Cole's Christmas Wish (16 page)

“Both. Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. How thoughtless of me.”

Normally, Rachel would agree. Not in this case. It was just
too...dammit, there was that word again, atypical. “It isn’t like you to forget
anything, Mom.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she asked the one question she’d been
attempting to avoid for days, “What’s going on with Dad?”

She expected a flood of over-the-top emotion, a detailed
explanation of every recent grievance—real or imagined—her father had put her
mother through and then a sobbing plea to “talk some sense into your father,
Rachel. He listens to you.”

What she got was, “He’s asked for a divorce, Rachel. I believe
he’s serious.”

For years upon years, Rachel had waited to hear these words.
Heck, during some of her parents’ particularly rough spots, she’d
prayed
to hear them. Now that she had, she found the
last thing she wanted to do was stand up and cheer.

“Tell me what happened, Mom,” she said, attempting to mask the
strange emotions
she
was experiencing. “Why does Dad
want a divorce?”

And then she leaned back in her car, closed her eyes and
listened.

Chapter Ten

T
he quote, “What a tangled web we weave,
when we first practice to deceive,” circled endlessly in Cole’s head, like the
lyrics of one of those blasted songs you couldn’t get rid of, no matter how hard
you tried. His fault, again, for many reasons. Not the least of which was
underestimating Rachel’s enthusiasm toward helping him woo his girlfriend.

Who’d have guessed she’d take to it so...passionately?

But this...well, he should have anticipated this. Even a
lame-brained idiot knew that proper proposal protocol entailed a man on one knee
with a certain piece of jewelry clutched tight in his sweaty hand. Yeah, Cole
absolutely should have seen this one coming from a mile away. It was a sad, sad
state of affairs that he hadn’t.

Thirty minutes earlier, he’d met Rachel for coffee at the
Beanery. His assumption had been that they’d chat, maybe go for a walk and she
would hightail it back to Andrew. Wrong.

Oh, they’d had the coffee. Had gone for that walk. Along the
way, she’d asked him about his proposal, about what he planned on saying to
Mary. He’d flubbed that bit up good, muttering that he hadn’t really given the
actual proposal a lot of thought yet.

Rachel had given him what could only be described as a pitying
look and dragged him here, to a jewelry store. To choose, of all things, an
engagement ring for Mary.

Cole’s father had warned him not to take his plan too far out
of bounds. He was damn confident that Paul Foster would declare buying a diamond
ring with no one to give it to as being too far out of bounds. But hell, what
was he supposed to do about that now?

The manager, an older gentleman with a receding hairline,
ushered Cole and Rachel to a glass counter on the far end of the room. “I’ve put
together a lovely selection of rings, based on our phone call yesterday,” he
said to Rachel. “If these aren’t right, we’ll look at other options.”

She’d phoned ahead? Cole mentally shook himself. Passionate?
Try vehement. He had to find a way out of this.

“Thank you,” she said somewhat absently. “I’m sure we’ll find
the perfect ring.”

“Maybe I should do this on my own.” Desperation clung to his
voice. “The ring a man gives a woman should be special, something he chooses to
reflect...um...their love and commitment and...it should be personal.” He
nodded, hoping he’d sounded convincing enough. “Yes. Better, I think, if I come
back later. By myself.”

“You’re being silly again,” she said. “We’re here now, so why
not just take a look? If you don’t find what you want, or need more time to
consider, you can return later.”

That was enough of an out for Cole. He’d look but wouldn’t buy.
Easy enough. Capitulating, he shrugged and said, “Sure. That’s okay, I
guess.”

The sales manager beamed and unlocked the display case, saying,
“Many a nervous young man comes through these doors, and I can assure you they
do much better when they have help in making their selection.”

“See, Cole? It’s good that I’m with you.” Rachel squeezed his
hand, as if offering support. Other than her insistence in bringing him here,
she’d been quieter than usual today, less sarcastic, too. Tired, maybe.

Possible reasons for her tiredness ticked off in his brain,
each one causing his stomach to spasm with acid. Hell. If she’d modeled that
nightgown for Andrew, then...
No
.

He was not allowing his thoughts to go there.

Winking, the manager brought out a long, narrow, black velvet
display sheet that held one glittering diamond ring after another. “So,” he said
with another wink, “let’s find the diamond that will make your lady swoon, shall
we?”

The following forty-five minutes were a combination of odd and
otherworldly. While not quite as uncomfortable as Cole had assumed, the
discussion surrounding each ring—from the diamond’s clarity and cut, to the
setting, to the band itself—white gold versus yellow gold versus platinum versus
titanium—left him feeling slightly on the nauseous side.

