Page 54 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

“We’re fine,” Wes says. “We just wanted to check on you all. We should be there tomorrow morning sometime.”

“Well, we’re alive,” I say as Beckett continues to eat. “We’re just making the best of things.”

“Good, good,” he says, sounding distracted. Then he goes on, “And look, Molly. You’re not—you guys aren’t—you remember what I said, right?” he finally gets out.

I tense at his words. I have a feeling I know where this is going, and it sends something sharp and irritable through me, prickling at my insides like I’ve swallowed our Christmas cactus. “Remember what you said…” I say, tapping my chin and pretending to think. “Oh! That I’m ugly?”

“What? No—when did I say that?” he says, and I picture him frowning, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

“At the waterfall. When I was talking about seeing my reflection in Dad’s shiny head.”

“Oh, right.” He snickers, then says, “But I was obviously joking. No, I’m talking about—”

“About when you said ichthyology was stupid?”

“Well, it kind of is. It’s justfish,Molly—”

“It’s not just fish, Wes,” I say, trying valiantly to rein in my temper. I shouldn’t be picking a fight. “But even if it were, what’s it to you?”

“Fine. Fish are cool. Now can we please get to the point?” I hear him take a deep breath, exhaling and blowing static into the phone. “Look, I know you’ve had a crush on Beckett for pretty much your entire life.”

I clear my throat uncomfortably, my eyes darting to Beckett just long enough to see his head snap up, his gaze zeroing in on me, his spoon suspended in the air halfway between his bowl and his mouth. It’s dripping steady droplets of soup on the table in front of him, but he doesn’t seem to notice; he just stares at me while Wes keeps running his stupid mouth.

“But you and Beckett aren’t a good match, Moll,” he says reasonably. “And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What makes you think I’d get hurt?” The words are past my lips before I can stop them.

“You just would, Molly,” he says impatiently. “Come on. Promise me.”

And it’s crazy—it’s insane—how my mouth automatically opens to promise him. Without even thinking about his request, my mind is ready to jump in and promise him something I don’t want to promise. Is this what I’ve become?

I snap my jaw shut. Clear my throat. Swallow. Clear my throat again. Then I say it.

“No.”

Silence. Then Wes’s voice, bewildered. “What?”

“I said no,” I say again, my voice stronger now. “I can’t promise you that. I don’t want to promise you that.”

“Molly, come on. Beckett has baggage—”

“There’s nothing wrong with his baggage,” I say, irritation spiking deep in my gut. “Everyone has problems. It’s not just him.”

“And he wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Wes goes on, “but you’re not his type. You’re great, of course, but you’re not his type.”

I can feel the heat flooding my cheeks—no, not even just my cheeks. It’s my whole body. My whole body is hot with embarrassment, from my face to the tips of my fingers to my toes. I want to lean across the table and drown myself in Beckett’s bowl of soup, just to get away from this humiliation. Death by tomato bisque seems like a great option at this point.

And the stupid thing is, Wes isn’t even trying to embarrass me or humiliate me. He loves me; I know he does. We bicker, but it’s all in good fun; we get along well.

I guess I just never realized before that some of his jokes hurt. Why didn’t I realize that? Why haven’t I said anything? Am I just so used to it that joking putdowns are what I expect?

Even though I dread what I might see, I find my gaze being pulled up, up, up until my eyes clash with Beckett’s again. I blink, and it’s not until I feel something trickle down my face that I realize there are tears in my eyes. I blink again, squeezing my lids shut and wiping my eyes.

“Hey,” Beckett says.

And at first I think he’s talking to me. But then he reaches out and takes the phone from my hand, speaking into it. “Why are you only telling Molly this? Why aren’t you warning me off too?”

“Beckett?” Wes says, clearly surprised. “Oh, hey. I didn’t realize you were there—”

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