Page 46 of Pining for Christmas

Can’t speak. Can’t think.

Can’t nod. Can’t react at all.

Not without giving away the meltdown happening in my brain.

Because…callher? Call my beautiful assistant outside of work hours? To saywhat?I mean, look at me—I can barely string a sentence together, and that’s in person, never mind the awkwardness of talking on the phone.

Besides, Noelle doesn’t mean that offer. She’s just being polite and considerate, like she is with everyone. Pitying me for my lack of dates.

Slowly, robotically, I turn on my heel and walk away.

Noelle

It’s a four hour drive to Aspen Ridge, and we’re spending the whole freaking journey in stilted silence. At first, as we drove out of the city, there were logistics to go over. Key points about the meeting, stuff like that. That was fine.

Then we ran out of work-related things to say, so I tried putting the radio on. Big mistake.

We made it through six different channels, all blaring Christmas music, before Reid slapped it off with a snarl.

So.

Yeah.

Now it’s just us. Our steady breaths, the muffled rumble of the car engine, and the faint thud of my heart. Occasionally, we’ll drive under a dark cloud, and sleet patters against the roof.

“There’s a cow in that field.”

My boss grunts.

Reid’s car is sleek, black and fancy, with leather seats and that new car smell, even though he’s had it for at least the three years I’ve known him. Doesn’t he ever tramp mud in here? Or gobble down handfuls of fries at a drive in? Does he ever relax his ironclad control?

And who the hell doesn’t like cows?

“We could play a game,” I say, as though I’ve never met this man in my life. As if Reid Merryweather is even capable of such frivolity. If he ever plays games, they’re probably elite chessmatches where everyone watches in silence, then groans politely when the player loses their queen.

But clearly the world is topsy-turvy today, because Reid glances at me, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, then says: “Alright.”

Oh my god. What?

Yay!

My mind goes blank.

Every game I’ve ever played, every dumb, fun way to kill time—it all falls out of my ears. There’s nothing left except shock ringing in my skull.

“Which game?” Reid clips out, his tone impatient, like he regrets this already. Well, you know what? Samesies. But there’s no way he’ll ever agree to this again, so I need to milk this opportunity for all it’s worth.

A game with Reid Merryweather? It’son.

“I Spy?” My offer is wobbly. Unsure. I clear my throat and pretend like I’m not freaking out over this. “That’s a classic car game. What you do is—”

“I know how I Spy works, Noelle. Believe it or not, I had a childhood.” Reid gusts out a sigh then says, “F.”

The grin spreads over my face faster than I can bite it back. My legs cross and uncross, and my fingertips tap together in my lap. “So… you won’t say the rhyme?”

Dead silence.

Dead, dead silence.

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