Fortunately, Rachel and the manager carried on that discussion
just fine without him. All he had to do was hold the ring, turn it over in his
fingers as if he were considering that specific ring’s merits and listen. Every
now and again, he’d toss in an “Ah,” or a “Hmm,” or an “Oh.”

A method that seemed to be working quite well. Cole wasn’t
asked for his opinion, or told to take a second look when he’d pass the ring
back to the store manager. Rachel didn’t pester him with questions about what
Mary would like or if he preferred one cut over another.

Everything was going along about as well as humanly possible,
considering the ridiculous set of circumstances Cole was in, until...well, until
the manager passed him
the
ring.

Rachel’s
ring.

And damn if he didn’t hear the sound of trumpets blaring in his
ears, feel the earth come to a grinding halt and came this-close to kneeling
down and actually proposing. God help him, please. Somehow, and he didn’t have a
clue
how,
Cole reined in his nonsensical reaction
and just stared at the ring. The perfect damn ring, right here, in his hands.
The ring he would buy, regardless of its cost, if Rachel was his to propose
to.

This time, he actually paid attention as the store manager and
Rachel went into their discussion about the ring. He heard words such as, “art
deco,” “hexagonal frame,” “hand engraved filigree crown,” “platinum setting,”
“vintage,” and “one-point-five carats.”

Huh. None of that meant anything to him. Nor, as it turned out,
did he care. His gut had identified the ring as being the right ring. That was
all that mattered to Cole.

Rachel and the manager stopped talking and waited for Cole to
make his general, not interested comment, and return the ring, like he had with
every other one.

When he didn’t, the other man chuckled. “This is the one, isn’t
it? I’d recognize that expression anywhere. A beautiful choice, young man. A
spectacular ring that any woman would be pleased and proud to wear.”

“Can I see it, Cole?” Rachel asked, her voice soft and hesitant
and warm. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. I wouldn’t want to...” Her voice
dropped off and she shrugged.

“Of course you can see the ring, Rach,” he said, handing it
over. He wasn’t actually considering
buying
the darn
thing, now was he? No. Of course not.

That would fall into the extreme end of impulse shopping.

She held the ring up for a closer view, twisting the band in
her fingers as she did. A breathy sigh escaped and her blue eyes darkened to the
same shade as the nightgown he’d about died seeing her in. That was one image
he’d never forget.

This one, too, he thought, watching her as she was now, with
her hair alight from the sunlight streaming in the store windows, her cheeks a
rosy pink, her lips a touch more red, holding the ring for which he’d give away
his last possession to see on her finger.

“Beautiful and spectacular,” she said. “I...love it. I mean,
you probably don’t care what I think, but if you do...care, that is...I love
it.”

“Try the ring on,” he said before he could think the request
through. “I...I need to see how it looks on...er...a woman’s hand.”

Blink. Blink. Pause and blink. “Oh, no. That wouldn’t be right.
Not at all.” She shook her head back and forth. “No one should put on an
engagement ring before the proposal. Bad luck.”

“I don’t believe in luck. Good or bad.” He composed his
features, unwilling to show exactly how much he wanted to see Rachel wearing the
ring he would choose for her. “Friends, remember? I helped you out at
the...mall. Help me out now. Please?”

“I really, really don’t want to.”

“Come on, Rach,” he said, going for nonchalance. “What’s the
big deal?”

“It’s a huge deal,” she whispered, looking from the ring to
him. “I... Are you sure, Cole? Are you really, really sure you want me to put on
this ring, right now?”

“I’m really, really,
really
sure.”

“Fine.” Confusion and uncertainty colored her expression.
“If...if that’s what you want.”

Her hand—hell, her entire body—visibly trembled as she brought
the ring to her right hand, as she started to slip the band on her right ring
finger.

Reaching over, he stopped her, took the ring and grasped her
left hand. “Wrong hand, Rach,” he said. He swallowed, hard, and slid the
ring—Rachel’s ring—on her finger.

And hell if he didn’t tremble a bit himself.

There. Glorious. Perfect. The way it
should
be. Every image he’d ever had of them, the past that had
actually occurred and the future he’d hoped for, flashed like a movie reel
behind his eyes. He loved this woman. He would probably always love this
woman.

But she wasn’t meant for him.

