It’s either that or wait in the kitchen for Blair to pounce again, isn’t it? The woman took me to the lowest point in my life and seems to enjoy doing her best to pull me in again every chance she can. She’s toxic, and I’m her self-esteem booster. It’s a sickness, but I’ve learned from it. I’ve armed myself.
And my armor is about to walk away with Granny. What choice do I have?
“Aye. I’m coming.”
The party fizzled after eleven,about half of the attendants being over fifty and up far past their self-proclaimed bedtimes. I kept expecting Blair to leave, but she stuck around all night, chatting with my friends, joining the circle of conversations I’ve been in. She looks good. She’s always looked good. But that doesn’t erase the last ten years, nor the pain she’s caused. I’m not fool enough to fall for this again.
Last time she came to visit a few years ago, she did the same. Pretended to want friendship, said she missed me, came to myhouse to talk, and I fellhard. Maybe I knew deep down it was too good to be true, but that ever-present hope blared its awful light and made me want to believe.
Jack had gone and hid in his room well over an hour ago when Katie pulled out her karaoke machine. She had to put it away again when Nat fell asleep in the armchair beside the Christmas tree, but the rest of us were alright with that.
I’m leaning on the arm of the sofa, sipping at my drink as Callie leans against my shoulder. She’s standing beside me, speaking with Lewis, and I am glad for her presence. Blair might be talking to Rory, but she keeps looking at me. All night she’s been watching me, waiting for Callie to step away and give me space.
But all night, Callie has stuck to my side like a barnacle. Even now, her arm is pressing into my shoulder as she laughs at whatever lame joke Lewis told. She leans back enough that I wonder if she’s beginning to feel tired.
But I don’t mind being her support post. There’s something about being needed that gives me purpose, makes me feel powerful, like I can withstand anything.
Callie’s hand slides down my arm and circles my wrist. She gives me a light squeeze, and I look up to find her smile forced.
I should’ve been paying attention.
Lewis is standing much closer now. He runs a hand through his long, stringy hair and leans toward Callie. “But you want to touch the stones, eh?”
If he’s hitting on her with the help ofOutlander, he’s way off the mark. Lewis looks more like Elephant and Piggie—both the characters and my horses—than he does Sam Heughan.
“My bucket list is much more reasonable, actually.” Callie squeezes my wrist again.
It’s not that helpful, because I can’t read thumbs. I don’t know what she wants. I glance over, and her eyebrows dash up.
“She wants an American Christmas,” I venture.
“Just a Christmas is good enough, but there has to be a tree. And stockings. And garland, of course. And?—”
“So, a fully dressed American Christmas,” I repeat.
Callie laughs. “That’s normal holiday stuff. My Scotland bucket list is far more specific.”
“Care to enlighten us?”
“Ancient stones are on there,” she says. “So is a horse ride.”
“You did that yesterday.”
“I did.”
“What else?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Lewis asks, glancing between us.
Callie leans against my chest. “This is new.”
Jealousy flashes across Lewis’s face. The man isn’t known for his discretion. He and Nat end up together more often than not, and judging by his irritation, he was hoping to try his hand at the new girl. I suppose the protective armor goes both ways.
She yawns.
“Ready to go home?” I ask, hoping she’ll agree.
“Sure. Just let me grab my coat. I left it in the kitchen.”
