All I Want (Three Holiday Romances) Read online

  “Uh . . . no. I’m an adjunct professor.”

  “And you room with Brady?” That doesn’t make sense.

  “Being a professor doesn’t pay much. I’m a writer, and that doesn’t pay much either. My fiancé and I shared the house, but when she left, I needed roommates.”

  “And that’s where Brady came in.”

  “Yep.” He clasps his hands together.

  “Sorry about your fiancé.” I think. Only he’s already easy and interesting. But I’m so not looking for someone to date, especially not while I’m here. That would be just wrong in a million ways. It’s just been a long time since talking to someone came this easy.

  He shrugs. “Now that it’s over, I see it’s for the best. But the frustrating part about the whole thing is that I still feel it here.” He knocks on his chest once. “And it seems like I shouldn’t.”

  “I know that feeling exactly.”

  “And you’re here for the holidays . . .” He trails off like he’s worried, or confused.

  “A challenge of sorts.” I shrug, not really ready to get into the full explanation just yet.

  “I’ll grab your blanket and spare you from the nearly unchanged room.” He leans forward and hefts his tall body to standing.

  I stare. How would he know the room is unchanged?

  “I noticed. It’s hard not to see the guy in there everywhere, even for someone who never met him.” Collin’s voice is mellow and smooth, helping me relax. Like maybe being in this house isn’t as big a deal as I’m making it.

  “Thanks.” It’s actually really nice of him, and there’s no way I’d be able to sleep in that room tonight.

  “You’re welcome, Norah.” His eyes rest on me almost, but not quite, long enough to make me uncomfortable, or make me wonder if he’s getting the same happy tingles with me as I’m getting with him.

  He walks through the room, and I listen for each of his footsteps on the stairs. His steps cross the hallway, and then back down to me.

  “I brought your pillow, too.” He sets the bundle next to me on the couch.

  “Thanks.” I take my things from him and feel sad that our night is over. It’s nice having someone to talk to who didn’t know Jacob—who isn’t comparing this year to last year.

  “I hope you get some sleep, tonight. I’m sure we have something like sledding or caroling planned for tomorrow.” He grins.

  “I’m sure we do.”

  He turns to walk away, and it’s like I have to say something else. There’s this weird urgency for our night to not be over. “ Collin?”

  He spins around fast, resting a hand on the doorframe. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.” Why’s my heart beating so hard at one simple thing? “Really.”

  He gives me a brief nod, which forces his hair back over his brow, and makes my chest squeeze a little. “Night.”

  “Night,” I whisper. And then Collin and his deep eyes leave me to try and find sleep. And to slow down my heart.

  BRADY’S SNORING LIKE I KNEW HE WOULD BE. This inability to sleep is going to catch up to me fast. If Madeline would stop sending me these mixed messages, maybe I could put the whole mess of our breakup behind me. I’m still not sure what I’m doing here, at Brady’s parents’ house. It’s like when someone knows you’re about to spend Christmas alone, they just can’t let it go. And Brady’s very persuasive.

  I’ve probably spent more time in their backyard than in the house. I’m sure his parents think I’m crazy. At least I’m not Norah. How . . . hard. Spending Christmas with a deceased fiancé’s family. Jacob’s room can’t be changed all that much, and they put her in there. Why would the poor girl want to be there? Why have they not changed his room to be something different? Where are her parents? Her family? Her other friends? Why is she here?

  Probably she misses him that much.

  The thought stops me for a minute, because I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t notice her. You’d be a moron to not notice someone like her. Artsy without trying so hard. Everyone feels like they have to try. I teach those pretentious college students every day. Their fisherman’s caps and small berets—items they swear are thrift-store finds, but are way too new. It would be exhausting being someone or something you’re not. I’m amazed people even try.

  Though being myself has gotten me two very small book deals, a job as a part time professor, an ex-fiancé, and a house I can’t afford.

