Page 11 of Christmas Captive

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying… real love is work.”

“That’s where we differ. Real love shouldn’t be work. It should beeffort, but not work.”

She glances toward me and there’s silence. “Effort and work are the same thing.”

“No, effort implies a desire. Work implies obligation.”

Her eyes widen. “You do have an obligation to your partner. That’s the point.”

“Not true. The day love becomes an obligation is the day it dies. Love,real love,should be intentional, passionate, and genuine.”

“Okay, well… for not being a feelings guy, you’ve got a lot of thoughts on feelings.” She rolls her eyes and stands to toss her bottle in the recycling.

“Why the contempt?” I lean against the counter next to her. “If this is about the Wyatt thing again, that’s not love.”

“I don’t know what love is then. I mean, how could I? I just spent two years telling a man I loved him.Two years…and he broke off our engagement the day after we sent out the invites.” Her eyes widen. “I had to call everyone and explain. I had to listen to their sulky apologies when God knows they hung up and gossiped about the whole thing like it was news and not my life.” She looks toward me tears falling from her face. “That’s what I know love as, so…”

“That’s not love.”

“And how do you know? Have you had some secret, amazing relationship you just haven’t told me about yet?”

My chest tightens as I stare at her. “I’ve never been in real love before, no.”

Her shoulders relax as though that’s the answer she was looking for. “Right. So, I guess you don’t get to have all these strong opinions on it, do you?”

“There’s that attitude again.”

“Ah, yes.” She grins. “The one that ‘challenges’you.”

“For the record, I want it noted that neither of us really knows what love looks like.” I don’t know how I keep getting myself into these conversations. Usually, I avoid them like the plague, but for some reason, with Jovie, they’re entertaining.

She sits back in the chair at the table and rests her feet on the opposite side, lifting her knees so that the short black skirt she’s wearing falls to the sides and her panties clearly show.

Lord, why are you testing me like this?

“If neither of us know what love looks like, then why don’t you tell me what you wish it was.” She twists her hair to the side as she talks, then drags her hand slowly up and down her thigh as though she’s soothing herself.

Fuck!I want to tell her the right person has long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and the sweetest hidden smile I’ve ever seen before. “I don’t know. I guess she’d be a good listener. She’d have a beer with me on a Saturday night and we could easily talk about life. Real shit, not the weather or what’s on TV.We’d talk.We’d dance in the kitchen.And we’d fuck… hard… everywhere.” I laugh. “What about you?”

She smiles. “Wow, that’s… graphic.”

“True, though. When I’m in love, I like to express myself.”

Laughter ensues. I think the beer is helping the conversation along. “Makes sense. Thanks for sharing.”

“What about you?”

“Umm…” She sets the bottle on the table and leans forward. “Validation seems to be big for me. I like to feel heard and seen. Like, in my dreams, he remembers how much I hate grocery stores, and he calls me or texts me while I’m shoppingto tell me what a good girl I am and he’s ready to come get me if I need him,” she shakes her head, “but that probably doesn’t exist.”

“Why do you hate grocery stores?”

She shrugs. “The people, the unpredictability, the choices, the noise. What’s there to like?”

Our eyes meet, and my heart warms and bangs against my ribcage. “That’s fair. It’s probably why I hunt and grow as much as I can. Not sure I’d be in one if it weren’t for Oreos. Can’t grow those.”

“Well,” she laughs, “you can stock up on them.”

Silence ensues for a moment. I don’t know what to do next. I could easily tell her what a good girl she is for doing things she finds difficult. I could make her feel seen and heard. I could do her one better and hold her close every second of my life for eternity.

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