The Giving Season (13 page)

But now she was freaking out just because a handsome man wanted to kiss her. She couldn’t just relax and enjoy the moment or the attention. She couldn’t just accept the thought that he might possibly be physically attracted to her. For all the pining and whining she’d done in her life, she couldn’t believe that a man like Michael might actually see and like the person beneath all the weight.

And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Michael or to herself.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered, lowering her head. “I’ve been so—I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he asked softly, the faintest of smiles on his lips. He tipped up her chin, gently lifting her gaze back to his. “Jess—?”

“I’m just—” Jessy’s eyes shone with tears. She shrugged, unable to find the right words. “I’m just weird.”

Michael couldn’t help but chuckle as he gathered Jessy into his arms, holding her close as he smoothed down her hair and gently rubbed her back. He felt her stiffen beneath his hand, as though she didn’t want to be touched, but he refused to stop, allowing his hand to roam up and down the length and width of her back. He knew why she was so skittish. Everything, sooner or later, seemed to come back to her weight.

It frustrated him to no end. Her weight was the last thing on his mind, and now that he was finally holding her, he realized that her size had nothing at all to do with the way his body was responding to her. She felt so soft, so comforting and warm as her body seemed to mold itself against his. He pulled her closer, the plushness of her breasts pressing full against his chest, and he felt a rush of desire that nearly blindsided him in its intensity. And if he had understood her correctly, the knowledge that she had no idea how deeply she affected him emotionally as well as physically, made him want her all the more.

But he couldn’t take advantage of her innocence. She trusted him enough to be bluntly honest about her lack of experience, risking humiliation just so he wouldn’t be disappointed—as if such a thing were possible. She trusted him enough to cry in front of him, to lower her guard enough to weep quietly in his arms. The fact that he could even have such intensely sexual feelings about her at this moment made him feel vaguely guilty. And surprised at himself. Since the divorce, his sex drive had crept along at neutral. He’d had zero interest in dating anyone, zero interest in casual affairs. He liked sex, of course, and had enjoyed it immensely while he was still married—but that was exactly the problem. He couldn’t just drift into a “wham-bam-thank you ma’am” kind of one-night stand. He had to be in love with the woman. Maybe that made him a prude, but he couldn’t help it and refused to change it. He had been raised to believe that sex was the ultimate gift two people who loved each other could share. It was a serious commitment with serious consequences, and it was something he refused to enter into lightly.

But here he was, comforting a woman he’d come to care deeply for as a friend, a woman he might not have even noticed had the situation been different, and he was so aroused by her that he didn’t dare to even move. Years of a monk-like existence had come screeching to a halt—and all because of this shy, unassuming woman who had only kissed two men in her life.

“You okay?” he whispered, sliding his chin along the silkiness of her hair. She sighed deeply, and the hot rush of breath against his throat was nearly his undoing.

“I’m fine.” Jessy raised her head from his shoulder, sniffing as she wiped at her eyes and shakily smiled. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Michael smiled and drew the backs of his fingers along her wet cheek. “Besides, you look pretty when you cry.”

Jessy laughed self-consciously and playfully slapped at his arm. “Liar.”

“I’d prefer the term ‘sweet-talker,’ thank you.”

“Do you always know the exact right thing to say?”

Michael studied her for a moment. If that were true, then he would have already told her how he felt about her—and she might have already bolted.

“No,” he finally said, smile fading slightly. “Not always.”

He couldn’t stop staring at her mouth, the perfectly sculpted shape of her lips, the faint blush of color that no lipstick could ever duplicate. In that brief kiss they’d shared earlier, he’d discovered that her lips were almost unbelievably soft and pliant. Her kisses alone could bring a man to his knees.

But not just any man. He didn’t want to think of Jessy with anyone else. Damn it, he felt territorial now. 

“I need to ask you something,” Michael said softly.

Jessy smiled almost nervously. “Okay—”

“Would you mind if I kissed you again?”

“What?”

