Chapter 9 - The Empty Chair Filled
Back at the cottage, Erin stood by the frosted window, her fingers trembling against the glass. The grandfather clock read nine-thirty. Her roasted chicken had long since been pulled from the oven, resting under foil on the dining table.
Lucy stood beside her, Captain the rabbit tucked under her arm. “He’s coming, Mom. I know he is.”
“Honey, it’s late,” Erin whispered, trying to swallow the lump of grief rising in her throat. She had told herself not to hope. She had spent six years protecting herself from the agony of being left behind. Why had she let herself believe that a man like Roman could ever stay?
Then, sweeping headlights cut through the snowy darkness of their driveway.
Erin gasped. The black SUV pulled up smoothly, its engine rumbling to a halt. The driver's door opened, and Roman stepped out into the crisp night air. He wasn't wearing his tactical jacket or his dark overcoat; he was wearing the simple charcoal sweater, holding a large bakery box tied with red twine in one hand and a bundle of fresh winter pine boughs in the other.
Erin ran to the front door, throwing it wide open. She didn't care about dignity, caution, or pride. She ran barefoot onto the snowy porch and threw her arms around Roman’s neck.
Roman caught her effortlessly, dropping the pine boughs to wrap his strong arms around her waist, burying his face into her hair. “I promised you,” he breathed against her neck, holding her so tightly she could feel the thunderous beating of his heart. “I told you I was coming back.”
“I thought… I thought they hurt you,” Erin sobbed, her tears soaking into his collar.
“It’s over, Erin,” Roman said, lifting his head to gaze into her eyes, his face softer and more open than she had ever seen it. “All of it. The feds, the old business, the debts. I gave them everything. The only thing I kept is my legitimate construction company and the house on the hill. I'm completely free.”
Lucy appeared at the door, her eyes round with wonder. “Mr. Roman! Did you bring the chocolate?”
Roman laughed—a deep, booming, joyous sound that echoed into the snowy night, completely unfamiliar to anyone who had ever known the feared Roman Vescari. He picked Erin up and carried her back inside the warm house, kicking the door shut against the winter chill.
“Better than just chocolate,” Roman smiled, kneeling down to Lucy's eye level and presenting the bakery box. “Fresh Italian cannoli, handmade this afternoon in Boston.”
Lucy gasped with delight, taking the box and dashing into the kitchen.
May you like
Erin looked at the dining table. The three plates were set. The candles were lit. The empty chair that had haunted her kitchen for six long years was finally occupied. Roman pulled out her chair for her with gentle deference, then sat down across from her.
As they bowed their heads and held hands—Lucy’s tiny hand bridging the gap between Roman’s scarred knuckles and Erin’s slender fingers—Erin felt an overwhelming wave of peace. Lucy’s Christmas wish hadn't just brought a kind stranger into their lives; it had redeemed a lost soul and given them all a reason to believe in love again.
