Page 22 of All I Want For Christmas Is You

“That’s exactly what he did.” She said it firmly, resolutely. “And it knocked me on my ass. In my mind, we were in this together. No matter what hardship came our way, we could handle anything because we had each other.”

He got a tug in his gut because he’d always wanted that kind of partnership. He’d had anything but that with his ex.

“I never gave up hope that we’d get back on track, but all he could see was doom and gloom. Living on my salary wasn’t sustainable in our old age, so he believed we were in a death spiral.” She ran her finger along the length of tape, securing it down.

His body could barely contain the rage billowing up from his core. The idea that this man would toss aside his wife because he couldn’t rebound…that he’d left her with no money, nothing. His hands curled into fists. He was going to lose his shit.

The only thing tethering him to his composure was that it was her story. She’s the one who lived through it. She didn’t need to deal with his emotions on top of her own.

When he looked at her, he saw determination and strength, and he admired her more than anyone he’d ever met.

“Those were his words, by the way. He said, ‘We’re in a death spiral, and I found an exit ramp. I hope you do, too.’” She curled her hand over his fist. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being outraged on my behalf.”

Oh, he was that, all right. Her ex was the lowest form of humanity. “I have a lot I want to say.”

“But?”

“But you don’t need to hear it.”

“I do, actually. The only person who knows the whole story is Aunt Lucy. Who else can I talk to? It’s not like my kids need to hear me rant about it, and we fell out of touch with our friends when we moved. I’m pretty sure they thought failure was contagious. Not that I blame them, of course. It’s no fun to talk about your trip to Bora Bora with someone who lives off canned tuna until she gets her next paycheck. So, please, don’t hold back.” She gestured for him to speak. “Let ’er rip.”

As much as she needed to hear an outsider’s perspective, she didn’t need him blowing up. It wouldn’t be fair to unleash his anger on her. So, he kept his tone even. “He got hit with some of the most stressful events in life. Job loss, a move… Couple that with the destruction of his ego…” When he found himself getting riled up, he reined it in. Because yeah, her ex had gone through hell, but what about his wife? She’d been there right alongside him. And guess fucking what? Not all women stayed through the tough times. Some of them bailed. Margot hadn’t. “Some people can manage through that compounded disaster, and others can’t.”

She burst out laughing.

“What? What did I say?” He thought he’d been fair.

But that only made her laugh harder. “You’re trying so hard to be rational and reasonable.” Hand over her heart, she dragged in a breath. “You don’t have to do that. You can say what you really feel. I want you to.”

“Okay, well, good. Because your ex-husband’s a piece of shit. He’s not a master of the universe. He’s a fraud. A master of the universe doesn’t fall apart during tough times. It doesn’t matter how much is stacked against him, he doesn’t yield. Your ex is a candy-ass who happened to fall into a bed of clover and that made him think he was a genius. Anyone can be strong when things are going well, but a person’s true character comes out in times of conflict. And your ex showed you his soft underbelly.” He couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice. “Abandoning his wife for a fucking ‘exit ramp’ is unconscionable.”

She lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his cheek. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

He was enveloped in her scent, could feel her heat and her lush curves, and his body went haywire. He pressed his palms flat on the table so he wouldn’t reach for her. Because if he did, if he hugged her back, he would lose control.

Because he’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted her. Everything about her appealed to him and made him fucking yearn for something he couldn’t have.

So, he was glad when she pulled back. Relieved, frankly. He was too far out of his comfort zone.

She glanced at her phone. “And now, it’s time to make cookies.”

“Okay.” Still worked up by her closeness, he felt disoriented by the shift in conversation. “Cookies?”

“My aunt’s all about traditions. The Christmas tree goes up the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The lights go on December first. The gingerbread houses come out a week later. And two days before Christmas, she bakes a gazillion Moravian cookies.”

“Moravia? Wasn’t that a country?”

“Yes. It’s now part of the Czech Republic. In the seventeen hundreds, the Moravians came to the New World. They settled in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania and Winston-Salem. It’s a tradition in North Carolina to make these cookies.”

“Oh, okay.” It was hard to switch gears, but he supposed he’d taken enough of her time. And of course, he had work to do. He needed to touch base with his son.

After he left the room, she shut off the lights and locked the door.

“I’ll see you later.” But he wouldn’t, would he? He’d take his daughter out to dinner, come home and pack, and then head to the airport in the morning. He watched her walk down the hallway.

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