Page 8 of Christmas With My Ex

I wish that were what the doctor ordered.

I let out a sigh, the kind of sigh that feels like it’s carrying the weight of the world with it. “Yeah, maybe that’s exactly what I need.” What else do I have to do. The last text I got from Bethany said she’d be lucky to make it to Grand Junction tomorrow afternoon. So I've got at least another twenty-four hours all by my lonesome.

The driver gives me a knowing smile and pulls the bus up to the curb just outside the saloon. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

I thank her as I gather my crutches and step down gingerly into the cold air. The snow swirls around me as I make my waytoward the saloon, the warmth of the place calling to me from behind the frosted windows.

Inside, it’s lively, with the sounds of conversation and laughter filtering through the door as I push it open.

The Last Dollar is packed but cozy, the kind of bar where the walls are lined with old photos and the atmosphere feels warm and inviting despite the cold outside.

I make my way to the bar, feeling a few curious stares as I hobble to a stool and carefully settle myself onto it. I don't think this day could suck any worse. So much for trying to put the happiness back in Christmas.

“Rough day?” the bartender asks, her smile friendly as she sets a menu in front of me. There must be a hundred beers on tap on here. Suddenly, I'm more overwhelmed than I was when I walked in.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to smile back but not quite managing it. “You could say that.”

I glance back down at the menu as my eyes glaze over, not really in the mood to think too hard about it. “What do you recommend?”

She grins, clearly ready for the question. “If you’re looking for something local, I’d go with the Telluride Brewing Co. Face Down Brown Ale. It’s got a nice balance. It's rich and smooth with a bit of caramel and chocolate in there. Perfect for warming up after a cold day.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Face Down Brown?”

She laughs, nodding. “Don’t let the name fool you. It’s a favorite around here. Definitely hits the spot.”

Face down. That's about right. She must be able to read me like a book.

"Done. Sounds perfect. Thanks."

“Rives?”

I turn slowly, and there he is. Nicholas Snowden, standing a few feet away, his face a mixture of surprise and… something else. I don’t know what to call it, but seeing him here, of all places, feels like some kind of cosmic joke.

“Nicholas,” I breathe, my mind scrambling to process the coincidence.

Of all the places, of all the days.

FOUR

Nicholas

I just want you for my own / More than you could ever know.

The Last Dollar Saloon

100 E Colorado Avenue

2:29pm

The word is barely outof my mouth before her reaction tells me I should have followed my gut instinct and stayed away. Far, far away. Her expression is a look that could cut through ice.

Her blue eyes narrow just a fraction, and for a second, I seriously wish I could turn around and walk right out of here, never to see her again. She is a master of the resting bitch face.

Damn. So much for letting bygones be bygones and offering an olive branch in consideration of the holiday.

Watching her limp into the bar on crutches, all alone, looking more defeated than I ever imagined she could, something in me couldn’t let it go. It was a moment of weakness I will pay for now. But there is no turning back.

“Nicholas.” Her voice is sharp, not welcoming. The nostalgia of the holiday must have made me forget that side of her. We haven’t seen each other since our last fight five years ago. What did I expect? A warm reunion?

---