Page 46 of Stay this Christmas
“She has. She also freelances as a book cover designer. She never really took her graphic design degree anywhere, but she likes doing those.”
“She never mentioned that. What kind of covers does she do?”
He hitched a shoulder. “Cartoony covers? I don’t know what to call them, but they look good, and she’s doing pretty well with it. I guess they’re popular for romances right now.”
“Good for her.” After watching Eliza struggle to get her soap business going, I hadn’t been sure she’d made the right choice in veering straight into entrepreneur mode. It’d seemed reckless and irresponsible, and I’d had to stop myself from lecturing her about a hundred times. But now, I had no doubts she’d found where she was meant to be. Happier and more satisfied with work than she’d ever been, she’d made something entirely hers, and I loved that for her. “I’ll have to ask Georgia about them next time I’m in the store. Maybe I’ve seen some of her covers.”
“You read a lot of romances, do you?”
Now his eyes seemed stuck on me, as though the answer to this would actually tell him anything about me. Didn’t everybody read romances?
“I read a lot of them, yeah.” Wouldn’t go so far as to say just how many in any given month, but quite a few. Quite. A. Few.
“All except second chance romances.”
His voice held a lilt of amusement, but I couldn’t bear to face him just yet. I’d probably already gone all pink and blotchy.
“I found out what that means, by the way.”
I made a face as though this information were merely interesting instead of mortifying.
“Is it the concept you’re against,” he asked, “or the execution?”
Kind of wished Jed would materialize in my kitchen to rescue me from the awkwardness of this conversation the way he had in Homegrown. “They just don’t seem very realistic.”
I stood by that. Who got back together with their ex? I couldn’t think of anybody, and yet readers fell over themselves to see how people who hadalready broken upwould get back together, desperate to see what would happen next. I’d never been into them.
I especially wasn’t into them now, with Sam staring at me from a foot away, heat prickling over my skin as I waited to see what would happen next.
Nope. Not into them.
“I think I’ll have to read a few,” he said, his voice strangely deep. “Just to judge for myself.”
“Maybe you should.” Didn’t really care, just wanted to move this conversation on to something else. Literally anything else.
I kept my eyes on my work, taking the cocoa off the stove and adding a splash of vanilla as if nothing could be more important than getting the measurement exactly right. Pouring it into two Santa mugs, I topped them off with mini-marshmallows, and presented Sam his mug.
“Ta da!”
“Wow. I guess there are a few good things about Christmas, after all.”
We took our mugs into the living room while we waited for the cookie dough to chill. Sitting at the opposite end of the couch from Sam, I watched as he took his first sip of cocoa. When he did, his eyes half-closed, and he made a sinful sound in the back of his throat.
That hungry, greedy sound shivered up my spine, waking up long-dormant nerve endings. I had to stare into my cocoa mug, willing the sensation away. Or at the very least, to not be obvious. If I was shooting for friendship here and not trying for a second chance romance, getting excited over him drinking cocoa was not the way to go.
“That’s so decadent it should be a crime, Harper. I haven’t had homemade cocoa in years.”
“I guess you wouldn’t, on your anti-Christmas kick.”
He didn’t seem to take issue with my description, just went back for another sip of the scrumptious cocoa. At first, I’d thought he’d just said he disliked Christmas to get a rise out of me. A little everyday, Sam-style teasing. But if it’d been a joke, I really didn’t see the point of carrying on this long.
“What happened?” I asked. “To make you not like Christmas anymore?”
He turned his eyes to me as if bracing me for something. Or maybe just debating if he wanted to answer my question. He’d never really held things back in the Before times, but this older version of Sam had grown a little more reticent.
Leaning forward, he set his mug on the coffee table and rested his forearms on his knees. “I’m sure you heard my parents got divorced the summer after senior year.”
“I remember.”
