Page 33 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

My eyes flew to his. “Then why did you—”

“Why are youhere, in this room?”

“Well, Jane noticed I was limping,” I said with a sheepish smile. “She was right. I was a bit sore from yesterday. So I’m just resting.”

He narrowed his eyes. “But why not go home and do that?”

Dammit.

Whydidn’tI?

I furrowed my brow, not even sure how to answer. I couldn’t meet his eyes. Somehow I knew whatever answer I came up with wouldn’t satisfy him. I didn’t even know the goddamn answer myself. Did I?

“Don’t give me some bullshit answer, Mariana,” he warned.

Given his harsh tone, I looked up quickly and saw that his jaw muscles were tight. He was angry. Or at least annoyed.

And I was feeling too many things.

Confused.

Nervous.

Regretful.

Intrigued.

Wait, what? No, just no.

Embarrassed?

Why, I’d done nothing wrong.

But I felt like he’d caught me, somehow. Seen through me. I didn’t like feeling this vulnerable, this …

Invigorated.

Shaking my head to try to clear my thoughts and damnable feelings, I did my best to look him in the eye with what little remained of my dignity. “Well, it was kind of Jane to offer, so I thought it only kind to accept.” Well, that was a dumb reason if I’d ever heard one. “Besides, after the cookies were eaten, I’d need my trays back.”

“Both great reasons to be sitting in the nursing mothers room at my place of work,” he said sarcastically.

Well, I couldn’t disagree with his sarcasm there. I wasn’t great at thinking on my feet around him. Or thinking of any kind.

After another long, awkward silence, he stood up suddenly with a huff and started pacing for a minute or so. I just sat there for a bit and then asked, “Terry? Everything OK?”

He ignored me but sat back down. After just a bit more glaring at the floor, he broke the silence. In more ways than one.

“Could youbeany more transparent, Mariana?”

My heart jumped into my throat as I watched his eyes flare with resentment. “I’m not, uh, not sure what you mean—” I started to say, barely audible.

“Bullshit.” He said, his jaw clenched. “I can save us both a lot of trouble and tell you it’s not going to work.”

I flinched, and I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t form a sentence. “What … you … is this—” What was he referring to? Did he think I was trying to seduce him, or worse? How mortifying—I had to eliminate this idea from his mind right away. I swallowed and smoothed my hair, trying to summon the cool, sophisticated Mariana. I thought of what he’d done, all those years ago.

That did the trick.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I managed to say, my voice relatively unaffected.

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