Page 32 of Christmas Sunrise
"Changed my mind," she says. She closes her eyes and puffs out her cheeks.
"Oh, Maeve, you’re such a sweet and innocent thing." I chuckle but it quickly deflates into a sigh. "You know I wish he hadn't sent this. I was almost considering asking him if he wanted to go for a nice walk or something tomorrow."
"Did he not even send a message with it?"
"Oh, yes. 'Santy and I missed you last night, Jake. Still time for you to get a good stuffing like the turkey today'."
"Jesus Christ, that is bad!" Maeve groans.
"Yes, it is. Sorry, Niall," I quickly delete the photo. More of that peace washes over me. It shouldn’t feel like such an achievement – realising that you can be attracted to someone but not obliged to act on it – but it does. "You're a very attractive man but that was your last chance and I think you just blew it."
"Kinda like you with that man on the plane yesterday." Maeve nudges me again and we both start laughing as we lean against each other.
"You know this is what I want," Maeve says after we both take some deep breaths.
"What do you mean?" I ask as I tentatively tuck my feet under AJ’s sleeping body, warming up my toes.
"In the future. I don't want to be an old married couple..."
"You want to share a bed with a gay man who indulges in fellatio at 30,000 feet? I've got to say Maeve, that may not end well for you." I continue to stroke Rocky between his pointy ears.
"No, I mean I want the laughter. I want the comfort. I want the familiarity and the friendship."
I find Maeve’s fingers with my other hand, linking them between my own. "And you'll find that, Maeve," I say, really believing it.
She leans closer and rests her head against my shoulder for a few seconds before speaking. "So will you, Jake."
And because it’s Christmas I let myself believe her.
"Merry Christmas, Maeve," I say.
"Merry Christmas, Jake," she replies and squeezes my hand. And I feel happy. I may not deserve it and it probably won't last, but I feel happy and calm and like today may be a good day after all.
Chapter Eleven
Jenna
"Good morning, cupcake."
I hear his voice. His beautiful, cursed voice, deep and low, with that Irish drawl.
It's no surprise I'm dreaming about him. It's just a shame my brain hasn't remembered how we had a fight. A fight that has me sluggishly waking up feeling heavy and lost and like there's a huge weight sitting beside me...
Wait, there is a huge weight sitting beside me.
I open my eyes.
"Merry Christmas, Jenna," Marty says.
He's here. He's really here. Sitting on my bed and dressed in last night's clothes. As I rub my eyes and sit up, I notice he has a bundle of items on his lap, including my coat and scarf.
"Marty, I—" I begin. I need to tell him how sorry I am. I need him to know I was wrong to send him away last night. I was wrong to swear at him. I want him to know I'll send the knives back and will try and get a refund. I need to tell him that the knives don't matter to me. He does. But he doesn’t give me a chance as he speaks quickly.
"Will we go take the dogs for a walk?" he asks and his hand lifts to show me the leads he’s holding.
I nod, a little scared to speak for fear it will ruin whatever truce this is. We still have a lot to talk about. And I don’t even know what I’ll say when it comes to talking about my not getting pregnant and how that makes me feel.
“I’ll go get changed,” I say, shifting to swing my legs out of bed.
