Window Shopping(70)

Being in this tuxedo is wrong. Leland’s peach habanero salsa which I choked down earlier out of tradition, rather than hunger, is running laps around my belly. How is everyone carrying on with life as usual when the girl I love has left to find the friend who helped land her in prison?

The only thing—and I mean the only thing—that is keeping me right here, rooted to this spot where the bourbon is easy to reach, is my absolute faith in her. Whatever she’s facing right now and with whom, she’s going to do the right thing. She’s going to do the safe thing. And even if she doesn’t come to the party, which is more than halfway over at this point, I have to believe she’ll continue to work at Vivant. She won’t take herself away from me completely, will she? No matter how badly I’ve fucked this up, I’ll have a chance to win her back.

I have to believe that.

I do believe that, because I believe in Stella. This thing between us can’t just melt away and cease to exist like one of the ice sculptures sitting on the buffet table.

God, my chest hurts. I need to go sit down. Or bribe someone to knock me out. Maybe that would be better. I could stop replaying the way Stella’s eyes filled with tears when I asked if she wanted some space.

You are a complete and total moron.

My Aunt Edna materializes in front of me in a Santa hat that she didn’t arrive wearing. “A watched kettle never boils, Aiden. Quit staring at the door.”

My smile drops as soon as I attempt it. “Do you need another drink?”

She slaps me on the shoulder. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

Taking her empty glass and setting it on the bar, I signal the man filling drink orders. When he sees Edna, he doesn’t even need me to tell him what she’s drinking. He’s been making extra-dirty martinis for her since six o’clock. “Are you having a good time?”

“Oh no. Don’t you dare make small talk with me.” She pokes me in the side. “You’re standing over here looking like you’re in the middle of a colonic.”

“Compared to this? I’d prefer it.”

Aunt Edna snorts. “You’ve obviously never had one.”

“No,” I sigh, staring into the depths of my bourbon, the ice cubes forming the shape of Stella’s profile. “Maybe I’ll schedule one. Sounds like sufficient punishment.”

“For what?” She harrumphs. “You’re not the type to mess anything up so badly that you need a tube up the—”

“Hello,” Jordyn says smoothly, coming up beside Edna, her hand tucked inside Seamus’s. He’s holding a pint of beer in the opposite hand and he salutes me with it. I nod back, the movement making my head hammer all the more. “You’ve got the party buzzing, Aunt Edna,” Jordyn continues, smiling. “I love a woman who knows how to lead a conga line.”

Edna sips from her fresh martini. “What can I say? It’s a calling.”

With a laugh, Jordyn looks over at me. I think. I’m back to staring at the door. “Why don’t you come out on the floor and try to dance, Aiden?” she suggests, tugging my elbow. “Good God, man. It’s Christmas Eve, not Tax Day.”

To my surprise, another one of the sales associates appears behind her. “Yeah, come on, Mr. Cook,” he says, quickly joined by two other half-drunk employees. “Loosen the bow tie. We’re about to teach your aunt how to Renegade.”

“How to what?”

Jordyn continues to pull me toward the dance floor and with so many people on her side, I have no choice but to follow. Someone takes my jacket and the music changes, going from Sinatra to hip hop and everyone cheers. With a hard object lodged in my throat, I have no choice but to stand in the middle of the dance floor and nod along as someone from accounting tries to teach me dance moves that seem so easy in theory but are actually very complex when I try to execute them. Maybe because my arms currently weigh a thousand pounds each.

With what little of my brain is functioning, I notice employees smiling at me. They like me, they’re addressing me by name. I’ve always been friendly with the employees in my immediate office, but now my network extends beyond that. To the electronics department whiz kid. To our children’s footwear buyer. I didn’t have those connections a few weeks ago. Before Stella. She’s opened up the world around me and I just need her back in it.

I’m not sure what causes me to stop attempting the Renegade and glance up.

Maybe it’s the increased thudding of my heart. That internal metal detector that beeps whenever Stella is nearby. X marks the spot. But I look up and there she is at the edge of the dance floor. She’s smiling at me with tears in her eyes, so beautiful I have to suck in a breath.

And she’s wearing a robe.

A red and black plaid robe that goes all the way down to her toes.

There’s a matching one draped over her arm.

Before I register the movement of my feet, I’m weaving through people on the dance floor, love and relief cutting through me like a buzzsaw. She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s here and she’s okay. Thank God. My brain tells me to stop when I’m close and ask how she’s doing, where she’s been, if she’s sad or happy or both. But I just keep right on walking, plowing into her with a bear hug big enough to set her off laughing—and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life.