Page 53 of Santa Maybe
She spoke softly as she swayed against him, the fragrance of his woodsy aftershave flooding her senses. “I mean us. This. Does it have to end in January?”
When he smiled, her heart galloped like a runaway horse. Was it possible he felt the same way she did?
“I was thinking about that, too,” he said. “Should we keep up the pretense until after Valentine’s Day? That way, you’d be safe if your parents want to find you a date for the big day.”
Just as quickly as he’d gotten her hopes up, he’d dashed them to the ground. Because he was still under the impression that all she wanted was a pretend boyfriend to placate her family. She was tempted to go along with him. If they extended things until February fifteenth, that might give him enough time to fall in love with her.
But she couldn’t do it. Not when the words of the song reflected the powerful feelings in her heart. “That’s not what I meant. I want to be with you for real. I…I’m in love with you.”
When his body stiffened, she knew she’d gone too far.
“Rosie.” His voice shook. “I’m sorry, but…”
Rather than stay and hear him out, she pulled away, fighting off a sudden wave of dizziness. It was all too much—the ballroom too crowded, the music too loud, the crush of bodies too overwhelming. She had to escape before she humiliated herself even further.
“I need some air,” she said.
Stumbling, she left him and rushed over to their table. Grabbing her shawl and clutch, she made her way through the ballroom and out into the hall. She kept going until she found an exit leading to the back side of the hotel. There, she spotted an outdoor courtyard illuminated with tiny white lights. To her relief, it was empty. She plopped down on a wooden bench and rubbed her stomach in a vain attempt to stop it from churning.
Shivering, she wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. Tears sprang up in her eyes, and she grabbed a tissue from her clutch and blotted them gently, not wanting to smudge her mascara.
“Rosie?”
At the sound of Drew’s voice, an ache tore at her throat. She wanted him to go away, but he sat beside her on the bench.
“Please come back inside,” he said. “It’s freezing out here.”
“No. I…can’t.” She was shaking so much she could barely get the words out. “I…I just need to be alone for a few minutes. To get my head together.”
He placed his hand on her knee. “I’m sorry, Rosie.”
If she’d had any doubts before, she was sure of it now. He didn’t share her feelings.
“It’s not your fault.” She wanted to sound resilient, but her trembling voice betrayed her, hinting she was on the verge of a full-blown meltdown. Over the last two months, she’d been under so much pressure, but her relationship with Drew had been the one thing giving her solace. Now, she’d ruined it. “You warned me you couldn’t offer anything more.”
“I know, but I shouldn’t have slept with you. That was wrong.”
“No, it wasn’t. I’m the one who asked for it. But I should have known better.” She dabbed her eyes again. “I guess I’m not capable of keeping things casual.”
“That’s not a bad thing. I love how you give with your whole heart. Not just to me but to the hotel, the Damsels, and everyone you care about. But…”
But he wasn’t like that. God knows he’d warned her enough.
She braced her hands on the bench, trying to summon up the courage to end things. If she didn’t do it now, she’d only be prolonging her misery. “I…I don’t think I can do this anymore. This pretending. It’s just going to make our breakup in January hurt even worse.”
“Are you sure? What about Christmas Eve? What are you going to tell your family?”
She’d have to tell them it was over, which would be miserable. But playing along for another two weeks would be even harder.
“I’ll figure something out, but I won’t paint you as the bad guy. I can always blame my job.” Mamá would nag her, as would the rest of her family, but she’d take the hit. Better that, than having them think poorly of Drew, who’d been nothing but supportive.
“Do you want me to call us a ride-share? We could talk at your place.”
What was there to talk about? They weren’t on the same page anymore. And if he went home with her, they’d probably end up in bed, which would muddle things even further. “I think I’ll head home on my own. Sorry. I hate leaving you in the lurch.”
“It’s okay.” His voice broke. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I wish I was capable of giving you what you want.”
She looked up at him, surprised by the grief she saw in his eyes. Was it because she was ending things early? Or did he want more but couldn’t take the leap? “Don’t be sorry. I’ve had a great time. I thought November and December were going to be hell, but you made them bearable. Not just bearable but truly enjoyable. I just wanted more.”
