Page 101 of Peppermint Bark

She told him I shouldn’t be alone right now. She was the smartest woman on the planet, and she knew me better than anybody. She was probably right.

Goddamn it, of course she was. She was the only thing that had been right in my entire life, and I fucked it all up.

“You want to come inside?” My voice was a shell of itself. “I’ll order pizza.”

Ten hours ago I destroyed all hope of happiness by telling her I loved her. I thought her shocked face would be the most surprise I would ever see.

I was wrong. Connor’s face when I invited him in for pizza took the cake.

“Scratch that,” I said, “You order the pizza, and get some cake too.”

Chapter 35

Grace

“It was a relief to order a real pizza, without that vegan crap for Mallory.” Kate stretched the mozzarella, swallowing it with a generous sip of Malbec. When she’d opened the wine, she said we’d work our way up to the tequila. What the heck was she gathering the liquid courage to say?

“It took me nine tries to make edible vegan enchiladas for Mallory’s birthday. Nine. Alex would have said to forget Mal’s tasteless crap and make more for him.”

“Are we switching to the heartbreak portion of the evening?” Kate wiggled the second bottle, a fifth of Elysian tequila. Since Nick was a partial owner in the company, the Clarkes always had some on hand.

I dug around in my fridge for limes, already dreading tomorrow’s impending hangover but too curious to stop … and not wanting the pain of my impossible decision to crawl back in quite yet. I filled two shot glasses, we cheersed, and the tequila burned.

“This is a terrible idea,” Kate said with a wicked grin. “Let's do another.”

She waited as I took my second shot, then a hasty confession cascaded out of her mouth: “Nick Clarke and I dated and lived together in New York City before he got The Twelve.” Her face curled into a quick grimace. “I fell in love with him.” She took a swig of tequila straight from the bottle, slammed it on the table, then looked me straight in the eye. “And Mallory doesn’t know.”

Alex

Connor pulled into my dedicated guest parking spot. Of course he knew where to park, he came here regularly to pick up suits and shit, but never when I was home. Fuck, there were weeks he came here more often than I did. There would be weeks like that again soon.

I dragged my ass out of the car and he trailed me up the elevator. I slid my key into the door, letting Connor in then turning to close it …

“Well if it isn’t the Prodigal Associate.”

Of fucking course Victoria would get home now after spending Sunday at the office. Our eyes locked across the hallway between our apartments.

I knew, I knew I should throw back my shoulders and say something cocky. That’s what I did, who I was. But I didn’t have the energy to pull on the smug mask and prove my apathy.

I left the door open and tossed my credit card at Connor to order the pizza.

And cake. Fuck, I needed cake.

But not pie. I might never eat pie again.

Victoria hovered in my doorway. “You look like shit, Alexander.”

“Not sure how it’s possible, but I feel even worse.”

“What happened?”

“I fell in love,” I confessed. “It was awful.”

“That’s what you get for having feelings.” Victoria clucked her tongue. Her toe tapped twice, three times, echoing on the tile. With an exasperated sigh, she extended her arms. “Get over here, you idiot.”

Her arms wrapped around my waist, and it felt … fine, I guess. Friendly. Like hugging my sister without the bony elbows. She said she knew what I needed and retreated to her apartment.

When I was alone, I leaned against my oven and scanned my apartment: the stark white kitchen, the bland living room with a tan couch, leather recliner and a TV I never watched, the crisp sheets on a masculine bed, and the closets full of suits. Cold, quiet and empty.

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