Married Till Christmas. Christine Rimmer

to do, stuff to make happen.” His eyes were brown in this light, brown and soft and so sincere. “I had nothing to give you then.”

      “I wanted nothing from you and you know that. Nothing but your love.”

      He looked away. She stared at the side view of his Adam’s apple. Just like old times. “Come on, Nellie. I had too much to prove. It would never have worked then.”

      He was probably right. “And it’s not going to work now.” She leaned across the table toward him, held his gaze steady on and concentrated on trying really hard to get through to him. “I don’t trust you. I can’t trust you. It’s not that I hate you. I don’t. I don’t despise you. I just want you to let it go. Leave me be and move on.”

      He drank more Scotch. “Have dinner with me.” She opened her mouth to say no, but then he reached out and covered her hand with his. The words backed up in her throat. “Just dinner.” His grip was hot and a little bit rough, and it felt unbelievably right.

      How could that be? Words and breaths and even her heart felt all tangled up together in the base of her throat, all tied in hot, sweet, hurtful knots. She opened her mouth to tell him no and he slid his thumb under her fingers, into the vulnerable secret center of her palm, and squeezed, just a little.

      Impossibly, she squeezed back. The light from above caught in his eyes, burned in them.

      She swallowed, hard. “It would...only be dinner.”

      The flame in his eyes leaped higher. Dear, sweet Lord, had she really said that? She needed to take it back this instant. She pulled free.

      He didn’t try to hold on, just slid his hand back to his side of the table and said in a neutral tone, “Only dinner. That’s good.”

      And she couldn’t help thinking that, really, what could it hurt? Here, in this glittery, sprawling desert city where nobody knew them? It could be a good way, a graceful way, to finally say goodbye.

      * * *

      He took her to the hotel’s French restaurant, Quatre Trèfles. The food was wonderful and there were several courses, different wines offered with each new dish.

      Nell drank sparingly. She planned a full day at the trade show tomorrow and didn’t want to be hungover. Plus, she needed all her wits about her when dealing with the impossible man across the white-clothed table from her.

      Deck looked so good by candlelight. It burnished his thick brown hair and brought out the wicked gleam in his eyes. She had to watch herself around him, she really did. She wanted to handle this goodbye evening with grace.

      There was actual chitchat. He asked how she’d gotten into business with Garrett. She explained that after two years at Colorado State, she’d had enough of college. Garrett was doing pretty well building houses. She’d started out working for him. They got along well together.

      She laughed. “He’s always calling me a pain in his ass.”

      “But he couldn’t get along without you.”

      “You’ve got that right. A few years back, he wanted to start building spec houses. I put in some of my inheritance for that and we became partners.”

      Deck talked about his barrel business, which he’d started eight years ago in the garage of the house he’d been living in then. At the time, he’d tended bar at Teddy’s Bar on East Central Street. Essentially, Justice Creek Barrels found and sold whiskey and wine barrels to winemakers, breweries and distilleries. His company also made barrel furniture and other custom barrel-based gadgets and knickknacks. In the time he’d been building JC Barrels, he’d also managed to get a business degree, taking classes online and at State.

      She asked about his sister, Marty. “I heard she got married.”

      “Yeah. His name’s Hank Jackson. He’s a good guy.”

      “I’m glad.”

      “They live in Colorado Springs. And as of three weeks ago, I’m an uncle.”

      “Wow.” Nell remembered Deck’s younger sister as too thin and painfully shy, one of those girls who seemed to want to be invisible. “A boy or a girl?”

      “Little boy.”

      “Have you seen him?”

      He nodded. “Hank called me when Marty went into labor. I drove straight to the hospital.”

      “You were there for the birth?” For some reason, the thought of him jumping in his big, black Lexus SUV and racing to be there for his nephew’s birth did a number on her heartstrings.

      “Well, I sat in the waiting room for four hours, until the baby was born. Eventually, they let me in to see them. Marty was exhausted, but she was smiling. And I got to hold the baby. They named him Henry, after Hank.”

      “Give Marty my best?”

      “Sure.”

      “And, um, your dad?” Keith McGrath had been a major issue between them, when it all went to hell. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned him, but avoiding the subject would have felt like cowardice on her part. Plus, the whole point of spending this evening with him was to let the past go.

      “I don’t see him often.” Deck’s voice lacked inflection. He sounded careful. Too careful. “But he’s all right. He manages an apartment complex in Fort Collins, does a little carpentry on the side. He’s, uh, been doing pretty well the past couple of years.”

      “Excellent.” She allowed herself a small sip of wine.

      Deck regarded her distantly for several uncomfortable seconds—and then he changed the subject, which was fine with her. Great, as a matter of fact. It was only an evening they were sharing, not the rest of their lives. Yes, she wanted to talk honestly, but they didn’t need to get into anything too messy.

      After dinner, they gambled a little.

      And then, around ten, he suggested, “Take a walk outside with me?”

      She wanted to, she really did. But it was too cold out and, really, she ought to just tell him good-night. “It’s windy and in the forties out there and my jacket is upstairs.”

      “No problem. We’ll go up, get our coats. You can put on some walking shoes if you want to.”

      She let him take her arm and lead her to the elevators.

      They went up to her floor first. She let him in her room, because to make him wait in the hallway would have been as good as admitting she felt awkward being with him in a room with a bed. It only took a moment anyway, to change into flats and grab her coat.

      They got back on the elevator. He had a suite on the penthouse floor. She stood in the living area and gazed out over the waterfall lagoon below and the lights of the strip farther out as he disappeared into the bedroom.

      “What do you see down there?”

      She turned and gave him a smile. “Bright lights.” He’d thrown on a gorgeous leather jacket and she couldn’t help remembering his hand-me-down shirts and beat-up Vans with the holes in them back when they were kids.

      Down on the main floor, they went out the lobby entrance, under the porte cochere and around the famous waterfalls and the minilake out front. As they strolled under the palm trees, she buttoned up her coat against the wind.

      And when he took her hand?

      She let him. Because this was a real goodbye at last, and it felt good to be with him finally in this friendly, easy way. If touching him still thrilled her more than it should, well, so what?

      She wouldn’t act on that thrill. She was only enjoying a last, companionable evening with an old flame, making peace with the past, ending things gracefully.

      At a little after midnight, he took her back to her room. He didn’t try to kiss her at her door. Which was great. A kiss would be too intimate