Page 23 of My eX-MAS Emergency

I sat, blinking. Was she for real?

She turned, an apology written on her face. “I don’t mean to be mysterious, but it’s sensitive.”

“Like government secrets?” I whispered.

“No,” she said nervously, making me think maybe she worked for the CIA or something. That would be kind of cool. It would play into the whole flying-under-the-radar thing she had going on.

“Okay,” I trilled. “But, if you ever need, like, backup, or to sneak in anywhere top secret and your partner’s not available, I’m totally your girl.”

She laughed loudly.

“Listen, I have stared down gang members and removed bullets from flesh.”

“I like you, Calista. This is probably the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.”

“That’s just sad.”

She shrugged. “I try not to think about it.”

I patted her knee. “Well, you should. You have a cool spy job or something, and you’re sweet and more than gorgeous. You deserve to be seen.”

“I’m not a spy.” She smiled.

“Whatever you say.” I didn’t believe her. She was totally a spy.

She placed her neatly manicured hand on top of mine. “Thank you for seeing me.”

I stared at her hand, wondering what kind of gun she had and if she’d ever shot anyone. “It’s my pleasure. Thanks for listening to me whine.”

“That was hardly whining. And believe me, growing up with a younger and an older sister, I know whining.”

Stella whined a lot too. She always wanted more and better.

“The question is, What are you going to do about Tristan?” she asked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I have to keep ignoring him.”

“Do you?”

I swallowed hard. “I can’t let him wreck me again. I’d have to become like an astrophysicist or something.”

“He’s why you became a doctor?”

“At first. I wanted to prove I wasn’t who his family thought I was. But in the end, I figured out that Dr. Monroe was who I was meant to be.”

“Wow. Med school. That’s some dedication. You must really hate him.”

“Only because I really loved him,” I eked out.

“Do you still?” she asked uneasily.

My chest rose and fell dramatically. “You know the line from Wuthering Heights?”

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” She spoke perfectly, word for word, like it was a ghost who haunted her.

The same ghost haunted me, except mine is named Tristan, not Simon.

“That’s the one. To not love him would mean not loving myself.”

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