Page 26 of Holiday at Home
“I know, Vi. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just…”
“Caught up in the moment,” I finish for him. “Me too.”
“But it’s not a moment we should let happen again.” Simon’s statement sounds more like a question.
He’s still cupping my cheek, still so close and so familiar and suddenly it’s not just the part of me that still loves him that’s feeling butterflies in the stomach.
It’s all of me.
“Probably not,” I whisper. “Too many goodbyes already.”
Understanding dawns on Simon’s face and he presses a kiss to my forehead before sitting back and poking the air like he’s pushing in a pin.
10
Simon
Violet’s the reason I’m not leaving for Colorado tomorrow.
She’s the thing I need to take care of.
Not the contract. That’ll happen when it happens.
It’s her.
I need to take care ofher.
Shhhhhhh…
Don’t tell.
11
Violet
For the first time in a long time, I wake up feeling… rested… happy… at ease. Instead of the pressure of exhaustion clinging to my edges, begging me to close my eyes and go back to sleep, I simply open my eyes and grin at the ceiling. Being with Simon’s family? The chaos and energy? The Christmas tree lit up and twinkling? It was medicine. Plain and simple.
And then there was Simon.
Smiling, listening, joking, bantering. Part of me came to life again, sitting next to him.
Then we kissed. And it was just as good as it always was. This instant connection. This clench in my heart, the awakening in my body, thisknowingthat he is for me and I am for him…
Except that’s where things fell off the rails. He made it painfully clear three years ago thatI am not for him.
But, even knowing that, my heart is lighter. My smile feels easier.
I guess Simon Holiday will always feel like home.
Which is exactly why what happened last night can never happen again.
Sighing, I draw the blankets around my chin, snuggling into the warmth and replaying the kiss over and over. But then my second alarm blares and I sit up, throwing the covers off me and swiping my phone off my bedside table.
“I get it, I get it,” I mumble, stabbing the “off” button. “The bakery waits for no man.”
After I’ve been to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, I find myself standing in front of my closet, displeased with basically everything I’ve been wearing lately. I pause when I find a festive sweater Mom bought me last year. Bright red and white plaid with a giant Christmas tree emblazoned across the front. Tempting, but a tad over the top. I flip through the hangars back to my standard black, long-sleeved tee to pair with black jeans and boots. I dress, pull my hair back and do my makeup, then head downstairs with a bit of pep in my step.
After a quick cup of coffee, I step out into a chilly morning, then freeze. Right there in the middle of the porch is a large coffee cup with a card resting against it, my name scrawled in big block letters.
