Page 63 of Hired By the Enemy
How we managed to turn something as bright and positive as wishing on a Christmas star into another negative interaction between us.
And how ironic that if you asked me right now what the deepest wish of my heart is, it would be him.
Surely that means he’s worth taking a risk over?
I stare at the cut-out star shapes spread out over the table.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask my mother.
Chapter Seventeen
Liam
The moment I pull up outside my father’s house, I regret my decision to come home.
Because next door, lit up like usual with bright Christmas lights, is Matthew’s perfect house. And I’m where I’ve always been. On the outside.
Matthew spent my entire childhood telling me how brainless I was.
I guess I’m currently proving his point.
Because nothing is dumber than pining over someone who’s not interested in you.
For the past few weeks, I’ve tried to get back into the swing of my everyday life, but everything seems wrong. I started researching funding opportunities for my gym, and I’ve desperately wanted to talk to Matthew about them. I had a client who completed their first half-marathon, and I wanted to tell Matthew about it.
I miss talking to him. I miss the funny insults that fly between us. I miss touching him, kissing him.
I justmisshim.
If Matthew felt anything for me, he would have said something, right? Or he would have contacted me since Hawaii.
This is the one time when silence between us speaks volumes.
When I get inside, I receive a lukewarm reception from my father, but that’s par for the course. Dad has always been halfhearted in his approach to me.
“You doing okay?” Dad grunts, which is about the depth his fathering extends to.
“Yep.”
No, actually, Dad, I’m not okay. You remember the boy next door who I was engaged in an endless war with? Remember how you used to frequently be called into the school when one of our pranks on each other got out of control? Well, now I’ve gone and fallen for him. What do you think I should do?
I go and chuck my bag into my old room.
“It’s going to be cold for the festival tonight,” my father says when I re-emerge.
“Not sure if I’m going to go,” I mutter.
My dad’s bushy eyebrows fly up. The festival is practically compulsory in this town.
“You’re going to stand your old man up for dinner?” he asks
My dad and I don’t do much in the way of Christmas traditions, but when we go to the Christmas festival, we always get a sourdough bread bowl with clam chowder and drink hot apple cider.
I’ve never thought anything past the idea that we both liked the food, but judging by my father’s expression, it obviously means something to him.
Besides, maybe it’ll be good for me to see Matthew again. To remind myself of the Bainfield version of Matthew rather than the Hawaiian one. Remind myself of why the best thing for me to do is to get over him.
“Okay, I’ll come,” I say.
