Page 84 of About Last Christmas
“It’s too late. They have a daughter who had a health battle. All she wanted was that set.”
“Andyouhave a grandmother who passed, and that piece is meaningful to you.”
My lips quiver. “They’re no doubt long gone.”
“I can catch them.” His voice is steel.
I lean over and press my hand to his arm. “Listen, I traded the Garrick for the Vallerton. The Whitmans get the Garrick for their daughter. Your sweet widow gets the Vallerton. Everyone’s happy.”
“No. Not everyone.”
“Yes. Right. I see that.” My words are choppy like my breath. “You’re obviously not happy. I overstepped. I didn’t want to miss the chance. I should’ve talked to you because you might not have wanted to spend?—”
He throws up his hands in the universal “what the heck?” gesture. “This isn’t about money, Greta. Because whatever number you have in your head, I guarantee you, I was willing to spend at least four times that much. No, I’m not talking about my happiness here.” He cups my face in both his hands, his gaze imploring. “But yours. You’re the one I care about most.”
I swallow. This is not how I wanted to hear this declaration. “I made my decision.” My voice is reedy. “Nobody forced me.”
His thumb swipes my cheekbone. “It’s your nature. You see a need, and you’ll surrender anything. Even if it costs you.”
I blink. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
His hands drop from my face. “It’s not. But it’s also okay to say no.”
“That would be selfish.” I’m feeling defensive, even though I’ve shared the same reservations. My emotions are all over theplace, not even a GPS can track them down. “Isn’t Christmas about giving? Isn’t that the point of the season?”
He looks at me like that’s the biggest load of festive fluff he’s ever heard. “I want to know whyyoualways have to be the one who sacrifices?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Really?” He leans close. “Then tell me why you were upset last night and this morning?”
“I … uh.”
“I’ll tell you why. Because you felt awful about giving away your gran’s Garrick. One of the biggest things that connects you to her.”
“This was for you,” I say emphatically. “I promised you I would do everything I could to get the set, and I did. I never go back on my word.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “I wish you would’ve talked it over with me.”
Is there a right answer to this? I don’t even know. “And what would you have said?”
“That sometimes you need to speak up for what you want.”
CHAPTER 25
Later that night,Tilly walks through my apartment door for our rescheduled girls’ night. “Oh my gosh, you need to see this.” She’s waving something in the air, and it takes me a full second for my brain to make the connection.
“Is that what I think it is?” I sit up from my reclined position on the couch. I’ve been home since eleven this morning, but most of the day has been a blur. I’ve been self-medicating by becoming a blanket burrito and vegging on CRMs (cheesy romance movies), while trying not to feel sorry for myself. The last part is a colossal failure. I lost my Garrick and most likely any chance with Leo.
“You know it! The firefighters’ calendar. My manager gave them out today. I guess her sister’s a dispatcher.” She practically skips over and holds open the calendar to … February. “Is this not the hottest thing you’ve ever seen?”
My heart catapults into my throat. It’s Leo, of course, but he’s in his firefighter gear, sans helmet, holding a dog. The caption reads that Leo Mathis rescued a Yorkie named Boots from a burning house, and even after the fire was out, the dog wouldn’t leave his arms.I get it, Boots. If I concentrate hard enough, I canfeel the ghostly pressure of his muscles against my back. I want to crawl into that embrace so badly.
All this time, I thought the calendar consisted of a lot more skin with strategically placed extinguishers, and yet, it’s highlighting how the firefighters serve the community. As if I need another example of how my mind always gets it wrong.
As I’m studying the warm tones in Leo’s expression, Tilly inhales sharply.
She lowers beside me on the couch, her eyes bulging at the pile of wadded Kleenex and empty Queen Anne Cordial Cherries boxes. Yes, boxes. Not my proudest moment. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
