Gavin placed Rachel’s cape on her shoulders, surrounding her with warmth and—for a delicious moment—his arms. He paused beside her to follow her gaze.
“That’s Scott Malek, the mayor, by the way.” Gavin pulled his own coat on. “He’s the guy who wants to monetize the cross-country skiing idea. He’s Luke’s cousin too, but that sure hasn’t given me any kind of sway with the guy.”
So Harris family relations were back to being in charge of the community once known as Harristown. She could hear the frustration in Gavin’s voice and she empathized. How far had Yuletide come from its founding ideals? And how could they justify letting one negative incident in the town history turn the whole place so cynical? It seemed so…anti-Christmas.
And seeing the mayor’s adorable daughter constrained to ringing a strap of bells for the family song hardly improved her impression of Scott Malek.
“That’s just wrong,” she muttered, not sure which transgression bothered her more. “You see why I’m allergic to this town?”
Turning from the spectacle, she spotted the clear plastic garment bag full of pinned dresses hanging in the open hall closet. Kiersten must have brought them down so Rachel didn’t forget them. Guilt stabbed her at the idea of not saying goodnight to the bride, but Rachel really needed fresh air and to clear her head. Maybe Kiersten didn’t realize that her husband-to-be still held a grudge where Rachel was concerned, and now wasn’t the time to push the issue. Instead, Rachel reached for the garment bag, but her fingers bumped into Gavin’s.
Tingling awareness prickled up to her shoulder. All through the rest of her.
“I can get that for you.” He laid the bag over one arm and closed the hall closet before opening the front door for her. “But as far as the allergy goes, I think it’s a convenient way to duck a sense of obligation to your hometown.”
Stepping out into the snowy night, she nearly tripped at the implication. All that tingling awareness faded. Anger simmered.
“You say that like it was me who founded the town and not my father,” she shot back, picking up her pace down the powder-covered walkway. “Why should I feel obligated to keep this place on track when every person living here—except my mom—turned their back on me eight years ago?”
Sure, she’d won Kiersten over fairly quickly, but she’d been a best friend. And that patched-up relationship hadn’t given Rachel a spot in the wedding. Not that she held the choice against the bride—she’d encouraged it. But it still hurt to be so far on the outside looking in at people who used to be such an important part of her life.
Gavin double-timed his step to catch up with her speed walk and then get ahead of her. He turned, standing in her path so that she had no choice but to face him.
“You’re not obligated, Rachel.” He took a step closer, focused on her like she was the only woman in the world. “But you are creative and charismatic. And when you stop trying to resist this place, you might find you have a gift for the kind of ideas that get people excited about living here again.”
With the warmth of their shared song still reverberating through her, she hated to argue with him. But her creativity was better spent on her work instead of the town that didn’t want her. She would get the bridesmaid dresses altered, patch things up with Luke in a place that wasn’t so public as a party, and then she’d be on her way. It might be as much peace as she could squeeze from her past.
*
With music blasting the next afternoon, Rachel worked on the third floor of her mom’s house. She guided red satin through her mother’s sewing machine as fast as she dared, remembering the quirky rhythms of the ancient Singer.
Surrounded by boxes of town and family memorabilia that her mother must have stowed out of sight once Chris Chambers left town, Rachel sang along with Ella Fitzgerald as she finished a dart in the halter bodice of Emma’s revamped bridesmaid dress.
Kiersten had texted her today, apologizing for the awkward reception at her house the night before and reminding Rachel about the bachelorette party tonight. Not that Rachel would be attending. She’d put herself in the community eye to try and make amends, but she wasn’t going to succeed without the groom’s help. It hadn’t boded well, in her mind, that she hadn’t spotted so much as a glimpse of Luke Harris at the party the night before. No matter what he told Gavin or Kiersten about wanting to move on and put the past behind him, he hadn’t gone to any effort to welcome Rachel home.
No effort to extend an olive branch.
Letting up on the sewing machine pedal, she slid the fabric out from under the presser foot and flipped it around to work on the other side. She’d been at the machine all day except for a brief trip to the Merry & Bright Bakery this morning to pick up breakfast for her mother. She’d walked in on a conversation at the counter about a mystery woman who was only in town to break up a wedding. She took a wild guess they’d been referring to her based on how fast the talk turned to the weather.
The chilly reception bothered her in a different way today than it might have earlier in the week. It was one thing for the townspeople to turn their back on Rachel. She expected that. But Gavin’s words last night made her realize just how lacking in Christmas spirit Yuletide felt with people holding grudges and more worried about making money than giving back to the community with charitable opportunities.
At this time of year especially, that upset her.
“Rachel!” her mother called up the stairs, her voice a soft undertone behind the music and the hum of the sewing machine.
Easing her foot off the pedal again, Rachel pressed the volume button down on her phone, silencing the wireless speaker. “Yes?”
“You have a visitor.” Her mother’s voice held a peculiar note—borderline girlish and a little flirtatious.
Rachel’s early detection system warned her this visitor would be male.
“Okay,” she called back belatedly, already hearing a heavy step on the staircase.
Gavin appeared then, his head nearly brushing the ceiling even in the center of the room where the roof wasn’t sloped. The insulated pants and boots he wore with a red sweatshirt layered over a tee made her think he’d spent the day on the mountain. The snow here wasn’t always the same caliber as the Alps and the Rockies, but for a snowboard cross athlete, there were local runs that worked well for training.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” He glanced down at her work, making her realize she clutched the skirt of Emma’s red satin gown tightly in one hand.
Forcing her fingers to unclasp, she reminded herself she was over Gavin. He didn’t make her nervous anymore. She was older now, and wiser. So the natural, athletic grace in the man’s every movement was just something she noticed on a purely intellectual level.
Yes, she sucked at kidding herself.