Page 38 of Wishing for Christmas
Several people chuckled to be polite.
Clara remained glued to her chair; her eyes fixed on her lap.
“Our winner is couple number two!” Janie brought the winning couple an obnoxious-looking trophy that they seemed thrilled to receive. The music started up again, and people got up from their seats and resumed mingling. The conversations continued to flow, and the fun atmosphere of the party was back in full swing—for everyone except Clara. She just wished the floor would swallow her up completely.
Brent scooted his chair around so they were looking at each other face to face. Clara’s chin dipped to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, I’m sure peanut butter balls are delicious.” He rubbed his forehead. “If only I weren’t allergic to peanut butter.”
Her eyes widened, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her fiancé was allergic to peanut butter—and she didn’t know. She felt sick to her stomach. She could not have possibly messed this up any worse than she did. Clara dropped her face into her hands and squeezed her eyes tight to suppress the tears of humiliation. She raised her head, still refusing to meet his eye, and cautiously reached over for his hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I guess I forgot some things. Maybe I was just nervous.”
Brent gave her hand a tender squeeze. “That’s okay. I understand.” He put his hand to his heart as if he had been wounded and gave her a pained look. “But Ruffles? You forgot about my dog?”
He had a playful smile on his face, but she could tell he was genuinely hurt. And why shouldn’t he be? She just showed him, along with everyone else at the party, that she knew nothing about him. The man she was planning to marry.
“I thought I remembered something about a Hank.”
He pursed his lips. “Hank is my dad’s name.”
Clara gritted her teeth, the increasing buildup of embarrassment physically hurting her entire body. She didn’t dare bring up the blue star, whatever that was. Maybe he had named a star after her. Maybe he bought her some star-shaped jewelry. She didn’t know. Either way, how could an engagement ring not be his best gift? Well, she knew one thing for sure—she wasnotgoing to ask.
A hot panic crept over her chest as she realized the reality of what all this meant. She was going to marry someone she didn’t know anything about—even something as simple as his favorite Christmas dessert. But how could she? They’d only known each other for eight weeks.
Clara ran her gaze around the room, trying to focus on her surroundings to calm down, the way Grams had taught her. She glanced over at the tree, and it appeared to spin, the lights creating a haze of tension. She looked toward the band, and it seemed to scream at her. She looked at Brent and could see nothing but the look of disappointment all over his face. She couldn’t calm down this time. No, she needed to get out of there. She popped up from her chair, desperate to leave.
Brent looked up at her with obvious concern on his face.
She forced herself to sit back down. She stared at him, her eyebrows pulled together. Clara knew she should stay and come clean about her wish. This would be the moment to do it, to be honest with him about what was going on. But she couldn’t. She was mortified enough. She couldn’t take this feeling for one more second. Her breathing became shallow, and she felt herskin flush. She couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen into her lungs. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for somewhere to escape.
“Clara?” Brent’s expression grew more worried by the second.
She covered her face with her hands and dropped her chin to her chest. No, she couldn’t tell him the truth. It would be too hard. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she pinched her forehead. Then, she raised her chin and stood from her chair, leaving the dance floor in a hurry.
As Clara bolted away, only one thought went through her mind: She wished she were braver. Why was she always too scared to do the hard things? After all, it was why she was in this mess in the first place.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BRENT
Brent fidgeted with his bowtie. He sat in the lobby of the club, waiting for Clara to return from the restroom. He scrubbed his hands over his face, kicking himself for volunteering for that game. He’d thought it would remind her of how close they’d grown over the past year. Instead, it seemed to set them back even further.
He glanced at his watch, wondering how long he should wait before going to look for her. He needed to understand what had upset her so suddenly. It couldn’t simply be that she got those answers wrong. Whydidshe get all those answers wrong? They had talked about all of it. Every single one of those topics had come up over the past year at one point or another. So why did she seem to have no recollection of it? That nagging feeling loomed in the back of his mind, the one that told him things were not as they should be between them. As much as he wanted to chalk it all up to an adjustment period, he knew there was real reason for concern.
His jaw unclenched when he saw Clara return. He looked up at her with a timid raise of the eyebrows.
She greeted him back with a look of apology. “Sorry. I just needed a minute to myself.”
“Clara, are you okay?”
She nodded.
“I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.”
“Clara—”
