Page 69 of Dear Roomie
Especially afterthatkiss.
The kiss that somehow managed to change everything and nothing all at the same time, completely shattering my worldview while also bringing everything clearly into focus. The kiss we still haven’t talked about. The kiss that’s been playing on a loop in my head, burning me alive on the inside ever since.
I would be spiraling now if she hadn’t left something else for me along with the note: a simple envelope, sealed with the stain of a pink glossy kiss. The words “Don’t open until Christmas” are written on the front in that looping script I’ve come to cherish. The envelope has been taunting me for the entire two weeks she’s been gone, begging me to open it and reveal its secrets, but I’ve respected her wishes and waited, impatiently counting down the days until I could rip open the flap and find out what she left inside.
It’s Christmas now, and there’s no time like the present.
With newfound excitement, I head to my room and grab the now-creased envelope from under my pillow. The barest hint of her sweet vanilla perfumewafts from the paper, so faint I’m not certain I’m not imagining it. My fingers twitch, itching to open it, but my hand stalls as it catches on a gap under the flap.
What if this is nothing and I’ve hyped it up in my head so much that I’ll be disappointed?
What if this is her way of telling me to forget about what happened between us?
I wouldn’t blame her if she did. The kiss was a mistake, a moment of impulsivity on her end that would be best left in the past, and I would leave it there if she hadn’t insisted that things would be different between us when she gets back. Those emotion-laden promises made under the cover of darkness destroyed any chance of me seeing it as a single moment.
Ruminating on it isn’t going to make things any clearer, and neither is leaving the letter unopened. I tear through the paper and pull the contents out.
I run a finger over the wordloveas a knot forms in my throat, and I brace against the tsunami of emotions that rips into me.
God,I miss her.
My chest is hollow without her here. James is my heart, and I need her to come home so I can be whole again.
I tuck the note back into the envelope, placing it in the small box that holds the rest of my collection, and follow her instructions. A large wrapped box sits on the floor of her closet; festive paper hugs the cardboard underneath with razor-sharp edges, and a bright ribbon encircles it with an oversized bow stuck dead in the center. It’s wider than it is tall, which makes it awkward in my arms as I carry it to her bed.
Even though she hasn’t been here in weeks, her presence is still palpable. The air seems to buzz, alive with the remnants of her energy. I should take the box and leave, but I can’t pull myself from this space if I tried. Her scent envelops me as I sit on her soft, cushiony bed, and it feels like coming home.
I open the box, and my heart grows fuller. Inside is a beautiful painting in a style I’ve come to recognize as uniquely hers. The painting is of us: me as a knight, Grover as a dire wolf, and James as our queen, who is bestowing the knight with a symbol of her favor.
My fingers run across the textured surface, needing to feel that this is real and that my eyes aren’t deceiving me. All of my feelings for her—all of the love—bubble to the surface and overwhelm me completely. If she were here now, everything I said about mistakes and Tanner would be nothing more than meaningless words; I’d make her mine regardless.
I don’t know when she would have had time to paint this—judging by the details and size, this took her time. Definitely more than I’m worth. Especially since I didn’t get her anything. I haven’t gotten anyone anything in so long, it didn’t even cross my mind. She won’t be home for over a week, though, so I still have time to rectify that and find something for her that’s as meaningful as this.No pressure.
A soft knock on the door signals Evelyn’s arrival and shatters my moment of tranquility. I head toward the door to meet her, but my mind is still on the woman hundreds of miles away.
Chapter 26
James
The Nicholsons’ home glows from where it sits at the end of the long driveway, standing out like a beacon among the marshland trees and hanging moss. The sight should be cheery, especially with the abundance of perfectly positioned white Christmas lights that adorn the front of the house and wreaths that sit in every window. But it feels ominous as I walk up the all-too-familiar path for what will likely be the last time. Dread weighs down on my shoulders with each step forward, every instinct in my body screaming at me to run, but I keep moving forward like a moth drawn toward its own beautiful destruction.
Tanner’s house has always been intimidating. The first time I came over, I begged my grandma to take me back home. I was convinced that it was the wrong place, or that he had invited me over as a joke. The waterfront house dwarfs the small two-bedroom ranch we lived in down the road and any of the places I lived at with my dad on the bases. There was no way I was supposed to be there. Seven-year-old Tanner running out of the house, beaming at me with a gap-tooth smile, is the only reason I stayed, and over the years, the house lost most of that edge and started to feel like home.
It doesn’t feel like home now, though.
Cars line the driveway in packed rows, the clear work of hired valets. The annual Nicholson holiday party gets more elaborate every year, and with Mr. Nicholson’s campaign for governor in full swing, this is bound to be the biggest one yet. I spent Christmas morning with Tanner’s family, and we’ve alreadygotten our actual celebrations out of the way. This event, which always takes place the Saturday after Christmas, is purely a political affair, and I’m here to play my part, one last time. Once the last of the guests leave, I’m going to pull Tanner aside and end things once and for all.
I step onto the porch, and my heart starts to accelerate as panic claws its way through me. My breath catches, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I count in my head, trying to stave it off. Morgan’s face pops into my imagination, his voice counting alongside mine as he has so many times before. With him in mind, I’m able to pull myself together. No matter what happens tonight, I’ll be going back to him in just a few days, and that makes everything worth it.
The door swings open seconds before my fist makes contact, and I’m met by a flurry of blond curls and high-pitched squeals as Kinsley and Raelyn throw themselves at me as if I wasn’t here a few days ago. They talk over each other, filling me in on everything I’ve missed, and all I can do is hug them tighter as my eyes grow wet with unshed tears. There’s no promise that I’ll ever get to do this again after today. Tanner is going to hate me, and they might too. Even if they don’t, Tanner might not let me be in their lives after this. Out of everything, that’s what scares me the most.
“Ophie, that’s too tight,” Raelyn whines, so I let them go.
“Sorry, I just love you both so much.” I wipe the tears away from my eyes before they can notice and plaster a smile on my face. “Let’s go inside. I need y’all to show me where the best food is.”
They each grab one of my hands and lead me into the house. I’m met with an air of sophistication that I’ve come to expect from these parties, and it never fails to make me feel out of place. A towering fir, gilded in golden ornamentation, stands as the focal point in the main entryway, and Mr. Nicholson’s guests gather around it in small groups while waitstaff move between them with silver plates of hors d’oeuvres and champagne. I grab a glass, drink the bubbly liquid in one gulp, and place it back on the tray to grab another before the server can move.
Tanner’s face emerges through the sea of unfamiliar faces, and a large smile breaks across his lips when he notices me. He dashes away from his group and crosses the room, never once taking his eyes off mine. Even now, I can admit he looks fucking good in his tailored suit, the picture-perfect model of a politician’s son.
