Page 54 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
She was a convenient hookup who came with benefits—information.
While he’d been whispering sexy, sweet nothings in her ear, he’d been listening for anything he could use as leverage—her strategy, her pitch, and all those details about the job that she should have just kept to herself.
She knew better.
And yet, somehow, she’d let herself believe that Connor had an ounce of decency.
Now, he was walking away withherjob.
Meg had it all wrong—Connor hopping on a plane wasn’t a romantic gesture. It was his attempt to feel better about what he’d done. He could fly a thousand miles and try to win back her good graces with every flower and expensive box of holiday chocolate on the market, but the only thing it would serve would be to empty his bank account faster.
There was nothing Connor could do that would make her forgive him. She had zero intentions of absolving him of his guilt. He’d made his choice—he would have to live with it.
THIRTY-FIVE
MEG
Meg spent the next few hours recording and documenting the dizzying race with Matt at her side. It was like old times. So many happy memories rushed to the front of her brain—hiking through densely forested trails, Matt with his backpack stuffed with fun snacks and every tool and piece of gear imaginable. He would intentionally fake a cramp or stop for water breaks so Meg could catch her breath. Winter weekends like this on Mount Hood, where snow fell in heaping buckets, shrouding out any hint of the sun and giving them the perfect excuse to cozy up in front of the massive stone fireplace and drink copious amounts of hot cocoa with extra whipped cream and sprinkles. Summers in Hood River, soaking up the endless sun and watching windsurfers perform death-defying feats.
Everything had felt possible and endless in those days.
Not any longer.
Too much had changed.
She had changed.
Matt had changed.
And really, if she thought about it hard enough, she was also glossing over so many other issues of her youth—the cripplinganxiety, fear that her boss and colleagues would find out her secret, insecurities about her body, her worth, her value.
No, there was no going back, as Gam would say—there was only looking ahead.
Ahead didn’t involve Matt.
“This is freaking amazing, Megs!” Matt shouted over the rumble of the engines, shielding his face from the torrent of snow rained down. The track pulsed with electric energy—where the machines danced, crashed, and defied gravity. “What a rush.”
Meg tracked a racer through her lens as he launched off a jump. His sled caught just enough height to float in midair for a minute before gravity yanked it back down to earth.
She smiled, snapping a photo. The scent of gasoline and frayed nerves mixed with the thunder of engines and the gasps from the crowd. “It’s not a bad gig most days.” That was true, but she needed more. ESPN had been good to her. She was grateful for the travel and friendships, but her heart was calling her to write something new, something deeper.
Did she have another story in her?
A full-length novel, maybe?
Her mind flashed to the unfinished manuscript hiding in her bedroom closet. She’d tinkered with the story on and off for years, letting it collect dust and convincing herself that taking the leap into creative writing was too risky.
The odds werenoton her side.
She’d done the math and knew that publishing a novel wasn’t for the faint of heart.
First, there were the months of blood, sweat, and tears to pour into the story, then the querying trenches trying to entice an agent with a shiny, polished manuscript, finding an editor and publishing house, marketing, and then repeating theprocess over and over again without any guarantee of a return of investment of her time and energy.
A job like ESPN wasn’t sexy, but it was stable and paid the rent. Striking out on her own made her hands clammy even in the bitter cold.
“Not bad?” Matt scrunched his wind-burned cheeks as sleek black sleds decked out in Christmas colors streaked through the blinding white snow. “Are you freaking kidding me? You’re living the dream. You get paid to do this.”
“I do, that’s true.” Her fingertips were numb from the cold. She fumbled with the camera lens, zooming in on riders dressed in neon Grinch onesies and Santa suits, flinging powder into the crowd at every turn.