“Would you mind if I kissed you again,” Michael repeated quietly, reaching up to smooth back an unruly wave of hair from Jessy’s cheek. She had the softest skin he’d ever touched. “A real kiss this time.”

“But I don’t—”

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered as he gently lowered his lips to hers again, kissing her with the slow tenderness he sensed that she needed. She shyly responded, tentatively returning his kiss, her hands fluttering lightly against his chest. He felt her relax against him, sensing that she was slowly growing more comfortable with his touch, more confident of her own ability. He felt as if he could kiss her for hours, that despite his earlier desire for more, he could be perfectly happy just holding her, touching her—

But first he had to tell her how he was beginning to feel about her. No matter what the consequences.

He broke away from the kiss, reluctantly lifting his head so that he could see her face, gauge her reaction. She gazed up at him with the most innocent, most trusting eyes he had ever seen, so completely different than—

“Ann,” he muttered aloud, wincing as he fell back against the hay bale. He laced his fingers behind his neck, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his upraised knees. “Oh, my God—”

If ever a moment could be shattered—

“
Ann?
” Jessy said quietly.

Michael’s distracted gaze snapped back to hers.“If she knew about this—with us—” Michael closed his eyes again, scrubbing at his face as he sighed deeply.

Jessy went cold, thinking of the conversation she’d had with Ann on Thanksgiving. “What do you mean?”

Michael shrugged helplessly. “My relationship with her is—complicated.”

“Complicated,” Jessy said tonelessly. “Okay.”

“When we divorced, she didn’t contest custody of the kids. She wanted to work in Chicago and the kids didn’t fit into that.” Michael looked at Jessy again. “We’ve had a pretty peaceful agreement about the kids, at least. She knows they’re happy here, and she’s welcome to visit anytime she wants.”

“That’s—civil of you both.” Jessy thought of Ann’s words. They still had a relationship. For all intents and purposes, they were still together.

“It’s for the kids’ sake, more than anything else.” Michael took Jessy’s hands in his, thumbs lightly stroking across her knuckles, his voice as soft as his touch. Jessy had to fight the urge to pull her hands away from him. It felt wrong.

“I have to ask you this—” The words bubbled up and out before Jessy could stop them. “Do you still have feelings for Ann?”

Michael said nothing for a moment, and to Jessy, that said it all. He looked away from her, let her hands slip out of his.

“Honestly? Yeah—I did. For a long time, I did.”

Jessy felt her heart shatter. She should have known. She should have seen this coming. Why she ever thought for a moment things could have turned out differently—

“Okay,” she managed to say, struggling to paste a smile on her face. “I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Michael took her hand again, lacing his fingers with hers. “Things changed.”

“They don’t change just like
that.”
Jessy pulled away from him and stood up. She had to put some distance between them.

“What’s going on, Jess?”

“What about Ann?” she asked quietly, forcing herself to keep his gaze.

“Ann’s always going to be a part of my life because of the kids, but—”

“But you haven’t let her go, have you?” Jessy saw a shadow of guilt drift across Michael’s face.  

“Jessy—”

“No—don’t tell me. It’s none of my business.” Jessy looked away from him, swallowing hard as she stared at her hands, feeling silly and stupid and hurt and irrationally betrayed.

“We were married for a long time—”

“Michael, please—don’t.” Jessy could actually feel herself hollowing out inside, could feel her heart tightening, aching. It felt as if everything was ending before it even had a chance to begin. “So—what happens now?”

“What do you want to happen?”

“I want you to keep your kids.”

“What about us?”

“All we did was kiss,” Jessy said, sighing as she looked back to him again. “We can leave it at that and walk away.”

Michael remained silent, his gaze so penetrating that Jessy almost couldn’t speak. She swallowed hard, thinking of a thousand reasons to just allow herself to be swept up in a relationship that had the potential to be everything she’d ever dreamed. But every one of those reasons seemed to be rooted in selfishness. No matter how much she cared for Michael, no matter how lonely she had been before she met him, she could not—
would
not—put her own needs ahead of the kids’. They needed a father. And Michael needed them.

