Forever This Time (7 page)

Not her, that's who.

The only thing she could do was put on her ultra-cooperative face and wait for whatever tasks he doled out.

Empty the trash bins?
Sure, Ethan.

Pour Slush-Bombs until my fingers ache?
You bet
.

Muck out reindeer stalls?
Absolutely. No problem.

She took a deep breath. She could do this. It was only for the weekend. Dad was bound to be on the mend by tomorrow, and she could be on her way back to Boston. Everyone would be happier that way.

Especially Ethan.

She started walking up the pathway to Elf Central. Whatever he had in store for her, she'd nod and smile and do her time.

It would be fine.

*   *   *

“You want me to do
what
?” Two minutes later, she found out
exactly
what he had in store for her. Holding up the hanger Ethan had pointed her toward, Josie felt her mouth gape open.

“You heard me.” Ethan's voice was bland and humorless, and he hadn't even looked up from his computer for more than a quick glance when she'd walked in.

“Santa.”

“You said you wanted to help, and Diana said to put you to work. This is work.”

Josie tried not to stare at the muscled arms leaning on the desk, or at the pecs straining his polo shirt. Dammit, why did he still have to look so … good?

Even while resentment and irritation practically vibrated from his body, she hated the unrelenting desire she had to run her hands over his chest, to see if her head still rested in the same spot when they hugged … to see if his hand came up to cradle it there like it always had.

She shook her head, holding the costume up in front of her. “It's huge.”

“Roll up the cuffs.”

“It's, like, ninety degrees out there. Is it air-conditioned?” Josie weighed the distinct advantage of disappearing into a costume and away from Ethan against the very real possibility of heat stroke.

Ethan pointed to the window thermometer, again without looking up from his computer. “Only eighty-three.”

“If I die of heat stroke in front of Rudolph's Ridiculous Reindeer Ride, you're going to have that on your conscience.”

She waited for a response, but there was nothing except the clicking of his mouse. She fought the urge to growl. Sending her out in a Santa suit was worse than asking her to shovel reindeer poo and he knew it.

Knew it and was probably grinning inside right now, the jerk.

Fine. She'd wear the damn costume. At least then she wouldn't have to sit here in this office. Wouldn't have to try not to stare at Ethan. Wouldn't have to wonder whether his hands were still as good as she remembered. Or his lips.

She shook her head. What was the
matter
with her? She kicked off the sneakers she'd dug out of her suitcase this morning, then held up the big red pants, still not growling. She pulled them over her khaki shorts and hauled the belt buckle to the last hole, but the waistband slid down her thighs.

Ethan pointed at the closet behind Dad's desk. “Stuffing's in the closet. And it's Rudolph's Razzamatazz. I imagine you remember that, though.”

“How could I forget?” Josie muttered as she opened the closet door and pulled out three small pillows. She stuffed them into the waistband, then pulled the red and white jacket top on, but it was all discombobulated. In the air-conditioned office she was already hot. Out on the park's pathways, she was going to turn into a poached Santa in ten minutes flat.

She twisted in the costume. “How does this thing work?”

“Zipper goes in back.”

She looked down at the front of the costume. “Who makes a costume that zips in the back?” He shrugged. “How in the world do you get this thing zipped, then?”

“You have to put it on backward, zip it from the inside, then spin it around and stick your arms in. That's how Andy does it.”

“Well, of course.” She fought not to raise her eyebrows or snarl at him. He was already enjoying this just a little bit too much. Once she wrangled the stupid costume around, she adjusted the hat and looked back at Ethan, who was still staring at his computer. “All right. I'm off.”

“Don't forget the beard.” He pointed at Andy's desk. “Top drawer, left side.”

Josie pulled open the metal drawer and found a pile of self-sticking moustache-beard combinations. “Oh, no way. He doesn't have a nonstick version?”

“Dunno.”

Right.
She'd be willing to bet he knew exactly where the nonstick version was. “I can't glue one of these things on my face.”

