Page 44 of Meet Me on Christmas Eve

No more than five.

I was juggling six little tubs of different varieties of caramel ice cream in my arms and walking back to my cart when my heart lodged in my throat.

Those eyes, that face, that man … not just my imagination, no. He was striding down the aisle with a small basket. His eyes went straight to the ice cream, and several little tubs promptly rolled out of my arms.

He reached me just as they started rolling on the floor in different directions, and of course, he had to help pick them up.

“Hosting an ice cream party tonight, Mariana?” His voice was tinged with amusement.

I didn’t look up, merely grabbed the last two tubs from the floor and rose, bringing them to my shopping cart.

He followed me over and dropped in the tubs he’d picked up.

Finally, I looked him in the eye, raising my chin. “Maybe I am.”

He looked at a few of the labels. “Looks like all your guests have very specific taste.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty exclusive.”

His lips curled into an almost-smile. “Maybe I’ll host my own party for the chocolate and strawberry ice cream fans.”

“You do that. I can’t be friends with those people.” I fought the urge to smile.

Were we actually joking with each other? Making friendly conversation?

I needed to nip this in the bud. I can’t do casual conversations with him. I just can’t be around him, period.

I wiped my expression of any humor and offered a polite nod. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go.”

Without looking back, I turned to push my cart in the opposite direction where he was standing.

But when I was only a few steps away, I thought I heard him call out, “OK, have a good Christmas.”

My feet stopped, and I turned slowly, reluctantly. He was still standing there, looking at me with an unreadable expression. “What?”

“I said, Merry Christmas,” he said as he leaned against one of the coolers.

“I …” I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

I was brought back to that Christmas Eve, all those years ago.

When we were supposed to meet again.

When he didn’t show.

When I wanted to kick myself for showing up, since he’d never bothered to keep in touch.

When I thought I’d learned my lesson.

Yet here I was, drawn to him, again.

His dark brows furrowed as he intently watched the emotions pass over my face. “Mariana?” My name rolled off his lips so slowly, and he took a couple of tentative steps toward me, but we were still several paces apart.

I licked my parched lips and briefly squeezed my eyes shut. “Sorry, I am, yes, good Christmas to you too. I mean, Merry Christmas.”

He took another step toward me, this time more deliberately. “Are you all right? You look …”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, my breath coming fast.

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