Page 26 of The Mistletoe Bluff
“All right, Maya. I’ll go.” I stepped into the hallway.
I turned back, wanting to see her face one more time before I left, and winced as she slammed the door in my face.
Resting my head against the door, I murmured, “There’s cake in the fridge.”
The sound of her sniffles haunted me the entire walk to my car.
Maya
My dad left when I was a kid, and it taught me something important. And afterward, when my mom chose her career over taking care of me, it solidified what I had learned: everyone left eventually. Since no one cared enough to stick around, the only person I could rely on was myself.
And so, ever since then, I held everyone at arm’s length, letting them see the big, loud pieces of me, like my lack of a filter or my faked confidence, and keeping the small, tiny things that meant the most to me tucked away. That way, when someone inevitably left, they didn’t walk away with all my pieces.
Elsie, Jameson, and Emma were the only people to go against everything I’d ever learned, but Elsie and Jameson were getting married, and they wouldn’t be around as much anymore. Elsie would still be my best friend, but I would never be her first choice again. Meanwhile Emma was in the city, chasing her own dreams, and it was difficult for us to stay in touch when she was so busy.
I groaned, shoving the last bite of cake in my mouth, and pushed the plate, and those feelings, away.
I didn’t like kicking Oliver out. He had been nothing but nice to me, and yet that question had my insecurities going into a tailspin and all I wanted was for him to leave bymychoice rather than his.
The question he had asked wasn’t the problem. It was the can of worms it opened up.
Namely: I had no one.
The last thing I needed was my archnemesis thinking I was a pathetic, unlovable loner.
But he would see it—eventually. They always did.
That’s why the string of dates I had been on in the past year never went further than the first date. I was too scared to let anyone get close enough to see the real me, afraid that once they did, they’d leave for sure. I’d rather quit before feelings could develop. Then I couldn’t get hurt when they left.
So, here I sat on my couch, stomach full of pasta and cake, alone.
Just like every night.
The next morning brought a heavy dose of reality mixed with shame.
Oliver Lewis, the man who had teased me and tripped me and made me think I was a rival he hated, was kinder than I ever imagined. I was having a hard time reconciling the two different versions of him. Did he hate me and see me as someone he needed to crush to get ahead or had all the teasing and taunting been a cover-up for something else? I never imagined that Oliver could be nice to me, but being outside of a classroom setting had shown me a side to him I didn’t think existed.
I didn’t hate it.
And my response to that had been to slam the door in his face. I was still kicking myself over it. It shouldn’t have been a big deal for him to ask me about Christmas. I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive and upset.
But there was something about him asking me personal questions like that, prying into the aching pieces of me that I kept hidden, that caused me to kick him out.
And even worse, I hated that I felt bad about it—especially when I remembered the way his face fell as I closed the door on him.
Which was why I despised standing on the curb, waiting for him to arrive to drive me to work. This little arrangement was terrible. Not only did I embarrass myself the night before, but now I had to face him the next day. What would I even say to him?
Did I apologize? Did I try to explain why I kicked him out?
Or did I just pretend everything was fine, and that last night had never happened?
I was momentarily saved from making a decision as Oliver’s Jeep pulled up next to me, the door popping open a second later.
“Good morning, Maya,” Oliver’s deep voice was soft as I climbed in, his accent making my heart stutter. The car smelled like his sweet and smoky cologne, and it made me lightheaded—in a good way. His black coat was unbuttoned, revealing a fitted black button-down shirt that left little to the imagination as to the muscle beneath it. Why was he so…buff?
“Morning,” I muttered back, unable to meet his gaze.
“Did you have a good evening?”
