Page 126 of Bossy Wicked Prince
Cat never wanted me to be perfect. She just wanted me to be the best version of myself.
I can’t just sit here and hope she comes back to me.
I don’t dohope. I do terms.
I will win her back.
And I think I know exactly how to do it.
39
CAT
Christmas Eve will find me, where the lovelight gleams…
I pull my coat tighter around me, speed-walking to get past the carolers. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” has always made me tear up, and I really don’t need that right now.
It’s hard enough knowing I’ll be spending Christmas alone. Mom decided to spend it in Vegas and I’m still avoiding her anyway. I considering flying out to Nova Scotia to spend it with my grandparents, but I just don’t have the money.
It’s been almost a month since everything blew up between us. After that disastrous poker game, Pippa’s apartment was faced with a deluge of flowers, French macarons, handwritten letters, and even a gigantic stuffed pink panda.
The gifts were nothing compared to the calls, texts, and emails. Nate kept trying to make things right between us, until I finally answered the phone and snapped at him. I swore that the panda would end up headless if he didn’t give me some space.
To my surprise, he actually gave me some.
Which means I have no right to be so fucking sad about missing him.
We haven’t been in contact since then. There was one time I saw him when I was walking into work at Terrace. It was cold, and I was in my old ratty jacket. Nate’s gray eyes landed on me, and I braced myself for a lecture about going out in the cold without a proper coat.
I didn’t get one.
Instead, he just clenched his fists and walked right past me. It felt like he drove a spike into my chest. I wanted distance—hell, I demanded it. So what right do I have for being upset that he respected my request? I spent the whole night crying into a bowl of peppermint ice cream, feeling like the world’s biggest hypocrite.
But my custom wool trenchcoat arrived in the mail the next day.
I’ve been wearing it ever since. After all, it’s freezing, and it’s not the coat’s fault that Nate broke my heart.
It definitely makes the walk from my new apartment better. I couldn’t stay at Pippa’s forever—not only is it a super-long commute from Terrace, but it’s not big enough for me, her, and Waffle.
I moved into a short-term lease apartment last week—the only place I could find in Toronto’s insane rental market. I haven’t even fully unpacked yet, hoping I can find someplace better.
Where I don’t have to walk a full forty-five minutes to get to the shelter.
Oh well. At least there will be cookies when I get there. Today’s our annual Christmas party. Normally, it’s just a turkey dinner that ends with me and the other volunteers handing out presents of socks and thermal hand warmers.
This year, with our cash infusion from the Walsh Foundation, things are different. Today, we’re serving a fancy dinner with all the trimmings, donated by a restaurant witha Michelin star. Photographers will be there to cover all the changes we made, thanks to Nathaniel Walsh. I’ll have to force a smile while I hear his name over, and over, and over.
The smell of roasting sugared nuts meets me even before I get to the shelter. Minnie had the idea to set up a stand outside, giving out chestnuts to our guests, plus to anyone who was curious about our community. It’s obviously a hit, because there’s a small crowd of people outside, either waiting in line for their chestnuts or socializing.
A photographer snaps a photo, making me temporarily freak out.
There are going to be reporters here, I remind myself.The shelter invited them. They’re not here for me.
The reporters backed off a few weeks ago. There were no more flashing cameras outside my apartment or at Terrace. Interest in Nate and me hasn’t died down—I’m reminded every day, when curious customers at work ask prying questions about the current state of our relationship. So Nate must have done something to make the tabloids cut us some slack. At least I can be grateful for that.
Minnie had me stay away from the shelter for a while after everything blew up and it almost broke me thinking she’d never let me come back, but after a few weeks, the headlines moved on somewhere else, and Minnie was calling to see if I could cover shifts again.
I sneak around the edge of the crowd, opting to come in the back entrance instead. I hang up my coat and put my purse in my locker. There’s a basket of Santa hats for volunteers to grab, and I manage to stuff most of my curls underneath one.
