Maybe This Kiss Read online

  Maybe This Kiss

  Jennifer Snow

  New York Boston

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  A Preview of MAYBE THIS TIME

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Jennifer Snow

  You Might Also Like…

  Newsletters

  Copyright

  To my brother, Charles—you are selfless and brave and I’m so proud to call you my “big” brother;) I may be older in years, but you’ve always been the protector, and our country is lucky to have you.

  Chapter 1

  The puck was flying straight toward her face, and for a brief second, Becky considered letting it hit her. She could use the forced nap, she thought, shifting in front of the goalie net as the puck drew closer. But losing wasn’t the Westmore way, and in the last second before it hit her, she raised her gloved hand and swiped the puck out of the air and back onto the ice.

  Glancing at the scoreboard she saw there were ten minutes left in the last period of the amateur hockey league game. Only ten more minutes, then she was refusing to fill in for the regular goalie again. She was a thirty-two-year-old single mom with a to-do list that only grew at the end of each day; she didn’t have time for this.

  Watching her brother Jackson steal the puck from the Fort Collins Renegades’ offensemen, she relaxed a little, knowing the puck would be the other goalie’s problem for a while.

  She was right. They may as well have pulled her for the remaining minutes, as she hadn’t had to block any more shots from the Renegades.

  When the last buzzer rang, she rushed to line up with her team. “Good game, good game…” she repeated all the way down through the players, who grumbled not so quietly about an unfair win.

  She couldn’t fault their annoyance. With Jackson, a former NHL hopeful, on the team, no one else had much of a chance against the Glenwood Falls Hurricanes. Division champs for four years in a row, she wondered when the league would pass a motion banning her brother from playing.

  Accepting a high five from him now, she said, “That’s it—I’m done. Do not ask me to play any more this season.”

  He led the way off of the ice. “Oh, come on, you love to play.”

  Removing her gloves, she shook her head, the slightly too big goalie helmet rattling around her ears. “No. You love to play hockey. I’m always forced to fill in because none of you jerks want to be goalie. It was same when we were kids,” she said, referring to him and her two other brothers, who had made it to the NHL. “I took one for the team then, and I took one for the Hurricanes whenever needed now, but I’m serious, Jackson. It’s December first.”

  “Ah, the month from hell begins. You do this to yourself, you know. You take on everything and anything and then spend the month complaining about how you don’t get to enjoy the season like everyone else.”

  Part of that was true, but it wasn’t as though she had a choice. In addition to her own holiday preparations, she was head of Widows of Heroes—a division of Operation Homefront that provided funding and care to military families as well as wives and children of emergency services personnel. This time of year, her workload doubled. A lot of responsibility rested on her shoulders to ensure that the families depending on the group’s support received it. “You could always help.”

  He laughed as they reached the locker rooms. “You’d never let me anywhere near your perfect Christmas preparations. Bye, sis,” he said going into the men’s.

  She sighed as she pushed her way into the empty women’s locker room. He was right. Taking on far too much and then obsessing about making everything perfect was the cause of her holiday stress, but ’twas the season…

  Opening her locker, she checked her cell phone and cringed. This year’s additional anxiety factor had left a message. Sitting on the bench, she removed her hockey pads and helmet and tossed them into a duffel bag. Then dialed her voicemail.

  “Hi, Becky, just checking in to see how the dress alterations are going. I’m dying to see it,” her former sister-in-law, Holly, said.

  Alterations was putting it mildly. The white antique gown had been in need of a complete redesign. But Holly had insisted that wearing her future mother-in-law’s dress was what she wanted for her Christmas wedding.

  Becky swallowed a lump of guilt. The truth was, she’d barely started them. Planning the Widows of Heroes Thanksgiving dinner had stolen a lot of time in November, and the December festivities would be even more work—the children’s party, the Christmas baskets…

  “Anyway, let me know when I can stop by,” the message continued, “and uh…when the groomsmen might be able to stop by for their tux fittings.”

  The slight nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach went from bad to worse. She’d agreed to take on the seamstress duties long before her ex-boyfriend Neil Healy had been named one of the groomsmen. An Air Force pilot who up until a month ago had been stationed in Florida, with active tours overseas, the groom hadn’t known if his cousin would be able to attend the wedding, let alone be in the wedding party.

  Neil’s arrival in Glenwood Falls after twelve years away had her going crazy. Over the years, she’d thought about him a lot. She had even contemplated friending him on Facebook once or twice, usually after a glass of wine or two…or on nights she was feeling particularly lonely or nostalgic. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to make the connection, to reach out.

  However, she’d stared at his Facebook profile picture far too long to say she wouldn’t recognize him when she finally saw him. The photo of him with several other military officers, all dressed in their combat uniforms, had been a tempting screensaver pic. Men in uniform were droolworthy, and her ex-boyfriend took hot to a whole new level, which was why so far, avoiding him had been her main strategy. Working on the military base with Widows of Heroes had made such a feat challenging, but she suspected part of her success was due to the fact that he was trying equally hard to avoid her.

