Page 92 of The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

Laughter echoes from inside the house, pulling her attention. At the same time, a truck pulls up on the street, and in seconds,people are ascending the stairs carrying covered platters of god-knows-what, as if the brownstone is a public building.

“You’ve got a lot of people in there already. Another time, maybe,” she says, offering an uncertain smile.

I want to scream for everyone to get out of the house so I can talk to Sophia and understand what brought her to my door.

She loops the gift bag she’s brought onto the door handle and turns to leave. “Merry Christmas Eve, Worth.”

My body is frozen as I watch her descend the steps. She looks back at me as she takes a right and heads west.

I don’t seem to be able to react.

I don’t know what to do or say. Do I ask her to stay? I don’t want her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.

But what doIwant?

THIRTY-FOUR

Sophia

I’m not sure how to land on someone’s doorstep on Christmas Eve and tell them you want to be their wife. Or girlfriend. Honestly, if Worth said he’d moved on or didn’t want to be with me in that way, I’d take his friendship instead. I just miss him.

I miss the way he loves me.

I miss the way I trust him.

I miss the way I love him.

I could have called Jules to see if he was busy or had moved on or hated me, but I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position. I’m an adult, ready to face the consequences of my decisions. It’s what I wanted from my dad, so how could I be a hypocrite when it comes to Worth? I want to put it all out there for him, even if it’s not enough. He deserves that from me.

My hands are shaking as I walk up the stoop to his front door. The last time I was here, I signed divorce papers. I’m not sure if he had them filed. Maybe we’re divorced already.

I answer the door, hoping he’s in. I’m sure I can hear movement and music inside. It’s nearly two in the afternoon on Christmas Eve.

I should have texted.

Before I can spiral further, the door yanks open and Worth appears.

My heart strains in my chest and I exhale. This is where I’m meant to be.

Seeing him here, his hair rumpled, glasses on, wearing a sweater with a hole in the elbow, makes everything slot into place. This man is my home.

After we exchange hellos, a beautiful woman appears from inside the house and looks me up and down. My entire body tightens

“Are you the snow graffiti artist?” she asks. “I was expecting a man.”

The bubble pops.

I look between them, unable to figure out who she is and whether there’s something between them. But if not, who is she and what’s she doing in his home?

He doesn’t offer an explanation.

“No, Eira,” he says, and she disappears.

Eira. Eira. That name is familiar, but I can’t place it.

“You’re busy,” I say, watching the woman run down the hall.

“We’re just having dinner and drinks…” His gaze shifts to the gift bag I’m carrying.

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