Kissing Under The Mistletoe (The Sullivans #10)(20)

On the other, it was where her heart had been broken for the very first time by the person who had mattered most to her.

“On warm summer evenings, the teenage girls flirt with the boys out by the fountain in the middle of the square.” She smiled as she told Jack, “Girls learn early in my town how to walk in heels on cobblestone streets without tripping. And once that flirting turns into something more, every couple in town marries in our church. As a little girl I would watch the beautiful women in their handmade wedding gowns. My mother made those gowns, and I used to help her even though I wasn't nearly as good a seamstress as she was.” Making herself focus on the other memories that were coming at her one after the other, she told him, “I used to love to watch the mustard grass bloom in the spring, the grapes growing plump in the summer, the vineyards turning color in the autumn. And Christmas was a time for celebration like none I’ve ever seen anywhere else.”

Realizing she was rambling, Mary stopped herself with a laugh that was a little bit hollow from speaking about her mother. “See, here I go acting like a travel agent, just like I said I would.”

“I could never tire of hearing you talk about something that you love.”

He was right, she realized. Regardless of what had happened between her and her mother, Mary only ever looked back on her childhood, and the people who had made it so special, with love.

Just as she had when she’d been speaking of home in the diner the night before and emotion had threatened to overwhelm her, she tried to dismiss it with a joke. “Next thing you know, I’ll have you on a plane to Italy with an itinerary of the best secret spots that no other tourist knows about.”

“I’d like that,” he said, and she could suddenly see it so clearly, the two of them holding hands as they flew across the Atlantic. She’d never taken a lover to her country, had never stolen a kiss with someone in a shadowed alley that had been there since medieval times while the bells of the church chimed above them.

“Has your hometown changed much from when you were nineteen?”

Mary slowly stirred their espresso with a spoon in the pot before pouring it into two espresso cups. Coming to sit beside Jack on a bar stool, she said, “I don’t know.”

He stopped with the cup halfway to his lips. “You don’t?”

“No, I haven’t been back.”

She had never spoken about her family situation with anyone outside her closest circle of friends and confidants. A voice in the back of her head reminded her that it wasn’t wise to reveal so much to Jack when they had met only a day ago. Still, when he lowered his cup and reached for her hands, his touch warmed her better than any cup of coffee could have.

“I truly loved my family, my friends, my town, but I always knew I was different. Because when everyone else was dreaming of wedding rings and babies, I was dreaming of adventures and airplanes. My father understood, and he would tell me about the places he’d seen in the war. But my mother—”

When she grew silent, Jack gently ran the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her hands. As always, there was a deep sensuality to his touch, but tonight she was more aware of the empathy in the gesture.

“Your mother wanted you to stay.”

Mary nodded. “I was all she had, her only child. And she was afraid for me, afraid that I’d be hurt. I understand it better now that I’m watching over girls who are the same age I was when I told her I’d met an agent who wanted to make me a big star in New York City. I was so naive,” she said with a laugh. “And very lucky that Randy—the talent scout—was honest and legitimate.”

“That’s why you look out for the girls when you could be living the high life in a penthouse. You want to make sure they make it home to their mothers safe and sound.”

“Yes, and I’m not much for penthouse heights, either,” she confessed. Though he smiled, she knew he hadn’t missed the fact that she’d left out part of her explanation. “My mother was angry with me for being headstrong and foolish. I was angry with her for being stubborn and determined. We both said things we didn’t mean.” Mary swallowed hard. “When I called home the night I arrived in New York City, she refused to come to the phone. My father made excuses, but I knew. I knew. She’d meant it when she said I was no longer her daughter.”

Mary couldn’t stop her tears from falling as she wept for the mother who had never understood her daughter’s need to open her wings and fly, if only to see how things looked from new skies and not because she wanted to fly away forever.

“But she’s always been my mother. And I long for her every single day.”

Jack drew her against him, his arms warm and comforting as he stroked her back. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to make everything better for her with simple platitudes. He simply held her and let her cry out the tears she’d held back for too long.

It wasn’t until she’d drained her well of emotion dry that she realized he’d pressed his lips to her forehead in the kind of kiss one friend gave to another.

No man had ever kissed her that way before. As a friend.

And she’d never before slipped so easily into a man’s arms, as if she’d finally found the place she was supposed to be.

Taking a shaky breath, Mary pulled back slightly and brushed a hand over the broad shoulder that she’d just cried on. “Just when you were starting to dry off, I got you all wet again.” It would have been easier to stand, to fiddle with reheating their coffee, to talk about the ad campaign. Anything but remain in Jack’s arms and meet his concerned gaze. “Thank you for listening,” she said as she looked up into his eyes and was immediately caught up in desire. Just that quickly.