Page 90 of Never Sleigh Never
Where are you? It’s Christmas ham bingo night.
Brie
Sorry. I’m not feeling the best. I’m going to stay home.
Her reply pings back instantly, but I don’t look. Wallowing is the only thing I want to do tonight. I nudge the ornament with one finger, watching my fractured reflection warp and spin along with the room. It feels fitting—my life, spinning in circles. A month ago, I was on track to land my dream promotion. My favorite Christmas blogger was in town. I was on the verge of falling in love. And now? I’m lying on the living room floor, poking at an ornament while everything unravels. My promotion is slipping through my fingers. I practically stalked a woman for an interview that turned into an exposé on my personal life. I couldn’t get the Santa my boss really wanted and instead had to settle for a second-rate Santa. And the man I let myself fall for is still not over his deceased wife. This is what I get for losing sight of my priorities. I should have focused on the festival, not Logan. Merry freaking Christmas to me.
Twenty-Nine
What Ifs and If Onlys
Logan
By the time I get my shit together and bolt down the stairs, her SUV is already halfway down the driveway. I come to a halt on the porch, the wood planks like ice against my feet, and watch helplessly as she disappears around the corner. A bitter wind slaps against my bare skin. Shit. I’m only wearing boxer briefs. Across the street, Mrs. Smith freezes mid-mail grab. Her hand clutches her chest, eyes going wide as a smile forms on her lips. Mr. Smith hustles out, glances at her and then me, eyes narrowing before tugging her back inside. Nothing they haven’t seen if they saw the underwear ad I did several years ago, minus the erection.
Spinning around, I enter the house, slam the door, and collapse onto the couch. My head drops into my hands, fingers digging into my hair. “Smooth, Crawford. Real smooth.” I don’t know why I said Brooke’s name. I certainly wasn’t thinking about her at that moment. It just slipped out of my mouth. I can’t blame Brie for leaving. I would have done the same, if not worse, if she had called me some other guy’s name. I’ve heard the locker room horror stories—guys who said the wrong name in bed. I laughed. Called them dumbasses. And now? Guess who’s the dumbass.
Lifting my chin, a photo album filled with pictures from Christmas four years ago sits in front of me. The last one with Brooke. Josie asked for a picture of her mom to turn into an ornament. My chest tightens. Maybe I’m not over her. Maybe I’ll never be. Fuck. I don’t know anymore. There will always be a part of my heart that belongs to Brooke. And Brie’s right. She deserves more than I can give her. But at the same time, I don’t want to give her up. She makes me want to try. She makes me believe I can have more than grief and guilt. She’s my Snowflake. My second chance. If she hasn’t given up on me yet, I’ll be damned if I give up on her.
I take the stairs two at a time, dragging on clothes with one hand while jabbing at my phone with the other. Every call to Brie goes straight to voicemail. Each text message unread. Once I’m dressed, I circle her house, but it’s dark. Next, the festival grounds. Nothing. The Crooked Reindeer’s parking lot is overflowing. My pulse spikes. If she’s anywhere, maybe she’s here. I crawl the rows, searching for her SUV. Nothing. I need to find her. Talk to her. Two blocks away I squeeze into a parking spot and jog down the icy sidewalk, my breath clouding in the frigid air. By the time I yank open the door, heat and noise slam into me all at once—laughter, voices raised over the bingo caller, glasses clinking. I scan the crowded room, eyes darting from table to table, searching for a glimpse of her hair, her coat, her smile. Nothing. I shoulder past a couple of regulars and step up to the bar.
Simon spots me immediately, his brows lifting in surprise. “Hey man. I didn’t know you liked Christmas ham bingo.”
I lean in, my throat tight. “I don’t. I’m looking for Brie. Have you seen her?”
Simon shakes his head. “I haven’t. Which is weird, considering her friends are here.” He nods toward a high-top where Willa and Sloane sit.
“Alright, thanks. Also, I know you didn’t ask her out.” I glare at him.
He laughs. “But it served its purpose.”
I shake my head. The move was effective. I’ll give him that. I push away and weave through the crowd until I reach them. “Where’s Brie?” The words rip out sharper than intended.
Both women whip around like I’ve just suggested Santa was overrated.
“She’s at home,” Sloane says cautiously.
“I drove by. Lights were off.” My eyes flick between them, desperate for a tell.
From behind me, someone shouts, “Sit down, I can’t see the board!”
I ignore it. “So where is she really?”
Willa shrugs. “She bailed on bingo, claimed she was sick. Which is bullshit. She has shown up half-dead with influenza just to play. Clearly, she wants to be left alone. And if you wanted to be left alone, would you keep your lights on?” She arches a brow.
“I need to talk to her. It’s important.”
“Take a seat or get out!” another voice bellows.
“You better listen to them. It’s bingo night, and they take it very seriously,” Sloane says.
“B-five,” the bingo caller announces.
“Quiet up front!” another person roars.
My jaw clenches so tight it aches. “I don’t care about bingo! Is she going to be at the festival tomorrow?”
“More than likely.” Willa shrugs, eyes narrowing. “What did you do, anyway?”
