Page 118 of One Foggy Christmas
“How are you doing with Tate’s death?”
“I still miss him. I don’t think that will ever go away, but the pain isn’t as sharp anymore. I can smile when I think about him and visit his grave without feeling the bitterness of grief. Did you feel like that with Nolan?”
“Yeah, the sting lessens as time goes by. That’s what I keep telling myself about you. Losing you felt like losing my brother. I grieved the same way I did when Nolan died. But each day, it gets a little better. With time, the loss won’t hurt so much.”
My lips pull upward. “You almost got rid of me. Then I ruined your hard work by showing up on the same train as you in Switzerland.”
“A happy surprise,” he says, and I wonder if he means it.
“I wouldn’t blame you if that isn’t true—if you’d rather go your separate way and pretend I never existed.”
“I don’t regret a single moment between us. I’d do it all over again if it meant three more happy years with you.”
Maybe we can do it all over again—minus the traumatic brain injury, memory loss, and divorce.
“That meal was delicious,”Nash says as we walk down the hall to our chalet. “I’m completely stuffed now.”
“So am I.” I hold my stomach where there’s a food pooch. “But I’m glad we did it. I don’t regret anything.”
“Me neither.” His green eyes glance down at me, sending my stomach swirling with butterflies.
This day with Nash feels like an amazing first date. Our connection is genuine and authentic. Maybe it’s because of our history, or maybe that’s how it always was between us. Love happens when you’re brave enough to let someone see your pain, and we’re past bravery—bearing our whole souls for the other to see.
So much about our past relationship accelerates how I feel right now. There’s a friendship at the base of everything and a knowledge that we’ve been through dark times and come out the other side. Every difficult conversation makes me like Nash more. And on top of that, I remember all too well what it feels like to kiss him—the tender way he holds my face whenever his lips brush mine.
All of this combines, making me want him even more.
So I’m dying for Nash to kiss me—put a bow on our twist-of-fate day.
There’s a very real possibility that I’m just a girl who wants to be kissed in Switzerland because it’s Christmas and romantic. But something tells me my feelings are more than that.
I smile up at him, trying to flirt. I’m rusty to the point of questioning whether I’ve actually flirted with a man before. I’m doing everything short of batting my freaking eyelashes just to give him the hint that I’m interested, but it doesn’t seem to work.
Nash flicks his gaze across my face then short-circuits for a second. That’s the only way to describe his faraway eyes and intense thinking face. He turns from me and walks overto his suitcase against the wall, causing my chest to fall in disappointment.
I thought it would be easier than this, especially with everything he said at dinner about not being over me.
“I’ll just sleep down here tonight.” He kicks off his shoes, removes his watch, and untucks his shirt. “You’ll enjoy the bed and stars more if I’m not there taking up space.”
That's probably not true.
Another round of disappointment wedges between my ribs, which is stupid since I’d planned to justsleepbeside him. Nothing else.
He starts unbuttoning his shirt, and I have two choices: stay and watch him undress or go to my room.
I have to choose my room.
“Okay, well, thanks for sharing your chalet and your glass ceiling.”
“It’sourchalet.” He smiles, slowly working on those buttons.
Ugh, why is that so sexy?
“Right,ourchalet.” I point upstairs. “I guess I’ll go get some sleep.”
There’s no opposition from him, so I climb the stairs one at a time, feeling defeated. Instead of heading to the closet to change out of my boots and dress, I throw myself onto the bed in a heap, glancing up at the stars.
Navigating my sudden feelings for Nash is more complicated than I expected. It’s exciting, but at the same time, I’m not used to this distant version of him. He’s always been the flirt, the pursuer, the driving force behind our relationship, but things are different now.
