Page 28 of Booked for the Holidays
Also included?
Dropping everything to help someone in need and getting too emotional about too many parts of my life. I have big, messy feelings, and for a long time, I assumed that was a bad thing, because I hadn’t been told otherwise. I laugh loudly and I cry. I love people fiercely and wildly, even if they might not deserve it and the affection isn’t reciprocated. I’ve been criticized for expressing those emotions outwardly instead of keeping them inside, but I can’t help it. Like taking care of people, the emotions are a part of me, regularly displayed, and a significant portion of my chaotic livelihood. And I know, deep down, there’s nothing wrong with me.
I just haven’t found my other half who understands how I operate, selfless acts done not for recognition or attention, but because I can’t function otherwise.
It’s a terrible curse.
“I think I’m a fixer,” I admit to Lucas as I blow out a breath, surprised by how easy it is to talk to a man I’ve known for eight seconds. “If I’m not helping, I feel inadequate.”
His laugh is low and he nudges his shoulder with mine, a friendly gesture. “We should start a support group. It’s the worst, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I grin. “The worst.”
“This was a great idea, Bridget. What if we included a gift exchange, too? Something small, like a token of appreciation for getting through the madness that’s probably going to ensue over the next month and a half.”
“I like that. Fifteen dollar spending limit. Silly and fun. No stress.”
“Bingo.”
“Is Theo coming?” I ask curiously. He didn’t arrive with the rest of the hardware store group. I’ve tried my best to pretend I don’t notice his absence, like it’s no big deal he’s missing. Except…
It’s so obvious he’s not here.
The room feels different. Almost whole. Almost complete. But not quite. A small sliver ofsomethingis missing.
Have I gotten used to his scowls after only a few interactions stretching longer than credit card payments for coffee? Do I miss his scoffs and his grunts, noises that used to sound caustic now a beautiful medley? Am I actively looking for his leather boots and chestnut hair from across the store?
When I turn to Lucas, he’s grinning. “Soon,” he says. “I left him grumbling in his office. I told him he had twenty minutes to get over here or I was going to drag him out by his hair.” A check of his watch, followed by a nod. “Should be any minute now.”
The door to the shop swings open. Theo (scowling, of course) pauses in the entryway while he assesses his surroundings. The scowl escalates to nerves, I think, the assuredness evaporating in the blink of an eye. His shoulders cave in. He scratches his forearm and retreats backward, losing his bravado. His face pales and I can see him swallow, hands curling into fists of worry.
“Lucas,” I hiss. “Is he okay?”
His friend sighs. “Yeah, he is. If you’re going to be working with him, you should know he doesn’t like large groups. Mingling with people he doesn’t know never goes over well. But”–he squints, then nods again–“he hasn’t turned around and fled yet, so that’s an encouraging sign.”
“I didn't know. Shoot. We could–”
“Bridget.” Lucas is kind yet firm as he interrupts me. “If he's here, it's because he wants to be here. Trust me.”
Wants to be here.
It’s what Theo said the other night when he stopped by, staying later than he should have because he chose to be here then too, with me. Poignant, important words, sealed with a rock song on the radio. Shared dreams and ambitions. Long-kept secret ideas. His knee against mine, warm, firm, solid.
My heart flutters at the memory.
“He kind of looks like he’s going in for a root canal,” I observe.
“You should see him when he gets really pissed. It’s a treat. C’mon. Let’s get this shindig started.”
* * *
After the pizzahas been distributed, the plate of cookies replenished, soda cans and beer bottles popped open, everyone forms an oddly shaped semi-circle in the center of the room. I’m sandwiched between Theo on my left and Jordan, one of his employees, on my right. I clear my throat and offer an awkward wave.
“Hi,” I begin. “Should we do the unoriginal name and fun fact about ourselves? I know icebreakers suck, so I’m open to other ideas.”
“We’ll be done in six seconds,” Chandler points out.
“True. What about two fun facts and your Last Supper meal?”
