Santa Brought A Son. Melissa Mcclone

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      Her face glowed with a radiance Reed didn’t remember. Must be the lighting. No one could look that good.

      “Thank you,” she said.

      Patrick’s red cheeks brought back so many memories about Samantha for Reed. His senior year he’d hacked into the school computer system to get her class schedule. The first day back at school he’d managed to “bump” into her between every class, but more than once he’d been too shy to say anything but hello. He’d been so pathetic. At least that was in the past.

      Reed sat, leaving an empty seat between him and Samantha. The smart thing to do, he told himself, even though the idea of sitting next to Art Wilson—the man who had tormented him through high school and married the girl of Reed’s teenaged dreams—didn’t thrill him, but he was an adult and no longer in a losing competition. He could handle it. And Art.

      Samantha picked up her flute of champagne. “Wasn’t the ceremony lovely?”

      “I cried,” Claire admitted.

      “You cry during commercials. Even when you aren’t pregnant.” Jenn laughed. “The bridesmaid dresses are gorgeous.”

      “They are beautiful, but now you can see why I told Kelli no when she asked me to be a bridesmaid?” Claire patted her big-enough-to-burst belly. “I’m much too big to prance around in a sexy bridesmaid dress.”

      “You’re all baby.” Wes’s voice, so soft and full of affection, was a 180 degrees different from when he used to talk like Commander Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation. “You look beautiful.”

      Claire shrugged. “Thanks, but I didn’t want an album of wedding party pictures showing how ‘beautiful’ and big I look.”

      “These are nice.” Dan adjusted the centerpiece, a small pine wreath circling a vanilla-scented candle. “I can’t wait to see what you do for our wedding, Samantha.”

      “She won’t be able to top what she did at ours,” Wes admitted while Claire agreed.

      Samantha’s eyes reflected her gratitude. “Thanks, but I only did what Kelli and Mark wanted done.”

      Reed watched the exchange in amazement. The entire table acted as if they were friends, not acquaintances. He didn’t get it. Samantha would have never been caught dead talking to any of these guys in high school. She had been nice to him and treated him differently from others who weren’t in her clique. She’d made him feel special, but he’d helped her pass all her freshman and sophomore math and science courses. He’d believed friendship had grown from the tutoring. They’d been an odd pair—the beauty and brain—sharing their dreams for the future and what they wanted out of life. They had exchanged letters once he left for college until spring break of his sophomore year when they’d become lovers and the truth about how she felt—or rather didn’t feel—about him came out.

      The DJ announced the arrival of the bride and groom, Mr. and Mrs. Mark Slayter, and the wedding guests clapped. A harpist took over from the carolers, and a sit-down prime rib dinner was served. The conversation never lagged. Reed’s friends wanted to know about his job and life in Boston. After that, stories about their high school days and being pathetic geeks kept them entertained. Samantha didn’t talk much.

      He stared at her. She was so elegant, so stunning. His gaze drifted to her lips. He remembered every contour, every detail of those soft lips, even her taste. He remembered so much more about her, about the days and the night they had spent together. Too bad it hadn’t meant the same to her as it had to him. Reed reached for his glass of ice water.

      What he needed was a strong dose of reality. Something to remind him Samantha was no longer on the market and put an end to the fantasy forming in his mind.

      “Where’s Art?” Reed asked her. “At home with the kids?”

      Everyone at the table stared at Samantha. Not even the crystal-handled cake knife could cut through the tension.

      Wes started to speak, but Samantha interrupted him. “I—it’s okay. I’ll do it.”

      “Do what?” Reed asked, feeling like the last one to learn a worm virus was about to destroy his hard drive.

      She toyed with the edge of her napkin. “Art was involved in a motorcycle accident three years ago, and his injuries were too severe. He died.”

      Reed felt as if he’d been punched in the solar plexus. He also felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

      “You had no reason to know.”

      But he should have known. Reed glanced at her bare ring finger. How could he not have noticed before? Why hadn’t he asked about Art earlier? But then again, Reed had believed Samantha was living a happily ever after like she’d dreamed about. “You doing okay?”

      The question sounded ridiculous once the words were out, but he’d felt compelled to say something.

      Her steady gaze met his. “I’m doing fine.”

      Fine.

      Samantha deserved better than that. But it wasn’t up to him to give it to her. He knew that, both logically and realistically. Art might be out of the picture, but so was Reed. His flight was leaving tomorrow. His life was in Boston.

      But you’re here now.

      So what? He’d come to Fernville to have fun. He wasn’t looking for a second chance. Maybe a fling…

      Samantha rose. “The lights on the tree are flickering. I need to fix them.”

      “Want some help?” Patrick asked.

      “Thanks, but it’s happened before and I know what to do.”

      As Samantha walked away, Claire sighed. “Come on, you guys. Don’t make her do it alone.”

      “Reed?” Jenn suggested.

      “Be right back.” Reed stood. He should have done this on his own. Proactive, not reactive. That’s how he handled things now, but around Samantha he felt a little unsure and awkward, reminding him of his high school days. It didn’t make sense.

      Standing at the tree, she tightened the miniature bulbs.

      “Can I help?” he asked.

      “No, thanks.” She didn’t glance up. “I’ve got it under control.”

      Reed wished he could say the same. He touched one of the crystal hearts on the tree. Time to pull himself together. Samantha shouldn’t have him reverting to his former insecurities. Okay, she was beautiful, but he’d dated beautiful women before. Must be guilt over bringing up Art. It couldn’t be anything else. “I wanted to apologize for what I said back at the table.”

      “No need.”

      “I’m still sorry.” He checked for a loose bulb on the string of lights. “I would never want to cause you any pain.”

      “Now that’s a good one.”

      Her bitterness surprised him. СКАЧАТЬ