Page 90 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“But Iamguilty.”
“Sara.” I frown. “I came charging into that house without knocking, in a hoodie drawn so tightly over my face I might as well have been wearing a bank robber’s mask. The room was smoky. You were already in a panic. Hitting me with that fire extinguisher was an instinct. It’s not your fault.”
She’s quiet for a moment, taking this in. “Why are you defending me now?”
“Because you didn’t defend yourself in the first place.” I shift my gaze back out the windshield. “I let you take the blame because I think a part of me—granted, a heavily medicated and concussed part—wanted you to stick around when everyone else went on the cruise.”
“No.” She gapes. “You rejected my offer to stay with you at the hospital.”
“The protest was pretty weak, if you recall.” I smirk. “And then I threw up all over myself. Of course you weren’t going to give up and abandon the pathetic vomiter in the wheelchair.”
“Weren’t you just nauseated from the concussion and the meds?”
“Yes. But I was also curious about who you’d become, and if I’d recognize the old Sara.” I clear my throat. “Once the initial pain meds wore off, I felt so drawn to you. I kept hoping I hadn’t slipped on a big pair of rose-colored nostalgia glasses.”
“I felt it too,” she says before I can continue. “In fact, when I first offered to stay with you, it was mostly out of guilt. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wondering about you too.”
“Really?”
She nods. “I mean, of course I didn’t want anyone in your family to miss out on their holiday because of me. But there were other options. I could’ve hired someone to come stay with you for a week. A home healthcare worker or something.”
“Hold up.” My brow arches. “Round-the-clock, in-home help isn’t cheap. You have that kind of extra cash lying around? You aren’t even a full-time attorney yet.”
Soft laughter puffs across her lips. “Thanks for pointing that out,” she says. “But you’re right. I couldn’t afford something like that. My parents could, though. They would’ve paid someone if I’d asked them.”
“Ahh. Right. Of course they’d be willing to shell out any amount of money to keep Three Fuller away from their daughter.”
Sara’s quiet for a beat. Then she says, “That’s not what I meant.”
“Okay.” I nod, my chest going tight. “So you gave it some thought overnight, and you’ve decided I’m wrong. That your parents actually liked me and the rest was all in my head.”
Sara takes a quick peek in my direction. “Tobe honest, I don’t know what to think.” She cuts her eyes back to the road. “Yes, my parents are probably a bit too focused on social status … and sure, they’re overly impressed by our Mayflower heritage … but I’ve never witnessed them putting down other people or intentionally criticizing anyone.” She pauses to swallow. “Maybe I’m just naïve and I only see what I want to see. But don’t we all do that when it comes to the ones we love?”
I clear my throat. “I guess so.”
“What Idoknow is they were having a private conversation when you overheard them. So whatever they said to each other wasn’t meant for your ears. Or for mine.”
I blow out a breath. “And yet you’re still pretty sure they would’ve forked over big bucks to prevent you from spending a few days with me. If you’d asked.”
Sara slows as she approaches the bridge, rolling to a full stop at the deserted four-way intersection. “Youwere the one who asked me not to tell my parents I was with you.” She cuts the engine, then turns to face me, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “And for the record, I never heard them speak ill of you, even after they saw how badly you broke my heart.”
“Yeah.” I avert my gaze. “They were probably too busy being thrilled I wasn’t holding you back anymore.”
“You know what? Maybe it’s time to consider that you’ve got just as much bias against my parents as you think they have toward you.”
Whoa. This shuts me up. Fast.
Balling my hands into fists, I stare out at the lake, stretching dark and frozen in front of us.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice gruff. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” she says. “Whether it was intentional or not, you got hurt because of me too.”
“Hurt.” The single syllable cracks something loose in my chest. “That’s one way of putting it. Honestly, losing you felt … closer to dying.” I huff out a breath, making fun of myself. “Not to be overly dramatic.”
“Are you kidding?” Sara lets out her own gust of air. “Bristol told me I could’ve been an extra onThe Walking Dead.”
My throat tightens like a boa constrictor’s wrapped around it. “Man, I hate that.”
