Page 142 of Holidating
Nicolette shudders. Because boats and schnapps don’t mix, and that night hadn’t ended well. But it had been a rainy weekend in the Hamptons, and they were bored. Secondly—and far worse—she’s embarrassed to have brought up Damien like that.
“I’d never call anyonedreamy. What a stupid thing to say.”
“You absolutely did. And then when I suggested you have a summer fling with him, you got all sniffy. You said he wasn’t fling material.”
“He isn’t,” Nicolette says quickly. “We’re just friends.”
“Friends who also want to bone.” She shrugs. “I know you don’treally do casual. But Christmas vacation is, what? Three weeks? A fling is all you have time for.”
It’s true that Nic has never managed to figure out casual sex. Either a guy isn’t interesting enough to bother, or she likes him too much to be casual about it. The only time she had a one-night stand, it left her feeling cheap and lonelier than ever.
And then there’s the problem that she’s a chicken. Propositioning Damien—handsome, strong, self-possessed Damien—sounds utterly impossible.
“I just…can’t,” she admits. “Besides—if I scared him off, I don’t know who would drive me home from the airport. There aren’t a lot of taxi services in central Vermont.”
Instead of agreeing with her, Cici makes a sad face. “When’s the last time you really had it bad for a guy, though? Someone you couldn’t stop thinking about?”
“I don’t know,” she lies, because it’s easier than admitting that Cici’s brother is the only other guy who ever drew her interest for more than a minute. And the two men are so different. It’s hard to imagine that Cam and Damien are even the same species.
“Oh honey, I get it. You’re always so afraid to get attached. You can blame your parents for your attachment issues. But what if it doesn’t have to be such a big deal? When you see Damien again, just tell him, ‘Hey, when you have a night off, I’d love to go out for pizza again. We had fun that time.’ And see what he says?”
“It sounds so easy when you put it like that.”
“Because it is?” Cici shrugs. “Just try it. You never really go after the things you really want.”
That’s depressingly accurate. Then again, when Nicolette tries to picture herself asking Damien out on a date, she feels herself blushing all over.
On the other hand, she literally owns a coffee mug that reads:Do one thing every day that scares you. And does she follow this advice? Nope. Never.
“Fine. If I agree to do it, can we go home now?” Nicolette asks. “I need to be well-rested to humiliate myself.”
Cici lets out a whoop. “I’ll find our coats.”
Nicolette wakes up in a graciously appointed spare bedroom in the Wentworth family mansion the next morning. The first thing she does is reach for her phone to look for a text from Damien.
There’s nothing, which is awfully weird and not exactly confidence-boosting. Is he really blowing her off? Is he too busy for the airport pickup and doesn’t care enough to say so?
That doesn’t sound like him, though. He’s always happy to see her. This past May, when he’d picked her up in Burlington, they’d hit a coffee-shop drive-through and then sat in the parking lot catching up before he drove her home. She’d demanded his sketchbook again, and he’d gamely pulled it out from under the seat to show her.
He doesn’t drink coffee with her out of pity, right? That’s not how taxis work.
So where is he?
She picks up her phone and hits the Call button. Texts are their usual MO, but her flight lands at two, and it’s nine a.m. already. She’s got to get a hold of him.
Damien’s voicemail picks up right away, and she holds her breath so she can hear the low scrape of his voice better.
“You have reached Damien’s Taxi Service,” his message says. “Unfortunately, I’ve stepped away from the business for a while, and I’m out of town. So please dial Rose’s Taxi at 802-238-4135. She’ll get you where you need to go.”
When the message ends, Nicolette has to call back, because she was too surprised to write down the number for Rose’s Taxi. And what doesstepped awaymean, exactly? That he got a better job?
She can’t help it. She feels stung. Not because Damien isn’t driving anymore. That’s probably a good thing. But he could have said something.
“Nicolette?” comes Cici’s voice from the corridor. “I got the good bagels, with smoked salmon!”
She looks up from her phone and takes in the beautiful room, with the silk curtains and the thick carpets. “I’ll be right there,” she says sheepishly. “Thank you.”
Dropping her phone onto the bed, she lets out a quiet groan. Every day—all day—she lives her life surrounded by outrageousprivilege. She thinks of herself as a person who takes nothing for granted, but that’s a lie, right? It’s absurd to think that Damien should phone his clients to inform them of his career decisions.