“Too delicate?” His eyebrows curved upward as he looked up at her for the first time, eyes sparking in challenge.

“Fine. I'll put it on.” She faced the little mirror tacked to the inside of the closet door, pressing the moustache and beard to her face. Ouch. She'd be lucky if they didn't melt to her face in today's heat.

Gathering her dad's basket of candy canes, she paused to roll up the pant legs of the costume, then headed for the door. “Maybe you could call 911 if I'm not back in a couple of hours?”

Ethan gave a single wave, still not looking up. “Have a happy ho-ho day, Josie.”

*   *   *

“What does Sno-Cone Sally look like, anyway?” Kirsten's tinkly laugh filtered through the phone Sunday morning as Josie sat on a hard-backed chair in the costume closet tying closed the waist of neon-green pants. Yesterday, Santa. Today, Ethan had her on the schedule as the super-round, super-bright character she'd hated the most as a teenager. Anything to keep her out of the office, she assumed. He had to be earning back some serious karma points for the misery he was inducing with these costumes.

She looked down at the bright orange clown sneakers she had to put on next, right before she donned the ten-pound, Sno-Cone-shaped head with two teeny eyeholes. “You really don't want to know what Sally looks like. Could give you nightmares.”

“How's your dad?”

“They moved him to a step-down unit, so that's good news. He's not communicating yet, though, so it's hard to tell how … how he's going to be.” Josie grunted as she stuffed her foot into one of the clown shoes, trying not to picture her dad lying in a bed, unable to talk. “How's everything there?”

“Umm, pretty okay.”

Alarm bells rang in Josie's chest. “Not a confidence-inspiring answer, partner.”

“Everything's fine. Just normal full-moon stuff.”

Josie recognized the evasive answer for what it was, but didn't want to push. The last thing Kirsten needed was to feel like Josie didn't think she could handle things on her own. “You'll let me know if you need me, right?”

“Gotcha on speed-dial.”

“So no emergencies? Are you sure? You don't need me to bust out of this costume and come back, like, stat?”

Kirsten laughed. “I've got things handled here for now. You stay up there and be with your family. I can manage for the next few days. If it goes longer, we'll just have to figure something out. Cross that bridge when we come to it.”

There was a long pause. “And as your therapist, I highly recommend you spend less time in costume and more time at the hospital with your dad.”

“You're awfully blunt for a therapist. And you're
not
my therapist.”

“Best friend. Same thing.” Another long pause. “Things weren't always awful, right? Maybe being with him could help you remember the good times, too. And understand each other.”

Josie gave a short, bitter laugh. “Excellent advice—for someone else. I'm sorry, Kirsten, but I have no desire to go strolling down memory lane here.”

“Just think about it. That's all.” Kirsten clicked off, leaving Josie sitting on the bench with seven shades of neon and a giant head.

No, she definitely wasn't heading down memory lane here … because her version of it was paved with broken glass, broken promises … and broken hearts.

 

Chapter 8

“So I hear Princess is really back at Camp Ho-Ho.” Molly delivered Ethan's burger and fries, then set a plate of lasagna down in front of his dad.

“That she is.” It was Sunday night, and they were sitting at Bellinis having a pub version of a home-cooked meal. Between his time at Avery's House and extra hours at the park this weekend, Ethan hadn't had time to go grocery shopping, and the cupboards at Chez Miller were getting pretty bare. Mama Bellini's cooking outweighed the risk of the third degree he'd known he'd get from Molly, but he was already wishing he'd come in on her night off instead.

“Who's Princess?” Pops poured ketchup on his lasagna before Ethan had a chance to stop him.

“Josie.”

“Oh. The one who ruined your life.”

Molly snorted. “That's one way of putting it.” She leaned over and pilfered one of Ethan's French fries. “So how's it been? What's she been doing? Is it totally awkward?”

