run wild outside. Everything still bloomed full and lush every summer. He didn’t have the heart to rip up the plants, but he kept the curtains drawn on sunny days.
“Is that her room? The one you keep closed up?”
Pain radiated in the back of his throat. He’d had enough talk of the past for one night.
“Yes. I’m going upstairs. Stay in here as long as you like.” He stood up and walked toward the door.
“Derek,” Izzy said. He turned back, and she was sitting on the edge of her seat. “Would you like to go Christmas shopping tomorrow? There are only three days until your family arrives.”
“Okay. We can leave around ten.” He left her sitting in the library and went up to his room. He’d agreed to go as a distraction from the topic of his mother, but he hated crowded shopping centers with a passion, and he was in uncharted territory taking Izzy along. Did he need to entertain her, take her out for a nice lunch? Would it be too intimate to share in the task of selecting gifts for his family? If only he could read her mind and see what she expected of him.
He tried to work, but his mind swarmed with resurrected ghosts. His past hadn’t slapped him in the face in years, and Izzy had just unearthed more information in an hour than he’d told anyone in a lifetime. What did it mean that he was willing to share it with her? Was he just so lonely, so desperate from cutting himself off from the world, that he needed the emotional connection? It caught him off guard that she’d experienced a similar situation. As a child, he’d always felt singled out. Everyone appeared to have two parents, and even if they were divorced, at least they hadn’t been abandoned. Every lacrosse game where his father sat alone in the bleachers had been a stark reminder that he was unwanted by his mother. How could he trust again when he’d lost so much?