Page 4 of The Christmas Romance Wish

“Your birthday is soon. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with a little May-December romance. Also, and I say this with love, maybe your brothers should have less jurisdiction in your life.”

There’s some truth to that, but the bigger, harder one for me to recognize is that while they may have built the fence around me, I’m the one who entered and locked the gate. After the whole thing with stupid Tad, I kind of withdrew from social life. It hurt but in a humiliating way rather than breaking my heart. That thing is still intact and uneasy about taking any more risks.

Dylann picks up the framed photo of my brothers and me from my dresser. “Also, for the record, your brother is hot.”

“You’re getting married in a few months.”

“I know, but Magnus is still a fine specimen of a man. Can’t be denied.”

“Ew. You haven’t seen him pick his nose. Also, he found someone.”

“And so will you.”

I pretend that the comment doesn’t sting. I kind of wish Dylann said that I already have found my special someone. Then again, I haven’t officially met Alex, and he has a special someone. He’s mentioned Ginny a couple of times, though didn’t comment on whether she’s his girlfriend or fiancée. They’re not married. Not yet.

“You could think about it this way—those are also reasons to be together. He’s mature, strong, and a hero.” Dylann opens my closet and from the depths, she pulls out a pair of outrageous high heels that I wore on Halloween in college—they remind me of a wedding cake studded with sparkly stones and pearls. “If you’regoing to see Captain America, you have to bring these. I forgot you owned footwear like this.”

When I moved to New York, I tried to fit the stereotypical, posh metropolitan mold with high fashion and glamorous looks. That didn’t last long because I didn’t feel like I fit in. I never have—not back in Coco Key. Not here. “We both know that I typically live in leggings and sweatshirts. Alex lives on a ranch, so I don’t think those will be practical.”

She stuffs them in my suitcase, open on the bed. “You were in Crush Pose. These are sugar shoes. You’re taking them. One look at you in them and Captain America will change his mind about Jenny or Gwenny or whoever.”

“Ginny,” I correct.

I’m not a homewrecker. I was raised to be loyal and would never consider dating or tempting someone away from their current significant other.

Taking the shoes out of the suitcase, I say, “I’m heading out to Utah in a strictly professional capacity.”

“No pleasure?” Dylann puts the shoes back in.

I remove them. “None.”

“Emmie, one of the things I love about you is that you’re an old soul.”

We’ve talked about this before and I believe her—proof being her appreciation for old things like vinyl records.

“But maybe try letting yourself be young for once.”

“Look how that turned out,” I mumble.

“Don’t tell me your reluctance to meet someone is still because of the Tid Bit thing.” Dylann slides the shoes into my suitcase.

I wave my hand and take the shoes out with the other. “No. That breakup was more of a superficial wound. An abrasion.”

“He said you’re not datable or marriage material and so far, you’ve been holed up here like he was right. We both know he was wrong.”

So far, evidence has proven otherwise. Then again, I don’t goout much. It’s easier to be with people I know and trust. With my brothers, I can be myself, so long as I don’t talk about guys. With Dylann, I can be myself unless I’m talking about guys.

If Tad, aka Tid Bit, was here, he’d catch the fiercest Dylann Mitchum glare. “Don’t you think it’s ironic that you and Tid Bit created an app to promote long-term relationships and he broke up with you for a fling?”

“Multiple flings. And yes, that wasn’t lost on me.”

“And yet, you haven’t so much as had coffee with a guy since then.”

I twist a loose string from my bedspread around my finger. “It was humiliating to be the creator of the Marry Me app and have everything turn out that way.”

“You can’t let it keep you from experiencing comfort and joy,” Dylann says.

She’s right and reminds me of the more deeply rooted problem. Christmas.

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