by Cassie Mae
The pile diminishes dramatically, and Theresa’s brow furrows deeper and deeper as we get down to the last few. She has two left, and I can tell the hard frown on her lips is because of the lack of a gift from me. I play it oblivious.
“This one is actually for both of you,” Grandma Carver says, gesturing to the one Theresa picked up. “And careful!” Her eyes widen at Theresa’s enthusiasm with the wrapping paper. “It’ll tear.”
Theresa bites her lip in her adorable “whoops” face, and slides closer to me so I can help get it open. Not that she needs it.
“I found these during the last storage unit clean-out,” Grandma Carver tells us as several books of sheet music fall into our laps. “My husband was a wonderful piano player. He collected all his favorite pieces from plays and concerts. ‘Deck the Halls’ was always his most cherished piece, which is why it looks so well used.” She laughs, smiling at the Christmas book Theresa is flipping through. “He’d play that song mid-July just to drive me batty.”
Jace snorts, reaching over to pat his grandmother on the knee. “And he’d play it louder and louder, standing up, banging like a madman on the keys. I thought he was going to break your poor baby grand.”
“We had to replace keys on that more often than I cared to.”
They laugh, and I chuckle until Theresa’s arm brushes mine and one of those unexpected thrills rushes through my skin. She whispers low in my ear, warming me to the very bone.
“I don’t think I can take these. I’m not very close with Jace’s grandmother, and these are…they’re important, aren’t they?”
In lieu of stroking a thumb across that rosy cheek (which is what I’d really like to do, but I’m unsure how that small caress will affect the platonic vibe I’ve worked extremely hard for), I settle a hand on the sheet music and nod.
“Grandma, I don’t think we can—”
“Oh, please take them.” She waves me off. “I can’t play worth a lick, and they should be put to good use.”
I open my mouth to argue again, but Theresa places a soft hand on my wrist to stop me.
“Thank you, Grandma. We’ll put them to a lot of good use.”
Grandma Carver smiles behind her mug, and Jace kicks a present over to Theresa.
“This one’s from me,” he says. Theresa hands me all the sheet music, and I straighten them while she rips into her next gift. Then I take the opportunity to open my last present, since I don’t particularly like people watching me while I do this. Theresa’s not going to be happy that she missed me opening the gift from her, but because of the lack of presents with the tag TO THERESA FROM ALEC, she’s not real happy with me right now anyway—I can tell by the cutting sideways glances.
It’s a red tie, and I chuckle as I pull it from the box and swing it around my neck. She’s always telling me to dress up more often, and Theresa’s not known for her subtlety.
Her fake smile twitches into a small real one as she looks me up and down. “Wear it for auditions. It’s a good-luck tie.”
I chuckle as she flicks it up into my face.
Grandma Carver opens her final one, and Jace opens his. All the while I can feel Theresa’s eyes drift over to me to see if I’m hiding one for her, but I put my acting classes to good use and hide my amusement as her silence gets more and more laced with tension.
“So,” Theresa says, looking straight at me, “is that all of it?”
I nod. “Looks like it. Hand me the wrapping paper and I’ll take it out.”
Theresa’s frown hardens into a straight line and she starts chucking loose wrapping paper at me. After everything’s gathered, I help Jace clear the table and Theresa shakes off her scowl and starts a light conversation with Grandma Carver about the best Christmas traditions she had growing up. Once the dishes are done, the ladies come in and Grandma Carver sets a kettle on the stove. It whistles a few minutes later, interrupting Jace’s entertaining story about his last day on the set of Landon’s movie.
“Hot chocolate?” Grandma Carver offers to me.
“Thank you, ma’am.” I haven’t had hot chocolate since I was about ten. The smell of the powder alone is bringing me back to my own grandmother’s house.
“Ma’am,” Grandma Carver says, holding out a piping hot mug. “You hear that, Jace? Manners.”
“Do I get any?” he asks.
“What do you say?”
“You are the most gorgeous woman in my life,” he answers with his hand over his heart, only to receive a massive eye roll. But Grandma Carver still hands over a mug
“Okay, kids. I have my own Christmas tradition to attend to. Stay as long as you’d like.” She pats Theresa and me on our cheeks, kisses Jace, and wanders out of the room. Theresa’s smile fades a little, and she gives Jace a questioning glance.
“Lots of prayer and talking to my parents,” he explains. “She likes to tell them how worried she is that I haven’t found a wife.” He laughs, but it sounds a little off. He doesn’t take a sip of his drink before he puts it down and walks to the foyer. “You guys can stay. I’m just heading out for a minute.”
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yep. Just my own tradition—shovel and salt the walk. The landlord doesn’t think it takes priority.”
“I’ll help.”
“One shovel.” He shrugs on his coat. “Don’t worry about it. I like doing it.”
He steps outside into the light snowfall, putting up his hood. The room is eerily quiet without the two noisiest people in the house. There’s also the fact that I can feel the hurt and anger rolling off Theresa in waves—all directed toward me.
She lets out a long sigh and shuffles into the living room with heavy feet. Her mouth is pressed in an adorably frustrated straight line as she puts her mug down on a coaster and flumps onto the plastic-covered couch. I discreetly fish around in my coat pocket before following.
