Page 63 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
Skydiving.
Skiing.
Deep, open water.
Sharks.
The list was endless.
He thinks I’m fearless?
She read on.
I could have been the one to do something different, but instead, I chose my career over love. Over you.
It wasn’t fair.
And seeing you again. Hell, even thinking about seeing you again has made me realize what I gave up.
I’ve buried myself in my work and practically married myself to Blazen.
Why? For what? What do I have to show? You’re out there traipsing around the world, living your dream, and I’m too scared to take a single step.
She stared at the paper trembling in her hands. Matt’s writing was just like she remembered—broad, bold brushstrokes on the page, written with urgency like he couldn’t contain the words within his body and had to race to get them out.
It was the way she felt when she was on a story.
Where was he going with this?
I’m filled with regret, Meg. I wish I’d been braver. I understand why you cut me off. I get it. You needed to.
Meg rested the letter on the table. It was like he was in her head. How had he captured everything she had felt in the last year so concisely? Except the reverse—everything he was sayingwas true for her, too. Why had she cut him off? Why hadn’t she followed her heart?
A tingly sensation spread from the base of her neck to the tips of her fingers as she took another long, slow sip of the beer for courage.
When I read the NYT piece, it all became so much clearer—it was gutting, painful, brilliant. It’s not fair of me to say I’m proud of you, but I hope you’re proud of yourself and your many accomplishments. It takes real bravery to bare your soul to strangers like that. It showed me how much you’ve grown. How much insight you have into yourself and how you’re carving out a path that is entirely yours. You’re not writing in the shadow of your dad and the lore of Charlie Reed anymore. You’ve made your history your own, and I’m wildly jealous. I can’t say the same thing about me. I’m stuck in a job that pays well but doesn’t fuel my soul.
Meg shook her head, brushing away a stinging tear and flipping over the page to reveal one last paragraph.
What I want you to know more than anything is that you are an inspiration, Meg Reed. You used to talk about the creative curse. Well, I don’t see anything you do or touch as a curse. You are on an entirely different and unique path, and I’m so sorry that I missed my chance to be part of your future.
FORTY-ONE
JILL
“You’re leaving? Now?” Jill called after Owen, but he was already out the door. She crumpled into a ball and collapsed onto the couch.
That couldn’t have gone worse.
Her body quaked in violent shivers as she watched embers spark in the fireplace, dancing up the chimney like little fireflies.
Owen was out.
That much was clear.
She rocked in the fetal position, squeezing the pillow to her chest and willing herself to keep breathing. She had to think about the baby. On the plane, she’d read dozens of articles. One in particular stuck with her about how maternal mental health could have profound effects on the fetus.
Great.
