Page 71 of Harper's Holiday Romance
I shrugged. “Never finding the one.”
“Are you trying to say you haven’t found her? I’m right here, baby.” She winked.
God, I wish it were that easy. I wish I’d known Julia for years and I could entertain the idea of her being theonefor me.
“Is that really what scares you?” Julia’s grin faded.
“Yes. I don’t need you to tell me I’m beautiful and I’ll find everything I’m looking for one day. I’m not saying it for reassurance.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to. You’re hideous actually. Ghastly even. I’m not sure you’ll ever find love.”
I pinched at the exposed skin on her stomach. She threw her head back in laughter, and I wished I could record it so I would never forget the sound. I didn’t though, that would’ve been creepy.
“If you were someone else, I might say I find it impossible to picture a world where you are not loved fiercely and unconditionally. I think you’ll get thatstorybook kind of love one day; I’m sure of it,” Julia said sincerely. “Hypothetically speaking of course.”
“Thank you.”
Julia pulled the sheets off my leg and traced a long thick scar on the outside of my thigh. “What happened here?”
My leg wasn’t normally sensitive to touch, but my whole body reacted with that tingle I’d experienced too many times since I met her.
“I climbed down into a ravine to save a duck, and I slipped because my coordination is abysmal. I scraped my leg against a sharp tree branch.” I cringed.
It was at the top of my most horrific memory list. The blood made me pass out, not once but twice. Sarah had to climb down the ravine and wrap her favourite shirt around my leg to stop the bleeding, which technically, was her own fault for wearing it on a trek in the middle of winter when it was bound to be muddy; she still hasn’t let me live that down.
“Ouch. Was the duck okay?”
“Oh yeah, it flew off perfectly fine after I collapsed in a bleeding heap in the small stream at the bottom of the ravine.”
“Let me guess though, you’d do it again?” Julia asked.
“Absolutely. I love animals.”
I loved animals too much. My whole social media newsfeed was like looking at David Attenborough’s IMDb credentials. I hyperventilated every other day when I thought some animal was in distress or I saw the sweetest dog up for adoption, and I cried most days when I watched The Asher House Instagram account. I hoped to open my own non-profit animal sanctuary one day.
“How many stitches?”
“I don’t remember. I was high as a kite from the pain meds. Sarah will be able to tell you what happened in vivid detail. I don’t allow her to relay it to me; it makes me feel funny inside.”
“Did the air ambulance come?” Julia propped herself up. She was invested.
“God no; that would’ve been mortifying. Sarah had to haul me back up the hill. Luckily, we weren’t far from the main road and my car.”
“Seriously?” Julia’s eyes bulged. “How?”
“Sarah is like the Ronda Rousey of normal Mancunian people. She’s genetically blessed with muscles. Whatever you do, don’t challenge her in the gym. I tried once. I couldn’t walk for days.”
“Mancunian?” Julia questioned.
“It just means you were born and raised in Manchester.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Do you have any major scars?” I asked.
Julia shook her head.
“Broken bones?”
