Page 39 of Christmas With My Ex

FIFTEEN

Rives

You better watch out / You better not cry / Better not pout / I'm telling you why.

5:57 pm

The restaurant is teamingwith holiday energy and I am beside myself with the Christmas Joy.

Tiny white lights twinkle on every surface, garlands drape the windows, and the fire crackles in the corner, casting a warm glow. It’s the perfect Christmas Eve setting, the kind of festive place you dream about.

I smile easily as I sit across from Nicholas, easily the most handsome man in the room.

He’s always been good looking. But tonight, something about him hits me differently. The light brown hair that’s just the right kind of messy with a perfect part… Those striking brown eyesthat draw me in way too easily… And that smile, the one that I could never quite resist.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he teases, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re making me self-conscious.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Please, you don’t get self-conscious. Do you even have a conscience?”

“Easy, tiger!"

"I'm just messing with you."

"You’re right. I don’t,” he quips, leaning back in his chair, looking every bit the confident E.R. doc I met and fell for all those years ago. He's just got it, that joie de vivre, and I am putty in his hands.

We fall into our usual rhythm—joking, teasing, trading easy banter like we never skipped a beat. And honestly, I’m just grateful to have this night. For a moment, it feels like all the messy history between us has been neatly tucked away, allowing us to just enjoy the night. To enjoy each other.

The server comes by to take our order, and when Nicholas tells me to pick whatever I want because, “It’s Christmas, after all,” I shake my head and grin. He’s always loved trying to get me tongue-tied in front of the waitress. And I love dishing it right back to him.

“You sure you don’t want me to pick the most expensive thing on the menu?” I tease.

“Go for it,” he says, with a casual wave of his hand. “If it’s terrible, I’ll just take you somewhere else.”

“Look at you,” I say, pretending to be impressed. “Such a gentleman.”

“Always,” he replies with a wink, and I laugh, because he’s full of it.

We order our food, and the conversation shifts to lighter things—our shared memories of Christmases past, holiday traditions, and how ridiculous the hotel’s decorations are. It’s easy with him, like slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes you haven’t worn in a while but still fit perfectly.

“How’s your knee, by the way?” he asks, his eyes softening. “Still holding up? I know you had that sprint from the saloon earlier."

“It’s fine. I’ll live,” I reply with a grin. “No thanks to you for making me have to have a temper tantrum.”

He chuckles. “You should have—had a temper tantrum, I mean. That was not cool of me. I'm just glad we moved past it and you're giving me a chance to show you I've grown up a little.”

“We'll see how long that grace lasts. You'll have to be on your best behavior the rest of the trip,” I say, rolling my eyes. But even as I joke, there’s a softness in his expression, a way he’s looking at me now that reminds me to be careful around this smooth-talker.

It’s in that quiet moment that Nicholas asks the question I wasn’t quite ready for.

“How’s everything else? How's your mom? I always loved her.”

I pause, my smile faltering just a little. His question isn’t heavy, not exactly, but it strikes a chord. I take a breath and look down at my glass, swirling the wine around.

“She passed away almost five years ago now,” I say softly. “It was unexpected. One minute she was fine, and the next, she just didn't wake up. I guess if you're going to go, that's the way to do it. But I wasn't ready to lose her.”

I stop, feeling a familiar pang of sadness tug at my heart. I don’t talk about my mom often, not even with friends. It still feels raw sometimes, even after all these years.

Nicholas leans in, his eyes filled with something warm, something understanding. “I didn’t know. I'm so sorry.”

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