A Holiday To Remember by Jillian Hart

glorified bookkeeper.”
    “I don’t believe that for one second.”
    “It’s true. I spend my entire very long, sometimes twelve-hour workday with profit-and-loss statements, cost reports, production reports, projected earnings, monthly expenses, etcetera, etcetera. If they can make a spreadsheet on something, then it’s on my desk.”
    “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”
    “It isn’t. Don’t get me wrong. I am very thankful for my job and everything it allows me to afford for Mia.” But there was the bookshop in the background, behind Jonah’s shoulder, with the polished wood shelves and browsing customers and colorful book spines lined up carefully. There was that yearning again, at the bottom of her heart where she’d banished it. It wasn’t the only yearning there. She did her best not to look directly at Jonah. It made that sweet and innocent longing she felt for him a little easier to ignore.
    He studied her over the rim of his cup. “Tell me about your dreams, the ones you didn’t follow.”
    She swirled her finger into the mountain of melting whipped cream. It was hardly a mannerly thing to do but she lifted a dollop of the sweet topping with her finger and licked it, the way she used to do when she was little. She’d spent too much time on lost dreams today and her spirit ached like a chipped tooth. “Dreams? I hardly remember them anymore.”
    “I know how that feels.” He took a long sip and wiped the marshmallow mustache from his upper lip. “There’s another thing we have in common.”
    Although he was smiling, it wasn’t a real smile. He looked lost. It was the saddest look she’d ever seen on anyone. She remembered what he’d said about being a marine and serving the greater good. She wondered what had happened to bring him home and if it had something to do with his serious limp.
    “What dreams have you lost?” she dared to ask.
    He set his cup down on the table and stared into it. She could see the fall of his hair and the cowlick at the crown of his head. She didn’t think he was going to answer her. Her heart skipped a beat. She was afraid he was going to get up and leave.
    When he spoke, a dark emotion resonated in his baritone like a bell’s final toll, an emotion that spoke of deep pain. “Remember when I said that life never turns out the way you expect?”
    She nodded. She would never forget the day she’d first laid eyes on him. How the gray daylight had burnished him like a dream from her heart.
    There she went, thinking of dreams again. Clearly, Jonah was not a dream meant for her as, she’d discovered, many dreams were not.
    She cleared the disappointment from her throat. “Were you talking about being a soldier?”
    Grief marked his handsome face. “I love my country. I’m proud to have served. It was what God called me to do.”
    And the leg injury? She clamped her lips together to hold the question in. She could feel the depth of his pain as if it were her own. She could read the shadows in his eyes and his strong heartfelt pain settled like a shroud over hers. He bowed his head and looked down at the whipped cream melting over the side of the cup.
    What had happened to him? She wondered. She watched the news. She read newspapers. It was her job to keep up with current events and trends of books on the market. Her family’s company had published several nonfiction accounts from soldiers’ experiences in war.
    She thought of all the tragedy Jonah could have seen with his own eyes. She thought of all the tragedy that could have happened around him in war. To him. And she remained silent, waiting. The last thing she wanted to do was to make him hurt more. She knew deep pain could be easier to manage if you kept a tight lid on it. It had to be dealt with one day, but now was clearly not the time. Nor, she suspected, was she the right one for him to tell.
    So she waited, to allow him to wrestle the pain back down. She waited for him to say what he needed to