Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“When was that?” I ask before I can bite my tongue. If I ask about personal matters, it will only be fair for him to prod me about mine. Something I want to avoid.
“I was in my early teens,” Saint tells me, sipping the wine he picked for us with such elegance I feel like I’m in the company of a prince, not a normal guy. The title of our Hallmark movie? A Christmas Prince for Rowan. “He—uh, needed to unexpectedly take care of me, or I’d have ended up in the system. I had no other family left.”
I take a big sip of wine to gather my thoughts, because I don’t want to say anything insensitive, or too forward, but he’s been so open, I feel ready to tell him a bit more about myself.
“I’m so sorry. I’m glad someone was there for you,” I say, not wanting to pry into how he became an orphan. He looks so elegant. Maybe his parents died in a private jet crash and he got taken in by his rich uncle to grow up in a big mansion with marble stairs. “I… I lost my family too. I was sixteen, badly injured and recovering. After a few months in hospital, I had a family technically sign up to take care of me, but I turned eighteen not long after, and a few months later I was on my own. I actually came here, to Rosehill Pines to start fresh with some insurance money to tide me over. Sorry. That’s a total trauma dump on you.” I gulp down the wine to hide my awkwardness, but when his warm hand closes over mine on the table, I freeze as my heart starts a race deep in my chest. Because is this an attempt to comfort me, or an escalation of touch? I still don’t know if this is a date or him being friendly.
“Damn. That’s tough. I didn’t know… that we were alike that way. It’s so difficult to be on your own, especially after such a loss, and injury on top of that… That takes a lot of strength.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I have to take a deep breath but manage to keep my emotions under control. We’re in a cozy booth in a far corner, so I’m pretty sure no one can see our hands and let the touch linger, soothed by his warmth. What are the odds of me meeting someone like him? Someone who knows loss?
And to be appreciated as strong on top of that? It rarely crosses my mind, as I usually see myself as a weakling who can’t even stand up to his boss.
“It’s just going through the motions, you know? I have to come up with a way to live, because I don’t want the alternative.” I won’t be letting go of my life while those murderous fucks are still out there, enjoying theirs when they should rot in the ground, eaten by maggots.
The smile is gone from Saint’s face, and that’s when I know I’ve said too much. Nobody wants the truth about my feelings, not even my therapist, who’d rather have me write them in a letter to a fictional character than engage with them herself.
But just as I’m about to stand up and apologize for spoiling his evening, Saint’s thumb strokes the inside of my hand so very gently. “It can get so lonely, and seeing others celebrate Christmas time makes it somehow worse, right?”
He gets it.
I nod, and, gossip be damned, when the waiter brings our main dishes, I don’t pull my hand away. It feels too good to be held.
I speak only when the server leaves, but I’m glad his presence offered me a moment to gather my thoughts and take a deep breath, because I really can’t be crying on this maybe-date.
“People come to the shop to buy gifts. Everyone talks about their family plans… It’s hard. But last year, I got to spend time in Mrs. Treville’s apartment, taking care of her cat while she visited friends in Florida, so that was something different at least. Is that why you’re here this month? To distract yourself? Sorry, that was rude. I bet you have a lot of friends, and then there’s your uncle too.”
Saint shakes his head, glancing at the aubergine on his plate. He’s so unbearably handsome in the turtleneck that emphasizes his wide shoulders. “He’s gone too. It’s just me now. And… yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe choosing to set a book at Christmas time is my excuse to work throughout December and not think too much about all the things I’m missing.”
I reluctantly pull my fingers away so I can eat, but I only do that because it’s the reasonable thing. If I had my way, I’d let the chicken go cold just so I can hold his hand for a bit longer.