Page 39 of Clause & Effect
He shakes his head.
“I don’t cheat.” He states vehemently. “If I’m unsatisfied with a woman, I end the relationship despite complications or entanglements. I don’t linger or waste anyone’s time. Weak men cheat.”
Stetson is the antithesis of weak.
The relief I feel from his words is staggering. My ex, who shall not be named, had no problem cheating. In fact, when I finally caught him, he was almost indignant in his defense, like cheating was something I’d have to get used to.
Even though Stetson’s a stranger, I believe him.
If he says he’s Santa, I believe him.
There’s something quite real about him. He speaks the truth. Hell, he told me he’s Santa’s descendent with no shame or artifice at all. He’s not a liar. I don’t know how I know this, but I do.
“Then tell me what’s complicated,” I ask him.
He takes a second.
“It’s about what happens when andifI find,” he pauses, then, “my one true love.”
Woah.
The silence between us is heavy. I wasn’t expecting this response—especially from someone like him. True love? This guy—this gorgeous specimen of a man is talking abouttrue love?
I capture his gaze thinking he’s joking.
No. He looks serious as hell.
We’ve gone from the fact he thinks he’s Santa’s descendant to true love talk. In my wildest imagination I’d never believe this would be the direction the conversation would head. This is oneof those surreal moments. Maybe I’m being a little judgy, but I’ve never heard a man say anything like this before in my life.
“What’s with that look?” he asks curiously.
I hate that I wear my feelings on my face. I can’t hide anything!
“True love?” I finally say. “What does that have to do with me? This is just a one-night thing.”
Silence again.
And tension.
Major tension that you can cut with a knife. The energy shifts around us into something I don’t even understand as he captures my gaze with his enigmatic one.
“I don’t know what it has to do with you,” he answers quietly, eyes hooded.
I don’t know why, but I hate that answer. And then…
“At least, not yet.”
Boom.
My chest heaves and suddenly I’m nervous. Really nervous and something else… excited. Like the kind of excited when you know something wonderful is going to happen. Or when you’re about to get a gift. Kind of like how you felt as a child on Christmas Eve when you knew you were going to wake up to presents under the tree.
Slow down there, Charlie, I tell myself. You’ve gotten your hopes up before and you were plunged into the icy cold waters of disappointment.
Santa Claus? His descendent? True love?
This feels like a recipe for major disappointment, and maybe a visit with a psychologist.
“So what now?” I ask slowly, once I get a grip on my emotions.
