Page 51 of Make You Mine This Christmas
I pull out my phone, hovering over Blaire’s number, when it hits me.
“You should do it. You should be Santa.”
Chapter 23
Austin
If I wasn’t so focused on keeping my eyes on the road to avoid looking at Brody before, his words may have killed us.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You’ll need to find a beard and some theater glue, but I have to imagine in a town like Holly Ridge, someone has one in their closet.”
I laugh, assuming he must be kidding. “I can’t be Santa. I’m sarcastic and unreliable. A flight risk. That’s not jolly and reliable old Saint Nick.
“Austin,” Brody says. Something in his tone makes me take my eyes off the road to glance at his face. The serious and earnest expression is illuminated by a passing light near a highway exit. “You’re none of those terrible things you just said about yourself. Well, you are sarcastic, but it’s all part of your charm, and I’m positive you can rein it in for twelve hours over two days.”
“Still, I?—”
“Your first thought when driving your live-in ex-boyfriend, turned fuck-buddy, turned whatever-we’re-not-saying to the train station with no notice is to not disappoint the kids of this community, to make sure your friend has a heads-up. I’m not sure it gets much more Santa than that. You’ve been standing next to me for weeks. I know you can do it. You can wear one of my suits.”
I mull over his words, his unwavering faith and belief in me overwhelming my senses. “Okay. You’re sure I can wear one of your suits?”
“Absolutely. There’s no one else I would trust to take care of them like I do.” His voice is full of emotion, but like he said, we’re still not talking about it. We’ve always had a ticking clock over us. Maybe we were able to snooze it or brush the countdown away before now. It felt nebulous. The workshop closes up on the twenty-fourth, but who wants to travel on Christmas? I knew he had to go back to Stamford, to New York eventually, but it wasn’t set in stone. Now, the clock has been wound forward, it’s blinking in bright red and sounding the alarm. Suddenly, we’re down to minutes rather than days.
“I’ll have to come back to get my stuff, you know. Or maybe you could bring it down in a few days?”
“Well, with it being my mom’s last Christmas in Winterberry Glen, at least in her house, I think I want to stay around here. But you could come back and join us for sure. The Gingerbread Ball for New Year’s is a little corny, but a good time. I’m sure you’d be a guest of honor.”
I see Brody’s head nod out of the corner of my eye. My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I keep looking ahead, afraid the roadblocks springing up between us may manifest themselves on the actual road ahead.
“Right, of course. It would be great to see everyone from town while not wearing a red velvet suit. It’s very possible Grams is going to guilt me into staying in the city with her for the rest of the week.”
It’s hard to swallow past the lump growing in my throat. “Sure, I know you guys are close, and you being here for so long was a surprise.” It’s the guy’s grandma—how can I fault him for wanting to spend time with her? “And then I know January is busy for you all, wrapping up the season and getting tax stuff done.”
He clears his throat. Maybe I’m not the only one experiencing a lump. “Yeah, but then the administrative staff tends to take most of February off. I often travel somewhere. Maybe you could come with me?”
Images of Brody and me on a tropical beach, sharing an oversized lounger, sipping cocktails, flashes in my mind for a second before I force them away. “I have that meeting with the guy from the tourism office the first week of January. Depending on what his offer is and if I take it, I probably can’t ask for time off right away.”
“Right, of course not. I think it’ll be really great for you. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.” The silence stretches between us. I’m positive Brody will be the first person I want to tell about how the meeting goes. But right now, I don’t feel sure he’ll pick up the phone if I call—or if I’ll be able to bring myself to risk only getting his voicemail.
Luckily, you have a best friend who will be excited to be the first to hear your news. And then he’ll go tell his wife, and they’ll hold their babies and be a perfect family, while you go home. Alone. Where there’s no one waiting with a warm cooked meal or convincing you to buy an inflatable you don’t need. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be—the plus one in everyone else’s story.
I shake myself and focus my attention on the mileposts as they tick by. No other thoughts except the numbers, bringing me closer to losing Brody—again.
It’s silent until I turn on the signal for the exit to take us to the train station.
“We can figure this out, you know. I really believe we can,” Brody says, desperation in his voice.
The clicking of the turn signal fills the car again as I pull into the train station, so conveniently located right off the highway. The predicted traffic on the GPS never materialized, and we’re here thirty minutes before departure, like Amtrak suggests for this station.
I turn the car off, and the silence deepens without the sound of the engine, the whir of the tires.
“Even if we can’t,” I say, my words slow and measured, “I’m glad we had this Christmas miracle.” My voice catches on the word Christmas, and I feel a tear spill from my eye. Brody’s hand reaches out. His touch is gentle as he turns my head to face him. His eyes glisten, and I see a tear track down his cheek, disappearing into his beard.
“I’ll never forget it, like I never forgot you.” His grip tightens as he pulls me to him, and our lips meet, salty with tears, tasting of hanging onto the last shreds of hope and something a lot like love.
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” he whispers when he pulls back, tipping his forehead to mine.
