Page 5 of One Night at Christmas

She shoved the container of nachos away, having lost her appetite. “I’m tired, Morris. I just got off, and all I want to do is go to bed.”

“Then let me hold you there.”

Her tablet beeped, and she knew a call from Bryson was coming in. He hadn’t waited for her to call. Whatever he had to say must really be important. Knowing that fact made her eager to answer, but she didn’t want Morris to hear her talking to him—or vice versa.

Regret and guilt washed over her because of Morris. She gentled her tone when she spoke with him again. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. The people in the store were a trip today. Must be because of Christmas. I can’t deal with anything right now. Please understand.”

“Okay, I want you to think about something.”

She tensed. “What?”

“I’m sending this picture to your phone. I found the place a couple days ago, and I’m going to put a bid in for it.”

She gasped. “A house?”

“Not just any house. It’s more like a cottage, and it’s cute, baby. Just what you’ve dreamed about. Trust me when I tell you. The place belonged to an old lady who passed away, and her daughter just wants to get rid of it. The price is right, and the best part is, it’s in the country. Not too far but not close either.”

Charon pressed a hand to her mouth. Morris agreed with her dreams. He knew what she longed for in a home and in her life. The location sounded wonderful, and if the cottage was everything he said…then what?

“That’s really nice for you.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. Half her attention was on the fact that the call from Bryson had stopped. He didn’t phone again.

“Not me—us.”

Her phone beeped. She took it away from her ear to look at the picture Morris had sent. The quaint little cottage was surrounded with trees. The slanted roof dipped almost to the ground, and a set of stairs ran along the side, up, and around to the back. The place had a lot of character and seemed super cozy. Emotions welled in her chest. It was everything she could imagine, and she longed to see inside.

“Charon, I want to buy that house for you and me. I want to live there and have our kids there. If you say the word, if you marry me, I’ll do everything I can to make sure the seller chooses me. Whatever it takes. We were made for each other, Charon. I love you. And I know you love me.”

She didn’t respond. Not once in all the time they were together did she tell him she loved him. While she admitted she cared—and she did care about him—if her feelings were love, they weren’t the same as what she felt for Bryson. Where did Morris get his confidence that she was in love with him? Wishful thinking?

“Morris, I can’t think—”

“Don’t answer tonight. You’re tired. I said I wasn’t going to ask you again until I knew you were sure, but it’s Christmas time. I couldn’t help myself.” His chuckle was filled with nervous tension. “I’ll hint that I got you a special present for Christmas and leave it at that.”

“Damn it, Morris, it’s a ring, isn’t it? You say you’re not going to pressure me anymore and then you go and do this.”

“Why can’t you understand—” He cut himself off as he raised his voice. A heavy breath sounded in the phone. “You’re right. I’m wrong, and I’m sorry. My offer still stands. You have to admit this is a once in a lifetime situation, Charon. That house won’t wait. Think about, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She started to speak, but he ended the call. With her head on the kitchen counter, she woke up her tablet and brought up the app for video chatting with Bryson.

A cottage. It sounded wonderful. A garden in the backyard, kids playing in the front—a tree swing!

She groaned. Funny how she imagined the cottage and the kids but not Morris. Once and for all, she should be strong and tell him the truth, that she loved someone else. It might push him to give up.

“It shouldn’t be Bryson or Morris. There’s nothing wrong with being alone.”

The app connected, and Bryson’s face came on the screen. “I thought you fell asleep in your nachos.”

She smirked. “What makes you think I bought nachos?”

He pointed at the screen. “Isn’t that the edge of the container right there?”

“No.” She pushed it out of view.

“Liar.” He chuckled. “You get nachos at least three times a week, and it’s Thursday.”

“Shut up.”

“So mean,” he teased. “I like it.”

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