Page 12 of Cruel Winter with You

A long silence. A deep, gathering, frustrated sigh. And then he nodded and said, “It wouldn’t be right, anyway. This wasn’t the plan. I need to stick to it.”

I blinked in confusion. “What plan?”

“The thing is, you’re perfect, Jamie. Absolutely fantastic—always have been. I’ve never been anything but amazed by you. And I don’t think I’m there yet. I want to deserve you.”

“I . . . don’t understand.”

“I’m going to get this right. I’m going to put together this company and successfully bring the tech to market.” His smile was resolute. “And once I’m worthy of it, I’ll ask you for another chance.”

“Marc, I ... No. I’m not perfect. Not at all.” I shook my head, thinking about the profound depression I’d fallen into during my sophomore year, about how lonely and anxious I felt sometimes, how I constantly questioned whether I was good enough to become a doctor. About how I, after a lifetime of being left behind, found it next to impossible to trust people to stick around. Even Tabitha and I weren’t as close as we used to be, and despite my efforts our bond seemed to be growing weaker by the year. “Your impression of me ... I’m not really the person you used to ...”Have a crush on,I didn’t say. But he got it.

And said, “That’s fine, Jamie. Since I’m not the person who spent most of his life in love with you, either.”

My heart drummed against my rib cage. I watched Marc as he stood. Draped his side of the blanket on my knees. Added in a low whisper, “And for what it’s worth, you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He bent to press a lingering kiss to my flushed cheek, and walked back inside the house.

Four years later, Marc Evan Compton was on the cover ofForbes.

And five years later, everything fell apart.

Chapter Three

Jamie, are you okay?”

I’m hugging my knees on one end of the couch, as far from where Marc sits as I can possibly manage, trying to ignore the howling of the storm that has intensified to a scary volume, the dangerous sounds of the wind beating against the trees.

I distract myself by staring at the beautifully lit Christmas tree, decorated in the same classic style Marc’s mom has favored since we were kids. Then I notice the swirls of snow traveling furiously past the high windows and have to shut my eyes tight.

I’ve always been a bit of a delicate flower. Scared of thunderstorms. The dark. Nightmares. Loud noises. Back when we were younger, Marc used to tease me about it—but then he’d miraculously be around whenever I showed the smallest signs of distress, and stick to my side until I was done panicking.

“Jamie.”

When I open my eyes, Marc is right there, kneeling next to me, the gray of his irises darkened by worry.

Honestly, he was right. Being outsidewouldbe dangerous, and staying put is for the best. Even if, for me,being stuck with him is hell, with just a tiny bit of heaven blended in.

Must be just plain hell for him,a needling voice reminds me.Given the way you treated him last time. Given his reaction to your apology—or lack thereof.

“I saw you on TV last month,” I blurt out. A bit out of the blue, but it’s as neutral a topic of conversation as any.

“Yeah?” He smiles, as if relieved that I’m finally talking to him. “Was itDateline?”

“Of course.”

“Dammit.”

“No, wait ...To Catch a Predator, I think.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Okay, fine. It was your testimony in front of Congress. That special hearing for all that ... Silicon Valley stuff?”

“I didn’t take you for the type to binge-watch C-SPAN judiciary-committee content.”

“Excuse me? I live for gavel-to-gavel coverage of the US Congress.”

“Right. How could I forget.” He gives me a long, affectionate look.

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