Page 3 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

He merely stood in place, blinking as he looked at her briefly but only for an instant and then resumed staring. At me.

I turned and ran.

Chapter 2

Stupid, stupid shoes. I made it all the way outside before I tripped, landing on my ass in a puddle. It had rained earlier … because of course it had, a cold October rain. And of course I fell.

Only seconds later, he caught up with me. “Mariana?”

I closed my eyes, wanting to disappear into the freezing puddle. So much for my reputation, my dignity, my—

Wait, what the hell was hedoinghere?

I stood up with as much dignity as I could muster, hoping no one walked behind me and saw my wet skirt and tights from behind.

“Yes, I’m Mariana. Northam. And you are?” I was proud of how polite and distant I sounded. I think.

His eyes flashed for a moment. “Mariana Northam,” he said slowly, extending the syllables. “Married, wow,” he said so quietly that I almost didn’t hear. He cleared his throat then. “This—”

“What the hell, man?” Hazel stepped up next to me then, scowling at him. “I told you to leave my friend alone.”

“I just—” Something like frustration sounded in his tone. “I just want a moment to speak to her. Is that all right?”

My best friend looked at him for a moment and then at me. I bit my lip.

Would it be better to talk and get this over with? Or use her as an excuse to get the hell out of here? I had no idea if he was here visiting or if … heaven forbid, if he was here for a longer stay. Or if he lived here. He couldn’t!

I needed to know.

Even if it killed me.

I took a deep breath and gathered my courage, using a prim voice. “We need to leave, but I can offer you a minute or two of my time first.”

Hazel eyed me for a long moment and then whispered, “I’m just going to sit right over there and call a ride. I’ll stay within sight.”

I nodded, watching reluctantly as she sauntered away, giving him the gesture to let him know she’d have her eyes on him.

Turning to him slowly, I folded my hands in front of me.

I could do this. I’d faced worse than this in my life. Far worse.

“So, you were about to introduce yourself, Mr. …?”

“Terry Grant,” he said, his eyes holding mine as he stuck out his hand.

I reluctantly shook his hand, regretting it instantly as his touch brought back so many memories, just the simple touch of a handshake. It was fire, and I was burned. I jumped back quickly.

“But you already knew that.” He removed the top of the pinecone costume, which turned out to be a big headpiece.

Oh no, it was him. But it also wasn’t.

It wasn’t boy-next-door Terry that I’d fallen in love with a decade ago, the one barely of age.

This Terry was all man, all grown up. Square jaw, hard lines, full lips that were currently curved downward. His short, dark hair was just a bit longer on top, but not as floppy and loose as it once was. I thought I saw a couple silver strands around his temples, but maybe it was a trick of the outdoor light.

And once again, I couldn’t breathe. Or speak. I tried to focus on my feet planted squarely on the ground, keeping me steady, keeping me from running or, hell, launching myself at him …

“You know damn well who I am, Mariana. Now tell me, why are you pretending you don’t?” he demanded. He was angry. His face was red, maybe from the hot mask, but I knew that look in his eyes. I remembered it, along with every other expression. But now it all looked different because he was …this. This man.

---