“Is that the girl who hates Christmas?” The stall owner sounded doubtful.
“She thought she was being cheated on,” Olivia countered. “She loves Christmas. Isn’t that right, Merrie?”
I wailed harder.
“She really needs that pasta.”
The stall owner sniffed but handed Olivia two large steaming bowls topped with garlic bread and a bottle of wine.
“Happy holidays!” Olivia called out to the woman. Then she elbowed me.
“Merry Christmas,” I sobbed out.
“Tensions are high over the holidays,” Olivia assured me as we sat at a table and dug into our pasta. “Just give Matt a bit to cool down, and I’m sure he’s going to want you back in his life.”
I sniffled as I ate the pasta. I was not a delicate eater. Some people could neatly roll their pasta around on the fork. I, however, could not. Sauce was all over my face. I didn’t care. I had ruined my own Christmas. Decades of sad and lonely Christmases stretched out in front of me. I would never host a big holiday party. I would never make a magical Christmas for my children. I wouldn’t go to fancy Christmas parties with my wonderful husband on my arm.
“I’m going to be sad and alone this Christmas,” I sobbed.
“Have some wine,” Olivia urged, pouring some of the red wine into my cup.
Her phone rang.
“Oh, hi, Tina. Yes, she’s right here. I’ll bring her right over.”
She ended the call. “You’re late for your Christmas party.”
80
Matt
Merrie wasn’t at her shop when I raced over after showering. The lights were off, and the door had a sign that read, ‘SOLD OUT! MERRY CHRISTMAS!’
I stood outside of the locked door, looking around, willing Merrie to appear.
Where could she be?
Maybe she was in the Christmas market somewhere. I tried calling her phone again, hoping that she had unblocked me. I had sent my lawyers after the tabloids, and they had retracted the statement about my engagement to Hensley.
But Merrie still had me blocked.
Maybe she’s never going to forgive me.
What if she moved out of town?
What if I never saw her again?
The thought of not having Merrie in my life was unbearable.
But where was she?
She wasn’t at the stage listening to a jazz band play Christmas carols. She wasn’t asleep in the nativity scene. She wasn’t out ice skating. She wasn’t in line at any of the stalls.
“Why is the Christmas market so big?” I muttered, skirting Dave as he announced the last call for raffle tickets.
“Raffle ticket?” He waved the red tickets at me.
“No thanks.”
