Page 147 of Holidating
Meanwhile, I’ve been thinking about your law school disappointments. I don’t quite know what you’re going through,because people never had the same kind of expectations for me like they have for you. But honestly, it’s hard to understand. Who wouldn’t wantyouon their team? I just don’t get it. Unless—hear me out—in your heart of hearts you didn’t really want to go to those schools and somehow they could tell.
If I’m wrong, I’m sorry. And if Iamwrong, then you should absolutely try again. You are infinitely smart and capable. If you want it badly enough, I bet you can get it.
I should go now. It’s almost time to eat (a pretty bad) dinner. But thanks for making me the happiest (and warmest) soldier in the barracks this week.
Thinking of you,
Damien
By the time he’s satisfied with this letter, an entire week has gone by. He folds it carefully and tucks it inside the envelope. When the mail call comes the next day, he’s ready.
The Staff Sergeant brings in the bag, and Damien hears his name again. “Rossi! Got something for you. But nobody get excited, it’s just an envelope. Not another metric ton of chocolate bars.”
There are grumbles around the barracks.
Damien takes his letter and finds that it’s from his sister. Addressed toDemon Rossi, in the way of bratty siblings everywhere.
The first part is some teasing and gentle whining about his siblings, and it makes him homesick as hell. But then he reads this:
Hey, I hope it's okay that I gave that girl at the bar your address. Nanette or something. Super pretty in a posh way. Hope you know who she is? Ex-girlfriend, maybe? She asked alotof questions about you! I’m not the only one who noticed, either. Her boyfriend—some douchey guy in a polo shirt—didn’t like itat all.
Anyway—hope it’s okay! Loveyou! —Z
His heart stops. Herboyfriend.
It’s so upsetting, and not just because she’s taken. That is a tragedy, but what’s worse is that he feels like an absolute fool. He misread all the signs, possibly from the first day they ever met. She made him feel special. But clearly, she makes everyone feel that way.
God damn it.
God damn everything.
He picks up the letter he’d written—thankfully still sealed up in its envelope—and he rips it right in half.
CHAPTER 7
ON THE AIRPORT SOUNDSYSTEM: “JINGLE BELLS”—THE MICHAEL BUBLÉ VERSION
“Wow.” Cam looks down the escalator with a grin on his handsome face. “You weren’t joking. That’s the whole airport?”
“That’s the whole thing,” Nicolette confirms as they descend slowly toward the luggage carousels. “One terminal.”
Her husband has been to the family compound in Vermont before, but this is the first time they flew in rather than driving from their apartment in Boston. They’ve been away on a pre-Christmas getaway together, which had the benefit of shortening the time they’d have to spend with Nicolette’s family.
It got her out of the stupid caroling party, which is still going strong even though the twins have graduated from college.
Like Cam, Nicolette is scrutinizing the arrivals area, but her reasons are different. She can’t help it, but every time she arrives at this airport, she thinks of Damien. Even if it’s been years since she’s seen him.
When they step off the escalator, the luggage carousel is already turning. A guy in a Patagonia jacket passes them with a ski bag over his shoulder, and Cam makes a wistful face. “I wish I had my skis and boots.”
“We didn’t want to carry our skis around Miami,” she points out. Cam is a fun time, but he’s not a very practical person. It was a challenge packing for the both of them for this trip—resort wear forFlorida and cold-weather clothing for their stay in Vermont. “You can rent at Killington.”
“Rentals suck,” he says flatly. But he reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze.
She fixes her eyes on the rotating carousel and tries not to wonder where Damien is right now. In a desert somewhere, maybe. It still smarts that she never heard back from him after she sent him that gift box. It was an unsolicited gift, and he doesn’t owe her anything, but God, it would have been nice to hear from him. Just to let her know he’s alive.
Obviously, Damien didn’t ever feel the same way about her that she felt about him. He must have rolled his eyes when he got the note. And the lucky marble—like a nine-year-old would carry. Every time she’s reminded of it, she feels like crawling out of her skin.
“There we go,” Cam says. “Isn’t that mine?” He points at a navy blue Tumi bag gliding toward them.
