Page 6 of Pining for Christmas

I need to leave. There’s nothing else for it. He knows how badly I want him now, and that will only make things awkward. Will only ruin everything good that we have. I’ve probably outstayed my welcome anyhow, and the right thing to do, thegratefulthing, is to look for new work. Not to take advantage of Jack’s caring nature any longer.

My eyes are raw from crying when I roll out of bed in a chorus of springs, jamming my cold feet into my slipper boots. I slide a red wool sweater over my pajama shirt, shivering in the chill.

Part of the reason Jack barely charges me at all for my room is because it’s just that: a single room. If I need the bathroom, I use the one by his office. There’s a shower in there, too. And Jack bought me a hot plate and a mini fridge, but if I want a glass of water, I have to come down to the bar.

I try not to come down in my pajamas. It’s creepy when I’m the only one here and Jack’s finally gone. But crying makesmy throat raw, and if I lay in that bed feeling sorry for myself another minute, I’ll go mad.

So. Water it is.

The steps are old and wooden, prone to creaking underfoot, so I’m careful to place my feet on the sturdier edges. This is a habit from when Jack’s working late and I don’t want to disturb him, but I keep it up when I’m the only one here.

Like I said, the bar’s creepy late at night. I don’t want to draw any attention.

My sweater sleeves hang over my hands, only my fingertips bared to the night air. I run one palm along the banister as I climb down, and the only sound is the whisper of wool over polished wood. Below me, the bar is dark and empty, the lights on my tree flickering in one corner.

I freeze, one foot on the bar floor.

Something shifts beneath the tree.

Oh my god. I wet my lip, checking Jack’s office, but it’s locked up with the lights out. My heart hammers at my rib cage, my muscles bunching under all my layers. I’m alone here. Vulnerable. Would the neighbors hear if I yelled? I—

“Hey, Clara.” Jack’s voice is quiet. Resigned. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I melt back against the banister, so relieved my head spins.

“Jack. Thank god. I thought you were… I don’t know.” I choke out a laugh. “Someone scary.”

He laughs quietly too and pushes to his feet. The tree lights wash over him as he stands, and I snort.

“The Santa hat again, huh?”

“Yeah, you got me. I think it’s my color.” Jack brushes his hands against his jeans, and I pause. Squint harder into the darkness.

“What were you doing over there?”

Because there’s nothing there but the tree. The scruffy little tree that I brought here, dragged here all by myself, and that he barely even noticed before.

Jack’s sigh cuts through the quiet. He shifts his weight, but doesn’t come away from the branches. “Getting into character, I guess.”

…Huh?

I don’t bother stepping quietly, not now that I know it’s him. I hop down fully off the steps and wind between the bar tables, my pajama pants rustling together. Jack is silent as I come closer, and when I spot what he’s been doing, I see why.

There are gifts beneath my tree. About a dozen small packages, wrapped in glossy white paper.

My heart pounds harder again, but it’s not from fear this time. It’s from heartache. Love.Longing.

“Jack…”

I should thank him. Tell him he didn’t have to do this. Maybe even ask him why he did. But I can’t speak, can’t do more than stare at the pile of gifts, the flickering lights of the tree shining on the paper.

“You’ve been good this year,” he jokes, trying to fill the silence, but it sounds forced. Awkward.

What do you think, Clara? Want to sit on Jack’s knee and tell him you’ve been good?

Yes. I want that so badly.

Then: “I have,” I announce, and it’s like someone else has taken over my body. Someone confident. Someone who goes after what she wants. Because I step forward, hands trembling but chin high, and push Jack a few steps back until his legs hit the edge of the nearest booth.

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