Page 22 of Mistletoe Omega
“I choose not to be. It takes work not to be negative.”
“Yes. I agree.”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “I’m going to go work in my shop.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
I went to brush past him, and he stopped me by grabbing my arm. We were only about a foot apart and the blue of his eyes bored into me. His lips were parted and his cheeks flushed. “I know I overstepped. Don’t be mad at me.” His voice was soft and urgent. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
The raw desperation and fear in his voice sank into me, softening my anger. The feel of his hard fingers digging into my arm made me ultra-aware of how close we were to each other. “It’s fine,” I said gruffly.
“No,” he said quietly. “I spoke flippantly about the death of someone you loved. That was rude and thoughtless. I’m truly, truly sorry.”
I held his worried gaze, and my anger disappeared like a puff of smoke. “You didn’t say anything unforgivable. It’s okay.”
Relief washed over his features. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Sure.”
“I have a bad habit of pushing people away before they can hurt me. I think that’s why I said that stupid, tactless comment about Ethan.”
His heartfelt revelation shocked me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Yeah. I know that on one level. But a part of me thinks you’re too good to be true; that I should push you away, so I don’t get any more attached. You’ve been so good to me, it’s almost scary. I can’t understand your angle. At first, I felt like maybe you were setting me up, and that eventually, you’d show me the real you. The asshole you.”
“This is the real me.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m beginning to see that.”
“I’m not trying to trick you. I just want you to get back on your feet. That’s why I’m helping you out. Like I said, you remind me of Ethan at times.”
He swallowed. “Can you tell me some stuff about him?”
My body went rigid. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. But I do. I want to know more about you, and Ethan is a part of that.”
I frowned. “You want to know more about me?”
“Yes.” His grip tightened. “I do. I feel like you’re someone I could… trust.”
A warm flush went through me at his words. “You don’t have to say that.”
“Of course I don’t.” He frowned. “But I mean it.”
I was surprised how good it felt to hear him say that. Earning his trust was not something I took for granted. “I’m glad.”
He wrinkled his brow. “I want to ask you how he died, but I’m afraid you’ll be mad.”
Wincing, I said, “No. Not mad. It’s uncomfortable to talk about though.”
“Okay.” He looked like he was going to move away, and drop the subject.
I didn’t want to lose what progress we’d made, so I swallowed and said softly, “We had a big fight the day he died.”
His gaze was intense. “Well, couples fight, right?”
“Yeah. Couples fight,” I muttered.
