A Cross-Country Christmas(57)

“Are you worried?”

She leaned against the wall, heart racing. Will, PLEASE!

“I guess not. It’s not like you’d date a girl like her, anyway. She looks like a librarian.”

Kaitlyn turned away, teasing. “Some guys fantasize about librarians, you know.”

“Only if they’re hot.” He tugged at Kaitlyn’s waist, drawing her body to his.

Lauren wanted to die. No amount of willpower could stop her from crying.

“I can think of a million other things I’d rather be doing with you right now,” Will said, “and none of them involves talking.”

As Lauren leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, stormy tears slid down her cheeks.

“Hey, I found Will!” Clumsy was back, and now he stood in the doorway, threatening to reveal her hiding place, just out of sight. He looked at Lauren, then into the kitchen. “You still want him?”

She pushed herself up off the wall and wiped her cheeks. “No. I definitely don’t want him.”

She rushed out of the house and back into the quiet comfort of her car.

Her car that still, if she inhaled deeply enough, smelled like Will.

She dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel and cried—the kind of tears that burst, mottling her jeans in a haphazard pattern. She slammed her palm on the dashboard twice, hard.

I am such an idiot!

She wasn’t special. He hadn’t thought about her. He didn’t even remember.

He wasn’t the guy she’d built him up to be, and he certainly wasn’t the guy she thought he was.

In that moment she decided to stop caring about Will Sinclair. She would start systematically replacing all the fantasies of him, beginning with that conversation in the kitchen. She started her car, put it in drive, and drove away, leaving the house and Will in her rearview mirror.

Until this trip.





Chapter 27





The truth, like an undertow, seemed to have staggered Will.

The parking lot of the little diner had gone quiet, the chocolatey smell that wafted out of the fudge factory less enticing than when they’d arrived.

“Lauren, I—” His voice gave out. He pressed his palms into his eyes, then dragged his hands down his face. “Did we. . .?”

“No, nothing like that.” Lauren shifted, feeling exposed.

He looked desperately at her, the flashing sign above the diner catching her eye.

“Will, no. We didn’t.”

Obvious relief washed over him. He hung his head.

The floodgates were open now. No truth would remain covered.

She cleared her throat. “Before, when I was younger, I really liked you. I was infatuated with you, but I think it had more to do with your looks. This time it wasn’t just about a physical attraction for me.”

She took a small step, trying to get him to look up.

“Will, I think I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

The admission hung between them, but saying it in this context altered the meaning. “I built you up in my mind to be something, I don’t know, like, untouchable. A perfect version of what I wanted. And that night, you were.”

He finally looked up at her, pained. This was hard for them both.

“After that night, though, I finally realized it was a stupid little crush on someone who, let’s be honest, didn’t even know I existed.”

He laughed ironically, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s the funny thing. I did know you existed. I saw you, Lauren.” He looked away. He leaned against the SUV, regret clear on his face.

She winced. They were saying all the right things at completely the wrong time.

“And now I screwed that up, too,” he said ruefully. “How many things can I completely sabotage? Dreams? Check. Career? Check. Lov—” he glanced at Lauren but stopped before he finished the word. He clenched his jaw and turned away, seemingly disgusted with himself.

Everything was out, laid bare. She’d been holding this all in for so long, and now that it was out in the open, she had no idea what to say next. Where did they go from here?

She knew where she needed to go. Right next to Will.

She moved into the space beside him, leaning against his Jeep, their shoulders touching.

“I hate that I hurt you.” He looked at her, pleading forgiveness with his watery eyes. “I hate it.”

She took a breath and a chance. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t. And yet, a part of her did feel lighter for having unloaded this burden. She’d had no closure up until this point.

But now, she did.

Would that wipe the hurt away? Could she hope to have the weight lifted, the shades pulled back, simply by speaking her pain aloud?

“I think if it hadn’t happened, I would’ve carried a torch for you all these years. I wouldn’t have moved on, gotten to where I am now. It helped me, in a messed-up way, you know?”

He didn’t take it as a compliment. “Yeah, I sure helped you move on by acting like a complete jerk. You deserved better.”

He turned to her. “No. You deserve better. Better than me, that’s for sure.”

She paused, then said, “For the record, I don’t think that’s who you are anymore.”

He fidgeted with his key fob. Looked defeated. “Like you said—people don’t change.” He pushed himself up off the vehicle and faced her. “For what it’s worth—and this is long overdue—I’m really, really sorry that I hurt you.”