Page 104 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“Well, it’s exactly like that, always, except the regular donors keep getting more gray hair.”
“Yeah, well, I’d seriously dye mine fully silver to get my hands on more of that fancy food and free champagne.” Bristol moans, like she’s tasting a dish from a chef with three Michelin stars. “Plus the live band. And that spectacular Christmas tree. The silent auction. I’ll never get overnotwinning that trip to Banff.”
A guffaw slips out of me. “You didn’t even place a bid.”
“Duh. I couldn’t afford to.” Bristol scoffs. “Back then I could barely swing ten raffle tickets. But the whole event was beyond magical.”
“It still is.” My sigh is part wistful and part resigned. “You should come again sometime.”
“Oooh, yes, please!” she gushes.
“Actually, I wish you could go with me tonight.” I pause for a moment. “Or even better, I wish you could goinsteadof me.”
“Awww, Sara.” She’s quiet for a stretch, probably processing the full meaning behind my statement. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of being in the spotlight, and I’ve never had to give a speech in front of a room full of rich people, or listen to your dad tell his miracle-baby story over and over, but I’ve gotta admit, I’d kill to celebrate my birthday at the Windsor Club even once.”
“You say that, but believe me. After experiencing twenty-eight Hathaway Galas, I think a simple at-home party might be even better.”
“Lies!” she cackles.
“Nope. I’m serious. Cake, ice cream, and balloons are kind of awesome.”
“Oh really?” I can practically hear the arch in her brow. “And how would you know anything about that, Ms. Hathaway?”
“Well, Ms. Kane.” I take a beat, a grin spreading across my face. “Ireallyneed to catch you up.”
Over the next half hour, I tell her all about what happened since the last time we talked. When I get to the ice skating part, she sucks in a breath. “Sara! That’s insane! You could’ve died.”
“I know,” I murmur. The weight of that is still fresh in my heart. “But Three … he saved my life.”
I proceed to tell her about the rest of our night together—every sweet detail—and I end with a summary from this morning: the quick cleanup of blankets and pillows, and one last sweep of the house before Ryan Detweiler showed up.
“Did you get final approval?”
“We did,” I chirp, triumphant, as a burst of relief floods my body. The fact that I automatically used the wordweisn’t lost on me either.
“Did you have to see that woman from Platinum Stays? Did she flirt with Three again?”
“To be fair, she never flirted in the first place,” I say. “And he didn’t either. I was just being jealous.”
“Wait. YOU?” Bristol’s tone shifts into exaggerated mocking. “But Sara Hathaway doesn’t care about men.”
“You’re right.” I swallow against the emotion thickening my throat. “I care aboutoneman.”
“Whoa.” She tries to whistle, but it sounds more like a burst of high-pitched wind.
“I know. It’s big, right?”
“The biggest,” she says. “So what are you going to do about it, birthday girl?”
I glance at my phone to check the time remaining on my drive. “I’m going to tell my parents.”
“Everything?”
“Pretty much.” I shrug. “Well, Imightleave out the details on the storage room kiss.”
“Yeah. Good call.”
“But they need to know I was in love with Three ten years ago, and that I never got over him. That he onlybroke my heart because he thought he was protecting me. I’m going to tell them he sacrificed what he wanted—me—because he knew how muchtheymeant to me. And he didn’t want to interfere or risk what we had. He didn’t want to hurt me.”
