Page 106 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
I turn, and before I can say anything else, he pulls me into his arms.
He holds me close, one hand at the back of my neck, the other steady on my waist. I let myself fold into him, just for a moment. One last time.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, his mouth close to my ear. “For being honest.”
Then he kisses me. Deep, slow, no urgency. Just something that saysI’ll remember this.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“Take your time,” he says. “I get it. Even if it kills me a bit.”
I close my eyes, fighting back the tears.
“I’d rather you figure it out properly than stay with me and always wonder what if.”
I try to speak, but there’s nothing that won’t sound like another apology.
He lets out a breath, almost a laugh.
“We can still be friends,” he adds, stepping back enough to meet my eyes. “If that’s all you’ve got to offer right now, I’ll take it.”
My throat tightens.
“And when Sim-Sim cocks it up again…” He shrugs. “I’ll still be here.”
I manage a shaky smile. “You’re very confident.”
“I’ve met him,” he says dryly.
I let out a soft, broken laugh. Then I nod, and this time, when I leave, he lets me go.
Chapter twenty-eight
Driving Home for Another Try
Miranda
The kitchen tiles are freezing under my feet. I flip the button on the kettle again. With Sim-Sim running late, there’s enough time for another cup of tea. SJ is having a minor strop in his room that his dad is late, and frankly I’m pissed too. We were supposed to leave in the morning, but now we’ll be lucky if we get to Cornwall by dinner time.
On the table, my phone is on speaker, mid-call with the usual group chaos.
“Wait, hang on,” Bri says, her voice tinny with poor signal. “You’re leaving today? Two days before Christmas?”
“Yes,” I say, throwing a handful of toiletries into a zip bag. “Sim-Sim’s picking us up in less than an hour. Please send sedatives.”
“Why today already?” Fi asks. “Is Cornwall moving further away?”
“His mother’s throwing one of her full-on Christmas Eve parties for the neighbours,” I mutter, rooting through the drying rack for anything not still vaguely damp. “Apparently I’m now her honorary event assistant.”
“Oh god,” Amelia breathes. “Are there checklists?”
“There was a colour-coded spreadsheet.”
A beat of silence.
“Right,” Lizzie says, “so you’re fleeing the village to play unpaid elf to your former mother-in-law. Absolutely normal behaviour.”
I sigh, wrestling SJ’s hoodie into the suitcase. “I know how it sounds.”
