Page 12 of Booked for the Holidays
I turn and walk away from the sea of people and the beams of sunshine she tossed my way, like they were hand-picked just for me, a present from the goddess of the sky. Away from the reminder about my least favorite time of the year. Away from the eyes watching me as I leave, whispering behind my back. As I near the parking lot, I scrub my hand over my face and pull out my phone, hitting the name of one of my listed favorites. It rings twice.
“Finally!”
I smile at her voice, tension melting to a puddle on the ground. “Hey, sweetie.” I climb into my truck and buckle my seatbelt. “Sorry I’m late. I’m headed home.”
“Sounds good. Don’t stop for food! There’s some here. Love you.”
“Love you too,” I answer, tossing the device into the cup holder and shift to drive.
I try not to reminisce on how it’s my fault Bridget’s mood changed, bringing her from excited and animated to sad. The recognition is sour as I peel out of the parking spot and head away from the pretty woman who didn’t run from me.
Not good at all.
FIVE
BRIDGET
“All we haveto do to win $100,000–holy shit, Bridget, that’s so much money–is hang up some lights, put out fake snow, and sing fa-la-la-la-la until our throats are sore?” asks Chandler. There’s a patch of dirt on her elbow, left behind from her weekend camping trip, and I’m filling her in on what she missed while she was gone. “I can’t believe you waited until I got home to let me know what was going on.”
“I thought it would be better to tell you in person since this is a big deal. You’re okay with us entering, right?”
I grab a mug and pour myself a cup of fresh hot chocolate, spooning a dollop of whipped cream on top. It’s pushing eighty outside today, and the scent of sunscreen assaults my nose with each customer who enters the store. I’ve been in a festive mood since the competition announcement, dreaming of presents under a tree and mistletoe hanging in the doorway. Of paper snowflakes dangling from the ceiling and garland framing the windows. A million ideas came to mind, potential shop layouts and themes among the slew of decorating designs I’ve been mulling over.
“Of course I’m okay with us entering. We’re partnering with another store, right?”
“Yeah. Jamie only gave us dates about entry submission and the day of judging. Once everyone heard about the prize money, they kind of tuned him out.”
“Poor Jamie. What a plight for our hardworking deputy mayor who holds a made-up position with zero power. Maybe you can make him feel better.”
“Shut up. You know he’s a friend.Justa friend,” I emphasize.
“A friend who wants to get in your pants. Do you think he wears socks in bed? Oh my god. Or a belt. And not in a hot, ‘I’m going to use this on you’ way, but rather to keep his trousers up.”
I sputter, hot chocolate traveling down the wrong pipe. “What is wrong with you? I have never in my life pictured Jamie holding a belt and telling me he was going to use it on me, and I don’t want to start.”
“You’re no fun,” she says, pouting.
Chandler is allowed to joke with me because she knows nothing would ever happen with the guy we sat next to in high school economics. Jamie’s cute, a polite man whose personality is similar to mine. Kind and thoughtful, positive and bright. I’ve entertained the thought briefly when I’ve felt a particular nasty bout of loneliness linger in my chest. It dredges up more frequently during the holidays, a prevalent pain noticeable when I see a couple walk down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand, completely infatuated with each other.
Each time I try to envision a relationship with him, the idea never becomes more defined than a hazy outline. We don’t have any chemistry. There’s no fire, no passion. No sexual tension or desire to rip off his tie and wrap my legs around his waist. There are no pinky grazes or flirting. We don’t exchange passing smiles, secretly grinning because we know what the other looks like naked, painted by the light of the moon.
When I find a man to settle down with, I don’t want someone totally compatible or perfect on paper. I want someone flawed who shows me their messy parts and accepts mine in return. Someone who will challenge and push me to be the best version of myself, and support me in my wildest dreams. A guy who keeps me on my toes and surprises me every day. I want my hair pulled, wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. I also want to be calledbeautifulandperfect, sweet, heart-piercing words of adoration whispered in my ear as his body hovers over mine in the late night hours, no one existing in the world except us.
I want butterflies, leaps of faith. The fairy tale and happily ever after. Some epic love story, the movie kind of romance that sweeps you off your feet with a crashing wave. I’ve never come close to those sensations, but I know they exist.
They have to, right?
Some people are destined to be alone and live a life of solitude. As each year comes and goes without someone by my side, I think I might be one of them. The thought keeps me up at night, a deep sadness puncturing my heart.
“Daydreaming about suspenders and loafers over there, Bridge?”
“Shut up. For the record, suspenders are hot.”
“Agreed. Who are you hoping we’re paired with? Bryson at the men’s store would be fun.”
“You want to work with him because he looks good in a suit.”
“Hell, yeah, he does. He probably looks even better out of it.” She grins, a wicked glint in her eyes. “I heard he spends two hours at the gym every morning.”
