Page 25 of Holiday at Home
The word lands like a sucker punch. I sit back, bobbing my head, pretending it’s no big deal while every ounce of comfort drains out of me.
“Well, darn.” I paste on a smile that feels brittle even to me. “And here I was actually starting to enjoy having you around again.”
I’m aiming for playful, but my voice wavers just enough to give me away. Because the truth is, tonightwasnice. Too nice. The kind of nice that almost made me forget that the last time we spoke, Simon walked away without looking back.
I shouldn’t be laughing with him. I shouldn’t be letting my guard down like this. The man broke my heart clean in half and left me to glue the pieces together on my own. And now here he is, sitting across from me like no time has passed, like he didn’t turn my whole world upside down.
So, I remind myself that, like Nora, Robbie, and Nash, Simon Holiday is a visitor, just passing through my quiet life.
I know that intellectually.
But the heaviness creeping back into my chest tells me how tired I am of pretending that goodbyes don’t hurt.
“Well, no, umm…They’releaving tomorrow,” Simon clarifies, waving a hand to indicate the rest of his family. “I’m flying out to meet them… uh, later. I have some… things… to, uh… to take care of.”
Simon is a terrible liar. Always has been. When he gets caught up in something without a plan, everything in his brain goes haywire and nonsense comes out. He avoided the problem by telling the truth as a rule when we were younger.
Looks like that’s changed, because the man across from me?
Lying through his teeth.
His tells are all the same—biting his lip, tapping his knee, avoiding my eyes. The sight makes something inside me ache, because for all the years that have passed, he’s stillhim.
“Oh. Cool,” I say, then just because I want to watch him squirm, add, “What kind of things are you taking care of?”
“Business.”
And there it is. He bites his bottom lip. Crosses his ankle over his knee. Tries to take a drink from his empty glass, looks into it in shock, then at the bottom for who knows why, then offers a nervous smile. “I’m working on something.”
“Why did you fly down here in the first place then? Why not finish your work in New York, then meet your family in Colorado?”
Total panic flits across Simon’s face. His eyes dart back and forth, like he’s reading stage directions from a script, then a big, goofy, hard-not-to-love grin slides across his face. He leans forward and beckons me close. I mimic his posture.
“It’s a surprise,” he whispers. His grin is so boyish, so Simon, that my defenses crack. I want to stay mad. I do. But he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the world, and suddenly the air feels charged again.
“A surprise?”
Simon bobs his head and presses a finger to his lips. “A secret surprise.”
“For who?”
“Can’t say. You do know what ‘secret’ means don’t you?” His eyes twinkle, his smile grows, and while I swear he’s still lying through his teeth, I’m suddenly less sure. He seems cool, calm, pleased with himself even.
Looking at him, I can’t help but smile, which only makes him smile more.
He leans closer and I catch the faint scent of his cologne—clean, warm, familiar. His hand finds my cheek, and I shouldn’t let it. I should pull back. But I don’t.
Because it feels too easy. Too right. Too much like home.
His eyes meet mine and he cups my cheek, thumb blazing a trail across my cheekbone. It’s a gesture so familiar, so comforting, I lean into him, the part of me that will forever love Simon Holiday suddenly aching.
The distance between us closes and his lips press to mine. I inhale sharply, surrounded by the scent of him, warmed by the feel of him, melting closer, lips parting. He tastes of wine and feels like a thousand perfect memories and… and one awful one.
Suddenly my throat is thick and tears prick at my eyes.
I pull back, blinking quickly, hoping he can’t see. But of course he does. I could never hide anything from him.
“Simon…” I manage.
