Page 22 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

“Sure,” I said flatly. "And it's Mariana."

Yeah, that will never happen.

“Great!” She flashed her unnaturally white teeth at me and then at Terry. “Well, I’m starving, but uh, if you two …”

“Nope, we’re done.” He speared me with his dark brown eyes. “Aren’t we?”

I swallowed, my breath coming a little faster. “Ya—yes. Thank you, Mr. Grant. Blair, it was nice to see you again.” Before I could make a fool of myself any longer, I spun around quickly to exit the scene.

But stepping too fast on snowy ground is never a good idea, as I realized when I ended up on the ground, eating snow.

Just seconds later, I heard soft laughter in my ear. “Need a hand?”

“Go away,” I growled. I could get up on my own.

“Fine.” He laughed again this time as he stood back up. “Ms. Northam has got this. Come on, sis, let’s go.”

What a colossal failure of a day.

I wondered if I had any eggnog left.

Chapter 8

“Iam so beyond tired.”

I eyed my friend, who’d unceremoniously sunk into her soft couch. “I told you we could talk tomorrow.”

Hazel tried to stifle a yawn. “You know what they say about jet lag. Go to bed at the usual time to adjust quickly …”

I frowned. I couldn’t argue with that. For once, she was doing things properly, in that sense.

“Besides, you need my help.”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed one of the takeout containers on the couch and handed it to her. “You always think that.”

“Well, you always do.” She laughed. “Admit it, you can’t live without me.”

I bit back a smile. Considering how much I’d messed things up while she’d been in Japan, she might have a point. “I don’t know how you could even help though. It’s … he’s so …”

“So … what?” She looked at me, taking a bite of her lo mein.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking down at my own food. “Stubborn. Among other things. Bull-headed, probably.”

“Sounds familiar,” she said with a giggle. “OK, so Terry is really stubborn, and you went down there and demanded he stop interfering. It’s so shocking that didn’t go over well. Especially while he was working.”

I exhaled loudly. I’d told her the story on our way home from the airport after I’d picked her up, and I was already starting to regret having told her. “Yeah, well, what was I supposed to do? Beg?”

Hazel shrugged. “Maybe.”

My jaw dropped, and I shook my head quickly. “Uh, no. Mariana doesn’t beg.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “It’s weird when you do the third-person thing.” She took another bite. “Maybe not beg exactly, but … ask?”

“I did ask.”

That’s what I did. Was she not listening at all?

“I think you demanded. Not the same thing.”

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