Page 68 of Holiday Love
Oh.
That hits like a slap to the face. I’m not always great at reading between the lines, but even I can understand what he’s saying. He’s not as into me as I am into him, and now he’s trying to protect me. To shield my feelings, which is confusing because it makes me like him even more.
Stupid, I know.
“Okay,” I murmur, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “I get it. We probably shouldn’t do that again. We’ll stick to the plan. Friends.”
A long silence has me glancing over to take in his drawn mouth. The tightness at the corner of his eyes, which confuses me. I’m trying to give him what he wants, so why does he look like that?
“Cool.” He turns away, cutting off my attempt to read him. “Friends is fine. Friends is great. Fan-friend-tastic.”
“Yeah,” I repeat after him, “fantastic.”
The word is the exact opposite of how I feel.
Chapter twenty-eight
One Year Ago
New York City
Teddy
“This is Pier 15,” Helen says, spinning in a slow circle with her arms out. The twirl sends the hem of her dress, just visible beneath her long coat, flaring in a ripple of fabric. The sound it makes reminds me of the snapping flags on top of the Santa Monica Pier roller coaster back in California. Crazy to think how far from homeI am right now.
I glance down at the weathered planks beneath my dress shoes, the ones I put on for Gwen’s wedding and which are starting to pinch now. Across the river, the lights of New Jersey glitter like fallen stars, and the Brooklyn Bridge stretches before us. Its towers are solid and ancient. Its cables are delicate, fine as thread, but strong enough to carry the weight of thousands. I look at Helen beside me and think about how small things can also be strong.
I asked her to bring me here, since it’s one of the iconic New York sights. It’s well past one a.m. now, and the pier is nearly empty, just a handful of people spaced far apart, all talking in hushed tones. After the crush of Times Square, where you couldn’t lift your arm without elbowing someone, this feels like another world. Tranquil. The calm after the chaos. A breeze lifts off the water and brushes past us, cool and salty.
Helen lets out a contented sigh and drifts closer. Without thinking, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and tuck her into my side. She fitsperfectly.
“I love coming here,” she says, her voice low. “It’s easy to get lost in a city this big, but when I see the water and that bridge connecting the two cities, it reminds me that we’re not actually alone. That we’re all connected in some way, even strangers.”
“That’s how I feel when I look at the Pacific,” I say, a little surprised to be saying it out loud. “It’s the one place where I start to believe fate might actually be real. Like we’re all here together for a reason, and even when terrible things happen,” I pause, suck in a breath, my mind turning, as it always does, to my dad. “Even if terrible things happen, maybe it’s sowaydown the line something good can happen. Like one thread leads to another and you can’t understand the entire pattern of the quilt it makes because you’re right in the middle of it, but if you could step back and see the entire thing it’d be beautiful.”
I pause and let out a nervous laugh, frustrated I can’t explain it better. “Or maybe that’s just something I tell myself for comfort. Like a kid pulling the blanket over his head to keep the monsters away.”
“I don’t think you’re wrong,” she says quietly. She wraps an arm around my waist, the gesture steadying. “At least, I hope not. I have those thoughts here too. Big-picture stuff.”
She goes quiet. Her eyes stay fixed on the water, but something shifts in her expression. Sadness, barely veiled. “I think a lot about death when I’m here.”
“I’m sure you see a lot of bad stuff in the ER.”
“I do. But also my…” She hesitates, then lets it go. “Yeah. The ER. There’s just so much sadness.”
“How do you handle it?” I ask. “Being around that?”
She exhales slowly. “I’m wired to be logical, have always understood facts better than feelings. Plus I grew up with a dad who told morbid work stories over dinner, so maybe I’m conditioned for it.” Her voice tightens. “Mostly, I compartmentalize. I try toleave it all at the door when I clock out, but it doesn't always work. Some patients haunt me. The kids more than anything. Ihateit when a kid comes in.”
Her words settle between us like the fog I see in the distance. It curls over the surface of the water. Heavy and cold.
“Sorry,” I murmur, trying to cut the tension. “That got kind of dark.”
Helen turns toward me. Her gaze holds mine, unflinching. “I don’t mind,” she says with a small smile. “I’d rather talk about real things than waste time on celebrity gossip or fashion trends.”
That makes me pause. Most of the women I’ve dated could go on for hours about red carpets. I used to not mind it. Lately, though, I’ve been bored out of my mind.
“Good,” I say. “Glad I didn’t scare you off.”