“Nice Christmas,” I say, sitting next to her. The fire from the fireplace is dancing in her very narrowed eyes.
“Yep,” she says, clipping the word. I pretend to ignore it.
“I liked that card Grandma Carver gave us.” I blow across my mug of hot chocolate. “Pretty hilarious.”
“Yeah, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that family.”
“It sure didn’t.”
Silence descends on us, except for the crackling of the fire and Theresa muttering softly under her breath. She always talks, even when there’s nothing to say, and it’s not a bad thing. Not at all.
“And they remember presents,” she says after a few long seconds. She turns her eyes on me, and I meet them, playing the innocent, clueless male. “It’s nice to know that someone’s thinking about you when you have to spend Christmas away from your family. That’s a good friend right there.”
She puts her mug to her lips, and I can’t help but let my smile break through.
“You’re mad.”
Her glare is so damn cute. “What do you think, Alec? Of course I’m mad.” She puts down her mug, probably so hot chocolate doesn’t get thrown anywhere. “Not only did someone who’s practically a stranger think to give me a gift, but one of my closest friends just thinks, ‘no thanks.’ And I know it’s selfish and stupid, but I spent forever searching for the right present for you because I thought we’d finally gotten to a place in our friendship where we could actually be friends again. Even Jace, the ignoramus, got me something. And you didn’t have to do anything big. I just wanted you to give me—”
I settle the rectangular box in her lap. It’s wrapped (pretty well, mind you, for someone who can’t wrap well) in Walking Dead paper with a dark red bow. A wiseass grin hits my lips as she finishes in a whisper, “Something.”
“I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone.”
Her shoulders droop, and the corners of her mouth turn into an uncontrolled grin. “Great, make me feel like shit.”
“You did that yourself,” I say with a laugh as she eagerly tears into it. I�
��ve always loved that about her. She’s not one to be careful with wrapping paper.
“It’s jewelry.” Her lovely brown eyes turn my way. “Heart-shaped jewelry.”
“It’s butt-shaped.”
She silently chuckles and pulls the necklace from the box. I can tell she’s unsure how to react, unsure of the intention behind it. My fingers find the back of my neck and I scratch even though there is no itch.
“I know you’re scared about things changing.” Her eyes flick to mine, suddenly scared, and I quickly clarify. “With Lizzie.”
The lines around her mouth crease with her smile. “Things will change with Liz.”
I nod. “I know guys don’t get sentimental about this, but…I’m losing my best friend too. I mean, at times I feel like I’ve already been replaced, but I know with the marriage, it will have to be that way. It should be that way. They are good for each other.”
She nods, then looks back at the necklace, thumb tumbling over the silver heart.
“I wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”
Her hands drop to her lap, and she looks at me the way I’ve always wanted her to look at me: with wide eyes so full and open that I can see into her mind, her thoughts. Suddenly the feelings and the words come back with a vengeance. I love you. They’re right there again, sitting on my tongue, wanting to be said, but not wanting to be heard. I press my lips together, begging them to keep those words and feelings secret—to keep them only for me.
She puts her hand on mine and it’s almost my undoing. “You are off-the-charts charming, you know.”
I clear my throat, begging my voice to say the right thing. “Charming?”
“Some days.” She hands me the necklace, then turns, lifting her long, wavy hair so I can snap the clasp. My clumsy thumbs take a bit to get it closed, but when I do, I give her shoulder a tiny squeeze so she knows I’m done. I’m tempted to press my lips there too, but thankfully I defeat the impulse.
“Thank you,” she says in a hushed, warm tone that goes straight to my head. “Sorry for being so impatient.”
I laugh. “Hope it was worth the wait.”
She looks down at it, her fingers gliding over the heart. Without answering, she slides her arms around my shoulders. Her face burrows into the crook of my neck, and I turn my head, inhale the Christmas pine scent of her hair, and hold her close to me for as long as she allows. And she allows me more than my fair share of time, yet it still doesn’t seem long enough.
“Now I feel like my present to you was crap.” She waves a hand at the tie around my neck.
“I did do so much better.”
A soft hand pushes my shoulder, and her smile hits even the darkest parts inside of me.
“I’ll play for you,” she offers, her eyes landing on the piano in the corner. She pushes off the couch, fingers toying with the heart around her neck. I bend down, grab the Christmas book from Grandma Carver, and flip to “Deck the Halls.”
“This one good?” I ask over the piano with a smirk.
She shakes her head and settles the music in front of her.
“See?” she says, playing the first note. “Charming.”
Chapter 9
PRESENT DAY
“You showed me your world,” I say into Rian’s ear, turning her toward the giant billboards and illuminated signs. “This is mine.”
The wind picks up, sending some of Rian’s hair into my face. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. This is the place I soak up as much as I can: the lights, the sounds…but not really the smell, because midtown New York often smells of ass.
“Times Square is your world?” she asks, skepticism in her tone.
I point her toward a large theater. “Just that part right there.” For more than half of my life my dream has been a Broadway stage. I’m so close to it I can taste it on the tip of my tongue, feel it with my fingertips; a small part of me believes that if I can reach that, I can reach anything. Even things I’ve given up all hope of having.
