Page 14 of Christmas Kisses

My courtesy isn’t needed. The driver is halfway down the street already. He’s idling at the stop sign a charity Santa is working like this side of Ravenshoe is as pricy as the other half.

A Santa who oddly resembles the Santa from last night.

“They must get their suits from the same spot,” I rationalize with myself before dumping my laptop on my bed and trudging to the bathroom.

I don’t want to wash off the scent of Zane’s skin from mine, but if I don’t do something to loosen my muscles, I’ll never find the strength to box up Peter’s things and ship them to Oregon.

He’s not coming back here. I forbid it. But I’m not going anywhere either. Ravenshoe is my hometown, and I refuse to let him trample my mark here for a second longer.

“Is that the last box?”

For the quickest second, I stray my eyes to the desk drawer I hid Peter’s family heirloom in before returning them to the courier company worker picking up his belongings. “Uh-huh. That’s everything.”

Missing the deceit in my tone, he replies, “Great. If you could sign here.” He waits for me to sign the first slip before he places a secondary document on top of it. “And here. Then we will get these to the other side of the country before your plane lands.”

“Oh… I’m not moving.”

When he peers past my shoulder, I follow the direction of his gaze. Barring basic pieces of furniture that could only fill a dorm room, my apartment is almost empty.

I roll my shoulders before shrugging them. “A change is as good as a vacation.”

“That it is.” When the courier wets his lips as his eyes rake my body, a spark of interest darts through his hooded gaze. “Did you want to go out for some eggnog sometime?”

“Oh… um… I’m taken.” I have no idea where those last two words came from. They didn’t even ruminate in my head before my mouth spoke them.

“You are?” the courier asks. His lower lip droops.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

You’re a lying poo-poo face.

Only two days ago, the courier’s dark features, light eyes, and bad-boy persona would have ticked every one of my boxes. Now, they’re barely creating a hum.

Zane ruined me.

He completely and utterly destroyed me.

I’d be upset if my foolish heart wasn’t still believing there’s a possibility of round two.

It’s late Sunday afternoon, and Zane has not realized my details are accessible in his Uber app.

That can only mean one thing.

He doesn’t want to find me.

Damn it.

“All right.” The driver waits until he has regained my focus before handing me a business card. “If you change your mind, my cell phone number is on there.”

I accept the card he’s holding out. “Thanks.”

It feels good to walk him to the door with enough confidence to convince myself I could go it alone if needed. I haven’t felt like this for a long time.

Every year that ticked closer to my thirties convinced me more and more that I had to settle. Thatanythingwas better than nothing.

I don’t feel that way anymore.

I spoke to a separation attorney yesterday. She’s confident I have a solid case to demand the right to buy Peter out of his mortgage, and even though I’m meant to be on vacation, my request to return to work was approved in writing earlier today.

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