Page 15 of Her Christmas Fix
“We should head back,” he says, his voice is rougher than I’m used to.
“Right.” I tuck my hands in my jacket pockets because I’m not sure what I’d do if he touched me again right now. “The house won’t renovate itself.”
“Not by Christmas,” he agrees, and maybe he’s reminding us both that this is temporary.
Gazing out at the rocky coast on the drive back, I can’t stop touching my lips or thinking about how Griffin Meyer kisses like I’m not the only one wanting things that aren’t meant to be.
7
GRIFFIN
I could lieand say kissing Monika on the sidewalk was no big deal. But of course it’s a big deal. Regular guys like me don’t get the chance to lock lips with someone like her.
Only I didn’t kiss her because of who I thought she was before this week. It had nothing to do with her celebrity status or her literal movie star beauty.
I kissed her because I want her with an ache that keeps me up for hours most nights. Because of who she is despite all the trappings of fame. Or maybe because of it.
If I’m being completely honest, it’s also because of how she makes me feel when we’re together. Like I’m more than the boy who joined the Army to escape a shitty home life. The guy who couldn’t pull his best friend out of a cycle of shame that made a man with so much to fucking live for put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.
In the grand scheme of things, she doesn’t need me to fix up her house. Hell, she’s got the money to hire a whole battalion of contractors to do the job. But she wants me. She trusts me. And I’m not going to let her down, which also means I’ve kept my hands to myself since that kiss.
We haven’t talked about it again, so for all I know, Monika thinks the kiss was a mistake. And while I wouldn’t argue with that assessment outright, I wouldn’t change our moment for the world.
Something shifted between us after that morning, and I don’t mean physically. It’s more than that and not quite so simple. Monika has started talking more, sharing bits of her life that are different from what you read about in magazines or hear on late-night talk show interviews. Those details were carefully crafted, and I’m getting the real version of her.
But there’s some quid pro quo going on, because Monika’s asking questions, too. Questions that require me to share parts of myself that I haven’t shared with anyone in years, if ever. The surprising thing is, it’s not as awful as I expected. People who know me best in the world would laugh their asses off, but the changes in me aren’t going unnoticed.
I’m still stopping by the two other active job sites I have going, and although I can tell the crew wants to know what’s going on with me, no one’s asking. They’re just smiling a lot more than usual. At me in particular.
I glance at my phone as I wait for her to come out of the bathroom so we can head into town for the art festival. I mostly trust the people of Wild Rose Point to be respectful, but I also want Monika to be able to relax and have fun. I want to be the man she seems to think I am—one who’s willing to step up and protect her.
So yeah, I stopped by the diner earlier today. Everyone in town respects Noah, so if he puts out the word that we’re going to treat her like she’s just another visitor to town, that’s what will happen.
If only I could remember she’s here temporarily. If only my heart didn’t slam against my rib cage and my body go heavy withneed every time she smiles at me. That would be damn helpful, but I’ll take what I can get.
I’m watching the sun dip below the horizon out the window and turn away when I hear her enter the room. And then come close to swallowing my tongue.
“What do you think?” she asks, doing a little spin that makes her long braid fly up. “Will I blend in?”
She’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug her soft curves and the oversized sweater delivered yesterday. The soft shade of gray makes her green eyes turn hazel—the color of the ocean the morning after a storm, when everything that doesn’t matter has been washed away.
That’s how I feel looking at her, like she’s cleansed me of all the junk I let rule my life for so long. None of it really matters, not like she does. And how the hell is that possible given that I’ve known her—really known her—for only one week? I can’t explain it any more than I can deny it.
“Yeah.” I nod and smile. “You’ll blend in. Kind of like the North Star blends in on a moonless night.”
Even though it’s basically the opposite of what she’s looking to hear, her smile is so sweet I feel like I’ve mainlined maple syrup into my veins.
“I think that’s the most poetic thing anyone has ever said to me. You, Griffin Meyer, might be a Renaissance man.”
“I’m just a man,” I insist.
“You look pretty good yourself,” she says, ignoring my words. “Like central casting’s ideal version of a lumberjack.”
“No axe though.” I incline my head. “You don’t have your trusty sunglasses or a ball cap.”
She shrugs. “I don’t usually believe people when they say things aren’t going to be awkward if I’m recognized, but I’m trying something new. My professional life might be overexposed, but my personal life—the one that matters—I’ve letit get way too small because of reasons that have nothing to do with the real me. I want that to change, not just here but when I go back to California. So I’m going to see how I do in the role of Monika Graham, normie.”
I force myself to keep smiling because that’s what she needs me to do, but I hate the reminder of her going back. “There’s nothing normal about you,” I say. “But it’s not your career that makes you special.”
