Page 66 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
She waited, I’m sure for me to say more, but I didn’t know what else there was to add. She was going to go interview for a big-time job in New York. She was going to get it, of course she was going to get it. I’d only had to watch her around the inn for a couple of weeks to see how effective she was.
Then she was going to leave. For good.
A week from now, two weeks from now. Whatever number she had to convince herself that she wouldn’t be abandoning her farther.
I hadn’t lied to her about what I said. Ethan was here. Now Lexie was in the picture. Who knew where that was going? Regardless, I was still on the property, if not in the house, with the old man. Together, we would make sure he was covered.
“That’s it. Yep? That’s all you have to say?” she pressed.
“I’m going to miss the sex.”
Okay, while it was true, it was also an asshole thing to say. Yes, we’d been together every night this week, but that was the last thing I was going to miss about her. Or at least the second to last thing.
But I got the reaction I was expecting. She was pissed now. If she was pissed at me, it would make it easier for her to go. If she was pissed at me, she wouldn’t feel so bad about leaving everything behind. It seemed crazy, because the last thing I wanted was for her to go, but I also hated the idea of her feeling guilty about it.
Not when it was the life she really wanted.
“Oh. I get it,” she said, her voice clipped. “I’m a good lay, a good time, but that’s it.”
“Didn’t say that. Just said I’m going to miss it.”
“It. The sex. Not me.” She had her arms crossed over her stomach again. Defensive. Guarded.
That’s right, Kay-Kay. Get good and mad at me. I’m the bad guy. The jerk who diminished what we had together. Made it seem small, when it was anything but.
Was this the part in the Hallmark Christmas movie where the guy was supposed to tell the woman how he felt?
Or was he supposed to swallow his feelings, choke them down, and pretend he wasn’t going to be gutted the second he saw her back?
Shit. Maybe I should have watched more of them when I had the chance.
“Kay,” I sighed. “What do you want me to say? You want me to ask you to stay? To run the inn? To get married and raise babies with me? Make this gorgeous, amazing slice of the world our paradise? You know I’m not going to do that.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” she snapped.
“Then how about the truth? I don’t want you to go. I would love to see where this thing between us is going. I think you should stay and help your dad run the inn and turn it into the biggest operation this side of the Colorado River. I think you should leave New York and all your fancy shoes behind, except maybe one pair I would make you wear when we’re having sex. But what I want doesn’t matter. So, yeah, I’m going to say asshole things right now because I’m a little hurt. And because I know if you’re pissed at me it will make it easier for you to leave. Does that sound about right?”
“This isn’t easy,” she finally said. “None of this is easy.”
I smiled at her then. A little sadly. “Good. I’m glad I’m not making this decision easy. Hard is good. Someone once told me she eats stress for breakfast and washes it down with black coffee. Well, I embrace the hard calls in life and follow that with a beer.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she pouted.
“Maybe not, but it’s all I got.”
“It’s just an interview,” she insisted.
“Yep.”
Because there wasn’t anything else to say and we both knew it.
It wasn’tjustan interview. It was goodbye.
SEVENTEEN
New York
Kristen
