“Yes.” She leaned back against the seat and gazed out at the snowflakes dancing against the windshield. “My mother and father would try to keep up our spirits during our captivity by singing carols with us and encouraging us to make up Christmas stories.”
“Ah. And you’ve carried on their storytelling tradition.”
“In my feeble way, I guess you’re right.”
“Not feeble,” he protested. “Sparkle and the Magic Snowball is a charming story that has captured the hearts of children and parents alike.”
She looked embarrassed. “Mostly because of Hope and her beautiful illustrations.”
“And because the story is sweet and hopeful at a time when people desperately need that.”
She shifted in the seat, her cheeks slightly pink in the low light.
“I never expected any of this. I only wanted to tell stories to my niece and nephew. I don’t know if I would ever have found the courage to submit it to a publisher. I didn’t, actually. If not for Hope, all the Sparkle stories would still be in a box under my bed.”
He released her fingers, not at all sure he liked this soft tenderness seeping through him. “Your parents would be so proud of you. Who would have guessed when you were sharing stories with your parents and sisters while you were all hostages during a dark Christmastime that one day you would be a famous author?”
“Not me, certainly.”
“Does writing make you feel closer to your parents?”
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide. “I... Yes. Yes, it does. I never realized that until right this moment when you said it. Sometimes when I’m writing, I feel as if they’re with me again, whispering words of comfort to me in the darkness.”
It would be easy to fall for her. Something about her combination of vulnerability and strength tugged at him, called to him in a way no other woman ever had.
He didn’t have time for this, he reminded himself sternly. His daughter needed all his attention right now while she tried to heal. He couldn’t dilute that attention by finding himself tangled up with a lovely librarian, no matter how much he might want to be.
“I had better go,” she said after a moment. Did she also sense the growing attraction between them? Was that the reason for that sudden unease in her expression? “You should get a certain exhausted birthday girl home to her bed. Besides that, Linus and Lucy are probably wondering what in the world I’m doing out here for so long.”
“Of course.”
With far more reluctance than he knew he should feel, he opened his door and walked around the vehicle through the lightly falling snow to her door.
The December night smelled of pine and smoke from a fireplace somewhere close. The familiar mingle of scents struck deep into his memories, of the happy times he used to spend here with his grandmother. She had been his rock, the one constant support in the midst of his chaotic family life.
He breathed in deeply as he opened her car door. As they walked to her house, he realized with shock that this was the most peaceful he had felt in weeks, since that horrible day when he’d pulled up to Elise’s house to find sirens and flashing lights and ambulances.
“You don’t have to walk me to the door, Flynn. This isn’t a date.”
He suddenly wished it had been a date, that the two of them had gone to dinner somewhere and shared secrets and stories and long, delicious kisses.
If it had been a date, he possibly could give into this sudden hunger to kiss her at the doorstep, to finally taste that lush mouth that had been tantalizing him all evening.
“I want to make sure you don’t slip,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie, just not the entire truth. “Ice can be dangerous.”
She said nothing, though he thought her eyes might have narrowed slightly as if she sensed he had more on his mind than merely her safety.
They both made it up the steps without incident, and it only took her a moment to find a key in her purse.
“Good night,” she said after she unlocked her door. “Thank you for including me in Olivia’s birthday celebration. It was an honor, truly.”
“We were the lucky ones that you agreed to come. It was a dream come true for her, sharing delicious pizza with her favorite author.”
“I imagine her dreams will become a little more lofty as she gets older, but I’m happy I could help with this one.” She gave him a sidelong look. “I hope I see her at the rehearsal tomorrow for the Christmas program. She really seemed to be interested in participating, and we would love to have her. Don’t worry. She’ll have fun.”
Damn. He had almost forgotten about that. The peace he had been feeling seemed to evaporate like the puffs of air from their breaths.
“Don’t plan on her,” he warned.
“Why not?” she asked with a frown.
He raked a hand through his hair. “She’s been through a brutal experience. Would you have been ready for something like this right after your own trauma?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if I expressed any interest at all, my aunt and uncle would have been right in the front row, cheering me on.”
“I’m not your aunt and uncle,” he said, with more bite in his voice than he intended.
She froze for just a moment, then nodded, her sweet, lovely features turning as wintry as the evening. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I overstepped.”
Her words and the tight tone made him feel like an ass. She was only trying to help his child.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just can’t see how getting up in front of a bunch of strangers and singing about peace on earth will help a young girl suffering from PTSD.”
“I suppose you’re right. I will say that my parents firmly believed a person could ease her own troubles while helping others—or at least trying to see them in a different light. Living here with Uncle Claude and Aunt Mary only reinforced that message. They started The Christmas Ranch so my sisters and I could find comfort in the midst of our own pain by bringing the joy of the holidays to others. It worked for us. I guess I was hoping it would do the same for Olivia, but you’re her father. It’s ultimately your decision.”
Talk about backing a guy into a corner. What was he supposed to do?
Olivia had expressed a desire to participate, the first time anything had sparked her interest in weeks. He certainly had the right as her father to make decisions about what he thought was best for her, but what if he was wrong? What if she truly did need this? How could he be the one to say no to her?
“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll bring her tomorrow. If she enjoys herself, she can come back. But if I believe this is at all stressing her, I’ll immediately put an end to it.”
She smiled
