Mistletoe Reunion. Anna SchmidtЧитать онлайн книгу.
because their parents were the best of friends. And yet, had he ever really looked at her until that winter’s day when he stood shivering next to his broken-down car waiting for his dad to come and rescue him?
She’d been with a gang of her girlfriends, laughing and gabbing the way teenaged girls did, when one of them had spotted him. That girl had nudged Norah and nodded in his direction. Norah had peeled away from the others and headed his way.
“Problem?” The way she said it he thought she was getting a kick out his misery.
“Not if you’ve got a set of jumper cables in your backpack,” he fired back.
Her eyes had widened in surprise. “You don’t have jumper cables?”
Tom had seen no reason to respond to the obvious. Instead of moving on, she had leaned against the car with him. “Want me to call my dad?”
“No.”
“Well, no need to be rude,” she’d muttered, then, “Oh, you called your dad.”
His father had pulled up then and produced the necessary cables to jump-start Tom’s car. “You okay from here?” he asked when the car fired and continued to idle. “I have to get back to work.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Pop.”
Norah had still been standing there after his dad drove away. “You need a ride or something?”
“Are you going home?”
Tom had sighed. “No, I thought as long as I got the thing running I’d take a drive to California. Yes, I’m going home. Get in.”
She had and then just after he’d pulled into traffic, she started laughing. This girl was laughing at Tom Wallace—student council president, varsity quarterback, on his way to university. “What?” he’d barked.
“Your ears are like Rudolph’s nose,” she’d managed. “I mean they are seriously red. They have these things now called hats, you know.”
He’d glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. She had a point. He found himself grinning and then they were both laughing.
“Here,” she said and pulled off her own knit stocking cap and pulled it over his hair and ears. Her warmth was still there in the yarn.
He’d dropped her off at her house, handed her back her hat and asked if she had a date for the winter dance. And she had answered by asking a question of her own. “Are you asking me to go with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then ask,” she’d said.
That was Norah—straightforward, self-confident, and sometimes too sure that she was in the right. Like when she refused to even consider the move to San Francisco.
“She’s coming,” Bella hissed. “Look busy.”
Over the open cover of his computer, Tom watched Norah approach. Five years. Suddenly it seemed like forever. What would he say to her after so much time? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t spoken. The one thing they had both agreed upon was that Izzy’s welfare and happiness came before any conflict or battle scars they might have with each other. But what to say face-to-face?
It had been so long since he had seen her and yet he would have recognized that graceful walk anywhere. The smile given so freely to total strangers. It suddenly struck him how much he had missed that smile. It had been hard to come by as their marriage had crumbled. Not that he had been giving her his best either. He’d been angry and hurt and looking hard for somewhere to lay the blame and guilt he felt creeping over him. He felt a little of it now, but maturity made him recognize it for what it was. Trying to make the fact they hadn’t seen each other for five long years her fault.
And now here she was not ten feet away, stopping to retrieve a child’s toy and return it with a goofy face that made the kid laugh. He had less than a minute to figure out some snappy line. His hands were shaking slightly. She looked great. She was one of those fortunate women who would age beautifully. He saw a couple of male passengers in the waiting area glance her way and felt a prick of the jealousy mixed with pride he’d always felt whenever they went somewhere together.
“Any updates?” she asked as she moved Isabella’s backpack to the floor and started to sit. He could smell the familiar perfume of her hair, her skin. He could see the little scar that ran just in front of her left ear. She glanced at him and was prepared to nod pleasantly when her eyes went wide and her body froze.
Tom gave her an uncertain smile as he basked in the sheer pleasure of being near enough to touch her after all this time. Same dark hair—different style. Sort of a tousled cap of curls. Skin—unblemished except for the two spots of high color that currently dotted her cheeks. Eyes? Ah, those eyes. The blue-green color of a clear water lake—deep enough to swim in, get lost in.
“Surprise,” he said quietly as he closed the cover of his computer.
Chapter Two
Norah could not have been more surprised if the president himself had been sitting next to her. Her lips twitched, but her voice seemed frozen as a number of catchy comebacks rocketed through her brain.
Gee, obviously the last five years have been great to you—you look…
Well, imagine this—
Tom Wallace, how long has it been? Let’s see, must be five years, three months and twelve days or something like that.
Izzy bounced to her knees on the chair to Norah’s left and rescued her. “Do you believe this? I mean what are the odds that we’d all end up in the same airport at the same time and waiting on the same plane?”
“Pretty good given the fact you knew I was coming this way, young lady,” Tom said, but his eyes never left Norah’s face.
Her gaze shifted to Isabella. “You knew?”
“Sorta, kinda,” Izzy said and looked down.
Norah blinked, her thick black lashes feathering her cheeks. “Isabella Wallace, I am surprised at you.” She realized she could not avoid acknowledging Tom’s presence forever, so she took a deep breath and plastered on her biggest smile. “How are you, Tom?” she asked as if they were former classmates who had run into each other unexpectedly.
“Good. Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “You?”
“Fine,” she said.
Isabella made a face and they both heard her sigh of frustration. The sigh brought Norah’s attention back to her daughter. “You should go to the restroom,” she said.
“Mom,” Izzy moaned. “Stop treating me like I’m eight. I know when I do and don’t have to go, okay?”
Isabella had been just about to celebrate her eighth birthday when the divorce papers arrived. Norah had had the phone in hand ready to call and put Izzy on the line so she could tell her father all about the party that Norah had arranged. In those early weeks and months she had remained in shock. It seemed impossible that she and Tom—of all people—had gone their separate ways.
The airport public address system crackled to life. “They’re calling first class,” Norah translated the garbled message and nodded toward the open door leading to the jetway.
He smiled. “I’m in coach. Busiest travel day of the year—you know how it goes.”
“You can sit with us,” Isabella said.
Simultaneously Norah and Tom opened their mouths to object to that idea.
“The plane is packed, honey,” Norah said.
“We’re running late, Bella. Let’s not complicate things,” Tom said.
Norah glanced his way, acknowledging with a slight nod of her head that he had backed her up. But then they had always been a team when it came to their daughter. The