To stop myself from saying something I might regret, which is only bound to upset her more, I finish off the contents of my plate.
Then because I’m sure it’ll cheer her up, and because I’m genuinely curious, I ask, “Why do you love Christmas so much?”
“I love this time of year." Her gaze drifts, a faraway look in her eyes. "The lights, the crisp air, the way carols float through the streets like everyone’s sharing the same memory. There’s this hush, like the world is holding its breath. For a few weeks, people soften. They let themselves hope. Believe. It’s like the season gives us permission to believe in something good again.”
Her phone buzzes. She picks it up, her eyes widen, then she jumps to her feet. "Uh, I have to go.”
16
Lark
Remember to buy batteries. For everything. Especially the twinkly lights. And also, for my vibrator.
—From Lark’s Christmas to-do list
Oh God, oh no. No, no, no. What is my fiancé doing here?
I pivot and head for the connecting door between our offices.
Thanks to the glass wall between our offices, my boss can see everything unfolding, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
I shut the door between our offices and try to ignore the fact that my boss is watching my reunion with my fiancé. Which iseasier said than done.
Because this is Brody we’re talking about. I’m only too keenly aware of his gaze following me.
Keith is standing at the window looking out.
He turns as I approach. His dirty blond hair is artfully mussed. He’s tall enough to look down on my five feet four inches. Not as tall as Brody. Or as broad. And his eyes aren’t as piercing. And… Argh. Stop it. This is not a competition.
"Larkie." He half smiles. "There you are."
I’ve told him so many times not to call me Larkie. I really don’t like it. But he keeps forgetting.
I move toward him with determination.
What does he want?Except for that short phone call and the flowers he sent, I haven’t heard from him at all. And now he turns up, without any advance notice?
“Where have you been? Why haven't you been in touch? And you left all the planning to me.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, will ya?” He half-laughs.
“I will not.” I come to a stop, leaving enough distance between us that it’s clear how upset I am with him.
“Do you even take any of this seriously? You’ve missed every appointment and haven’t even given me your guest list? What is going on?” I fume.
Keith doesn’t seem too bothered by my tirade. He stands with his arms loose at his sides, almost at ease.
It’s as if we haven’t spent a month apart. And that his ignoring my calls and messages, and leaving me to shoulder the burden of the wedding planning don’t mean anything.
Because they don’t.
Not to him.
I’ve been so caught up in my new job and preparations for my perfect life as a married woman, I didn’t spot it. Or rather, I subconsciously knew it, but didn’t want to acknowledge it.
I don’t want to accept it.
A shiver ripples through me, an instinctive warning, like my body knows something my mind refuses to see.
