Page 48 of The Christmas Wife

"But you disabled the clocks in the cabin."

"They came with the house. I hadn’t acquired them."

"So, because you found—" I wave my hand in the air, "all these, and fixed them, you’re fine with them?"

"I put them together; I know what they are made of. I can trust them to be accurate."

"Unlike the ones back there."

"Yep."

"So, you are fine surrounded by these…" I turn a circle, "time pieces on the wall, just not the ones you didn’t acquire yourself."

"Sounds about right."

"You know how weird you sound?"

He shoots me a glance, "Says the woman who calls her phone Hedwig, and who uses the names of desserts as swearwords."

"So, what’s wrong with that?" I frown.

He snickers, "My point exactly." He focusses on his work.

I shuffle my feet, wind a strand of hair through my fingers.

"I haven’t forgiven you yet," I mutter.

"You can leave at any time."

But I don’t want to, and therein lies the problem. What the hell is keeping me here? Him? This chemistry between us that I have to explore? What happens if I do explore it further? Will I survive the time we spend together?

And what if I did walk away?

Would I forever wonder how it could have been between us? What if he was…the one? Ha, me and my romantic notions. But this is Christmas; I’m allowed to indulge myself, right?

I lean around him and stare at the contents of the clock’s insides on the table.

He continues tinkering away…or whatever it is he’s doing there.

The pieces of the machinery seem to be disjointed, yet they come together to form a certain symmetry, to dance together and make music. Like us.

If he were to only give us a chance. Do I want to give him a chance? "Weston, you’re not a douche, you know."

He grunts.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Why do you have to be this macho?"

"Why are you still here?" he growls.

"Because I cooked bloody breakfast and came here to call you. Then, you had to go and pull that…"

He straightens, "What?"

"That…" I wave a hand in the air. "That…obnoxious McFuck act of yours."

He swivels around to face me, "What was that? What did you call me?"

"Obnoxious?"

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