Page 45 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

But it did make it that much harder to remember the good times.

Some of that shadow crept into his voice, giving it a somber cadence despite his continued smile. “I’m very aware of my blessings,” he said, “but my car wasn’t brand-new. It was a ten-year-old Subaru my mom only agreed to let me get because of its safety ratings.”

At that, Miri let out a bray of laughter, the outburst and volume of it breaking apart his tension at remembering.

“I can’t picture you in a Subaru at all!”

“It was a wagon, to make matters worse,” he added, enjoying her surprise. “Imagine my sex appeal, showing up to my a.m. coding course skinny and driving a wood-paneled station wagon.”

She shook her head holding up a hand, refusing his pitiful image. “Stop! It’s too painful.”

“Exactly. All-American teen hood, in a single image.”

Laughing still, she gestured around her with an open palm. “Congratulations on how far you’ve come.”

Her words echoed his from the night before, when he’d learned about the fiancé that she had narrowly escaped becoming a virtual child bride to, and he appreciated that she could give as good as she took.

She was smart and funny and determined—everything his father had told him to look for in a woman—and it was a strange thing to realize that.

He had thought of his parents—their advice and love—more over the past twenty-four hours with Miri than he had in years.

He wondered why that was.

Was it just because it was Hanukkah, or was it because of her?

He was usually better at keeping the memories, and the associated longing they brought up in him, in the back of his mind.

And yet while they remained bittersweet, something about the way she drew them to the surface was gentle.

Nodding, he agreed. “How far, indeed.”

A shift went through her at his words, her eyes narrowing, focusing in on him in a way that set warnings off.

“You miss them a lot, don’t you? Your parents,” she said.

It did not occur to him to deny it, though he kept his nod short.

Of course he missed them. It would be foolish to claim otherwise, and it was normal to miss lost loved ones, but he was by no means haunted by his loss.

The evidence was all around.

He had not ceased to function, or abandoned his goals, or given up on life.

He had dealt with the pain and picked up the pieces, wiser because he had survived.

He had found a way to be happy again, even through a loneliness that was as impenetrable as the storm.

Everybody was lonely.

He had built a more-than-good life.

“I do,” he acknowledged. “The ache has faded over the years, though. And though it doesn’t make up for their loss, I have had the benefit of not having to explain myself to anyone for the past twenty or so years. But we’ve digressed. As financially transformative as my story is, it’s also boring.”

Miri laughed. “Not to those who haven’t figured out the formula yet.”

“Are you the type to look? I can give it to you for free. It’s simple. Hole up wherever you happen to be living for inordinate amounts of time and practice something that can make you rich. Also, have a source of independent financial stability and no one to answer to.”

Now she snorted outright. “At least you’re honest with yourself,” she said, laughing.

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