a fairy tale. It leads to a lifetime of responsibility—kids, a house, car payments, college expenses.”
“I’m sure it was hard raising your siblings but you’ve done a great job. Aren’t you proud?”
She had no idea how badly he’d messed that up. Especially his little sister Samantha, who rebelled every blessed chance she got. “Love is a luxury for teenagers who have time to be moony about it,” Brad said. “For everyone else it leads to harsh realities.”
“I don’t care what you say. Love is magical. The feeling when it’s right is the best, most perfect feeling in the world, and you have no choice but do everything in your power to make it work.”
Brad hadn’t understood that at nineteen. He’d been too overwhelmed by work, by the feeling that his own future was on hold for his family. What could he have offered her, when her life was beginning to soar and his was grounded by financial and family burdens and cares? He would only have dragged her down.
What they had way back then had been special, but they’d been kids. He wondered what she thought about it. But he couldn’t go there—it was too personal, too deep.
Or maybe it was just too damn scary.
He adjusted the nearly empty bottle so Annabelle didn’t swallow air. “Frankly, I’m surprised you think that way after your mom took off.”
He had little recollection of Olivia’s mother. But his grandmother had told him she’d been an archaeologist who’d felt suffocated in Mirror Lake. One day she left for a dig in Rome, met a guy there, and never came back for as much as a stitch of clothing or a single possession.
And definitely not for her two little girls.
“Maybe that made me believe in it even more,” Olivia said. “I constantly dreamed of what life would be like if she suddenly decided she couldn’t live without us, if she came back.”
She kicked off her shoes and sighed. A simple movement, but it fascinated him, like so much else about her. Much to his chagrin.
“The fairy tale never lasts. Like what we had in high school.” He shouldn’t have brought it up. But part of him needed to know, did she feel like he had back then? Or had he just embellished it for all these years?
Olivia removed the ice pack and sat up a little. Their gazes locked. Bridal Aisle fell away. Had any woman—and there’d been plenty—ever possessed the ability to stop him dead in his shoes like she did, with that clear, honest gaze that drilled right through all his bullshit with a single glance?
“That was first love,” she finally said, her voice low and quiet.
“What’s your verdict on that?”
She shrugged. “It was wonderful, intense, scary, and . . . I was completely swept off my feet.”
Loving her had been a wild, uncontrolled, crazy ride. He’d put his whole heart out there, gave her everything he had. It had been an impossible love from the start, between a brainy girl who was going places and a hack like him, barely getting by in school. But somehow it was magic.
When he’d visited her that first fall at NYU, he’d been as out of place as a Picasso in an antique shop. By Christmas, they’d become more uncomfortable around one another. She talked of studying abroad and internships in the City with publishing companies. He hadn’t even considered college a possibility with his family’s financial status teetering as precariously as a high wire in a big wind.
That Christmas, she’d come home. It was snowing, and they’d gone for a walk in the town square. The Christmas tree that she’d always loved was decorated and lit, right next to the big white gazebo where bands played and kids caroled. Where he’d first kissed her when they were seventeen.
But that year, all she talked about was the millions of lights on the Rockefeller Center tree, how huge it was, how it was the greatest tree she’d ever seen. That—yes, that simple comment—was the beginning of the end.
Her dreams were as big as that
“I’m sure it was hard raising your siblings but you’ve done a great job. Aren’t you proud?”
She had no idea how badly he’d messed that up. Especially his little sister Samantha, who rebelled every blessed chance she got. “Love is a luxury for teenagers who have time to be moony about it,” Brad said. “For everyone else it leads to harsh realities.”
“I don’t care what you say. Love is magical. The feeling when it’s right is the best, most perfect feeling in the world, and you have no choice but do everything in your power to make it work.”
Brad hadn’t understood that at nineteen. He’d been too overwhelmed by work, by the feeling that his own future was on hold for his family. What could he have offered her, when her life was beginning to soar and his was grounded by financial and family burdens and cares? He would only have dragged her down.
What they had way back then had been special, but they’d been kids. He wondered what she thought about it. But he couldn’t go there—it was too personal, too deep.
Or maybe it was just too damn scary.
He adjusted the nearly empty bottle so Annabelle didn’t swallow air. “Frankly, I’m surprised you think that way after your mom took off.”
He had little recollection of Olivia’s mother. But his grandmother had told him she’d been an archaeologist who’d felt suffocated in Mirror Lake. One day she left for a dig in Rome, met a guy there, and never came back for as much as a stitch of clothing or a single possession.
And definitely not for her two little girls.
“Maybe that made me believe in it even more,” Olivia said. “I constantly dreamed of what life would be like if she suddenly decided she couldn’t live without us, if she came back.”
She kicked off her shoes and sighed. A simple movement, but it fascinated him, like so much else about her. Much to his chagrin.
“The fairy tale never lasts. Like what we had in high school.” He shouldn’t have brought it up. But part of him needed to know, did she feel like he had back then? Or had he just embellished it for all these years?
Olivia removed the ice pack and sat up a little. Their gazes locked. Bridal Aisle fell away. Had any woman—and there’d been plenty—ever possessed the ability to stop him dead in his shoes like she did, with that clear, honest gaze that drilled right through all his bullshit with a single glance?
“That was first love,” she finally said, her voice low and quiet.
“What’s your verdict on that?”
She shrugged. “It was wonderful, intense, scary, and . . . I was completely swept off my feet.”
Loving her had been a wild, uncontrolled, crazy ride. He’d put his whole heart out there, gave her everything he had. It had been an impossible love from the start, between a brainy girl who was going places and a hack like him, barely getting by in school. But somehow it was magic.
When he’d visited her that first fall at NYU, he’d been as out of place as a Picasso in an antique shop. By Christmas, they’d become more uncomfortable around one another. She talked of studying abroad and internships in the City with publishing companies. He hadn’t even considered college a possibility with his family’s financial status teetering as precariously as a high wire in a big wind.
That Christmas, she’d come home. It was snowing, and they’d gone for a walk in the town square. The Christmas tree that she’d always loved was decorated and lit, right next to the big white gazebo where bands played and kids caroled. Where he’d first kissed her when they were seventeen.
But that year, all she talked about was the millions of lights on the Rockefeller Center tree, how huge it was, how it was the greatest tree she’d ever seen. That—yes, that simple comment—was the beginning of the end.
Her dreams were as big as that
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