Page 88 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
I turn to her, suddenly suspicious."Sally.Those pipes really did break, didn't they?"
"Absolutely," she says and I think I believe her."Though I may have...exaggerated how long repairs would take."She smooths her apron."And perhaps never actually attempted to bring that spare mattress I promised.Until now.Here."
"And your limp that got me to the tree lighting?"
"Well, I do get arthritis but nope, it was Christmas magic," she admits without a hint of remorse."And you can't deny the results were worth it."
I should be angry.Instead, I find myself fighting a smile, which only intensifies my irritation."We're not characters in a Hallmark movie, Sally."
"Of course not," she agrees too readily."Those aren't nearly messy enough."
As if on cue, Dorothy abandons my lap to lunge for my emotional support pickle project, which I've set aside on the chair.The yarn catches on her collar, creating a pickle-to-dachshund tether that she seems determined to destroy.She darts under the nearest table, dragging the unraveling evidence behind her
"Dorothy!"I scramble after her, medical instincts assessing potential hazards: yarn ingestion, knocked-over furniture, moderate to severe emotional distress (mine)."Come on!"And there's a lot of stress and horror scenarios as my voice hits a pitch Mariah Carey would be proud of.
Blanche watches the chaos with the resigned expression of someone who's seen this particular emergency play out before.Her diagnostic assessment: not life-threatening, just life-complicating.
I'm on my knees, arm extended under the wicker table, when the conservatory door opens again.I look up to find the Travel Lover reviewer staring at me, her expression moving through surprise to what appears to be professional satisfaction.
She makes a small note in her book that I can clearly read from my undignified position: "Emotional investment of guests: 5 stars."
Perfect.I've become part of the B&B's Christmas ambiance.
"Don't mind me," she says with a smile that's far too knowing."Just checking the...acoustics."
The door closes behind her, and I collapse back onto my heels, yarn tangled around my fingers."I think your reviewer added me to her evaluation metrics."
"She recognizes authentic experiences when she sees them," Sally says with that matchmaking twinkle in her eye."It's her job."
I sigh as Dorothy returns, dragging what's left of my pickle project, looking far too pleased with herself.I settle her back on my lap."There's nothing authentic about making people's pipes break."
"Again, that I didn't do," Sally says, "But you got to admit, there is something authentic about what happens after they do."
Sally gestures to the thermos and I nod.She pours me more hot cocoa as my phone buzzes again, insistent.I finally pick it up, expecting Claire or my mother.Instead, it's Adam.
Adam
I should have told you sooner.The truth is, I was scared.Not of Cape Cod, but of what it might mean for us.I don't want to lose you, Eve.But I don't want either of us to give up something that matters either.I think we can find a middle path.Find a way to support each other's dreams.Compromise.I never want to put you in a situation where you feel like you can't breathe.And I really want to try.Us.For real.
My fingers hover over the screen, unsteady.The warmth that spreads through me has nothing to do with the space heater or the dogs or even Sally's fresh cocoa.
He wants to try.
Not fix.Not solve.Not manage.
Try.
And maybe that's all either of us can promise right now.
I take a deep breath and begin typing my reply, the words coming easier than I expected:
Me
I should have asked rather than assumed.Cape Cod scares me, but not for the reasons you think.I've been running from what it represents rather than dealing with it.But if I could face it with someone who sees me.All of me.Maybe it wouldn't be running back.Maybe it would be moving forward.I want to try too.
I pause, delete the last line, and replace it with something truer:
I miss you.And LoverBoy.And I want to try too.This small-town vet, the dogs...all of it.But we need to talk.Really talk.