  I kick off my pants and slide onto the twin mattress on the floor of Brady’s room. Their house seems big, but it isn’t. Not really. Not in bedroom space. But the floor of Brady’s room is better than the craft room with large rolls of fabric and doll heads. I’m not sure what all his mom is into, but from the looks of that room, and the mess inside, I’d guess everything.

  My eyes close, and I hope for enough hours sleep to function and keep up with whatever’s going on tomorrow.

  I wake to another text from Madeline.

  Really want to talk. Why aren’t you answering?

  Because I don’t want to talk to you. I think. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to talk to her. She walked out on me and still messes with my head.

  One thing’s for sure, I’m going to need out of here for a while today. I sit up and stare at the clock for a moment before the time hits me. 10:30 AM. Is that possible? I actually got a real amount of sleep last night. Brilliant.

  I stumble into the shower and take longer than necessary. I won’t have to worry about anyone else needing a morning shower at this time of day—they’re always up early. Or at least they have been since I got here two days ago. The hot water relaxes me, and I’m sure today’s going to be one of my more productive writing days. I only have a couple hours of edits left before I can turn my manuscript back into my publisher.

  I jog down the stairs to a quiet house. Quiet. Here. It feels like heaven.

  “Morning, Collin.” Jean smiles her warm, winning smile at me.

  “Morning.” I take in the scene. Just Norah and Jean are here, at the table, stacks of photo albums spread out in front of them.

  Norah looks as if she wishes she could disappear into the floor. Her tiny shoulders are pulled forward, and she’s grasping her hands in her lap.

  “Oh, remember this trip?” Jean flips another page.

  Norah doesn’t really look, just glances down and shifts in her chair. “Yep, I remember that one.”

  How long have they been at this? I suddenly feel the need to rescue her somehow. “Hey, Norah. I’m uh, heading to the bookstore. Wanna join me?”

  “Love to.” Norah pushes to standing almost knocking the chair over.

  “Brady and Scott will be back any second, I’m sure. You don’t want to miss them, do you?” Jean asks.

  I wave my hand in what I hope looks like a relaxed, dismissive gesture. “I won’t be long. Just wanted to check a few things before I jump into writing again.”

  “Oh.” Jean’s eyes float from Norah, standing rigidly beside her, and me, across the room in the kitchen. “Well, I guess I’ll see you two later then.”

  “Thanks, Jean.” Norah leans down and kisses her head. “I’m sure we won’t be long.”

  Norah half runs from the room toward the front door. I’m still frozen to the spot, almost a little unsure of what to do or where to be.

  “No. Not long.” Jean’s eyes now float over the table and the photo albums. As good as she pretends to do with the loss of her son, she still feels it, and always will I guess. She’s just a bit more distracted today than I’ve seen her so far. Not that I’ve spent a ton of time with his family.

  “I’m ready!” Norah calls.

  I jump, realizing that I’m about to spend time with her. Alone. I pull in a deep, hard breath, preparing to attempt to be the best version of myself, and start to the front door.

  She’s in a green, tailored coat, and boots. Really, really sexy boots. I’m sort of in shock that she doesn’t mind going somewhere with me. Old, rumpled khakis and a p
lain, grey sweater. I grab my pea coat from the closet, and hold open the door for her without a word.

  “Thank you,” she breathes out as we step outside.

  “A little intense?”

  “It’s just that . . . It’s that I did this months ago, you know? Went through and tortured myself with photo albums and memories because I had to. I had to face it all. I drove to all our favorite places and practically shoved the loss of him in my life. And it was horrible, but it worked. I felt better. But now this. Christmas. Everyone says the first is the hardest, and I wanted to really get it over with. I don’t want to feel like it was a mistake to come here, but . . .” She gives a little shrug, maybe as a show that it does feel like a mistake.

  Right now I think she’s pretty remarkably brave. Most people would shove all the memory stuff away in the hopes that it would disappear, but not her. I’m a both humbled and impressed.