“I think we have to.”

Michael slowly nodded his head, biting at his lower lip. “So—is that how it’s going to be then? We just walk away from it now, stay friendly, and then you leave us after Christmas?”

The pain in his voice was masked by a low, sarcastic anger. But Jessy wouldn’t be swayed. It would be better this way, ending it now before it could begin.

“I’m sorry, Michael—”

“Yeah,” Michael said roughly, abruptly getting to his feet. “Me, too.”

He crossed the room without another word, climbing down the ladder without looking back. Jessy watched him go, wishing with all her heart that everything could have been different.

But it wasn’t. And the sooner she accepted that, the better.

Jessy watched the sunrise from her bedroom window.
A fresh layer of snow blanketed the rolling hills, marred only by the line of footprints Michael had made on his way out to the barn. Every day since he’d brought her home she had gotten up to have coffee with him after he finished the chores. She’d loved those hours they spent together in the mornings. By dawn they’d be on their third cup of coffee, comfortable in their friendship, their easy companionship. 

It had been a long night. She’d managed to avoid him after that kiss in the barn yesterday, and he seemed to be staying out of her way as well. It was just so hard to face him now. Knowing what she knew, she couldn’t act like nothing was wrong, like the thought of Michael and Ann together didn’t give her heart a vicious twist.

But they needed to be together. The sad thing was that Jessy had ever thought for a moment that she might have had a chance.

She turned away from the window and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dresser mirror. Usually she could almost forget how big she really was, pushing the reality of her weight into an abstract concern. Even though her size influenced every aspect of her life from the clothes she wore to the way she sat down, she could usually manage to deny that she was as big as she really was.

But not now. Now she felt every ounce of her weight, saw every flaw. She looked wide and bulging in her flannel nightgown. And to think that once upon a time she’d believed that maybe one day she would meet someone who would see her good qualities before he saw her flaws.

The one night she had spent with Charlie, he’d had to get drunk before he could bear to make love to her. And she couldn’t call what they’d done making love. She’d been a virgin, scared to death, sick with fear that he’d look at her and be disgusted. And he’d been so drunk that she could have been anyone. To say it was perfunctory would be generous to Charlie. For her, it was painful in every way possible.

But the next morning, when Charlie had woken up, he had looked at her and been horrified. Even though he had tried to hide it, she saw the truth in his eyes. She would never be anybody’s idea of beautiful or desirable or sexy. He got away from her as fast as he could, apologizing profusely without looking her in the eyes, and they’d never discussed that night again. He seemed to forget about it by the next day.

But Jessy thought of it every time she looked at her body. How must she have looked to him? How must she look to Michael?

A knock startled her out of her thoughts. Michael opened the door before she could jump back into bed or grab a robe, and for a moment all she could do was stand there in mortified silence as they stared at each other.

“Sorry,” Michael muttered, looking away as Jessy snatched up a heavy chenille robe and slipped it on, embarrassment reddening her cheeks.

“What do you want?” The words came out wrong, sounding far more abrupt than intended, but she didn’t apologize. She pushed her hair over her shoulders and tried not to look as awkward as she felt.

“I couldn’t sleep last night.” Michael looked at her again. His eyes were dark-ringed, his cheeks unshaven, his dark hair dusted with melting snowflakes. “I couldn’t stop thinking about—everything.”

Jessy needed something to do, something to keep her busy so she wouldn’t have to face Michael directly. Without a word she began to make up the bed, hoping that he didn’t notice how she had also tossed and turned and messed up the covers. She hadn’t been able to sleep, either; every time she closed her eyes, she saw Michael and Ann together, talking—laughing—making love. 

Michael sat down at the windowseat, silent as he watched Jessy make up the bed. Jessy didn’t look at him, but she knew all too well that he was staring at her. She knew how thick her waist must look to him as she kept her back to him, how broad her hips were as she leaned over the bed. For an instant she wanted to scream at him to stop looking at her, stop comparing her to Ann.

“What happened with us?” he finally asked, his voice a rough whisper.