The Plight Before Christmas(41)

Panicking, I begin pacing the store, begging my inner Scrooge to come and zap the emotions warring in my chest and the waking ache in my core. The man has me needing a mop-up on aisle ‘what the fuck just happened,’ and every part of me is aching to go after him for more words as he strides away from the store. Eli was never a words man, not in the way that truly mattered. Our attraction back then was impossible to ignore—though we tried—and it seems no less potent now. But those words, the look in his eyes.

“You can pretend all you want that I haven’t been inside you, but I refuse to.”

I can still feel his radiating warmth despite the gush of icy air that drifted into the shop with his departure.

This isn’t happening.

I won’t let it happen. It’s not so much the time that’s passed, but the remembrance of the damage inflicted when we broke up. Alyssa is right. I never quite trusted the same, loved the same. But isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? You get your heart good and broken in, and then you let it fuel your future decisions about relationships. It’s the way of it. You get stronger and demand more for yourself. It’s not like Eli set a high bar.

Liar.

Feeling the tick of the clock and knowing my mother deserves a well-thought-out gift for all her effort to make our Christmas perfect, guilt consumes me. For most of the hour, I shopped for figure-flattering clothes to look more presentable, if not a bit more alluring.

My priorities are already shifting due to this ridiculousness.

Irritated and full-on panicking by the way I’m already behaving, I begin sorting through the costume jewelry, looking for anything Mom might consider sentimental. Damn Eli and his disruption, his beautiful eyes, lips, and words.

Been inside you. Inside you. Inside you.

It’s been too many years since I’ve felt that sort of jolt, since my heart pounded so fast with anticipation and sexual tension, since my romance starved imagination went as wild as a young twenty-something C cup at Mardi Gras.

And fuck the girl inside of me that’s ready to lift her shirt, titties blazing at the first sign of plastic beaded promises.

Day one. He’s pulling this on day one?

“Argh,” I cry out in exasperation as a woman jumps in surprise next to me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, averting my attention to the shelves of Hallmark jewelry with heartfelt quotes that ring insincere to me.

The clock runs out as I spot something that may work and snatch it off a shelf with a second to spare, knowing the scarf I knitted her would suffice as a good backup gift—because I’m a woman who knits now. My bra and underwear drawer are organized, as is my condo. I’m no longer the beer-slurping party girl he tamed regularly with his huge…ego. I’ve changed even if he’s still the same highly seductive, manipulative, ticking time bomb he was when we were together.

Relieved I was able to find something—and dead set on steering clear of Eli and any more of his reminiscent conversation—I check out and head toward the restaurant.

I manage to keep my pace steady as I spot my family eating chips and queso as Eli finds me at the hostess stand, his eyes pinning me while in conversation with Dad. The seat next to his the only one vacant. It’s the look in his eyes that gives me pause. Hopeful. I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with his baggage. I have my own carousel to sort out. Despite what felt like a sincere apology, I’m not going back there with him. He’s nearly two decades too late. Here, in the present, the promotion, my personal circumstances, it’s all temporary. Just another phase. It’s time to let go of it all. And my new mindset starts with unleashing unnecessary baggage, including old hurts.

I got an apology from him, and I’ll accept it. It’s as simple as that. We can co-exist for the remainder of five days. Feeling lighter, I find a little bounce in my step by the time I make it to the table and greet the family, kissing my nieces and nephews on the way to my chair. Unflinching, I meet Eli’s probing gaze as I discard my purse and bags. The second I take the seat next to him, I can see his read on my decision and his disappointment. Opening my menu, I turn to him, resolute.

“Apology accepted. We were just kids, Eli. Let’s let it go and have a good Christmas, okay?”

He offers a solemn nod as I peruse my menu and see his gaze linger briefly before he speaks up. “Okay.”





Coming on to her was my first mistake. It’s the only behavior I’ve displayed that warranted the steel resolve I encountered in the few minutes it took her to get to the restaurant. I had no fucking right to say the things I said, to presume I mattered to her that way. In the past, I gave her everything but words and assurances for the future. But my first hard lesson was that words matter, something I’ve been confronted with over the years again and again through my failed relationships. Even if actions speak louder, words fucking matter.

“Did either of you get lucky?” Allen asks as we make our way back to the cabin.

“I did okay, I think,” Whitney speaks up, her voice chipper.

“Same,” I reply, doing my best to hide the burn of the rejection due to her brushoff. I scroll through my phone to keep my hands busy and see a missed text from Evie.

Evie: Hey you. How is it going?

Good.

Evie: Which means not good. Have you told her the truth yet?

She’s not having it. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.