  Well, their avoidance would have to come to an end…soon.

  Sighing, she removed her hockey skates and tossed them into her bag.

  The last time she’d seen Neil was the day he’d returned from basic training. Together and inseparable since the seventh grade, she’d hated every minute of him being away. But he’d reassured her that the ten weeks would pass quickly and then they would be starting a life together, moving in together once he returned. Twenty years old and so in love, she’d hoped he was right.

  The news that he was being stationed in Miami, with his first six-month deployment happening within the year, had crushed her.

  Miami was far enough. Afghanistan may as well have been a different planet.

  He’d pleaded with her to go with him, but she’d been in the middle of her third semester of college, and with his pending deployment, she hadn’t seen the point of moving to Miami. Being without him in Glenwood Falls, where she had friends and family was hard enough. Miami—all alone—would be hell.

  She’d had a lot of time to think in the weeks he’d been away. She knew she couldn’t deal with a long-distance relationship, with unreliable communication and silences for weeks on end. The danger and uncertainty of a military career, the tours to war-torn territory, had made her feel sick to her stomach, and the instability and the possibility of moving from base to base wasn’t a life she thought she could handle.

&nb
sp; Holding back tears, she’d suggested they take a break.

  “Break up, you mean?” His accusatory stare had sucked the breath from her lungs.

  “No…Just take some time to think about what we both want,” she’d said, feeling hopeless and conflicted.

  “I thought you wanted a life with me.”

  “I do, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to make it work this way. I’ll be miserable and worried sick every time you leave, and you know I don’t do well with uncertainty.” She liked her small-town life with its predictability just fine. Neil was different. He was so brave and had always talked about leaving Glenwood Falls and seeing the world. She’d naïvely hoped they could overcome their differences, but now those differences were driving them apart.

  “And you’ve started a new career, a new chapter…maybe you’ll realize that I’m not what you need, either.”

  Letting Neil walk away had been the toughest thing she’d ever done, but she had to believe it had been for the best. They’d been in love as teenagers, and young love had a way of fading into adulthood, when life got complicated and choices had to be made. Though knowing that wouldn’t make seeing him now any easier.

  She sighed, gathered her things, and shut the locker door.

  Then, knowing Holly would be expecting an answer, she picked up the phone and texted her back, purposely ignoring the part about the groomsmen.

  Don’t worry about the dress. I promise, you won’t even recognize it.

  Especially if she let too much time pass and had to buy a completely new one to pass off in its place.

  * * *

  “What’s with the sunglasses? It’s been overcast for the last week,” Neil’s co-worker Blake asked as he entered their shared office on base early the next morning.

  “I can hope, can’t I?” he muttered. It felt as though he’d barely seen any sign of the sun since he’d moved back to Glenwood Falls the month before. These thick, heavy clouds were depressing. The view of the mountains from the valley was one of things he’d missed while living in Florida, and he’d yet to see it. He remembered Colorado winters being cold, but the sun was usually shining at least.

  “Not to destroy your hopes, man, but according to the forecast, we’re expecting snow—lots of it—before the sun is expected to make an appearance again. You’re tempting fate riding that bike this long.”

  Neil was holding on as long as possible, the idea of storing the motorcycle only making his depression worse. But the snow would force him to reconsider his mode of transportation. His once-a-week commute to the Pueblo County Airport where he trained air force combat systems officers in high- and low-level flight procedures would require a reliable vehicle. Or at least something with a seatbelt. He sighed as he tucked his motorcycle helmet under his desk.

  A fighter pilot for the U.S. Air Force, he’d been lucky to have served his country from the warm, sunny military base in Miami for twelve years. However, the transfer back to Colorado had been required for the promotion to lieutenant colonel.

  His commanding officer had thought he was doing him a favor by pushing through the paperwork to have him back in his hometown in time for the holidays. Truth was, other than his cousin Cliff, he had no family here, not since his grandmother’s death a few years before, and being back only reminded him of that void.

  Christmas brought a reason to celebrate, a source of excitement in an otherwise quiet, uneventful town, and it was not the place his lonely heart wanted to be.

  “Sorry I missed the hockey game the other night. I heard you almost played well,” Blake said, tossing several new recruit folders on his desk.

  If by “almost played well” he meant “managed to stay on his feet on the ice,” then okay, sure. Along with his added responsibilities in his job, he’d unwillingly adopted a position on the Air Force hockey team, despite not being on a pair of skates since leaving home. Now, surfing was his idea of a good time. Freezing his ass off, wearing ten pounds of hockey gear, and struggling not to fall flat on his face was not. “Does anyone play well against a Westmore?” he said, refusing to take all the blame for the team’s loss. Jackson Westmore was practically a professional hockey player. The guy had spent years playing for the Colorado East Coast Hockey League team before giving it up when he’d realized the local league was as far as he would go. Now he coached the local junior team and made all other players in the adult amateur league groan whenever it was their turn to take on the Hurricanes.

