Page 26 of Waiting for Gilbert

My heart sinks. I wantthat. Oh, don’t be silly. I’m not pining after Gilbert Conner. I just… I don’t know. I want the easy connection. Layers of trust that only come with time. Where’s my two a.m. friend? I never would have called Shaun after eleven.

There’s always cousin Mark, I suppose. But I wonder if he sees me that way. He loves and supports me. Would Mark call if he needed anything in the middle of the night? Who am I kidding… Mark never needs anything. He’s way too put together. Gilbert though, he seems like someone I’d get along with. Although Gilbert came to the cottage for the first-aid kit, not forme.

Gilbert says we’re friends now—or could be? There may not be room for me in this town where everyone already fits into the puzzle.

Nickie grabs a bottle of disinfectant and washes the seat he’s just vacated. I wrap my arms tighter around my legs and drop my head to my knees.

Clue in, CJ.By all appearances, Gilbert’s a great guy, but I know the only reason I’m here is because I was the closest creature with a driver’s license. If my kitchen light had been off, he’d never have disturbed me. He didn’t even know it was me in the house until he walked in. Since I surely don’t want to play the lead in a cheesy Christmas movie, I need to get over this childish crush pronto. It takes more than a chance encounter at one party for two people to fall in love.

Fall in love. Yuck.

I don’t want to fall in love—I want to be immersed in it. Is it possible to be so accepted that I’m never scared to be fully me? It ain’t a thing.

My rebranding will work. I can do better. CJ can be more serious and focused.

Starting after my next full night of sleep.

My breathing slows. The swish of Nickie’s rag on the vinyl further relaxes me. Calling Mark instead of going to bed wasn’t very on-brand for CJ.

It shouldn’t be so hard to be alone. I wasn’t scared this evening or anything so mundane. There was no premeditated reasoning. Because I had all the thoughts and all the feelings and I was alone with them, I called Mark.

When I decided to look for a place to rent, I was excited for the chance to have a place all to myself. I didn’t realize I lacked the common sense required to do life.

Tomorrow, I’ll do better. Gilbert probably thinks I’m incredibly immature to be up this late polishing a kitchen instead of sleeping. He’d be right.

A hand falls to my shoulder and wakes me from a half-sleep.

“Come on, Champ.” Gilbert’s grip tightens then disappears as I raise my head. “I’ll drive us home.” He works to pull his hat over his head with one hand.

I can’t handle the awkwardness of his one-handed struggle, so I snatch it away and do it for him. He lets me help without a fuss though he bites the tip of his tongue on the side of his mouth and crinkles his nose.

“Quit it.” I try not to giggle at his expression. “Let’s go home.” My eyes widen at my words and I speed walk down the hall before anything else slips out.

11

CORDELIA

FRANK SINATRA—LET IT SNOW

“I’m not sleeping in your bed.” Gilbert holds the front door of the cottage and waves for me to walk in first. Blessed warm air welcomes us into the kitchen.

“It’s not my bed.” I stomp my snowy boots past him. “I don’t care if I signed the papers. If you’re so small-town friendly that you can call a doctor to stitch you back together in the middle of the night in exchange forshow tickets, you can sleep inyourbed?—”

“Except it’s no longer my bed!” He waits by the front door, no longer smiling.

I figured he wouldn’t willingly agree to this, so Imighthave tricked him into coming inside by asking him to carry my large duffle while I juggled a black trash bag stuffed with a few pillows and blankets.

I lead the way through the dine-in kitchen, past the bathroom across from the closet, and into the bedroom. An old-fashioned four-poster bed with a bare mattress sits in the middle of the room. There’s a closet on one side, a dresser on the other.

Gilbert halts outside the bedroom, my bag slung over his shoulder with two fingers like it’s nothing. “And where will you sleep?”

“The floor’s fine.”

“You’re not making sense. It’s okay for you to sleep on the floor and not me?” He examines the room. “I have bedding on the floor of my own room.”

I shudder from the lingering cold. “It is not livable in that house. Do not speak to me of your bedroom.Olafwouldn’t be comfortable in that house.”

He cuts his gaze to me before he mutters, “I have a fireplace.”

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