Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(41)

“You gave a pretty good impression of that today.”

“I’ve been giving you mixed signals. I know that. I’m sorry.” Maggie sighed, and her tone turned rueful. “Apparently you’re too much temptation for me to withstand.”

“You should just give in,” he said kindly.

He felt a ripple of laughter run through her. But as she looked up at him, her breath caught on another laugh, he saw that her eyes were brilliant with unshed tears.

“God, please don’t do that,” he whispered. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and he wiped it with his thumb. “If you don’t stop, Maggie, I’m going to make love to you right on this freezing porch with all the splinters.”

Maggie buried her face against him, took a few deep breaths, and looked up at him again. “I probably seem like a coward,” she said. “But I know my limitations. You don’t know what I went through, watching my husband die slowly for more than a year. It nearly killed me. I can’t do it again, ever. That was my one shot.”

“Your one shot was over almost as soon as it started,” Mark said, filled with impatient longing, loving the feel of her in his arms. “Your marriage never had a chance to get off the ground. You never had the mortgage, the dog, the kids, the arguments about whose turn it is to do the laundry.” Glancing at the tremulous curve of her lower lip, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her, too hard and brief for pleasure. “Let’s not do this right now. Come on, I’ll walk you to the car.”

They were both silent as he accompanied her to the Sebring. Maggie turned to face him, and he bracketed her face in his hands and kissed her again, this time letting his mouth linger until she made a soft sound in her throat and began to kiss him back.

Lifting his head, Mark smoothed her rambunctious curls and spoke in a voice roughened with affection. “Being alone isn’t safety, Maggie. It’s just being alone.” And after she had climbed into the car, he closed the door carefully and watched her drive off.

Thirteen

To Maggie’s relief, her relationship with Mark went back to normal the day after Thanksgiving. He brought coffee to the shop, and was so relaxed and charming that she could have almost believed that scene on his front porch had never happened.

On Monday, Maggie’s day off, Mark asked her to help him shop for Christmas decorations since he and Sam had not even a single ornament to start with. Maggie accompanied him to various shops in Friday Harbor to advise on such items as fresh garlands for the mantels and doorways, a wreath for the front door, a set of heavy pillar candles on mercury glass stands, and a vintage framed Santa poster. The only thing Mark had balked at was a Williamsburg-style ornamental fruit pyramid as a centerpiece for the table.

“I hate fake fruit,” Mark said.

“Why? It’s beautiful. It’s what the Victorians used for holiday decorating.”

“I don’t like anything that looks like I’m supposed to be able to eat it but can’t. I’d rather have one made out of real fruit.”

Maggie regarded him with amused exasperation. “It wouldn’t last long enough. And if it’s made out of real fruit and you eat it, what will you do then?”

“Buy more fruit.”

After they had loaded the last of the purchases into his truck, Mark managed to talk Maggie into having dinner with him. She had tried to refuse, saying it was too much like going out, but he had wheedled, “It’ll be just like lunch. Only later.” And she had relented. They had gone to an intimate restaurant four miles out from Friday Harbor, sitting at a table near a fieldstone fireplace. In the glow of candlelight, they had eaten succulent Alaskan sea scallops stacked with duck confit and goat cheese, and filet mignon shimmering with a date espresso glaze.

“If this had been a date,” Mark had told her afterward, “it would have been the best one of my life.”

“It was good practice,” Maggie had said with a laugh, “for when you really go out with someone.”

But even to herself, she had sounded false and hollow.

During the weeks leading up to Christmas, the island bustled with holiday activities, concerts, celebrations, lighting contests, and festivals. What Holly looked forward to the most was the annual lighted boat parade. Held by the Friday Harbor Sailing Club and the San Juan Island Yacht Club, it was a flotilla of decorated and fully lit vessels that went from Shipyard Cove to the yacht club and back. Even the boaters who didn’t join the parade strung their boats with lights. The last boat in the flotilla would be the Santa Ship, from which Santa would disembark at the Spring Street dock. He would be met by musicians, and ride on a fire truck to the convalescent center.

“I want to watch it with you,” Holly had told Maggie, who had promised she would walk to the dock after closing the shop, and meet them there.

The dock and surrounding area was massively crowded, however, and the cheerful clamor of parade-goers and carolers was near-deafening. Maggie wandered through the multitude, past clusters of families with children, and couples, and groups of friends. The lighted boats glittered and sparkled in the darkness, eliciting cries of excitement from the crowd. With a sinking heart, Maggie realized she wasn’t going to be able to find Holly and Mark easily, if at all.

It was okay, she told herself. They would have a good time without her. She wasn’t part of the family. If Holly was disappointed that she hadn’t shown up, it wouldn’t last for long.