All of his prior concerns seemed silly. Meaningless. Oh, he
knew they weren’t. Not really. If Rachel loved him like he loved her, they would
have had no choice but to clear the air in order to build a steady, longstanding
foundation for their future.

In this minute, though, in this tiny speck of time, all Cole
saw was a myriad of lost opportunities. Why the hell hadn’t he said something
before? Why had he focused so much on the past, instead of taking control of the
future? Stupid. Such a stupid waste.

“I won’t be buying a ring today,” he said to the store manager.
Then, once Rachel had removed the ring and pushed it across the counter, he took
her by the hand and led her outside.

“What’s wrong, Cole?” she asked. She always could read him
rather well.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly. He couldn’t end the entire
charade, but he damn well could put part of it to rest. “I’ve changed my mind. I
won’t be proposing to...Mary.”

Every drop of color drained from Rachel’s skin. She blinked a
few times, lifted her chin and swept her gaze somewhere off to his left. “All
right,” she said in a smooth, emotionless, almost robotic voice. “Let’s talk.
Where to?”

“How does my place sound?” he asked. He was about to lie
through his teeth. Some privacy was in order, and her place wouldn’t work. Not
with Andrew in residence.

She redirected her focus to him, nodded. “That’s fine,” she
said in that same odd tempo. “I’ll drive myself and meet you there.”

* * *

Nervous butterflies flipped and flew in Rachel’s stomach
as she waited for Cole to join her in his living room. Currently, he was in the
kitchen, making them coffee. She didn’t really want any, didn’t need the
caffeine screwing with her already freaked-out system, but holding the mug would
give her something to do with her hands.

She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth,
fidgeted on the couch and tried to calm her racing heart. Had she screwed up in
taking Cole to the jewelry store? Maybe.

Her sole objective in teasing him and tormenting him with
engagement rings was to push him into admitting the truth, so he’d drop the Mary
pretense once and for all. Instead, he’d insisted she try on a ring—a beautiful,
to-die-for, every-woman’s-fantasy type of ring.

The thought of doing so had crippled her.

When he’d grabbed her left hand to slip the ring on her
himself, her legs had weakened and goose bumps had sheathed her skin. One look
at Cole, at the determination gleaming in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw,
had told her this was about to be a very important moment.

And it had been. Oh, yes. Just not in the way she’d
thought.

He hadn’t come clean. He hadn’t professed his love. And no, he
sure as heck hadn’t proposed. Rachel shivered and rubbed her arms briskly. She
hadn’t thought—not even for a second—that he was about to propose in the middle
of the jewelry store, before they’d even told each other their feelings, so the
fact he hadn’t was fine.

What wasn’t, what had chilled her and petrified her in equal
measures, were the words “I’ve changed my mind,” followed by “We need to
talk.”

She crossed her legs. Uncrossed them. And then crossed them
again.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already had plenty of adrenaline and
anxiety to deal with after yesterday and this morning’s repeated and nonstop
phone calls from her parents.

No, her father had not asked for a divorce. He had hinted at
one, however. Rachel knew this because she’d called dear-old-Dad as soon as
she’d hung up with her mom.

The details were pretty clear, actually. Dad, finally tired of
waging war with his wife, had suggested marriage counseling. Mom said no, she
didn’t want to air their “dirty laundry” in front of a stranger. That was when
Rachel’s father had hinted at a divorce.

Of course, none of that explained their penchant for drawing
Rachel into their issues. Or, she supposed, her inability to remove herself from
those issues, despite her many attempts.

They hadn’t yet asked her to return home to “mediate,” but they
would. Sooner or later. She sighed, fidgeted again. Concern for both of her
parents pooled inside, mixing with all of her other unsettled emotions. Even so,
she wouldn’t go home to mediate. Not this time.

But she couldn’t ignore what was happening, either.

Cole walked into the room, carrying two large mugs filled with
steaming coffee. He set hers on the end table closest to her and then moved to
the chair catty-corner to the sofa.

Neither spoke for a good thirty seconds, though it felt more
like an eternity. Resisting the urge to squirm, Rachel picked up her coffee and
took a small sip. Good and strong and sweet.

“Asking for your help was wrong,” Cole said, breaking the
silence, his voice heavy and deliberate. And, Rachel noted, very, very sure.
“So...I’m sorry for doing that. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my...romantic
dilemma.”

“You don’t need to apologize for asking a friend for help,”
Rachel said. She gripped her cup tighter, striving for balance. “At the jewelry
store, you said you’d changed your mind. I thought you wanted to talk about
that. Is...is this about something else?”