Page 77 of The Christmas Romance Wish

Hope pulses along with the beat of my heart because it’s like she stops at a fork in the road. I can see both directions and where they lead, but which will she choose?

“I was trying to escape the pain of my past. Running away from Christmas. From myself.” Worry lines crease Emmie’s forehead, and I imagine they do mine as well.

“I didn’t truly fit in there, I just told myself I did. You’re a loner on a ranch, and I’m afraid I’m just repeating what I did before, trying to find a place for myself here.”

Shaking my head, I say, “I’m not a loner, Emmie. I have an entire community and you can be part of it too if you want to be.” I hitch half a smile. “And the cool thing is, you don’t have to fit in. As far as I’m concerned, you stick out. I like that about you. I love everything about you.”

“But we hardly know each other.” She slumps like something weighs heavily on her shoulders.

My chest rises with a deep breath. “I disagree. Just so you know, I don’t want you to change. I love you the way you are.”

“You’ve said yourself that sometimes you’re moody.”

“I’ve worked on that. I am still from time to time, but that’s just life. Not every day is Christmas,” I hesitate before continuing, “I was going to apologize for using that as an example, but I’m not going to. I’ve spent a lot of time, too much time, thinking about myself, my problems, and what I’ve been through—woe is me. Life gets better when we look outside ourselves and help other people do the same.”

“Wise words, but that’s another thing. You’re so much older than me. You’re practically a grumpa.” Emmie’s eyes shine and I can’t tell if she’s verging toward tears or laughter. I’m hoping for the latter.

I wrinkle my nose, not liking where this is going. “Grumpa, like grump and grandpa? Are you calling me an old man?”

It’s like she takes a trench shovel to my thoughts, digging up insecurities.

“No, but we do have an age difference.”

“Someday you’ll be my age.”

“I’ll always be younger,” Emmie says as if she’s used to people older than she is disappearing from her life.

“I won’t be a grumpa if you don’t act like a brat,” I say, lightly, jokingly, but I’m afraid she’s serious.

“Calling me names makes you a baby.”

“Did we just have our first fight?” I ask, not interested in continuing this line of the conversation whether it’s in jest or not.

“You’re good at it,” she says as if trying to stoke it anew.

“I’m a trained fighter. You are too. But maybe we can also be good at making up.”

She looks away. “Or perhaps we’re better as pen pals.”

“I’m not interested in being pen pals, Emmie.”

“What about the distance between us? I live in New York and you live here.”

“I thought you fell in love with Holidayle.” I’ve fought many battles. This one starts to feel like a losing effort.

“We can just go back to the way things were. Plus, it was confusing to me when you were flirty during the ride here from the airport, cooled off during the workshop?—”

“You thought my horse was my girlfriend.”

I hope to win a laugh. Instead, there’s a plea in Emmie’s eyes. “Then things sparked when I was stranded. What if you decide that?—?”

“I’m going to stop you right there. I was being immature about my emotions. Meeting you in person unleashed something in me. It’ll never disappear no matter how much you object or try to push me away. I’ve spent a lot of energy attempting to escape pain from the past.”

“Same.”

“You don’t feel like you have your own story. I was trying to escape mine until you came along. I’d like for us to tell one together. But if?—”

This time, she cuts me off. “I just need time to think.”

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