  “But coming here does feel like a mistake.” I pull open the passenger’s side door of my old Camry, suddenly self-conscious about the messy and worn state of my car. This is when I still feel like a lowly undergrad instead of the professor I am. No one tells you when you’re growing up that you’ll never actually feel grown up.

  She climbs in. “It might be.”

  My body’s amped with tension, with the woman in my car, with having no idea what to do for her in a situation like this, and with how on earth I’m going to distract her for a while and make her glad she’s here. With me.

  It feels good, but off. No girl but Madeline has used that seat in . . . Well, a long time.

  I climb in and start the car. Maybe Norah shouldn’t be glad she’s here. Maybe she should go home. Maybe spending Christmas alone would be better than spending Christmas with people who may or may not be using her to re-live some of their son’s life.

  “Do you actually want to go to the bookstore, or would you prefer somewhere else?” I ask.

  “Anywhere but there.” She tightens her arms around her tiny waist and then chuckles. “Okay. I’m sorry. I love the bookstore. I could spend hours there. And you really don’t have to do this for me.”

  “It’s not a problem, and I could spend hours, too.” I don’t mean to, but I’m smiling. Her eyes are bright, something between hazel and brown, and too large for her small face.

  “What?” she asks.

  I’m staring. “You’re very pretty.” What the . . . Where the heck did that come from?

  She laughs. “You’re very nice.”

  “Oh!” I hit my chest. “That’s a blow!”

  “What?” She leans forward. “I didn’t mean . . . Oh, I get it. You compliment my looks, and I compliment your personality.”

  “I’m just messing with you. Relax, Norah.” I have to force myself to remember I’m not on a date with this girl, and using that sentence as a way to touch her shoulder or her knee probably wouldn’t be a good idea. It’s just been a long time since I felt this instant kind of attraction to someone, and it’s also been a long time since I’ve tried anything resembling a first date.

  Which. This is not.

  “You’re very tall,” she says. “And your eyes are incredible.”

  Incredible?

  I really want to see what her face looks like, but I’m driving, and any glance will be noticed. Is she smiling some relaxed, friendly smile, just trying to repay the compliment? Or is she more serious than that? In which case, the nervous jittering in my stomach would be totally warranted. Sucks that I’m too chicken to find out.

  She wasn’t kidding about the bookstore. I think we’ve been here for two hours. She’s come to show me two photography books, and I’m flattered she’d take the time. But now I’m ready to go, and I’ve just about given up finding her. We should have exchanged numbers.

  When I find her she’s facing my direction, and a guy’s back is to me. He’s chattering in that nervous voice that all guys get when there’s something they really want to say but aren’t sure how to say it.

  Her brows are down, she’s shifting her weight, and she’s chewing on her lower lip. If I was that guy, I’d take it as a sign that she’s not interested.

  “. . . I mean, while you’re in town, you know? We could get a group together, and...”

  Her eyes catch mine where I’m frozen at the end of an aisle of books.

  “I’m here with someone,” she says. “But it was nice catching up with you, Nate.” She pats his shoulder as she moves straight toward me.

  She tilts her head to the side and taps her cheek. Please, she mouths. My heart jumps. She wants me to kiss her cheek? She’s next to me in seconds. Too soon. Too soon to think. I lean down to kiss her cheek. She smells like vanilla, sweet, but not too sweet. My lips touch her skin, and it takes every ounce of strength in me to move away the way I know I should. My heart’s pounding. When did that happen?

  “Where have you been?” I try to chuckle, but I’m sure it comes very strange.

  “Ready to go?” She steps forward, sliding her arm around my waist, which is really just an invitation for me to slide my arm around hers, right?

  Yes, I decide. It is.

  When I slide my arm around her, it’s like holding nothing because she’s so tiny, and then she leans into me. Now she feels like something. Like a date maybe. Only, again, it’s not a date.

  “Thank you, again,” she whispers. “Seems like you’re saving me a lot today.”

