Page 6 of A Beary Merry Christmas

“Right.” I quietly sighed, working to subdue my frustration; his words revealed far more than he’d meant for them to. He could go to work every day, whether he was sick or not, but he couldn’t meet me.

There could only be one reason for that: he didn’t want to meet me.

How could I have missed the signs? He had closet fat admirer written all over his extra fit physique. He owned a gym for crying out loud. What sort of message would it send his customers if his girlfriend was, well, me? It would compromise his brand’s integrity. And, yes, he was a brand, the face of his gym’s brand, whether he wanted to be or not.

All of my rage dissipated beneath a wave of despair. My chest constricted, my heart seeming to sink, to be crushed by the sudden pressure. A steady ache settled in the center of it. “Take care of yourself, okay?” My voice softened, despite my attempt to be stern, despite my attempt to hide my true feelings.

“Always, babe.” I heard the confusion in his tone. “Are you okay? Listen, babe, I’m really sorry about last night, and I definitely want to make it up to you.”

“Stone.” His name came out sharper than I intended for it to. I exhaled quietly. “Just focus on getting better, okay?” I heard the door close in the distance, telling me he’d gone into his office.

He sucked in a deep breath, wheezing a bit as he did so. “Listen, I know I fucked up last night.”

“Stone.” It came out as a plea.

“Let me make it up to you.” He paused, giving me a moment to process it. “Please, babe. Any time; any location.” He sounded genuine…and pitiful. He definitely needed to be in bed resting.

The ache continued to grow and expand, consuming more of my core as I thought about never hearing his voice again, never receiving another text from him. The permanence attached to that thought sliced me deep. And I knew, in that moment, that sooner was better than later.

I didn’t need his picture in front of me to vividly recall every detail of him, from the weight of his dark brows to the curves of his lips. With each feeling I attached to him, he became easier and easier to remember.

I genuinely cared about him, and I didn’t want to hurt him, even if he did hurt me. “Your gym. One hour.” That gave me fifteen minutes to get dressed and ready.

“Yes.” He immediately sounded better, more cheerful, as if he was excited to see me. “I’ll text you the address, beautiful.”

Tapping down the joy manifesting from his response, I focused on my mission. “I’m not dressing beautiful, just so you know.” My plan didn’t involve going on a proper date. It involved getting him home, in bed, resting, before I said a permanent good-bye.

“I don’t care, so long as I get to see you.” As if he only just thought it of, he added, “I’m not dressed well, either.” There was a sweetness, an innocence, about the way he said it, like he was so focused on me that he forgot about himself for a moment.

He had a knack for doing that, for making me feel special, worthy of all of his attention, when he could give it. And that alone made all of this bittersweet.

Glancing down at my outfit, realization dawned on me: I was actually doing it. I was shocking myself right now. I’d never taken the lead in a relationship; I’d always been passive. It was only slightly ironic that I was stepping up as he was about to step down. “See you soon.”

“See you soon, beautiful.”

Hearing the smile in his voice had me smiling, had hope blooming within me before I could stop it. Crap.

Hanging up the phone, I leapt up off of the sofa and dashed to my bedroom. Throwing my closet door open, I snagged a pair of thicker-than-normal black leggings, my oversized University of Florida Gators hoodie, compliments of my best friend who went to school there, and my gray Ugg knock-offs. Moving to my dresser, I pulled out dark gray, spaghetti strap, tank top, a lacy bra and panties set – just in case – and a pair of socks. Dropping everything on the bed, I made quick work of changing into my uber-casual ensemble.

Rushing to the bathroom, I doused my hair in silkening, conditioning serum that smelled amazing, ran a wide-toothed comb through my often-unruly strands, and brushed my teeth.

Straightening, I looked in the mirror. It didn’t look like I was putting forth much of an effort with my outfit; I needed make-up. And contouring. God bless bronzer and its ability to slim the roundest of faces. It wasn’t that I didn’t love myself, double chin and all, it’s that I wanted him to be impressed, to want to do a double and triple take; I wanted him to think about me from time to time, even if he never told me.

Prior to nursing school, I was a cosmetologist. Hair and make-up were my passion before everything happened. I kept Gran looking fabulous up until the end. A burning pain developed in my chest.

Focusing on my reflection, I grabbed my basket of products and dove in. Five minutes later, I was on my way out the door, plugging the gym’s address in my phone’s GPS, praying my signal didn’t drop along the way.

Sliding behind the steering wheel, I set my structured purse on the passenger seat with my phone. Shoving the key in the ignition, I started my faithful Nissan and immediately turned on the heater. Glimpsing at myself in the rearview mirror, I took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. “Here goes nothing.”

Putting the vehicle in reverse, I backed out of the parking spot, pulled out of the lot and onto the main road that led to the highway. My stomach did somersaults the further I got from home, and the closer I go to him. I was more than a little nervous, more so than last night even. There was less at stake yet, somehow, the pressure was amplified, and music did nothing to calm my nerves.

As the Black Fall welcome sign came into view along the side of the road, butterflies fluttered amongst the knots in my stomach. I’d done my best to ignore the anxiety pumping through me, but, seeing how close I was, I lost the battle.

Inhaling deep, I turned off the heat, suddenly feeling like I was suffocating. It was a crisp thirty-degrees out, according to my car’s thermostat, cold enough to warrant some hot air, but it was too much right now. It was all swiftly becoming too much. Oh, God.

Slowly, I wound through the quaint mountain town. There was a certain degree of charm to it. Despite my unease distracting me, I was still able to acknowledge its appeal.

“In point-five miles, turn-”

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