Ethan tapped his father's fork so he'd know which utensil to pick up. He was having one of his good days, but little things like that were starting to fade from his memory bank. It killed Ethan to watch, but so far they were taking it day by day, figuring it out as they went.

“Awkward does not even begin to describe it.”

“I can't believe she's been there all weekend.”

“Diana insisted she be at the park, not the hospital. Practically begged me to find a way to keep her busy so Josie wouldn't have to sit in the waiting room.”

“Well, we wouldn't want Her Highness to be uncomfortable now, would we?”

“Not nice, Mols.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I'm not paid to be nice.”

“Actually, I pay you quite nicely to be nice.”

“Not here you don't. I use up all my
nice
at Avery's House. This pub is
my
territory.”

“And besides, you're a Bellini?”

“Exactly. Nice is practically a liability in this family.” Molly motioned him farther into the booth so she could perch on the edge. “So really, how's it going?”

“Are you asking as the town gossip? Or as my friend?”

Molly put her hand to her chest in mock insult. “I am
not
the town gossip!”

Pops looked up and grinned. “No, that job's already taken by her mother.”

“You be quiet, Pops.” Molly pointed a French fry his way.

“It's fine,” Ethan finally answered. “Fine, but weird.”

“What has she been doing? Is she in the office with you? She's not in the office, right?” She shook her head. “No, that would be beyond awkward.”

“She's been … out in costume both days.”

“In costume? In this heat? Are you trying to kill her?”

“I think it's mutual avoidance at this point.”

No need to point out that he'd engineered said avoidance with creative scheduling.

“You planning to use that strategy till she leaves?”

“Maybe. It's working so far.”

“So no come-to-Jesus meetings? No confessions? No late-night apologies for dropping you like a hot potato and disappearing in a puff of smoke?”

Ethan raised one eyebrow. “Not that we'll be dramatic.”

“I'm just asking.” Molly shrugged. “I mean, how do you spend two days with your former fiancée and
not
discuss things? I don't get it.”

“She's barely spoken since Friday, Mols.” He dipped a fry in his ketchup, trying not to give away how painful it'd been to
not
talk to the woman he'd once envisioned his entire future around. “It's in the past. Talking about it now won't change what happened. There's no point.”

Right.
Maybe if he said it enough times he could force himself to believe he meant it.

She shook her head. “I still don't buy it. It never made sense. One day things were all roses and sunshine, and then Avery, and then boom! Gone.”

“We both know her life was hardly roses and sunshine. She had a lot to handle that summer. Maybe she finally just broke.”

“Well,
you
handled it.”

“I wasn't dealing with the kind of stuff she was dealing with.”

“No.” Molly's jaw went tight. “You were just dealing with an injury that changed your entire life plan. And then Avery.”

“You know that doesn't begin to compare. But talking about it isn't going to change what happened. It'll just bring up a lot of—stuff that neither of us wants to relive. There's no point.”

Molly sighed, shaking her head. “I have been training you for years, and still you are nothing but a hopeless man. Sure you don't want to marry me and show her you haven't been waiting around for her to return?”

“Sorry. I've heard you're off the market. Newest wonder on Italian match dot—ow!” Ethan ducked as Molly whacked his head with her order pad.

She slid out of the booth, stealing one last fry as she did so. “That's
it.
I'm putting your singles profile live as soon as I get out of here tonight.”

As she flounced back to the kitchen, Ethan turned back to his dad, who was shoveling the last of his lasagna into his mouth.
Of course
he wanted to sit Josie down and see if he could finally understand what had sent her flying off in the middle of the night. Of course he thought he deserved an explanation after all this time.

But even though it'd been ten years, he knew that no one besides Josie made Josie talk. There was no way he was going to force the issue, no matter how hard he tried. If he tried to push, the only thing he'd accomplish would be to scare her back away.

Not that that would be a bad thing, necessarily.

Pops was sopping the last of his tomato sauce up with a roll, and Ethan enjoyed the mundane ordinariness of the action for a moment before he spoke. “So Pops, what should we do tonight?”