Page 39 of Mistletoe and Mayday
He’s someone else’s Mr. Perfect. I’ve been sitting here daydreaming about his cologne while he’s been missing someone he loves.
Strange what isolation and survival will do to your brain chemistry. Making connections where there are none. Finding meaning in coincidence. Though it felt real enough when he caught me in the kitchen, his hands steady at my waist, his eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second.
“What are you doing?” His voice makes me jump. The box almost slips from my fingers. He stares at the ring, then at me, his face transforming into something I’ve never seen before.
My mouth opens but produces no sound. The velvet box burns against my palm.
“That’s private.” His voice cuts through the air, arctic and sharp. All the warmth from our meal evaporates. He snatches the ring box from my hand before I can react.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”
“To pry? To stick your nose where it doesn’t belong? Like you do with everything?”
Each word lands like a slap. My chest constricts, ribs shrinking around my lungs. My fingers tingle, the world narrowing to pinpricks of sensation—the velvet against my skin, the cold seeping through the floor, the hurt flashing across his face. I’ve messed up.
“I just... It fell and I...” My voice shrinks, words dying in my throat. “Your pants... I shouldn’t have opened it. I know that. I know.”
Sebastian grabs his coat with quick, savage movements.
“Wait, I?—”
The door slams with enough force to rattle the walls. Dust rains from the ceiling, dancing in the air like snow.
I hop toward the door. “Sebastian?” My voice cracks. The wind slaps snow against my face as I lean outside. “Sebastian, come on. I’m sorry!”
He’s already vanished, swallowed by swirling white. Fresh snow falls in thick curtains, erasing his tracks with terrifying speed.
My ankle buckles as I try to step outside. Pain rips through my foot, vicious and unyielding, forcing me back. I can’t follow him. Can’t explain.Can’t fix this.
The wind howls through the trees, stealing my voice as I call his name again.
I sit by the window, tracking the flaming dance of shadows on the wall. Minutes pass as I stare into the darkness beyond the glass, searching for movement, for any sign of him returning.
The storm grows fiercer, snow falling so thick now that I can barely see beyond the porch. What if he’s lost out there? What if he fell? What if he’s lying in a drift somewhere, getting colder by the minute?
I struggle to my feet again, leaning against the chair as I take my weight on one leg. My hand shakes as I pull the door open.
“Sebastian?” The wind devours my words. “This isn’t funny anymore!”
Nothing answers but howling wind and creaking trees.
I fight my way back to the window. The glass frosts over with my breath. I wipe it clear with my sleeve, pressing my forehead against the cold pane. The darkness between the trees looks deeper now, hungrier.
I’ve eaten all the emergency chocolate, even the red M&Ms I was saving for him. If he freezes to death out there, it’s my fault. Just another Bailey Monroe disaster.
“Sebastian?” I whisper against the glass.
Nothing but silence and snow.
Great job, Bailey. You’ve officially ruined Christmas and killed a CEO.
Twelve
SEBASTIAN
The Lockhart family ring burns in my pocket with each step. Five generations of perfect marriages.
Snow crunches under Italian leather as I push deeper into the wilderness. My lungs ache with cold, each breath clouding before me, then vanishing. Just like my perfect future disappeared the moment Bailey opened that velvet box.
