Page 98 of Holiday Friend Zones
Then he exhales slowly, eyes dropping.“If I stop moving, I don’t know if I’ll be able to start again.”
The words cut through me.Raw, unguarded.The truth beneath all his joking, his constant motion.
I swallow hard, my throat burning.“Then I’ll keep moving with you.Whatever it takes.”
He stares at me like I’ve just said something he doesn’t know how to process—something dangerous.His hand twitches, like he might reach for mine, then stills.
“Careful, Princess,” he says finally, voice rough.“You keep saying things like that, I might actually believe you.”
And God, I want him to.
ChapterFifteen
WILLOW
Tip 8: Wear a sexy outfit.
Definitely not to work.Definitely not in the middle of a New England winter, when frostbite would probably kill me before Roman even noticed.And definitely not when half the town wanders in and out of the shop every day like it’s the local diner.
Maybe not ever.
The most daring thing I’ve worn lately is a sweater that doesn’t have a coffee stain.Unless Roman’s secret fantasy is me in cardigans and fingerless gloves, this one’s a lost cause.
Next.
ChapterSixteen
WILLOW
Tip 9: Be sincere.
The next day is better.So, stupidly, I try broaching the subject of my mom while Roman helps me close up the store.We always close early on Sundays, which means the sky is still pale when we turn the locks, daylight bleeding out faster and faster as Christmas looms.
“I think she’d be proud of you,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.“Mom, that is.”
Roman laughs, brittle, a sound that doesn’t belong in December, too fragile for a season built on warmth and light.He slides the key into the storage room lock and mutters, “For what?For not ending up in prison?For not dying in a ditch somewhere?For not destroying my life?Yeah, real big accomplishments.”
My throat tightens.“For being a kind and generous person.For always trying your best, even when it’s hard.For never giving up on the people you love.”
He goes still, staring at me with something unreadable.Then his mouth twists.“I think you’re mistaking me for a mirror, St.Willow.”
Unbelievable.“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I grip the counter, nails biting into wood.Sincerity, right?Just ...communicate.“Could you just take the compliment for what it is?”
Roman lets out a low laugh, humorless.“It’s a sweet story.But let’s not kid ourselves.Your mom was nice.”
His words hit like ice water poured straight into my chest.Despite all this time.Despite how my mom loved him, supported him, saw more in him than he ever gave himself credit for—it’s still not enough.Not when his demons scream louder.Not when tearing himself down keeps everyone else at arm’s length.
Even me.
I cross my arms, trying to hold myself together.“You’re impossible sometimes.”
“I’m just calling it how it is, Princess.”He says it so casually, like it’s fact, like I’m an idiot for not seeing all the broken parts he hates.
It’s days like these that make it unbearable to reconcile the man I love with the one drowning in his self-loathing.
