Page 5 of Five Days of Christmas Spice

“I’ll see you in a few days.” I end the call before Evan can say another word, and I lose my cool.

A woman hands the suitcase packer the flip flop, and she looks up and flashes a smile. The smile transforms her face to a glow.

But as soon as she returns to her packing, her expression becomes a mask again.

My bag is digging into my shoulder, and I adjust the strap. Claire didn’t like to fly, but she wouldn’t have repacked a suitcase in the middle of an airport. Her anxiety wouldn’t have allowed her to. But she would have made friends with the people sitting next to her and would have made sure I had a cup of coffee. Damn, I miss her.

There is something so self-assured about the woman kneeling on the floor.

It’s the set of her shoulders, the confident way her fingers are flying across the items, the force field of “I don’t care, I’m packing this bag in the middle of the airport” around her that holds my attention like it’s the Stanley Cup Final.

And maybe it’s because I’ve lost some swagger, some of that self-confidence, that my gaze is glued to her. It’s a reminder of the hotshot corporate lawyer I once was.

I used to strut into the room, leading the way, untouchable and unaffordable to all but a select few.

I worked my ass off, knowing I had a gorgeous woman waiting for me at home.

Until she was snatched away from me by something as ordinary as the flu.

I give myself a shake, determined to enjoy this festive season.

My good friends, Rosa and Axel, will make sure I don’t wallow, and I’m eager to check on the place. I have old friends coming to stay at the resort, and I am looking forward to seeing them, too.

But I miss having a woman beside me as much as I miss having one in my bed. Commitment, though, isn’t for me. My heart is too wounded from grief to let that possibility through.

The announcement is made for us to board, and I hang back, waiting to see the line. The gate must have had flyers from a previous flight because it doesn’t look like this plane is packed by the line-up.

I shake off my maudlin thoughts. I want to talk to the woman with the auburn hair. My stomach twists. It feels weird to admit the attraction I already feel to her. But I shake it off and tell myself a conversation is not putting a ring on her finger.

3 HOLLY

“Excuse me? Can I have another coffee?” I call to the back of the stewardess. I furiously grab napkins from my purse and wipe the spilled java off the tray. I’m not even supposed to be on this plane, but at least it’s half-empty, and I managed to tune everything out by listening to a playlist.

“I don’t think she heard you.” The rich, smooth voice is from a man seated on the aisle seat in the next aisle over.

He’s in an empty row. I’m also in the aisle seat, and a teenager is dozing silently against the window seat.

The man extends a handful of napkins, and I take them.

“Thanks. I guess someone’s not happy working on Christmas Eve.”

“You can’t blame her,” the man smiles and my pulse races. His smile is a gold star to his attractive face, making his chocolate eyes shine.

Yeah, I could relate to being somewhere you didn’t want to be because I am not landing in Cozumel with Phil beside me.

Instead, I’m on my way to the middle of nowhere.

I was packed this morning, waiting for Phil to pull up in his Volvo. A text buzzed in my phone, saying, Sorry, Holly, It’s time for us to end things- Merry Christmas, Phil.

I stopped myself from hurling the phone into the bushes beside my condo entrance but didn’t feel upset. No, I felt fury. The kind of fury that heated my blood and made me see stars. Quickly, I ran through my options. After I booked a flight to Toronto, I hopped in an Uber, and here I am.

I know things between Phil and I were getting stale.

Anger heats my skin, and I gulp back a mouthful of water. Phil works for an accounting firm. I have a roster of world-class directors, producers and actors. I don’t want to be a snob, but honestly? I’m out of Phil’s league.

Stella tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen, wanting to create something good. Something solid. Something I thought would last.

“I don’t think she’s bringing you another coffee. Maybe she needs a beach vacay,” the man across the aisle says.

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