Page 6 of Ten Christmases Without You
A grin played at the edges of his lips.
“You’remore than welcome to, though,” she said. “If you want some.”
Stupid decision to say that. If Charlie took her up on the offer, she’d have to go in there, and who knows what Uncle Stephen might say. He was a loose cannon—there was no telling what he might dig up from her life.Andshe was making a complete idiot of herself without any help so far. She wanted to slink upstairs onto her air mattress in the loft and go to sleep until after New Year’s.
When she finally made eye contact, that humor still glinted behind his eyes.
“Sit tight,” he said, gesturing to the sofa. “I know what we need.”
He left her alone in the room. An old neighbor who seemed more comfortable in her childhood home than she did. She set her eggnog down and eyed the exits for her escape. The ice was too treacherous to go outside, and no one ever treated or plowed the neighborhood roads in Tennessee, not when she was a kid and apparently not now either. She wouldn’t get very far, and she’d freeze to death, which, given the alternative, was an option. She could hide upstairs, maybe sit in the guestroom tub behind the curtain. If she was quick, she could grab a few pillows and a blanket and call it a night.
She sharpened her hearing to see if she could eavesdrop on the conversation, but it was just a buzz of laughter and music. Slowly, she took a step backward toward the hallway leading to the staircase. Then, she took another. She could hide out somewhere until after the party. If she ever ran into Charlieagain, she could always tell him she’d felt sick and didn’t want to spread any germs. Madison could explain on their next video call. She didn’t have anything to offer the conversation, and Charlie would certainly enjoy the others more than her. She was doing him a favor. She took another step.
“Here you go.”
She gritted her teeth as he came in, carrying two glasses of red liquid.
He handed one to her.
She held it up and examined the glass. “What is this?”
“Punch. Your aunt made it. She offered me some when I knocked on the back door.”
“You knocked on the back door?” she asked.
“Yeah. I walked through the path in the woods to get here, like when we were kids.”
How was he able to act so comfortably among strangers when she couldn’t even get the courage to go back into the kitchen? His coolness was incredibly frustrating.
Charlie sat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him.
Shoot.There was no escape tonight. She was going to have to be social. With a deep breath, Emmy took a seat. She stared straight ahead, sipping the concoction that tasted as if it had cranberry, citrus, and rum. That sounded like something her aunt Charlotte would like. She took a few large drinks.
“So, what do you do now?” he asked.
Ugh.First question, always that one. “I work at a marketing firm in New York.”
His eyes widened the way everyone’s did because their minds naturally went to the best-case scenario. “I expected you to follow in your mom’s footsteps.”
“No, I’m not cut out for actual designing. I’m better in PR.”
“Well, if you’re better at marketing than you are at designing, you must be really good at your job.”
She didn’t have the drive to deter his assumption, and it didn’t matter anyway. She’d never see him again after this party if she could help it. She’d managed not to run into him for seven years so far, so with a little effort, Emmy was certain she could avoid him forever.
“I have a quaint apartment in the city,” she lied, to avoid further inquisition, “two blocks from my job, but I mostly work from home, which is really cozy on these winter days. You?”
“Well, I thought your sister told you that... we work together. I’m just in the Chicago office.”
“Oh. Yeah. So how’scybercrime?” She made a face. Why did she do that?
Make it stop.
That amused look surfaced once more, and he was eyeing her as if she had some kind of puzzle on her forehead. She tipped up the drink again and took down half the glass. Thanks to the punch and the eggnog, her empty stomach was now queasy.
“It’s…” He paused as if giving some thought to his response, which gave her a pang of guilt for firing off such a dishonest answer.
“My job would bore you to tears. It pays the bills, but that’s about it. I live in the smallest apartment known to man because it’s just me, and most of the time I’m not there.” He gazed at her; his rugged good looks were undeniable. “I’d rather be…” He hesitated again, as if for dramatic effect, and it worked because, after his honesty, she hung on his words, waiting for what would come next. “Oh, I don’t know, sitting in a coffee shop for hours, with an espresso, losing myself in a good book.”