  “Good point,” Blake said.

  “Does Becky ever play?” Neil asked before he could stop himself. His ex-girlfriend used to play almost as much as her brothers, being forced into it by the hockey-crazed family. She was fantastic in net, but had never been serious enough about the sport to try for the women’s hockey league.

  He’d yet to run into her in the four weeks he’d been back—mainly because he avoided going anywhere she might be. He’d caught a glimpse of her the week before at the Thanksgiving dinner, and he’d hightailed it out of there. No amount of turkey and gravy was worth the awkwardness a face-to-face was sure to generate.

  They’d ended things a long time ago, and by now the idea of seeing her shouldn’t hold any tension, but he found his chest tightening whenever he remembered that she was working most days in the community hall office—just three right turns away.

  “She plays goalie sometimes when they’re short a player.” Blake shot him a look. “Have you talked to her since you got back?”

  In a small town, where most everyone had gone to school together, it didn’t surprise him that Blake remembered their history. Together since junior high, when he’d taken her to the winter formal, their relationship had lasted nine years before he joined the Air Force the year after graduating high school.

  Everyone thought they would be married with a house full of kids by now.

  Things hadn’t exactly worked out the way everyone—including him—had expected. “Nah…” His cell phone chimed with a text and picking it up, he groaned.

  Holly. Cliff’s fiancée. Again.

  Agreeing to be in his cousin’s wedding would be the death of him. He really should have insisted there was no rush with his transfer.

  Have you stopped by to see Becky about your tux yet? he read.

  This was the third time she’d asked him that week. He couldn’t put it off forever, but he wasn’t looking forward to it, either. Sure, a lot of time had passed, but he’d never completely gotten over her. He knew sooner or later they’d see one another, he’d been hoping for later.

  And certainly not this way. Was it too late to get out of the wedding party?

  Not yet. But I will, he texted back.

  “What’s the holdup? Isn’t the wedding in a few weeks? Are you avoiding Becky?” Blake asked, reading the text messages over his shoulder.

  There was no privacy in a small town. None. Neil tucked the phone away. “I was.”

  Chapter 2

  The washing machine chimed at the same time the dishwasher started to beep.

  Becky sighed as she stood. Having Holly’s dress ready to wear by December 23 would be a holiday miracle.

  She collected the piece she’d been sewing from the machine and laid it aside, the beadwork reflecting the late evening light coming through the blinds. Closing the door behind her, she left the sewing room. “Taylor, pick one—dishes or clothes,” she called down the hallway.

  “Can’t. I’m doing homework,” came the reply.

  Yeah, right. Opening the bedroom door confirmed what she suspected. Her daughter was wrapping the new red hockey tape she’d bought with her weekly allowance around the blade of her stick. “Clothes or dishes?” Becky asked.

  The eight-year-old sighed as she set the stick aside as if it were porcelain and followed her out of the room. “Dishes,” she muttered.

  “Great. Thank you.” Watching her daughter grumble as she went to the kitchen, Becky ignored the slight wave of guilt she felt. She wished she didn’t have to rel
y on Taylor so much for help, but with her work with Widows of Heroes keeping her days busy, the sewing projects she took on for extra money occupying most of her evenings, taking care of her home, raising a daughter alone, and somehow finding time to eat and sleep, she couldn’t do everything.

  She had no idea when she would have time to decorate her own home for the holidays, but she refused to leave it until the last minute like she had the year before. They’d been decorating the tree on Christmas Eve instead of enjoying their tradition of holiday movies and hot chocolate, and the season had seemed rushed and underappreciated. Not this year, she thought, shoving aside the massive to-do list monster peeking around the corner. But she would need her daughter’s help.

  “Children are supposed to help around the house. You all had chores.” Her own mother’s words when she’d voiced her guilty feelings were not as much comfort as she’d like.

  The difference was that Beverly Westmore had given her four kids chores to give them a sense of responsibility. Becky depended on her daughter’s help, and the fact that the little girl had lost her father at the age of four…well, maybe she had enough responsibility to contend with.

  Becky squared her shoulders and swallowed the lump in her throat as she entered the laundry room.

  And slipped on soapy water.

  She blinked as her ass crashed to the floor with a hard thud, nearly knocking the wind from her lungs. What the hell? Next to her, the washing machine was now vibrating violently and making an odd rattling noise. Water leaked over the top and bubbles gathered on the lid.

  Grabbing the doorframe behind her, she pulled herself to her feet and rushed to unplug the out-of-control machine from the wall. The rattling and vibrating stopped. Damn. A broken appliance was the last thing she needed right before the holidays.

  Money was never tight with Rob’s pension from the police department and her salary from Widows of Heroes, but it wasn’t exactly flowing, either, and she’d peeked at Taylor’s letter to Santa already and knew it contained a lot of high-priced hockey gear.