Page 113 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“Inspiration,” he says.
“And I don’t disagree with you.” I tilt my head. “But I grew up with this sort of … unspoken assumption that I’d be a carbon copy of Dad. So I never slowed down to ask myself whatIwanted.” I pause for a beat, my fingernails digging into my palms. “I applied to the same schools. Went after the same scholarships. Won the same awards.” I meet my mom’s gaze. “I soaked up all your positive reinforcement too. I got so caught up in the high of pleasing you, I convinced everyone I wanted tobeyou. Even myself.”
“Well.” My mother throws her hands in the air like she’s giving up. “I hadabsolutelyno idea you felt like this.”
“I didn’t either.” My eyes soften. “I think we werealljust operating with the evidence presented to us.”
My father clears his throat. “The partners at Hathaway Cooke are about to extend you an offer tomorrow.” He grips his knees. “Are you saying you don’t want to accept it?”
I slide off my chair, moving around the table to kneel in front of him. “I’m saying nothing you and Mom taught me has gone to waste. Not a single lesson. But the most important onemightbe happening right now.”
He exhales. “And what lesson is that?”
I hitch my shoulders. “Letting go of expectations.”
A small yelp slips out of my mom, and she fumbles for my hand. Then she reaches for my father, so we’re all holding hands like a little triangle of people in reindeer pajamas.
“You know, the key to all thisreallyis better communication,” she says. “That’s what Doctor Hahn always says. We just need to CO. MMU. NI. CATE.”
My father shoots me a look, then he smiles at my mom. “That’s quite the revolutionary conclusion, Kate. How much does Doctor Hahn charge per session?”
I bite back a laugh. “I know this has been a lot to take in. Just, please.” I squeeze my parents’ hands. “Try to keep an open mind, okay?”
Even as I say this, I realize I need to give them at least as much grace and patience as I’m asking for Three and me. Still, in time, I hope they’ll understand why I fell for him.
Twice.
Over breakfast, I tell them all the ways Three and I have taken care of each other these past few days. How he treats his family and friends, not to mention all the people of Abieville. As I go on, a wave of warmth crests in me—a fresh swell of love for Three Fuller. A man as wonderful as he is thinks I’m worthy. He makes me feel precious just as I am. Protected. And cherished.
The feeling is entirely mutual.
More than anything, I want to rush to his side and spill out every emotion crowding my heart. I want to tell him my future won’t be complete without him. That I love him with my whole soul. But he’s hours away, and I’m with my mom and dad asking them to trust me. So for now, I say all this to my parents.
The ones who loved me first.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Three
“Merry Christmas.”
I’m vaguely aware of Sara’s lips brushing mine, and the smell of something sweet hovering in the air. “Carol of the Bells” hums in the background. Obviously, I’m dreaming. So I groan, shifting on the couch and willing myself to stay asleep.
“Three.”
“Noooo,” I mumble. “I don’t want to wake up.”
“Merry Christmas,” the soft voice says again.
Wait. What?
I bolt upright so quickly, I almost bonk Sara’s head.
Just what we need. Another concussion.
“Wait. Are you real?” I croak, rubbing at my sleep-crusted eyes. I must’ve drifted off when Kevin McAllister was dealing with the Wet Bandits for the second time.
“I am.”
