Nellie
Ihad gotten it wrong yet again.
This wasn’tIt’s a Wonderful LifeorDie Hardor evenRear Window.No, I was living inA Christmas Carol, and I was the greedy, old bitch who ruined everybody’s Christmas.
Minus the ghosts and suffocating nightgown.
“Wow, front-row seats,” Nora exclaimed. “I feel like a celebrity.”
“You are a celebrity,” I reminded her. Just last night, she and Bowie had attended the wrap party for the second season of her show.
She shrugged, tossing her blue hair over one shoulder. “Eh, C-list at best.”
That was what I liked about Nora. She had gained so much momentum in her career these last couple of years and still, she acted like a normal person.
Stars, they’re just like us.
It was the day of Leighton’s knitwear showcase, and the four of us were front row center to the action. We funneled into our chairs beside the runway, Bowie and Killian at our backs. Riley had opted out at the last minute due to morning sickness—in the afternoon—and Devin had stayed home to dote on her. There was no doubt that their bun in the oven would never want for love and attention.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring along your photographer,” Nora hedged, arching her brow.
“He’s notmyphotographer.”
“Oh, that’s right. Your Santa,” she amended.
“Austin isn’tmyanything,” I said, loud enough for the models backstage to hear me. “Not anymore, at least,” I added, evening my tone.
Nora blinked back at me, surprised by my outburst, Killian smiled sadly, and Bowie—bless his heart—ducked his head behind his program.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Nora asked.
“No.”
She nodded and turned back to the paper program in her hands. “Oh, look. It says—”
“I fucked it up.” I tossed my hands in the air.
“I guess we’re talking about it,” Bowie mumbled.
“I was frustrated—with myself more than anything—and I took it out on Austin, the one person who has been nothing but nice to me. Do you know that he has left a package of my favorite cookies in my mailbox almost every day since my accident? Who does that?”
I’d almost cried the morning after theDie Hardfiasco, aka the best non-date I had ever been on, when I’d opened up my mailbox, only to find it empty. It wasn’t that I needed more Tim Tams—my pantry was overflowing as it was. I missed the gesture more than anything, the reminder that somebody was thinking about me, looking out for me.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until it was gone.
“Sounds like a man in love to me,” Killian mused.
It couldn’t be. Lust, maybe, but not love. Nobody fell in love with somebody over the course of a few weeks. Not outside of the movies or Highlander romance novels, at least.
A distraction.
I buried my face in my hands, recalling the awful things I’d said to him. They had played over and over in my head all week, like a record stuck on repeat. Of course, I had regretted them the second they’d left my mouth, but by then, it had been too late. Sadly, there were no take-backsies when it came to misplaced feelings.
Or STIs, for that matter.
Nora rested her hand on my thigh. “I’m sure it’ll all work out. People do and say shitty things in the heat of the moment.”
“Besides,” Killian said. “Aren’t we still doing another round of photos tonight?”
