Page 38 of OMG Christmas Tree
CHAPTER TWELVE
Megan
Kissing turned outto be way better than arguing.
I’d kissed Nick. And he’d kissed back.
All way back to Stu’s I replayed our kiss. While I powered down for the night and settled into the guest room with a faded Miami floral vibe, I imagined kissing Nick somewhere besides a crowded townie bar. Under mistletoe, in tree lots, in the town square.
I liked Nick. A Christmas miracle.
Honestly, the things that bothered me about Nick were things I needed to face myself. He belonged somewhere and didn’t appreciate what he had. Nick had an identity that people valued. He took that for granted. He wanted an escape, but didn’t seem to want to work for it.
Whereas I’d escaped, working hard, but for what? What did I truly want?
I loved the cafe, but what I loved wasn’t the managing part. I liked talking to the regulars. I liked connecting people to what else the city offered. I knew our little block of businesses and local services to recommend. What could I do with that?
Lying in bed, I pulled up Nick’s number. We’d traded phone numbers at the bar, but I had the feeling I wouldn’t need it. The second I left the house tomorrow, he’d turn up where I went.
Sleep not coming easily, I pressed my lips together, thinking over the kiss. How Nick tasted. How it felt with him holding me. I drifted off.
Morning came too soon by way of blistering sunlight through thin tropical print curtains. Stomping feet sounded outside the door. Pretty hard to stomp on carpet, but whoever thundered through the hall sure made themselves known.
I cracked open the door. Derek wore loose jeans and a faded War on Drugs T-shirt (the band, not the initiative) and lugged a box down from an attic ladder. “You’ve got stuff up here too.”
“It’s seven”—I tapped my off-brand fitness tracker until the time blinked on—“twelve in the morning. Don’t you have jet lag?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I got up at six-thirty and made coffee.”
“Megan,” Mom’s voice destroyed any lingering hope of a gentle wake-up. “Derek will put your boxes in your room. It’s mostly old teen magazines and school papers. Maybe a bike helmet.”
I retreated to the guest room and shut the door. It was way too early for this.
My phone blinked on the bedside table. A text message from Nick waited for me.
Nick: Morning, Sunshine. Happy Christmas Eve.
I felt his arms and lips all over again. I typed back a response.
Me: You’re up early on a holiday, Is that normal for this part of the state?
Nick: Standard. It’s in the manual.
