Page 4 of A Beary Merry Christmas

Her grin hinted at the sorrow behind her words. “You’re all I’ve got, Lo. I’m always going to be here for you, for as long as I have you.”

“Hey, if I can’t live in the past, then neither can you.” I narrowed my gape, my smile falling away.

She rolled her lips. “We all have our demons, right?” She tried to lighten her tone, to make it less obvious that she was thinking about her, but she could never hide the truth from me.

Pushing up off of the sofa, I nodded my head in agreement. “Demons, vices, coffee, and wine.”

That broke her mood. She threw an arm up into the air. “Thank the powers above for that wine.” She laughed, dropping her arm. “I know we went through two bottles last night, but don’t think I won’t be buying one on my way home tonight.”

“Just don’t let it become a vice.” I winked.

“Honey, wine is one level beyond a vice; it’s my damn sanity after dealing with those idiots all day, the ones I work with and the ones who call in.” She took a hearty sip of her coffee.

“What was it that Paul used to say?” I tapped my chin with my pointer finger pensively. “Oh yeah.” I held up a finger. “Customer service is a thankless job, but some idiot’s gotta do it.”

She rocked her hips, blowing out a deep breath. “Ain’t that the truth.” She gulped down the rest of her drink, passing me the cup. “Okay, honey, I need to get home, shower, change, and get back to the thankless job.”

“Hey.” I pressed a hand to her upper arm, commanding her full attention. “I know the overtime looks good on your paycheck, but try not to give yourself a stroke. I remember how stressful that job was at this time of year.” I gave her a quick hug. “Text me later.”

Turning towards the guest room, she shook her head in dismay. “I swear, sometimes you act like the older one.”

I rolled my eyes, a smirk curling my lips. “It’s called being concerned because I lovers you.”

“I lovers you, too, honey.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously, blowing a kiss back at me.

Snatching a throw pillow off of the sofa, I tossed it at her. “Go, before you’re late. I know how long it takes you to get ready.” It took her twice as long now that I’d taught her how to do her hair and make-up, ensuring she always looked fabulous, just in case she bumped into Mr. Right.

She laughed. “Oh, please, according to you I’m always late because I’m not early.”

“Exactly. Now skedaddle.” I flicked my wrist, shooing her away.

“Slave driver.” She scrunched her nose, but her tone was pure playfulness.

In the years since I’d met Sharon, we both had become more confident, more self-assured, and that was partly due to each other. There was comfort in knowing that someone always had your back. It allowed you to stand taller, be bolder, and put yourself out there more.

She made that possible for me after Gran. She would always have a special place in my heart for that reason.

I watched as she disappeared into the guest bedroom. Sharon was the only guest I ever had, but she refused to claim a room as her own some place that she didn’t pay rent. We’d talked about moving in together countless times, but the whole not being able to bring a date home for a nightcap squashed that idea dead in its tracks every time, not that either of us had brought someone home in a long time.

Twas the downfall of a shitty dating life.

Picking up my mug, I chugged the rest of my coffee and carried the empty cups to the kitchen. A few minutes later, Sharon shouted her farewell on her way out the door.

“Have a good day,” I called, drying the second mug before I put them back in the cupboard. I tried to clean as I went to save myself from a day off doing household chores. But that meant I had all day to think about Stone.

With a sigh, I headed to my room to grab my phone, just in case. Because no matter how upset I was at him for cancelling at the last minute like that, the greater part of me hoped he would text and do what Gran said the right man would do: apologize and make it up to me.

Chapter Four

December 19th

Stone

Rolling over, I stretched an arm up over my head to rest on the pillows. I still couldn’t breathe for shit, but at least I wasn’t as sore today.

Snatching my phone off of the nightstand, I flipped through my notifications. Not one was from her. Damn.

The last woman I talked to online blew up my phone, to the point where I had to block her everywhere. How ironic that I found myself wishing that Lora was more like the last woman. I felt like the stalker because she never messaged me first. And, as often as I reached out, I refrained in-between. I didn’t spend too much time analyzing how pathetic that made me.

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