Page 25 of The Mistletoe Bluff
“Unfortunately? You mean you didn’t want to?”
“Not really, but I have a difficult time telling him no,” I admitted. “He only wants me to enter because it benefits him, but I have no interest in winning something else.” I fought a cringe as I glanced at her, hoping she wouldn’t take my words as boastful.
“Your dad wouldn’t support your decision to not enter?”
I huffed an unamused laugh. “My father is selfish and only thinks of himself.”
With that comment, Maya fell quiet.
I thought about telling her more about the photography contest, and suggesting she enter too—she was talented enough to win, I had no doubt—but I didn’t want to give my father any fuel against her. He’d see her as a threat to me—and to his own business—and with him as a judge, I didn’t know what scheming he’d try to pull.
As we ate in silence, my eyes wandered over Maya’s apartment. It was a cute little one bedroom with a small balcony off the living room that overlooked a pond behind the building. Yet something felt off. It wasn’t the cleanliness of the place, or even that everything was shades of white, tan, and gray that seemed off. No, it was the fact that it was December, and there wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in the entire place.
There wasn’t a tree in the corner or lights stringing the deck like everyone else’s. There wasn’t even a Christmas candle filling the air with cinnamon and pine, or a hand towel with Santa’s head on it.
I cleared my throat, eyes scanning the place to make sure I didn’t miss anything. “Maya?”
“Hmm?” Her mouth was full of breadstick, and she didn’t bother to look at me.
“Why don’t you have any Christmas decorations?”
Maya stilled before blinking at me, as if I had spoken a foreign language. She set down the breadstick and wiped her hands and mouth with a napkin.
“I don’t do Christmas.”
“Do you celebrate a different holiday?”
She shook her head.
“Then what do you mean you don’tdoChristmas?”
She sighed. “I mean, I don’t decorate, I don’t do presents, and I don’t really celebrate it at all.”
“Why?”
Maya shrugged. “It’s not much fun to celebrate a holiday alone year after year, so I just…stopped celebrating. It’s stupid to gift myself presents, and putting up a tree alone isn't enjoyable.”
My brows lowered as I watched the way her shoulders slumped, her body curling into itself. She moved her fork in circles, playing with the remnants of her dinner.
I took a chance and asked, “Maya…why do you spend Christmas alone?”
Silence. And then—
“Get out,” she said, the suddenness catching me off guard. She stood, grabbed my arm, and led me to the door.
“What?”
“Leave, Oliver. Now.”
“Maya—”
“No. You don’t get to know these things. You don’t get to know my past. We’re not friends.” We stopped in front of the door, and she gestured for me to leave. “I want you to go.”
My stomach sank. Words escaped me as I tried to process how we had gone from a pleasant dinner to her kicking me out. It had been a harmless question. Hadn’t it? I replayed it over in my mind and didn’t understand why she’d have such a strong reaction.
“Please.” Her voice broke, and her eyes glistened.
Instinct had me taking a step toward her, wanting to understand, but Maya stepped back, out of my reach. The food I ate swirled in my stomach at the thought that I had inadvertently hurt her—again.