  “My pleasure.” And I find some guts and give her waist a light squeeze. If we’re both in the same house for the next week, the way I’m feeling right now is definitely going to cause problems.

  Madeline calls again as we pull to a stop in front of the house. I let out a sigh and push the phone back in my pocket.

  “Okay?” Norah asks.

  “Ex-fiancé.”

  “Oh.”

  Suddenly I want to explain. Want her to know that it’s all behind me, because it is. I’m pretty sure. “We split about two months ago—I’m not ambitious enough, or don’t make enough, or a combination of the above. We were together for a long time, so it just . . .”

  “Sucks?” she offers.

  “Yeah.”

  “But you’re a writer, right? I mean, doesn’t it take time? It’s one of those careers where you’re poor forever, and then the hope is that you’ll make it big, or have enough books out there to make a living?”

  “I think she wanted it sooner rather than later. It takes time to get words down on a page, and she never really got that.” Which still gets me, because it’s one of the things she said made her fall in love with me.

  “But it’s who you are.” Norah’s making the same argument I’d made to Madeline.

  I open my door and stand up, not really wanting to talk about the failed points of my almost-marriage.

  Norah stands and can barely see over the top of my car, which immediately puts a smile on my face.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks.

  “Nothing. Just that . . .” I’m about to say something about her size, but don’t. “It’s the same argument I made to her. If she loved me, that’s me, and not just a small part, but a big part.”

  “So, really, it was you wanting to be accepted and loved for who you are, and her wanting you to be willing to change because you loved her enough to do that.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” Wow. Exactly that. I’d just never been able to put it in simple enough terms before.

  “Well, it took me a long time to get my foot in the door with photography. I worked as a helper for years while I was in high school and then as I started college, and then I felt like I had to break out on my own. You need people who can stand behind you and what you want to do.”

  “You must have some amazing parents.”

  “No.” Her face falls. “No, I don’t. But I had Jacob.”

  My chest sinks. This is exactly how to turn a non-date/date into awkward-land. “Sorry, Norah, I . . .”

  She holds her hand up between us. “I have way more s
ympathy from everyone in that house than I want. I don’t need yours, too.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” She nods like she means it, but I can see frustration or hurt on her face. She steps around the car, pulls open the small picket fence gate, and lets it close behind her without a glance back.

  As she opens the door to the house, I realize that I probably should have walked back with her. Or maybe it’s best that I keep my distance.

  In one day I’ve been on a complete roller-coaster with this girl who I don’t know, and who I’m not even sure I’ll get a chance to know, but that I think I might like to get to know.

  IT WAS JUST A KISS ON THE CHEEK. That I asked for.

  I should not be feeling this way about it. Like I can’t look at him, or shouldn’t be too close. But at the same time, I notice when he’s in the room, or when he’s not in the room. Also, he seems fidgety. Maybe he’s this way all the time. I’m not sure. It’s sort of endearing. He also has this look on his face that he’s only half here. I wonder if he’s thinking about the ex-fiancé or about his book, or both.

  I stare at the peaked ceiling of Jacob’s room. The light blue with his photographs up. He liked the blue background for his winter sports shots. I remember some of these trips and wish that I didn’t.

  A soft knock on my door jolts me from my wanderings.

  “Come in.” I sit up quickly and smooth my hair out. My heart’s pounding and then falls when it’s Brady. I’m stupid. And a bit crazy for thinking it would be Collin. I shouldn’t want it to be Collin—especially while I’m staying here.

  “Is this okay?” He steps in the room and closes the door behind him.

  “That you’ve come to talk?” I ask.

  “Uh . . . yeah. You know, it’s late, and . . .” He has his brother’s shrug and the same athletic look that all the Peters’ boys have.

  I scoot until my back’s against the wall and then cross my legs on the bed. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

  “Sorry about Mom. I keep thinking she’s okay, and then she’ll have a day like today where I think she feels like if she looks at enough pictures of him, he’ll suddenly come back.”