Page 45 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

What a liar I was. And the look on his face told me that he knew it, too.

He eyed me for a very long moment, and my eyes darted from him to the floor and back to him. “What are your plans?”

“My plans? For … what?” Lost in his eyes, I was finding it hard to think. Not hard—impossible. What was he talking about anyway?

“Your plans for the Christmas holiday?” He took a longer breath. “For tonight?”

I’m sure the shade of pink on my flushed face darkened, and I averted my eyes.

Oh, that’s what he’s asking. Um …

“Oh, just the usual, nothing very fancy. How about you?” I started to fidget with the scarf hanging from my neck.

He ignored my question. “What’s the usual?”

If my heart were racing before, it was on track to win the race now. “Oh, you know, lots of eating, Christmas tunes, trees, naps. Maybe a festive movie. Just like anyone else.” I forced my lips into what I hoped looked like a convincing smile.

He nodded slightly. “Do you celebrate with family? Or friends? I’m thinking you must celebrate tomorrow if tonight is grocery night.”

For some reason, even though he didn’t matter—he didn’t!—I didn’t want him to know that I celebrated alone, or not at all. That I had for many years. That I hated it, even though I usually enjoyed my own company. That I missed having a family Christmas, that I wished Hazel wouldn’t always travel for the holiday but I always wanted the best for her.

“Why the 20 questions, Terry?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

A flash of hurt passed over his face, and I instantly regretted the abrupt question. His shoulders slunk. “Sorry, I was just thinking maybe—you know, never mind. Sorry to bother you.”

The despair on his face tugged at my heart, and I had a feeling he was about to walk away now. Suddenly I had to make things right. Even though I was so close to getting rid of him now, like I’d wanted.

“Wait, what were you thinking?” When he didn’t reply right away and just shook his head, I added, “Sorry if I was rude. I just … my holiday plans aren’t very exciting. That is, I don’t have any.” I was going to regret saying that, probably, but so be it. I couldn’t handle the hurt in his eyes, especially if I'm the one who put it there. But I could handle a little humiliation if I could make him less sad.

I heard myself think, and I had to wonder: Who was this Mariana? I bit my lip.

His eyes rose to meet mine, and we just stayed that way for a long time.

Finally, he took another tentative step toward me. “I’m not busy tonight either. And it just so happens …” His mouth curved into a slow grin. “I like caramel ice cream too. With strawberry.”

My eyes widened. “What? No, you can’t mix caramel with fruit! You’re ruining the caramel flavor. Well, I guess the exception is apples. Who doesn’t love a caramel apple, am I right?” I stopped then, remembering the other part of what he’d said.

Was he suggesting …

No, he couldn’t be.

My brows scrunched together, I looked at him for answers, unwilling to guess at his meaning and risk looking like a fool.

“Come to my place. And bring your ice cream.”

Hewassuggesting it.

My eyes searched his face, looking for the punchline, but he just looked at me steadily. “Well, I don’t think … I mean, that’s kind—”

“Nothing kind about it. I’m selfish.” He smirked.

“Terry—” I didn’t know how to say this, but I had to tell him no. I had to. Didn’t I?

“Come over, and I’ll prove you wrong.”

I inhaled sharply. “Prove … what exactly?” Were my feelings really that obvious?

Wait, I don’t have feelings for him. Got to remember that.

---