Page 60 of The Holiday Games

I start to hang up, but then that power outside of myself takes control again, and I hear myself say, “Hi, Kayla, it’s Leo Fenton. I got your message from Ainsley, but I need more information.I need you to tell me why Caroline left. I can’t fight for her if I don’t know what kind of enemy I’m up against.”

Kayla makes an anxious, considering sound, then whispers, “Give me two minutes to move to the office line, and I’ll tell you everything. But you’re not going to like it, Leo. It’s bad. Really bad.”

twenty-three

. . .

Caroline

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the inn, not a drop of joy remained, not even a smidge…

At least not for me.

From the moment I left Leo in the city, I’ve been living The Wizard of Oz in reverse.

My world of bright, vivid color has faded to a depressing grayscale not even a profusion of holiday decorations and festive vibes can penetrate. Reindeer Corners is doing cheery small-town Christmas the way only it can, complete with lights and carolers and sleigh rides through Farmer Rick’s pasture at the edge of town.

But in my heart, it’s already the depths of February.

It doesn’t help that Vivian has flaked on both of our dates to meet up for coffee and a heart-to-heart about the situation with Leo. She even pretended not to be home when I swung by her place last night after work. I’d hoped to clear the air and make a plan while Frank and the kids were in the town square waiting for Santa Claus, but my repeated knocking went unanswered. I could see my cousin moving around behind the curtains when I walked up the steps, but she was committed to playing possum.

Eventually, I shouted, “I’ll be back, Vivian, and we’re going to talk this through. You can’t avoid me forever.”

And we can’t just move forward like nothing happened. Leo deserves to know that he has a child. I refuse to keep that kind of secret from anyone, let alone the man I love.

I still love him. So much.

The longing hasn’t faded a single iota. If anything, it’s gotten worse. I think about Leo all day and dream about him every night. I replay every moment of our time together—a mental bruise I can’t keep my fingers from probing—and the sight of Greg padding around the inn in festive holiday sweaters is enough to bring me to the verge of tears.

A few nights ago, I lost control and slumped down beside the fireplace in the lobby, hugging Greg as I sobbed into his fur. Thankfully, it was nearly midnight, and Henrietta, the night manager, was the only one still around. But I could tell I scared her a little. She fetched me tea, cocoa, a cranberry seltzeranda piece of her special banana bread before calling Ben, her husband, to come give me a ride home on his snowmobile so I wouldn’t have to walk a mile in the dark.

Meanwhile, Greg has been an absolute saint. The moment my bottom lip begins to tremble, he’s right here, twining his way around my ankles, purring as if to say, “Hold on, honey. Your happily ever after is coming, just wait and see.”

But I don’t want happily ever after without Leo. I don’t want anything without Leo. I’m down in the dumpiest of dumps, so low and plagued by misery that I’ve become nostalgic for my existential crisis days.

Serious doubts about the meaning of life seem like child’s play compared to the deep, abiding certainty that I’ve lost my one shot at true love.

I inhale slowly and deeply, willing the moisture trying to leap from my eyeballs back into my tear ducts. I can’t cry right now. Ihave to do the annual reading of The Night Before Christmas in ten minutes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do it?” Kayla murmurs from beside me. We’re laying out fresh cookies on the antique sideboard for the guests still filing into the library, finding spots on the couches or cross-legged on the floor.

I shake my head and force a smile. “No, it’s fine. I can do it. I know you aren’t a fan of public speaking.”

“I’m not,” she agrees, “but I’m not a fan of watching you pass out, either. You look like a hard wind would blow you over. Have you eaten anything today?”

I shove a Madeleine cookie in my mouth and grin at her as I chew.

She narrows her eyes as we step away from the sideboard, clearing the path to the treats and hot cocoa dispenser. “Not funny. You have to start taking better care of yourself. If you don’t, I’m going to go on a hunger strike in solidarity. After all, it’s my fault you’re miserable.”

I shake my head as I swallow. “No, it’s not. It’s Vivian’s fault. And we’re going to work it out.” I roll my eyes as I mutter beneath my breath, “Sooner or later.”

“If you say so,” Kayla says. “The more I think about it, the more I think I should have kept my mouth shut.”

I nudge her arm with mine. “No, you did the right thing. It’s better I found out when I did. It’ll be easier after the holidays, once the decorations are down and not every tree, holly berry, and sprig of mistletoe reminds me of him.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “I’m sorry. I had to leave the mistletoe up above the library door. The guests were complaining. I didn’t realize how many of them needed an excuse to kiss their spouse in public.”

“Youcertainly don’t need an excuse,” I say, aiming for a teasing tone, and getting close enough that Kayla smiles.

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