I scratch an invisible itch on the back of my neck, shaking my head free of the what-could-have-beens, and focus on Rian. She swings her arm out dramatically at the theater’s marquee with a large grin on her face.
“Annie on Broadway,” she recites. “Starring Alex with a c as Mr. What’s-his-face—you know, the rich guy.”
“The Playbill will phrase it just like that.”
“I like it.” She drops her arm and steps close to me. “So, have you ever performed there?”
I shake my head. “Someday. Maybe soon.” I grin at her tilted eyebrow. “I auditioned today.”
“Busy day for you,” she lilts. “Auditions, strip dances, auctions…”
“Well, the auction was last-minute. And the strip was alcohol-induced.” If you count the one drink I had before the show.
“Remind me to pour you some champagne when we get back to the limo.” She nudges me in the shoulder. “You weren’t doing the auction already?”
“Favor for a friend.”
“What friend?”
What a simple question with several different answers. A best friend. A complicated friend. The friend I’m in love with. The friend I’d promised everything to, only to take it back the second things got too painful. The friend who, after all we’ve been through, still manages to be exactly that for me—a friend.
“A good friend,” I say, settling on an answer that in no way blankets how I feel about Theresa.
Rian’s smile relaxes. “Your girl?”
I wince, the implication that Theresa’s mine cutting me in the chest. “She’s not my girl.”
“Was your girl there tonight?”
“She’s not my girl,” I repeat.
“How long has it been since she was your girl?” Rian presses. If I was a grade-A douche, I’d probably walk away.
“She’s never been my girl.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” She laughs.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a horrible liar.” She gestures to my bullshit face. “When was the last time the two of you kissed?”
My eyes narrow. “Kissing her does not make her mine.”
“Answer the question.”
I grin at her stubborn stance, the adorable know-it-all expression. I realize that I think it’s cute, but I still have yet to feel anything spectacular about it. Not like how a simple glance from She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would explode every possible nerve ending.
“Three weeks,” I admit, and a victorious smile hits Rian’s lips. “But like I said, that doesn’t make her mine.”
“Well, no wonder you can’t move on,” she says, relaxing her stance and turning back toward the beauty of the Broadway marquee. “The wound is so fresh it’s still bleeding.”
“It’s not…it was…but there wasn’t…” Damn it, I’m bumbling around, trying but failing to find a viable explanation for that night. There isn’t one. Rian’s seen through me yet again.
I sigh and shake my head at the ground. “It was just one friend comforting another.”
“You said you didn’t want to be in love anymore,” she says. “Why? What’s so wrong with love?”
“It hurts.” My heart thuds thick in my chest, a reminder of all the times I used the word “love,” even in casual conversation. “Hurts like a bitch,” I say with a laugh. My hand is up on my chest, and I don’t remember putting it there. I suppose I’m subconsciously trying to ease the pain. I quickly jam it back into my pocket.
Her eyes flick over to me. “But doesn’t it also feel…amazing?”
I smirk. “Maybe.”
“I think definitely amazing,” she says, leaning into me. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be holding on to it so hard.”
“Were you also a psych major?”
She lets out a small chuckle. “It’s kind of funny. You need help forgetting love, and I need help remembering it exists.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you were looking for toni
ght?”
She pushes her lips together in thoughtful repose. “No. I was looking for…a night.”
“Care to elaborate on what kind of night?”
She grins at my obvious hesitation regarding intimacy at this point in the evening. It’s ridiculous, really. I should want a night as well, but in my experience, sex doesn’t make you forget a damn thing. In fact, I think it intensifies everything.
“A night to be different,” she says. “A night away from life.”
I snort. “Oh, geez. I think I owe you a massive apology, then.”
“Why?”
I wave a hand. “Because tonight was…I mean, a blackout, a flat tire, a nosebleed, and food spills all sound like life.”
“Not mine.”
“Lucky.”
“You know what my life is?” she asks, and I shake my head. “My life is nothing. It’s absolutely nothing. I paint and sleep. All I have is my art and me. So I welcome flat tires, food in my lap, and balls to my face.”
A laugh barrels through my stomach, and she grabs my arms and pulls them around her waist. Her back settles against my chest, and I stand stone-still, listening to her slow breathing, as the lights dance in front of us. We probably look like a couple, though I don’t feel like we’re one. I wish I could just appreciate the small fact that a woman wants me to hold her like this.
I feel a pang in my chest and my cement heart starts to crack, but not enough. It’s a small fissure in an otherwise very strong structure. The last woman I held in my arms like this made the earth spin. She made the entire population of New York disappear, and the only sounds in the air were the notes of her voice, talking about her world, her fears, her hopes. She talked of her past, her future, her family, and her friends, and nothing she said was boring or uninteresting. It hit parts of me that made all the screws come loose in my brain.
Rian’s right. Love is amazing. And I don’t know how to feel it with anyone else, but I sure as hell am gonna try.
“You’re right,” I tell Rian over the bustle of the New York night. She tilts her head up to look at me, and I meet her eyes. “The wound…it’s still bleeding.”
